The state of my feelings may be easily conceived to consist of mixed,
but, on the whole, of agreeable, sensations. The death of Hadwin and his
elder daughter could not be thought upon without keen regrets. These it
was useless to indulge, and were outweighed by reflections on the
personal security in which the survivor was now placed. It was hurtful
to expend my unprofitable cares upon the dead, while there existed one
to whom they could be of essential benefit, and in whose happiness they
would find an ample compensation.
This happiness, however, was still incomplete. It was still exposed to
hazard, and much remained to be done before adequate provision was made
against the worst of evils, poverty. I now found that Eliza, being only
fifteen years old, stood in need of a guardian, and that the forms of
law required that some one should make himself her father's
administrator. Mr. Curling, being tolerably conversant with these
subjects, pointed out the mode to be pursued, and engaged to act on this
occasion as Eliza's friend.
There was another topic on which my happiness, as well as that of my
friend, required us to form some decision. I formerly mentioned, that,
during my abode at Malverton, I had not been insensible to the
attractions of this girl. An affection had stolen upon me, for which it
was easily discovered that I should not have been denied a suitable
return. My reasons for stifling these emotions, at that time, have been
mentioned. It may now be asked, what effect subsequent events had
produced on my feelings, and how far partaking and relieving her
distresses had revived a passion which may readily be supposed to have
been, at no time, entirely extinguished.
The impediments which then existed were removed. Our union would no
longer risk the resentment or sorrow of her excellent parent. She had no
longer a sister to divide with her the property of the farm, and make
what was sufficient for both, when living together, too little for
either separately. Her youth and simplicity required, beyond most
others, a legal protector, and her happiness was involved in the success
of those hopes which she took no pains to conceal.
As to me, it seemed at first view as if every incident conspired to
determine my choice. Omitting all regard to the happiness of others, my
own interest could not fail to recommend a scheme by which the precious
benefits of competence and independence might be honestly obtained. The
excursions of my fancy had sometimes carried me beyond the bounds
prescribed by my situation, but they were, nevertheless, limited to that
field to which I had once some prospect of acquiring a title. All I
wanted for the basis of my gaudiest and most dazzling structures was a
hundred acres of plough-land and meadow. Here my spirit of improvement,
my zeal to invent and apply new maxims of household luxury and
convenience, new modes and instruments of tillage, new arts connected
with orchard, garden, and cornfield, were supplied with abundant scope.
Though the want of these would not benumb my activity, or take away
content, the possession would confer exquisite and permanent enjoyments.
My thoughts have ever hovered over the images of wife and children with
more delight than over any other images. My fancy was always active on
this theme, and its reveries sufficiently ecstatic and glowing; but,
since my intercourse with this girl, my scattered visions were collected
and concentrated. I had now a form and features before me; a sweet and
melodious voice vibrated in my ear; my soul was filled, as it were, with
her lineaments and gestures, actions and looks. All ideas, possessing
any relation to beauty or sex, appeared to assume this shape. They kept
an immovable place in my mind, they diffused around them an ineffable
complacency. Love is merely of value as a prelude to a more tender,
intimate, and sacred union. Was I not in love? and did I not pant after
the irrevocable bounds, the boundless privileges, of wedlock?
The question which others might ask, I have asked myself:--Was I not in
love? I am really at a loss for an answer. There seemed to be
irresistible weight in the reasons why I should refuse to marry, and
even forbear to foster love in my friend. I considered my youth, my
defective education, and my limited views. I had passed from my cottage
into the world. I had acquired, even in my transient sojourn among the
busy haunts of men, more knowledge than the lucubrations and employments
of all my previous years had conferred. Hence I might infer the
childlike immaturity of my understanding, and the rapid progress I was
still capable of making. Was this an age to form an irrevocable
contract; to choose the companion of my future life, the associate of my
schemes of intellectual and benevolent activity?
I had reason to contemn my own acquisitions; but were not those of Eliza
still more slender? Could I rely upon the permanence of her equanimity
and her docility to my instructions? What qualities might not time
unfold, and how little was I qualified to estimate the character of one
whom no vicissitude or hardship had approached before the death of her
father,--whose ignorance was, indeed, great, when it could justly be
said even to exceed my own!
Should I mix with the world, enroll myself in different classes of
society, be a witness to new scenes; might not my modes of judging
undergo essential variations? Might I not gain the knowledge of beings
whose virtue was the gift of experience and the growth of knowledge? who
joined to the modesty and charms of woman the benefits of education, the
maturity and steadfastness of age, and with whose character and
sentiments my own would be much more congenial than they could possibly
be with the extreme youth, rustic simplicity, and mental imperfections
of Eliza Hadwin?
To say truth, I was now conscious of a revolution in my mind. I can
scarcely assign its true cause. No tokens of it appeared during my late
retreat to Malverton. Subsequent incidents, perhaps, joined with the
influence of meditation, had generated new views. On my first visit to
the city, I had met with nothing but scenes of folly, depravity, and
cunning. No wonder that the images connected with the city were
disastrous and gloomy; but my second visit produced somewhat different
impressions. Maravegli, Estwick, Medlicote, and you, were beings who
inspired veneration and love. Your residence appeared to beautify and
consecrate this spot, and gave birth to an opinion that, if cities are
the chosen seats of misery and vice, they are likewise the soil of all
the laudable and strenuous productions of mind.
