RETROSPECTION.
When Lady Hamlet Vernon drew Lord
Albert D'Esterre aside, at Lady Tilney's supper
party, it was, he conceived, with an intention
of explaining to him the words contained
in her note at Restormel alluding to Lady
Adeline Seymour--and he was confirmed in
this idea by the violent agitation which her
manner betrayed, although she strove to retain
that composure which the circumstances of
the time and place particularly demanded.
For several minutes after they had sat down,
she seemed labouring for breath; and Lord
Albert, notwithstanding his own anxiety
and impatience felt exceedingly for her distress.
"My dear Lady Hamlet Vernon," he said,
"I beseech you be not thus agitated; remember,
whatever you have to say, however
painful it may be to me to hear, I am certain
that it must be from friendly motives
alone that you make such communication,
and I must always feel grateful to you for
your intention; but keep me no longer in
suspense I entreat, for I am prepared for
whatever you may have to tell me."
"I have nothing to tell you, Lord Albert."
"What do you mean? what, can you possibly
intend to disappoint me; and, having so
cruelly excited my feelings, cast them back
upon me to prey upon themselves? No, I
never can believe you so inconsequent; so
very--"
"Stay, Lord Albert, and before you condemn,
hear me.--It is true I was on the
point of betraying a trust--of revealing a
secret--of becoming _really dishonourable_--for
what? for the sole purpose of befriending
you--for the sole purpose of snatching _you_
from a danger which it was then time to
prevent your falling into; but since that moment
is past for ever--since it is now in vain
that I should prove useful to you by being
false to another, my lips must for ever be
sealed."
"Strange and unaccountable mystery!
What, you will not tell me--you will not endeavour
to warn me against a danger which
hangs over me--is this friendship? How _can
you_ know that the time is past for pointing
out to me such danger? How can _you_ be so
thoroughly acquainted with the events of my
life--the secrets of my heart, as first to imagine
my fate _was_ in your hands, and then
suddenly be equally well assured it is so no
longer? No, I cannot conceive there is any
friendship in such conduct."
"Ah," said Lady Hamlet Vernon, sighing,
"I see you are like all your sex;
you receive the devotion of a heart as a
thing of course; you take into no consideration
the pain, the remorse I felt, at the
idea of becoming false to a trust for your
sake, when I thought that by so doing I
might save you from misfortune. And now
that I tell you the time is gone by when I
might possibly have been of use, even by the
sacrifice of my own integrity, you still wish
for that sacrifice, although it can avail you
nothing:--is this generous?" Lord Albert
felt confused; he was even moved by the look,
the air, the words of Lady Hamlet Vernon,
but still the disappointment wrung his heart,
and jealousy, with every other feeling, goaded
him on to press for a disclosure of the
secret.
"I am not ungrateful, indeed I am not; I
feel deeply the kind interest you take in me;
but if that interest does not sleep, or rather
if it is not extinguished, I still plead to be
made acquainted with a circumstance so very
nearly affecting my welfare; and when I say
that your disclosing it to me would be like
keeping it in another casket, surely, surely
you will not deny me."
"In this respect, my dear Lord Albert,
I alone can be the judge, and even at the
risk of losing your good opinion, or rather
of losing your friendship for the time being,
I must persist in remaining silent." There
was a long pause, which was at last interrupted
by Lady Hamlet Vernon resuming the conversation.
"Whatever may be your opinion of me, I
must, ere our intercourse altogether ceases,
touch upon one subject, which I believe to be
the prime object of your life, and that to which
all your views tend--I mean the noble career
which lies open to your ambition; may you
pursue it with unbounded success; but remember,
that you are not likely to do so if you have
any secondary interest to clog and drag you
back. If domestic troubles, at least domestic
cares, obtrude themselves upon your higher
aims, what a terrible hindrance to your plans
they must of necessity become. Think well, my
dear Lord Albert, of this--for _le roman de la
vie_ is soon over you know, but life itself goes
on to the end; and whatever women do, men
should look to that alone with a providing
care. We, who are creatures born to suffer
(at least all women who live as most women
do, the slaves of your sex), we indeed may
live upon that illusion, which destroys while
it delights; but it is not in your nature to do
so; public concerns--public applause--public
success--facts, not feelings, must fill up
the measure of a man's existence. Think,
then, what it is to have these great ends
marred, defeated, by some minor power that
corrodes and destroys in detail those thoughts,
those actions, which, if unshackled by petty
duties, would raise you to high consideration
and power; but if tied to a partner wholly
a stranger to your feelings and pursuits, she
must, however amiable in herself, ultimately
poison all your happiness."
