'The bishop acquaints him with the very melancholy way they are in. The
father and mother declining in their healths. Signor Jeronymo worse than
when Sir Charles left them. His sister also declining in her health: yet
earnest still to see him.
'He says, that she is at present at Urbino; but is soon to go to Naples
to the general's. He urges him to make them one visit more; yet owns,
that his family are not unanimous in the request: but that he and Father
Marescotti, and the marchioness, are extremely earnest that this
indulgence should be granted to the wishes of his dear sister.
'He offers to meet him, at his own appointment, and conduct him to
Bologna; where, he tells him, his presence will rejoice every heart, and
procure an unanimous consent to the interview so much desired: and says,
that if this measure, which he is sorry he has so long withstood, answers
not his hopes, he will advise the shutting up of their Clementina in a
nunnery, or to consign her to private hands, where she shall be treated
kindly, but as persons in her unhappy circumstances are accustomed to be
treated.'
Sir Charles then shewed me a letter from Signor Jeronymo; in which he
acquaints him with the dangerous way he is in. He tells him, 'That his
life is a burden to him. He wishes it was brought to its period. He
does not think himself in skilful hands. He complains most of the wound
which is in his hip-joint; and which has hitherto baffled the art both of
the Italian and French surgeons who have been consulted. He wishes, that
himself and Sir Charles had been of one country, he says, since the
greatest felicity he now has to wish for, is to yield up his life to the
Giver of it, in the arms of his Grandison.'
He mentions not one word in this melancholy letter of his unhappy sister:
which Sir Charles accounted for, by supposing, that she not being at
Bologna, they kept from him, in his deplorable way, everything relating
to her, that was likely to disturb him. He then read part of a letter
written in English, by the admired Mrs. Beaumont; some of the contents
of which were, as you shall hear, extremely affecting.
'Mrs. Beaumont gives him in it an account of the situation of the unhappy
young lady; and excuses herself for not having done it before, in answer
to his request, by reason of an indisposition under which she had for
some time laboured, which had hindered her from making the necessary
inquiries.
'She mentions, that the lady had received no benefit from her journeyings
from place to place; and from her voyage from Leghorn to Naples, and back
again; and blames her attendants, who, to quiet her, unknown to their
principals, for some time, kept her in expectation of seeing her
Chevalier, at the end of each; for her more prudent Camilla, she says,
had been hindered by illness from attending her, in several of the
excursions.
'They had a second time, at her own request, put her into a nunnery. She
at first was so sedate in it as gave them hopes: but the novelty going
off, and one of the sisters, to try her, having officiously asked her to
go with her into the parlour, where she said, she would be allowed to
converse through the grate with a certain English gentleman, her
impatience, on her disappointment, made her more ungovernable than they
had ever known her; for she had been for two hours before meditating what
she would say to him.
'For a week together, she was vehemently intent upon being allowed to
visit England; and had engaged her cousins, Sebastiano and Juliano, to
promise to escort her thither, if she could obtain leave.
'Her mother brought her off this when nobody else could, only by
entreating her, for her sake, never to think of it more.
'The marchioness then, encouraged by this instance of her obedience, took
her under her own care: but the young lady going on from flight to
slight; and the way she was in visibly affecting the health of her
indulgent mother; a doctor was found, who was absolutely of opinion, that
nothing but harsh methods would avail: and in this advice Lady Sforza,
and her daughter Laurana, and the general, concurring, she was told, that
she must prepare to go to Milan. She was so earnest to be excused from
going thither, and to be permitted to go to Florence to Mrs. Beaumont,
that they gave way to her entreaties; and the marquis himself,
accompanying her to Florence, prevailed on Mrs. Beaumont to take her
under her care.
'With her she staid three weeks: she was tolerably sedate in that space
of time; but most so, when she was talking of England, and of the
Chevalier Grandison, and his sisters, with whom she wished to be
acquainted. She delighted to speak English, and to talk of the
tenderness and goodness of her tutor; and of what he said to her, upon
such and such a subject.
'At the three weeks end, the general made her a visit, in company of Lady
Sforza; and her talk being all on this subject, they were both highly
displeased; and hinted, that she was too much indulged in it; and,
unhappily, she repeating some tender passages that passed in the
interview her mother had permitted her to hold with the Chevalier, the
general would have it, that Mr. Grandison had designedly, from the first,
sought to give himself consequence with her; and expressed himself, on
the occasion, with great violence against him.
'He carried his displeasure to extremity, and obliged her to go away with
his aunt and him that very day, to her great regret; and as much to the
regret of Mrs. Beaumont, and of the ladies her friends; who tenderly
loved the innocent visionary, as sometimes they called her. And Mrs.
Beaumont is sure, that the gentle treatment she met with from them, would
in time, though perhaps slowly, have greatly helped her.'