My curiosity and thirst of knowledge had likewise received a new
direction. Books and inanimate nature were cold and lifeless
instructors. Men, and the works of men, were the objects of rational
study, and our own eyes only could communicate just conceptions of human
performances. The influence of manners, professions, and social
institutions, could be thoroughly known only by direct inspection.
Competence, fixed property and a settled abode, rural occupations and
conjugal pleasures, were justly to be prized; but their value could be
known and their benefits fully enjoyed only by those who have tried all
scenes; who have mixed with all classes and ranks; who have partaken of
all conditions; and who have visited different hemispheres and climates
and nations. The next five or eight years of my life should be devoted
to activity and change; it should be a period of hardship, danger, and
privation; it should be my apprenticeship to fortitude and wisdom, and
be employed to fit me for the tranquil pleasures and steadfast exertions
of the remainder of my life.
In consequence of these reflections, I determined to suppress that
tenderness which the company of Miss Hadwin produced, to remove any
mistakes into which she had fallen, and to put it out of my power to
claim for her more than the dues of friendship. All ambiguities, in a
case like this, and all delays, were hurtful. She was not exempt from
passion, but this passion, I thought, was young, and easily
extinguished.
In a short time her health was restored, and her grief melted down into
a tender melancholy. I chose a suitable moment, when not embarrassed by
the presence of others, to reveal my thoughts. My disclosure was
ingenuous and perfect. I laid before her the whole train of my thoughts,
nearly in the order, though in different and more copious terms than
those, in which I have just explained them to you. I concealed nothing.
The impression which her artless loveliness had made upon me at
Malverton; my motives for estranging myself from her society; the nature
of my present feelings with regard to her, and my belief of the state of
her heart; the reasonings into which I had entered; the advantages of
wedlock and its inconveniences; and, finally, the resolution I had
formed of seeking the city, and, perhaps, of crossing the ocean, were
minutely detailed.
She interrupted me not, but changing looks, blushes, flutterings, and
sighs, showed her to be deeply and variously affected by my discourse. I
paused for some observation or comment. She seemed conscious of my
expectation, but had no power to speak. Overpowered, at length, by her
emotions, she burst into tears.
I was at a loss in what manner to construe these symptoms. I waited till
her vehemence was somewhat subsided, and then said, "What think you of
my schemes? Your approbation is of some moment: do you approve of them
or not?"
This question excited some little resentment, and she answered, "You
have left me nothing to say. Go, and be happy; no matter what becomes of
me. I hope I shall be able to take care of myself."
The tone in which this was said had something in it of upbraiding. "Your
happiness," said I, "is too dear to me to leave it in danger. In this
house you will not need my protection, but I shall never be so far from
you as to be disabled from hearing how you fare, by letter, and of being
active for your good. You have some money, which you must husband well.
Any rent from your farm cannot be soon expected; but what you have got,
if you remain with Mr. Curling, will pay your board and all other
expenses for two years; but you must be a good economist. I shall
expect," continued I, with a serious smile, "a punctual account of all
your sayings and doings. I must know how every minute is employed and
every penny is expended, and, if I find you erring, I must tell you so
in good round terms."
These words did not dissipate the sullenness which her looks had
betrayed. She still forbore to look at me, and said, "I do not know how
I should tell you every thing. You care so little about me that--I
should only be troublesome. I am old enough to think and act for myself,
and shall advise with nobody but myself."
"That is true," said I. "I shall rejoice to see you independent and
free. Consult your own understanding, and act according to its dictates.
Nothing more is wanting to make you useful and happy. I am anxious to
return to the city, but, if you will allow me, will go first to
Malverton, see that things are in due order, and that old Caleb is well.
From thence, if you please, I will call at your uncle's, and tell him
what has happened. He may, otherwise, entertain pretensions and form
views erroneous in themselves and injurious to you. He may think himself
entitled to manage your estate. He may either suppose a will to have
been made, or may actually have heard from your father, or from others,
of that which you burnt, and in which he was named executor. His
boisterous and sordid temper may prompt him to seize your house and
goods, unless seasonably apprized of the truth; and, when he knows the
truth, he may start into rage, which I shall be more fitted to encounter
than you. I am told that anger transforms him into a ferocious madman.
Shall I call upon him?"
She shuddered at the picture which I had drawn of her uncle's character;
but this emotion quickly gave place to self-upbraiding for the manner in
which she had repelled my proffers of service. She melted once more into
tears, and exclaimed,--
"I am not worthy of the pains you take for me. I am unfeeling and
ungrateful. Why should I think ill of you for despising me, when I
despise myself?"
"You do yourself injustice, my friend. I think I see your most secret
thoughts; and these, instead of exciting anger or contempt, only awaken
compassion and tenderness. You love; and must, therefore, conceive my
conduct to be perverse and cruel. I counted on your harbouring such
thoughts. Time only and reflection will enable you to see my motives in
their true light. Hereafter you will recollect my words, and find them
sufficient to justify my conduct. You will acknowledge the propriety of
my engaging in the cares of the world before I sit down in retirement
and ease."