Lord Albert had listened to Lady Hamlet
Vernon without a wish to interrupt her, and
with deep and fixed attention, painfully dwelt
upon every word she uttered; he could not
remain in ignorance of the drift of her words,
and they pierced him like swords, yet still he
remained silent.
"If," continued Lady Hamlet Vernon, "a
woman shares her husband's feelings, enters
into his views, goes along with him, not
merely from duty but from habit and inclination,
in all his interests, then indeed it is
possible such a woman might forward, and
not impede his prospects; but where habits,
principles, and prejudices, have all tended to
form a different character, and above all,
where bigotry has fastened chains on the
mind wholly destructive of any active or
useful pursuits, the probability is, that
wretchedness to both ensues." Lord Albert
no longer affected to misunderstand her, and
replied,
"Every thing you have said has been in
allusion to my approaching union with Lady
Adeline Seymour, an engagement you cannot
be ignorant of, as it has been well known to
the world in general for some years past.
Tell me, I adjure you tell me, to what principles,
to what habits do you allude? There
is enough in your words to startle and confound
me; but there lurks yet an unpronounced
sentence in your mind, which I now
implore you to declare. If, indeed, the least
regard for my happiness ever swayed your
breast, be explicit now, for my destiny perhaps
hangs on your open sincerity." Lord
Albert's thoughts were one chaos of uneasiness
and pain; jealousy had fired the train,
which set his whole being in a state of
anarchy, and he lost all command over himself--all
presence of mind, or capability of
sifting truth from falsehood. Poor human
reason, how weak is it even in the strongest
minds! when the passions are roused, who
dares to answer for himself, unless a higher
power assist him in his hour of need?
"Be composed, be calm," said Lady Hamlet
Vernon, "do nothing in haste; suffer me now
to drop this subject, and we may resume it at
a more favourable opportunity, when you
have considered fully the opinions I have now
expressed. All I wish you to remember is,
that when a man chooses a companion for
life, the chief thing to be considered is, not
her amiable qualities, but whether they are
of a kind which will assimilate with his. The
mere obedience which proceeds from duty,
will never satisfy a noble nature: no, it is the
devotion of a glowing heart which beats in
unison--a mind capable of sharing in the
plans and pursuits of an aspiring nature, unwarped
by prejudice, unobscured by fanaticism;
above all, a heart that is wholly and
undividedly its own."
Lord Albert, in listening to these words,
unconsciously compared the happiness of
being united to such a woman as the one he
now heard and beheld, to that of the pure
but infantine mind of Adeline Seymour. "Besides,"
he thought, "is she so pure? has no
preference for another, usurped the allegiance
which she owes wholly to me? Has George
Foley not become more necessary to her than
myself?" And while these imaginations, and
such as these passed rapidly to and fro in his
mind, his eyes were rivetted on Lady Hamlet
Vernon, whose exceeding beauty heightened
by the expression of an interest for himself
which he never before had seen so visibly betrayed,
made him say, in a tone and manner
not devoid of a similar feeling,
"Oh! Lady Hamlet Vernon, you who
can paint happiness so well--you who know
to distinguish, with such enchanting delicacy,
those shades of felicity which my warm imagination
has figured to be the charm of
married life, do not with a pertinacity unlike
yourself, withhold from me the secret on
which my fate depends, and either be my
guardian-angel or--"
"Hold, I beseech you in my turn; I have
already told you that I cannot fully impart all
I know--I may not, must not be explicit.