Mrs. Beaumont then gives an account of the harsh treatment the poor young
lady met with.
Sir Charles Grandison would have stopt reading here. He said, he could
not read it to me, without such a change of voice, as would add to my
pain, as well as to his own.
Tears often stole down my cheeks, when I read the letters of the bishop
and Signor Jeronymo, and as Sir Charles read a part of Mrs. Beaumont's
letter: and I doubted not but what was to follow would make them flow.
Yet, I said, Be pleased, sir, to let me read on. I am not a stranger to
distress. I can pity others, or I should not deserve pity myself.
He pointed to the place; and withdrew to the window.
Mrs. Beaumont says, 'That the poor mother was prevailed upon to resign
her child wholly to the management of Lady Sforza, and her daughter
Laurana, who took her with them to their palace in Milan.
'The tender parent, however, besought them to spare all unnecessary
severity; which they promised: but Laurana objected to Camilla's
attendance. She was thought too indulgent; and her servant Laura, as a
more manageable person, was taken in her place.' And O how cruelly, as
you shall hear, did they treat her!
Father Marescotti, being obliged to visit a dying relation at Milan, was
desired by the marchioness to inform himself of the way her beloved
daughter was in, and of the methods taken with her, Lady Laurana having,
in her letters, boasted of both. The good Father acquainted Mrs.
Beaumont with the following particulars:
'He was surprised to find a difficulty made of his seeing the lady: but,
insisting on it, he found her to be wholly spiritless, and in terror;
afraid to speak, afraid to look, before her cousin Laurana; yet seeming
to want to complain to him. He took notice of this to Laurana--O Father,
said she, we are in the right way, I assure you: when we had her first,
her chevalier, and an interview with him, were ever in her mouth; but now
she is in such order, that she never speaks a word of him. But what,
asked the compassionate Father, must she have suffered, to be brought to
this?--Don't you, Father, trouble yourself about that, replied the cruel
Laurana: the doctors have given their opinion, that some severity was
necessary. It is all for her good.
'The poor lady expressed herself to him, with earnestness, after the
veil; a subject on which, it seems, they indulged her; urging, that the
only way to secure her health of mind, if it could be restored, was to
yield to her wishes. Lady Sforza said, that it was not a point that she
herself would press; but it was her opinion, that her family sinned in
opposing a divine dedication; and, perhaps, their daughter's malady might
be a judgment upon them for it.'
The father, in his letter to Mrs. Beaumont, ascribes to Lady Sforza
self-interested motives for her conduct; to Laurana, envy, on account of
Lady Clementina's superior qualities: but nobody, he says, till now,
doubted Laurana's love of her.'
Father Marescotti then gives a shocking instance of the barbarous
Laurana's treatment of the noble sufferer--All for her good--Wretch! how
my heart rises against her! Her servant Laura, under pretence of
confessing to her Bologna father, in tears, acquainted him with it. It
was perpetrated but the day before.
'When any severity was to be exercised upon the unhappy lady, Laura was
always shut out of her apartment. Her lady had said something that she
was to be chidden for. Lady Sforza, who was not altogether so severe as
her daughter, was not at home. Laura listened in tears: she heard
Laurana in great wrath with Lady Clementina, and threaten her--and her
young lady break out to this effect--What have I done to you, Laurana, to
be so used?--You are not the cousin Laurana you used to be! You know I
am not able to help myself: why do you call me crazy, and frantic,
Laurana? [Vile upbraider, Lucy!] If the Almighty has laid his hand upon
me, should I not be pitied?--
'It is all for your good! It is all for your good, Clementina! You
could not always have spoken so sensibly, cousin.
'Cruel Laurana! You loved me once! I have no mother, as you have. My
mother was a good mother: but she is gone! Or I am gone, I know not
which!
'She threatened her then with the strait waistcoat, a punishment which
the unhappy lady was always greatly terrified at. Laura heard her beg
and pray; but, Laurana coming out, she was forced to retire.
'The poor young lady apprehending her cruel cousin's return with the
threatened waistcoat, and with the woman that used to be brought in when
they were disposed to terrify her, went down and hid herself under a
stair-case, where she was soon discovered by her clothes, which she had
not been careful to draw in after her.'
O, Lucy! how I wept! How insupportable to me, said Sir Charles, would
have been my reflections, had my conscience told me, that I had been the
wilful cause of the noble Clementina's calamity!
After I had a little recovered, I read to myself the next paragraph,
which related, 'that the cruel Laurana dragged the sweet sufferer by her
gown, from her hiding-place, inveighing against her, threatening her:
she, all patient, resigned, her hands crossed on her bosom, praying for
ercy, not by speech, but by her eyes, which, however, wept not: and
causing her to be carried up to her chamber, there punished her with the
strait waistcoat, as she had threatened.
