This incident necessarily produced a change in my views with regard to
my friend. Her fortune consisted of a few hundreds of dollars, which,
frugally administered, might procure decent accommodation in the
country. When this was consumed, she must find subsistence in tending
the big wheel or the milk-pail, unless fortune should enable me to place
her in a more favourable situation. This state was, in some respects,
but little different from that in which she had spent the former part of
her life; but, in her father's house, these employments were dignified
by being, in some degree, voluntary, and relieved by frequent intervals
of recreation and leisure. Now they were likely to prove irksome and
servile, in consequence of being performed for hire and imposed by
necessity. Equality, parental solicitudes, and sisterly endearments,
would be wanting to lighten the yoke.
These inconveniences, however, were imaginary. This was the school in
which fortitude and independence were to be learned. Habit, and the
purity of rural manners, would, likewise, create anew those ties which
death had dissolved. The affections of parent and sister would be
supplied by the fonder and more rational attachments of friendship.
These toils were not detrimental to beauty or health. What was to be
dreaded from them was their tendency to quench the spirit of liberal
curiosity; to habituate the person to bodily, rather than intellectual,
exertions; to supersede and create indifference or aversion to the only
instruments of rational improvement, the pen and the book.
This evil, however, was at some distance from Eliza. Her present abode
was quiet and serene. Here she might enjoy domestic pleasures and
opportunities of mental improvement for the coming twelvemonth at least.
This period would, perhaps, be sufficient for the formation of studious
habits. What schemes should be adopted for this end would be determined
by the destiny to which I myself should be reserved.
My path was already chalked out, and my fancy now pursued it with
uncommon pleasure. To reside in your family; to study your profession;
to pursue some subordinate or casual mode of industry, by which I might
purchase leisure for medical pursuits, for social recreations, and for
the study of mankind on your busy and thronged stage, was the scope of
my wishes. This destiny would not hinder punctual correspondence and
occasional visits to Eliza. Her pen might be called into action, and her
mind be awakened by books, and every hour be made to add to her stores
of knowledge and enlarge the bounds of her capacity.
I was spiritless and gloomy when I left ----; but reflections on my
future lot, and just views of the situation of my friend, insensibly
restored my cheerfulness. I arrived at Mr. Curling's in the evening, and
hastened to impart to Eliza the issue of my commission. It gave her
uneasiness, merely as it frustrated the design, on which she had fondly
mused, of residing in the city. She was somewhat consoled by my promises
of being her constant correspondent and occasional visitor.
Next morning I set out on my journey hither, on foot. The way was not
long; the weather, though cold, was wholesome and serene. My spirits
were high, and I saw nothing in the world before me but sunshine and
prosperity. I was conscious that my happiness depended not on the
revolutions of nature or the caprice of man. All without was, indeed,
vicissitude and uncertainty; but within my bosom was a centre not to be
shaken or removed. My purposes were honest and steadfast. Every sense
was the inlet of pleasure, because it was the avenue of knowledge; and
my soul brooded over the world to ideas, and glowed with exultation at
the grandeur and beauty of its own creations.
This felicity was too rapturous to be of long duration. I gradually
descended from these heights; and the remembrance of past incidents,
connected with the images of your family, to which I was returning, led
my thoughts into a different channel. Welbeck and the unhappy girl whom
he had betrayed; Mrs. Villars and Wallace, were recollected anew. The
views which I had formed, for determining the fate and affording
assistance to Clemenza, were recalled. My former resolutions with regard
to her had been suspended by the uncertainty in which the fate of the
Hadwins was, at that time, wrapped. Had it not become necessary wholly
to lay aside these resolutions?
That, indeed, was an irksome conclusion. No wonder that I struggled to
repel it; that I fostered the doubt whether money was the only
instrument of benefit; whether caution, and fortitude, and knowledge,
were not the genuine preservatives from evil. Had I not the means in my
hands of dispelling her fatal ignorance of Welbeck and of those with
whom she resided? Was I not authorized, by my previous though slender
intercourse, to seek her presence?
Suppose I should enter Mrs. Villars's house, desire to be introduced to
the lady, accost her with affectionate simplicity, and tell her the
truth? Why be anxious to smooth the way? why deal in apologies,
circuities, and innuendoes? All these are feeble and perverse
refinements, unworthy of an honest purpose and an erect spirit. To
believe her inaccessible to my visit was absurd. To wait for the
permission of those whose interest it might be to shut out visitants was
cowardice. This was an infringement of her liberty which equity and law
equally condemned. By what right could she be restrained from
intercourse with others? Doors and passages may be between her and me.