But this much I will reveal to you, providing
you swear to keep the secret, and never to
probe me further."
"Oh yes, I swear I will never betray so
generous a friend; I will never search further
into what you wish that I should not know."
"Well, then," Lady Hamlet Vernon replied,
after a pause, and trembling with excessive
emotion, "for the sake of the great, the deep
interest I feel for you, and have felt since
I first knew you, receive this pledge and
earnest of my friendship;" saying which, she
placed a ring in his hand, and added at the
same time in a low distinct voice, "you can
never be happy with Lady Adeline Seymour."
There are blows and shocks which strike at
the very vitality of existence--who has not
felt these before he has numbered many
years? and such was the power of these
words on Lord Albert, that he remained for
some minutes motionless; their sound vibrated
in his ear long after the sound itself
had ceased; for strange it is, though true, that
we can sometimes endure to think what we
scarcely can bear to hear uttered. In the one
case the thought seems not to be embodied in
reality; in the latter it has received existence,
and appears actually stamped with the seal of
certainty.
At length, however, he had summoned his
reason to his aid, and was about to speak further
to Lady Hamlet Vernon, when, interrupted
by the quick succeeding questions of many
of the company who were passing the room
in which they sat to go to supper, Lord
Albert offered his arm mechanically to Lady
Hamlet Vernon, and they followed in the
train of others. The noise and gaiety and
brilliancy of the scene could not for a moment
take Lord Albert out of himself; one idea,
one image engrossed him, and all the surrounding
persons and circumstances glanced
before his eye or came to his ear, with the
glitter and the buzz of undistinguishable lights
and sounds. He went through the forms of
the place and scene with the precision of an
automaton, and when the supper ended he
followed Lady Hamlet Vernon about like her
shadow, sometimes absorbed in the deepest
concentration of thought, sometimes endeavouring
to revert to their former conversation,
which had been so abruptly, and to
him so unopportunely broken off; eager to
renew its discussion, as well as to elicit a
disclosure (regardless of his solemn promise)
of that part of the subject on which she refused
all explanation.
In both, however, he wholly failed; and
having been obliged, although reluctantly,
to part from her for that time, he handed
Lady Hamlet Vernon to her carriage
and bent his way home. He felt it a
relief to be alone, in order to take a review
more collectedly of what was passing
in his own breast: but yet, when he commenced
the task, he found a contradiction of
thoughts and feelings which were so involved
that for a time he yielded to them,
and they alternately swayed him in opposite
directions, without his being able to come to
any decision.
On considering the length of time, and the
intimate footing on which Mr. Foley had lived
at Dunmelraise (notwithstanding the peculiar
circumstances in which he was placed, as the
son of Lady Dunmelraise's dearest friend, and
her own _protégé_), on recalling his descriptions
and praises of Lady Adeline when they
met at Restormel, he thought he saw a confirmation
of his worst fears. What, he asked
himself, could induce a young man to seek so
lonely and retired a situation but love? And
Lady Dunmelraise he thought must have approved
his views, or she would not have suffered
such an intimacy to subsist, even though
as her friend's child she received him under
her roof; at least it was evident that she
chose to give her daughter an opportunity of
turning her affections from that quarter to
which they had been originally directed. Adeline's
letters, too, so equable in their expression
of calm content, so lavish in Mr. Foley's
praise, so minute in her detail of his way of
thinking and manner of feeling, showed that
had she not been more than commonly interested
in him, she could not have thus busied
herself with analysing his character.
"It is clear," he said, "Adeline does not
love me; and her mother is no longer anxious
in consequence that our union should take
place!" While this idea prevailed he was desirous
immediately to break off the engagement;
formed a thousand plans for doing this,
in such a way as to appear disinterested and
honourable in their opinion; and worked himself
up to a belief, for the moment, that he
was only acting with that refinement and generosity
due to his own feelings as well as to
Lady Adeline's, by losing no time in putting
this resolve into execution, and then she
would be free. But for himself, would the
same step afford him the same advantage?