'Father Marescotti was greatly affected with Laura's relation, as well as
with what he had himself observed: but on his return to Bologna, dreading
to acquaint her mother, for her own sake, with the treatment her
Clementina met with, he only said, he did not quite approve of it, and
advised her not to oppose the young lady's being brought home, if the
bishop and the general came into it: but he laid the whole matter before
the bishop, who wrote to the general to join with him out of hand, to
release their sister from her present bondage: and the general meeting
the bishop on a set day at Milan, for that purpose, the lady was
accordingly released.
'A breach ensued upon it, with Lady Sforza and her daughter; who would
have it, that Clementina was much better for their management. They had
by terror broke her spirit, and her passiveness was reckoned upon as an
indication of amendment.
'The marchioness being much indisposed, the young lady, attended by her
Camilla, was carried to Naples; where it is supposed she now is. Poor
young lady, how has she been hurried about!--But who can think of her
cousin Laurana without extreme indignation?
'Mrs. Beaumont writes, that the bishop would fain have prevailed upon his
brother, the general, to join with him in an invitation to Sir Charles
Grandison to come over, as a last expedient, before they locked her up
either in a nunnery, or in some private house: but the general would by
no means come into it.
'He asked, What was proposed to be the end of Sir Charles's visit, were
all that was wished from it to follow, in his sister's restored mind?--He
never, he said, would give his consent that she should be the wife of an
English Protestant.
'The bishop declared, that he was far from wishing her to be so: but he
was for leaving that to after-consideration. Could they but restore his
sister to her reason, that reason, co-operating with her principles,
might answer all their hopes.
'He might try his expedient, the general said, with all his heart: but he
looked upon the Chevalier Grandison to be a man of art; and he was sure
he must have entangled his sister by methods imperceptible to her, and to
them; but yet more efficacious to his ends, than an open declaration.
Had he not, he asked, found means to fascinate Olivia, and as many women
as he came into company with?--For his part, he loved not the Chevalier.
He had forced him by his intrepidity to be civil to him: but forced
civility was but a temporary one. It was his way to judge of causes by
the effects: and this he knew, that he had lost a sister, who would have
been a jewel in the crown of a prince; and would not be answerable for
consequences, if he and Sir Charles Grandison were once more to meet, be
it where it would.
'Father Marescotti, however, joining, as the bishop writes, with him, and
the marchioness, in a desire to try this expedient; and being sure that
the marquis and Signor Jeronymo would not be averse to it, he took a
resolution to write over to him, as has been related.'
This, Lucy, is the state of the unhappy case, as briefly and as clearly
as my memory will serve to give it. And what a rememberer, if I may make
a word, is the heart!--Not a circumstance escapes it.
And now it remained for me to know of Sir Charles what answer he had
returned.
Was not my situation critical, my dear? Had Sir Charles asked my
opinion, before he had taken his resolutions, I should have given it with
my whole heart, that he should fly to the comfort of the poor lady. But
then he would have shewn a suspense unworthy of Clementina; and a
compliment to me; which a good man, so circumstanced, ought not to make.
My regard for him (yet what a poor affected word is regard!) was,
nevertheless, as strong as ever. Generosity, or rather justice, to
Clementina, and that so often avowed regard to him, pulled my heart two
ways.--I wanted to consider with myself for a few moments: I was desirous
to clear the conduct that I was to shew on this trying occasion, as well
of precipitance as of affectation; and my cousin Reeves just then coming
in for something she wanted, I took the opportunity to walk to the other
end of the room; and while a short complimental discourse passed between
them, 'Harriet Byron,' said I to myself, 'be not mean. Hast thou not the
example of a Clementina before thee? Her religion and her love,
combating together, have overturned the noble creature's reason. Tho
canst not be called to such a trial: but canst thou not shew, that if
thou wert, thou couldst have acted greatly, if not so greatly?--Sir
Charles Grandison is just: he ought to prefer to thee the excellent
Clementina. Priority of claim, compassion for the noble sufferer, merits
so superior!--I love him for his merits: shall I not love merits, nearly
as great, in one of my own sex? The struggle will cost thee something:
but go down, and try to be above thyself. Banished to thy retirement, to
thy pillow, thought I, be all the girl. Often have I contended for the
dignity of my sex; let me now be an example to myself, and not unworthy
in my own eyes (when I come to reflect) of an union, could it have been
effected, with a man whom a Clementina looked up to with hope.'