"Ah! how much you mistake me! I admire and approve of your schemes. What
angers and distresses me is, that you think me unworthy to partake of
your cares and labours; that you regard my company as an obstacle and
encumbrance; that assistance and counsel must all proceed from you; and
that no scene is fit for me, but what you regard as slothful and
inglorious.
"Have I not the same claims to be wise, and active, and courageous, as
you? If I am ignorant and weak, do I not owe it to the same cause that
has made you so? and will not the same means which promote your
improvement be likewise useful to me? You desire to obtain knowledge, by
travelling and conversing with many persons, and studying many sciences;
but you desire it for yourself alone. Me you think poor, weak, and
contemptible; fit for nothing but to spin and churn. Provided I exist,
am screened from the weather, have enough to eat and drink, you are
satisfied. As to strengthening my mind and enlarging my knowledge, these
things are valuable to you, but on me they are thrown away. I deserve
not the gift."
This strain, simple and just as it was, was wholly unexpected. I was
surprised and disconcerted. In my previous reasonings I had certainly
considered her sex as utterly unfitting her for those scenes and
pursuits to which I had destined myself. Not a doubt of the validity of
my conclusion had insinuated itself; but now my belief was shaken,
though it was not subverted. I could not deny that human ignorance was
curable by the same means in one sex as in the other; that fortitude
and skill were of no less value to one than to the other.
Questionless, my friend was rendered, by her age and inexperience, if
not by sex, more helpless and dependent than I; but had I not been prone
to overrate the difficulties which I should encounter? Had I not deemed
unjustly of her constancy and force of mind? Marriage would render her
property joint, and would not compel me to take up my abode in the
woods, to abide forever in one spot, to shackle my curiosity, or limit
my excursions.
But marriage was a contract awful and irrevocable. Was this the woman
with whom my reason enjoined me to blend my fate, without the power of
dissolution? Would not time unfold qualities in her which I did not at
present suspect, and which would evince an incurable difference in our
minds? Would not time lead me to the feet of one who more nearly
approached that standard of ideal excellence which poets and romancers
had exhibited to my view?
These considerations were powerful and delicate. I knew not in what
terms to state them to my companion, so as to preclude the imputation of
arrogance or indecorum. It became me, however, to be explicit, and to
excite her resentment rather than mislead her judgment. She collected my
meaning from a few words, and, interrupting me, said,--
"How very low is the poor Eliza in your opinion! We are, indeed, both
too young to be married. May I not see you, and talk with you, without
being your wife? May I not share your knowledge, relieve your cares, and
enjoy your confidence, as a sister might do? May I not accompany you in
your journeys and studies, as one friend accompanies another? My
property may be yours; you may employ it for your benefit and mine; not
because you are my husband, but my friend. You are going to the city.
Let me go along with you. Let me live where you live. The house that is
large enough to hold you will hold me. The fare that is good enough for
you will be luxury to me. Oh! let it be so, will you?
"You cannot think how studious, how thoughtful, how inquisitive, I will
be. How tenderly I will nurse you when sick! it is possible you may be
sick, you know, and, no one in the world will be half so watchful and
affectionate as I shall be. Will you let me?"
In saying this, her earnestness gave new pathos to her voice. Insensibly
she put her face close to mine, and, transported beyond the usual bounds
of reserve by the charms of that picture which her fancy contemplated,
she put her lips to my cheek, and repeated, in a melting accent, "Will
you let me?"
You, my friends, who have not seen Eliza Hadwin, cannot conceive what
effect this entreaty was adapted to produce in me. She has surely the
sweetest voice, the most speaking features, and most delicate symmetry,
that ever woman possessed. Her guileless simplicity and tenderness made
her more enchanting. To be the object of devotion to a heart so fervent
and pure was, surely, no common privilege. Thus did she tender me
herself; and was not the gift to be received with eagerness and
gratitude?
No. I was not so much a stranger to mankind as to acquiesce in this
scheme. As my sister or my wife, the world would suffer us to reside
under the same roof; to apply to common use the same property; and daily
to enjoy the company of each other; but she was not my sister, and
marriage would be an act of the grossest indiscretion. I explained to
her, in few words, the objections to which her project was liable.
"Well, then," said she, "let me live in the next house, in the
neighbourhood, or, at least, in the same city. Let me be where I may see
you once a day, or once a week, or once a month. Shut me not wholly from
your society, and the means of becoming, in time, less ignorant and
foolish than I now am."
After a pause, I replied, "I love you too well not to comply with this
request. Perhaps the city will be as suitable a residence as any other
for you, as it will, for some time, be most convenient to me. I shall be
better able to watch over your welfare, and supply you with the means of
improvement, when you are within a small distance. At present, you must
consent to remain here, while I visit your uncle, and afterwards go to
the city. I shall look out for you a suitable lodging, and inform you
when it is found. If you then continue in the same mind, I will come,
and, having gained the approbation of Mr. Curling, will conduct you to
town." Here ended our dialogue.