Would his heart be really free? were there
no strong ties that bound him to Adeline? no
habit of attachment formed in his breast,
though she had broken through the one, and apparently
could never have cherished the other?
Would he, in short, be free, though she were?
Could he turn the current of his affections
at once towards another object; could he accept
the heart, even were it her's to bestow,
of the person who had shewn such an interest
in his welfare; of one whose beauty was enhanced
by the deep expression which played
over her features--whose manners, talents,
character, were alike formed--could he make
her his wife? Again he paused at that title--it
had never been associated with any save
Adeline, and when coupled now with another,
it made him start from his own thoughts, as
though he were guilty in indulging them.
Struck at this idea, and with the conviction
of what would be the state of his own
mind were he indeed at once to let Lady
Adeline loose from her engagement, his feelings
and his reasonings took another course.
"Should I be justified," he asked himself,
"in the steps I am proposing, without further
proofs of Adeline's inconstancy? My surmises
perhaps have ground sufficient, but something
more than surmise is due to her. It is true,
I am told I shall never be happy with her,"
(and he shuddered as he repeated the words
to himself); "but I very much doubt if ever I
can be happy without her. My own conduct,
too, lately--what has it been? Has it not
carried with it proofs of coldness and neglect?
Why should I expect to receive that constant
and ardent devotion, which I have shewed no
anxiety to retain; and what, on my part, has
occasioned this passive indifference? Has it
not been a growing partiality for the society
of another--and was _this_ Adeline's fault?"
He dwelt on this idea for some moments, and
his self-reproaches were painful. Then again
he thought, allowing that all is as it was
between us, that she loves me in _her_ way,
and I her in mine, is that enough to constitute
lasting happiness? "_No, it is not._ I
should loathe the insipid homage of daily
duties pointedly fulfilled, and weary of a mind
which had not sufficient energy to think for
itself. If I saw that my wife did not enter,
from a similarity of tastes, into my occupations
and pursuits, I should feel no satisfaction
in her doing so to oblige me; and I certainly
have already observed, that Adeline's habits,
and even her principles, have led her to a life
of monotonous tranquillity and insipid cares."
And here again Lady Hamlet Vernon's words
recurred to him with tremendous power.
Would it not then, after all, be more noble to
set her free from an engagement, which
would fail in producing the happiness
that they both had been led to expect? He
mused with painful intensity as his thoughts
rested on this idea; but in the exercise of
analyzing, comparing, and combining these
various views of his situation, his mind was
imperceptibly drawn to the single subject
productive of them--his early attachment to
Adeline; and he fell into a comparatively calm
reverie--that species of calm, which dwelling
upon _one_ feeling generally produces, after the
mind has been tossed about in various contending
conflicts. His youthful and first affections,
together with all the awakening recollections
of early tenderness--the development of their
mutual passion, ere yet they knew they were
destined for each other--the happy prospect
of bliss which had succeeded--all, all recurred
to him, and revived the dying glow of attachment
in his breast. He took out her picture
from his writing-desk--gazed at the well-known
features, yet thought he had never
before been aware of their full and perfect
charm, that union of intelligence with purity
which is supposed to constitute the being
of an angel, that perfect candour, mingled
with quick perception, which this portrait
conveyed, and conveyed but feebly in comparison
with the original,--set the seal to his
conviction, that no one could prove to him
what Adeline had been.
In replacing the portrait, he lifted up some
loose papers, and it chanced that the lock of
Lady Hamlet Vernon's hair, which he had
kept (and never since looked at) on the night
when she had been overturned at his door,
dropped from the paper. He could not but
admire it; its glossy richness--its hue of gold
shining through the depth of its darkness:
it was certainly very beautiful, and he sighed
as he laid it down. "What if, indeed, her
words should be true, and how can they be
_true_ unless in one sense--in that of Adeline's
loving another? It must, it must be so!" and
this fatal conviction broke down once more
all the fabric of happiness which a moment
before he had erected: and in this revived
frenzy of feeling he passed the night. It was
broad daylight ere he could bring himself to
seek repose, nor did he then till worn-out
nature sunk in forgetfulness and sleep.