My cousin being withdrawn, and Sir Charles approaching me, I attempted to
assume a dignity of aspect, without pride; and I spoke, while spirit was
high in me, and to keep myself up to it--My heart bleeds, sir, for the
distresses of your Clementina: [Yes, Lucy, I said your Clementina:]
beyond expression I admire the greatness of her behaviour; and most
sincerely lament her distresses. What, that is in the power of man,
cannot Sir Charles Grandison do? You have honoured me, sir, with the
title of sister. In the tenderness of that relation, permit me to say,
that I dread the effects of the general's petulance: I feel next for you
the pain that it must give to your humane heart to be once more
personally present to the woes of the inimitable Clementina: but I am
sure you did not hesitate a moment about leaving all your friends here in
England, and resolving to hasten over to try, at least, what can be done
for the noble sufferer.
Had he praised me highly for this my address to him, it would have
looked, such was the situation on both sides, as if he had thought this
disinterested behaviour in me, an extraordinary piece of magnanimity and
self-denial; and, of consequence, as if he had supposed I had views upon
him, which he wondered I could give up. His is the most delicate of
human minds.
He led me to my seat, and taking his by me, still holding my passive
hand--Ever since I have had the honour of Miss Byron's acquaintance, I
have considered her as one of the most excellent of women. My heart
demands alliance with hers, and hopes to be allowed its claim; though
such are the delicacies of situation, that I scarcely dare to trust
myself to speak upon the subject. From the first, I called Miss Byron my
sister; but she is more to me than the dearest sister; and there is a
more tender friendship that I aspire to hold with her, whatever may be
the accidents, on either side, to bar a further wish: and this I must
hope, that she will not deny me, so long as it shall be consistent with
her other attachments.
He paused. I made an effort to speak: but speech was denied me. My
face, as I felt, glowed like the fire before me.
My heart, resumed he, is ever on my lips. It is tortured when I cannot
speak all that is in it. Professions I am not accustomed to make. As I
am not conscious of being unworthy of your friendship, I will suppose it;
and further talk to you of my affairs and engagements, as that tender
friendship may warrant.
Sir, you do me honour, was all I could say.
I had a letter from the faithful Camilla. I hold not a correspondence
with her: but the treatment that her young lady met with, of which she
had got some general intimations, and some words that the bishop said to
her, which expressed his wishes, that I would make them one more visit at
Bologna, urged her to write, begging of me, for Heaven's sake, to go
over. But unless one of the family had written to me, and by consent of
others of it, what hope had I of a welcome, after I had been as often
refused, as I had requested while I was in Italy, to be admitted to the
presence of the lady, who was so desirous of one interview more?--
Especially, as Mrs. Beaumont gave me no encouragement to go, but the
contrary, from what she observed of the inclinations of the family.
Mrs. Beaumont is still of opinion, as in the conclusion of the letter
before you, that I should not go, unless the general and the marquis join
their requests to those of the marchioness, the bishop, and Father
Marescotti. But I had no sooner perused the bishop's letter, than I
wrote, that I would most cheerfully comply with his wishes: but that I
should be glad that I might not be under any obligation to go further
than Bologna; where I might have the happiness to attend my Jeronymo, as
well as his sister.
I had a little twitch at my heart, Lucy. I was sorry for it: but my
judgment was entirely with him.
And now, madam, you will wonder, that you see not any preparations for my
departure. All is prepared: I only wait for the company of one
gentleman, who is settling his affairs with all expedition to go with me.
He is an able, a skilful surgeon, who has had great practice abroad, and
in the armies: and having acquired an easy fortune, is come to settle in
his native country. My Jeronymo expresses himself dissatisfied with his
surgeons. If Mr. LOWTHER can be of service to him, how happy shall I
think myself! And if my presence can be a means to restore the noble
Clementina--But how dare I hope it?--And yet I am persuaded, that in her
case, and with such a temper of mind, (unused to hardship and opposition
as she had been,) the only way to recover her, would have been by
complying with her in every thing that her heart or head was earnestly
set upon: for what controul was necessary to a young lady, who never,
even in the height of her malady, uttered a wish or thought that was
contrary to her duty either to God, or her parents; nor yet to the honour
of her name; and, allow me, madam, to say, to the pride of her sex?
I am under an obligation to go to Paris, proceeded he, from the will of
my late friend Mr. Danby. I shall stop there for a day or two only, in
order to put things in a way for my last hand, on my return from Italy.
When I am in Italy, I shall, perhaps, be enabled to adjust two or three
accounts that stand out, in relation to the affairs of my ward.
This day, at dinner, I shall see Mrs. Oldham, and her sons; and in the
afternoon, at tea, Mrs. O'Hara, and her husband, and Captain Salmonet.
To-morrow, I hope for the honour of your company, madam, and Mr. and Mrs.
Reeves's at dinner; and be so good as to engage them for the rest of the
day. You must not deny me; because I shall want your influence upon
Charlotte, to make her fix Lord G----'s happy day, that I may be able to
see their hands united before I set out; as my return will be
uncertain--