With a purpose such as mine, no one had a right to close the one or
obstruct the other. Away with cowardly reluctances and clownish
scruples, and let me hasten this moment to her dwelling.
Mrs. Villars is the portress of the mansion. She will probably present
herself before me, and demand the reason of my visit. What shall I say
to her? The truth. To falter, or equivocate, or dissemble to this woman
would be wicked. Perhaps her character has been misunderstood and
maligned. Can I render her a greater service than to apprize her of the
aspersions that have rested on it, and afford her the opportunity of
vindication? Perhaps she is indeed selfish and profligate; the betrayer
of youth and the agent of lasciviousness. Does she not deserve to know
the extent of her errors and the ignominy of her trade? Does she not
merit the compassion of the good and the rebukes of the wise? To shrink
from the task would prove me cowardly and unfirm. Thus far, at least,
let my courage extend.
Alas! Clemenza is unacquainted with my language. My thoughts cannot make
themselves apparent but by words, and to my words she will be able to
affix no meaning. Yet is not that a hasty decision? The version from the
dramas of Zeno which I found in her toilet was probably hers, and proves
her to have a speculative knowledge of our tongue. Near half a year has
since elapsed, during which she has dwelt with talkers of English, and
consequently could not fail to have acquired it. This conclusion is
somewhat dubious, but experiment will give it certainty.
Hitherto I had strolled along the path at a lingering pace. Time enough,
methought, to reach your threshold between sunrise and moonlight, if my
way had been three times longer than it was. You were the pleasing
phantom that hovered before me and beckoned me forward. What a total
revolution had occurred in the course of a few seconds! for thus long
did my reasonings with regard to Clemenza and the Villars require to
pass through my understanding, and escape, in half-muttered soliloquy,
from my lips. My muscles trembled with eagerness, and I bounded forward
with impetuosity. I saw nothing but a vista of catalpas, leafless,
loaded with icicles, and terminating in four chimneys and a painted
roof. My fancy outstripped my footsteps, and was busy in picturing faces
and rehearsing dialogues. Presently I reached this new object of my
pursuit, darted through the avenue, noticed that some windows of the
house were unclosed, drew thence a hasty inference that the house was
not without inhabitants, and knocked, quickly and loudly, for admission.
Some one within crept to the door, opened it with seeming caution, and
just far enough to allow the face to be seen. It was the timid, pale,
and unwashed face of a girl who was readily supposed to be a servant,
taken from a cottage, and turned into a bringer of wood and water and a
scourer of tubs and trenches. She waited in timorous silence the
delivery of my message. Was Mrs. Villars at home?
"No; she has gone to town."
Were any of her daughters within?
She could not tell; she believed--she thought--which did I want? Miss
Hetty or Miss Sally?
"Let me see Miss Hetty." Saying this, I pushed gently against the door.
The girl, half reluctant, yielded way; I entered the passage, and,
putting my hand on the lock of a door that seemed to lead into a
parlour,--"Is Miss Hetty in this room?"
No; there was nobody there.
"Go call her, then. Tell her there is one who wishes to see her on
important business. I will wait for her coming in this room." So saying,
I opened the door, and entered the apartment, while the girl withdrew to
perform my message.
The parlour was spacious and expensively furnished, but an air of
negligence and disorder was everywhere visible. The carpet was wrinkled
and unswept; a clock on the table, in a glass frame, so streaked and
spotted with dust as scarcely to be transparent, and the index
motionless, and pointing at four instead of nine; embers scattered on
the marble hearth, and tongs lying on the fender with the handle in the
ashes; a harpsichord, uncovered, one end loaded with _scores_, tumbled
together in a heap, and the other with volumes of novels and plays, some
on their edges, some on their backs, gaping open by the scorching of
their covers; rent; blurred; stained; blotted; dog-eared; tables awry;
chairs crowding each other; in short, no object but indicated the
neglect or the ignorance of domestic neatness and economy.