When he awoke the next day--for morning
was far advanced--it was like one awaking
from the delirium of fever. He felt exhausted,
spent, as though a long illness had shaken
his being--so much will a few hours of mental
agitation unnerve the strongest frame.
The more he tried to collect his thoughts and
bring them to a final result, the less did he
find himself capable of the effort; the energies
of his mind seemed paralyzed; he appeared
to himself to be under the influence of
some spell which impelled all his actions in an
opposite direction to his wishes, as in paralytic
affections, the limb ever moves in a contrary
motion to that which the sufferer would
have it. He was perplexed, amazed, and saw
no clue to guide him through the labyrinth.
The object of all his wishes--she to whom all
his views and plans had had reference from
the moment he could feel at all--now appeared
to have been almost within reach of his attainment,
and yet, by some inimical power,
was placed at a greater and more uncertain
distance than she had ever been. Lord Albert
was not a weak character: but who is not
weak, while they admit passion, and not principle,
to guide their conduct.
At length, after having run over the subjects
of his last night's perturbed reflections,
the decision to which he came was one, that
feeling alone, unaided by moral and religious
principle, was likely to conduct him to; and
he determined to pursue a middle course,
without making known his suspicions. He
resolved to miss no opportunity of observation,
till he should either have his fears dispelled
or confirmed concerning Mr. Foley. He
argued, that to speak openly to Lady Adeline,
would _not_ be to know the truth. Perhaps
she would not break from her engagement,
from a motive of delicacy as a woman, however
much she might wish to do so; and it
was left for him to free her from a chain
which was no longer voluntarily worn.
The more he reflected the more he thought
the intricacy of the case required this delicacy
on his part. She may not, he thought,
be herself aware of the nature of the attachment
she feels for me; compliance with her
parent's wishes, habit, duty, the kindly affection
of a sister's love, may be all that she
has felt towards myself; and now, for the
first time, she may experience the overpowering
nature of love. This must be what Lady
Hamlet Vernon alluded to; and if it is really
so, I should mar her happiness as well as my
own, by leading her to fulfil such a joyless
engagement. Oh, if indeed Lady Hamlet Vernon
has saved me from the wretchedness
which a marriage, under these circumstances,
with Adeline, must have produced, what
do I not owe her--gratitude--friendship--He
hesitated even in thought--he hesitated
to pronounce the word love; but a glow of
feverish rapture passed through his heart as
he recalled Lady Hamlet Vernon's beauty, her
fascination, her evident partiality for himself.
Yes, I must sift this matter to the utmost; I
must have irrefragable proofs of Adeline's
unshaken truth; nay more, of my being the
decided and sole chosen object of her truest
affections: and in the interim I will see her
frequently--see her in the world as well as in
retirement--and not allow myself to be blinded
by the specious veil which hitherto habit,
perhaps, has rendered equally deceptive to
both.
Could Lord Albert have known this to be
the self-same decision that Lady Adeline and
Lady Dunmelraise had come to in regard to
himself, it would have gone far to have settled
his determination at once, and to have
hastened a declaration which must have
confirmed his union with Lady Adeline. The
fatal security however of thinking that, under
all circumstances, Lady Adeline would keep
her engagement with him, whatever he might
ultimately decide upon, made him the more
apprehensive of owing her possession to any
motive save that of pure attachment; and
it may be also (for the heart is deceitful above
all things) that, resting on this very security,
he had allowed his feelings to betray him imperceptibly
into an aberration from their
natural channel, till at length he could not
distinguish truth from falsehood, and would
too certainly deplore his error when the remedy
was past his power.
Under the false but specious reasoning, then,
in which he now indulged, he strengthened
himself in his determination to pursue the plan
he had laid down, namely, of watching the
feelings and conduct of Lady Adeline in silence,
and of endeavouring to elicit from
Lady Hamlet Vernon, in whose friendship
and interest he placed a fatal but implicit
confidence, some of the grounds upon which
her mysterious words rested. With this decision
he prepared to go to South Audley
Street.