My leisure was employed in surveying these objects, and in listening
for the approach of Miss Hetty. Some minutes elapsed, and no one came. A
reason for delay was easily imagined, and I summoned patience to wait. I
opened a book; touched the instrument; surveyed the vases on the
mantel-tree; the figures on the hangings, and the print of Apollo and
the Sibyl, taken from Salvator, and hung over the chimney. I eyed my own
shape and garb in the mirror, and asked how my rustic appearance would
be regarded by that supercilious and voluptuous being to whom I was
about to present myself.
Presently the latch of the door was softly moved: it opened, and the
simpleton, before described, appeared. She spoke, but her voice was so
full of hesitation, and so near a whisper, that much attention was
needed to make out her words:--Miss Hetty was not at home; she was gone
to town with her _mistress_.
This was a tale not to be credited. How was I to act? She persisted in
maintaining the truth of it.--"Well, then," said I, at length, "tell
Miss Sally that I wish to speak with her. She will answer my purpose
just as well."
Miss Sally was not at home neither. She had gone to town too. They would
not be back, she did not know when; not till night, she supposed. It was
so indeed; none of them wasn't at home; none but she and Nanny in the
kitchen: indeed there wasn't.
"Go tell Nanny to come here; I will leave my message with her." She
withdrew, but Nanny did not receive the summons, or thought proper not
to obey it. All was vacant and still.
My state was singular and critical. It was absurd to prolong it; but to
leave the house with my errand unexecuted would argue imbecility and
folly. To ascertain Clemenza's presence in this house, and to gain an
interview, were yet in my power. Had I not boasted of my intrepidity in
braving denials and commands when they endeavoured to obstruct my
passage to this woman? But here were no obstacles nor prohibition.
Suppose the girl had said truth, that the matron and her daughters were
absent, and that Nanny and herself were the only guardians of the
mansion. So much the better. My design will not be opposed. I have only
to mount the stair, and go from one room to another till I find what I
seek.
There was hazard, as well as plausibility, in this scheme. I thought it
best once more to endeavour to extort information from the girl, and
persuade her to be my guide to whomsoever the house contained. I put my
hand to the bell and rung a brisk peal. No one came. I passed into the
entry, to the foot of a staircase, and to a back-window. Nobody was
within hearing or sight.
Once more I reflected on the rectitude of my intentions, on the
possibility that the girl's assertions might be true, on the benefits of
expedition, and of gaining access to the object of my visit without
interruption or delay. To these considerations was added a sort of
charm, not easily explained, and by no means justifiable, produced by
the very temerity and hazardness accompanying this attempt. I thought,
with scornful emotions, on the bars and hinderances which pride, and
caprice, and delusive maxims of decorum, raise in the way of human
intercourse. I spurned at these semblances and substitutes of honesty,
and delighted to shake such fetters into air and trample such
impediments to dust. I wanted to see a human being, in order to promote
her happiness. It was doubtful whether she was within twenty paces of
the spot where I stood. The doubt was to be solved. How? By examining
the space. I forthwith proceeded to examine it. I reached the second
story. I approached a door that was closed. I knocked. After a pause, a
soft voice said, "Who is there?"
The accents were as musical as those of Clemenza, but were in other
respects different. I had no topic to discuss with this person. I
answered not, yet hesitated to withdraw. Presently the same voice was
again heard:--"What is it you want? Why don't you answer? Come in!" I
complied with the command, and entered the room.
It was deliberation and foresight that led me hither, and not chance or
caprice. Hence, instead of being disconcerted or vanquished by the
objects that I saw, I was tranquil and firm. My curiosity, however, made
me a vigilant observer. Two females, arrayed with voluptuous negligence,
in a manner adapted to the utmost seclusion, and seated in a careless
attitude on a sofa, were now discovered.
Both darted glances at the door. One, who appeared to be the youngest,
no sooner saw me, than she shrieked, and, starting from her seat,
betrayed in the looks which she successively cast upon me, on herself,
and on the chamber, whose apparatus was in no less confusion than that
of the apartment below, her consciousness of the unseasonableness of
this meeting.
The other shrieked likewise, but in her it seemed to be the token of
surprise rather than that of terror. There was, probably, somewhat in my
aspect and garb that suggested an apology for this intrusion, as arising
from simplicity and mistake. She thought proper, however, to assume the
air of one offended, and, looking sternly,--"How now, fellow," said she,
"what is this? Why come you hither?"
This questioner was of mature age, but had not passed the period of
attractiveness and grace. All the beauty that nature had bestowed was
still retained, but the portion had never been great. What she possessed
was so modelled and embellished by such a carriage and dress as to give
it most power over the senses of the gazer. In proportion, however, as
it was intended and adapted to captivate those who know none but
physical pleasures, it was qualified to breed distaste and aversion in
me.
I am sensible how much error may have lurked in this decision. I had
brought with me the belief of their being unchaste; and seized, perhaps
with too much avidity, any appearance that coincided with my
prepossessions. Yet the younger by no means inspired the same disgust;
though I had no reason to suppose her more unblemished than the elder.
Her modesty seemed unaffected, and was by no means satisfied, like that
of the elder, with defeating future curiosity. The consciousness of what
had already been exposed filled her with confusion, and she would have
flown away, if her companion had not detained her by some degree of
force. "What ails the girl? There's nothing to be frightened at.
Fellow!" she repeated, "what brings you here?"
I advanced and stood before them. I looked steadfastly, but, I believe,
with neither effrontery nor anger, on the one who addressed me. I spoke
in a tone serious and emphatical. "I come for the sake of speaking to a
woman who formerly resided in this house, and probably resides here
still. Her name is Clemenza Lodi. If she be here, I request you to
conduct me to her instantly."
Methought I perceived some inquietude, a less imperious and more
inquisitive air, in this woman, on hearing the name of Clemenza. It was
momentary, and gave way to peremptory looks. "What is your business with
her? And why did you adopt this mode of inquiry? A very extraordinary
intrusion! Be good enough to leave the chamber. Any questions proper to
be answered will be answered below."
"I meant not to intrude or offend. It was not an idle or impertinent
motive that led me hither. I waited below for some time after soliciting
an audience of you through the servant. She assured me you were absent,
and laid me under the necessity of searching for Clemenza Lodi myself,
and without a guide. I am anxious to withdraw, and request merely to be
directed to the room which she occupies."
"I direct you," replied she, in a more resolute tone, "to quit the room
and the house."
"Impossible, madam," I replied, still looking at her earnestly; "leave
the house without seeing her! You might as well enjoin me to pull the
Andes on my head!--to walk barefoot to Pekin! Impossible!"
Some solicitude was now mingled with her anger. "This is strange
insolence! unaccountable behaviour!--begone from my room! will you
compel me to call the gentlemen?"
"Be not alarmed," said I, with augmented mildness. There was, indeed,
compassion and sorrow at my heart, and these must have somewhat
influenced my looks. "Be not alarmed. I came to confer a benefit, not to
perpetrate an injury. I came not to censure or expostulate with you,
but merely to counsel and aid a being that needs both; all I want is to
see her. In this chamber I sought not you, but her. Only lead me to her,
or tell me where she is. I will then rid you of my presence."
"Will you compel me to call those who will punish this insolence as it
deserves?"
"Dearest madam! I compel you to nothing. I merely supplicate. I would
ask you to lead me to these gentlemen, if I did not know that there are
none but females in the house. It is you who must receive and comply
with my petition. Allow me a moment's interview with Clemenza Lodi.
Compliance will harm you not, but will benefit her. What is your
objection?"
"This is the strangest proceeding! the most singular conduct! Is this a
place fit to parley with you? I warn you of the consequence of staying a
moment longer. Depend upon it, you will sorely repent it."
"You are obdurate," said I, and turned towards the younger, who listened
to this discourse in tremors and panic. I took her hand with an air of
humility and reverence. "Here," said I, "there seems to be purity,
innocence, and condescension. I took this house to be the temple of
voluptuousness. Females I expected to find in it, but such only as
traded in licentious pleasures; specious, perhaps not destitute of
talents, beauty, and address, but dissolute and wanton, sensual and
avaricious; yet in this countenance and carriage there are tokens of
virtue. I am born to be deceived, and the semblance of modesty is
readily assumed. Under this veil, perhaps, lurk a tainted heart and
depraved appetites. Is it so?"
She made me no answer, but somewhat in her looks seemed to evince that
my favourable prepossessions were just. I noticed likewise that the
alarm of the elder was greatly increased by this address to her
companion. The thought suddenly occurred that this girl might be in
circumstances not unlike those of Clemenza Lodi; that she was not
apprized of the character of her associates, and might by this meeting
be rescued from similar evils.
This suspicion filled me with tumultuous feelings. Clemenza was for a
time forgotten. I paid no attention to the looks or demeanour of the
elder, but was wholly occupied in gazing on the younger. My anxiety to
know the truth gave pathos and energy to my tones while I spoke:--
"Who, where, what are you? Do you reside in this house? Are you a sister
or daughter in this family, or merely a visitant? Do you know the
character, profession, and views of your companions? Do you deem them
virtuous, or know them to be profligate? Speak! tell me, I beseech you!"
The maiden confusion which had just appeared in the countenance of this
person now somewhat abated. She lifted her eyes, and glanced by turns at
me and at her who sat by her side. An air of serious astonishment
overspread her features, and she seemed anxious for me to proceed. The
elder, meanwhile, betrayed the utmost alarm, again upbraided my
audacity, commanded me to withdraw, and admonished me of the danger I
incurred by lingering.
I noticed not her interference, but again entreated to know of the
younger her true state. She had no time to answer me, supposing her not
to want the inclination, for every pause was filled by the clamorous
importunities and menaces of the other. I began to perceive that my
attempts were useless to this end, but the chief and most estimable
purpose was attainable. It was in my power to state the knowledge I
possessed, through your means, of Mrs. Villars and her daughters. This
information might be superfluous, since she to whom it was given might
be one of this licentious family. The contrary, however, was not
improbable, and my tidings, therefore, might be of the utmost moment to
her safety.
A resolute and even impetuous manner reduced my incessant interrupter to
silence. What I had to say, I compressed in a few words, and adhered to
perspicuity and candour with the utmost care. I still held the hand that
I had taken, and fixed my eyes upon her countenance with a steadfastness
that hindered her from lifting her eyes.
"I know you not; whether you be dissolute or chaste, I cannot tell. In
either case, however, what I am going to say will be useful. Let me
faithfully repeat what I have heard. It is mere rumour, and I vouch not
for its truth. Rumour as it is, I submit it to your judgment, and hope
that it may guide you into paths of innocence and honour.
"Mrs. Villars and her three daughters are Englishwomen, who supported
for a time an unblemished reputation, but who, at length, were suspected
of carrying on the trade of prostitution. This secret could not be
concealed forever. The profligates who frequented their house betrayed
them. One of them, who died under their roof, after they had withdrawn
from it into the country, disclosed to his kinsman, who attended his
death-bed, their genuine character.
"The dying man likewise related incidents in which I am deeply
concerned. I have been connected with one by name Welbeck. In his house
I met an unfortunate girl, who was afterwards removed to Mrs. Villars's.
Her name was Clemenza Lodi. Residence in this house, under the control
of a woman like Mrs. Villars and her daughters, must be injurious to her
innocence, and from this control I now come to rescue her."
I turned to the elder, and continued,--"By all that is sacred, I adjure
you to tell me whether Clemenza Lodi be under this roof! If she be not,
whither has she gone? To know this I came hither, and any difficulty or
reluctance in answering will be useless; till an answer be obtained, I
will not go hence."
During this speech, anger had been kindling in the bosom of this woman.
It now burst upon me in a torrent of opprobrious epithets. I was a
villain, a calumniator, a thief. I had lurked about the house, till
those whose sex and strength enabled them to cope with me had gone. I
had entered these doors by fraud. I was a wretch, guilty of the last
excesses of insolence and insult.
To repel these reproaches, or endure them, was equally useless. The
satisfaction that I sought was only to be gained by searching the house.
I left the room without speaking. Did I act illegally in passing from
one story and one room to another? Did I really deserve the imputations
of rashness and insolence? My behaviour, I well know, was ambiguous and
hazardous, and perhaps wanting in discretion, but my motives were
unquestionably pure. I aimed at nothing but the rescue of a human
creature from distress and dishonour.
I pretend not to the wisdom of experience and age; to the praise of
forethought or subtlety. I choose the obvious path, and pursue it with
headlong expedition. Good intentions, unaided by knowledge, will,
perhaps, produce more injury than benefit, and therefore knowledge must
be gained, but the acquisition is not momentary; is not bestowed unasked
and untoiled for. Meanwhile, we must not be inactive because we are
ignorant. Our good purposes must hurry to performance, whether our
knowledge be greater or less.