It is the common failing of an ambitious mind to over-rate itself—to
imagine that it has been, by the caprices of fortune, defrauded of
the high honours due to its supposed superiority. It conceives itself
to have been injured—to have fallen from its destination; and these
unfounded claims become the source of endless discontent. The mind, thus
disappointed, preys upon itself, and compares its present lowliness with
the imaginary heights for which it fancies itself to have been intended.
Under the influence of these reflections, the character grows sullen and
reserved, detaches itself from all social enjoyments, and professes to
despise the honours for which it secretly pines. Mediocrity, and a common
lot, a man of this disposition cannot bring himself to endure; and he
wilfully rejects the little granted, because all cannot be obtained, to
which he once aspired.
In this temper, the Duke of Altamonte had retired from public affairs,
and had quitted the splendour and gaiety of the court, to seek in
retirement that repose which, of all men, he was the least calculated to
appreciate or enjoy. In the society of the duchess, he found all that
could sooth his wounded spirit. In Mrs. Seymour, the duchess’s sister,
he welcomed a mild and unobtrusive guest; and the project of uniting the
Lady Calantha Delaval, his only daughter, to her cousin William Buchanan,
heir presumptive to the Dukedom of Altamonte, and son of his sister Lady
Margaret Buchanan, for some time occupied his hours and engrossed his
attention.
To forward this favourite object, he communicated to them both, that
they were destined for each other; and by employing them in the same
occupations, instructing them in the same studies, by the same masters,
and in every way contriving that they should be continually together he
hoped that early habits, and the first affections of childhood, might
unite their hearts in indissoluble bonds. But how short-sighted, how
little founded in a right knowledge of human nature, was this project!
Habituated to the intimacy which subsists between near relations, was
it probable that love, when the age of that passion arrived, would be
content with objects thus familiar; and that the feelings of the heart
would quietly acquiesce in an arrangement which had been previously formed
upon the calculations of interest and family pride?—On the contrary, the
system pursued in their education, accustomed them to give way to their
violent tempers, without restraint, in their intercourse with each other;
and the frequent recurrence of petty quarrels, soon produced sentiments,
which bordered on dislike; so that at the moment, when the Duke exulted
most in the success of his project, he was painfully undeceived.
Happily, a new event which occurred at this time in the family of the
Duke of Altamonte, soon turned his thoughts from the failure of his
present system of education, the superintendence of which he relinquished
with as much readiness, as he had once shewn anxiety to undertake
it.—The Duchess, after a long period of ill health, was pronounced by
her physicians to be once more in a situation to realize her husband’s
most sanguine hopes.—“If I have a boy,” he cried, “from the hour of his
birth all I possess shall be his. Give me but a son, ye powers who rule
over destiny, and I am content to yield up every other claim, privilege
and possession.”—The wish was heard, and at the appointed time, the
Duchess of Altamonte, after a few hours illness, was delivered of a son
and heir. It was in vain for the Duke, that until this event he said to
himself daily as he arose from his stately bed, that none other was his
rival in wealth or power;—it was in vain that friends surrounded him,
and flatterers attended upon his least commands:—until this unexpected,
and almost unhoped for event, he could not be said to have enjoyed
one hour of felicity, so unwisely did he blind himself to every other
blessing which he possessed; and so ardently solicitous did he suffer
his mind to become, for that one boon which alone had been refused to
his prayers. But since the birth of his son, he looked around him, and
he had nothing left to wish for upon earth; his heart became agitated
with its own satisfaction; and the terror of losing the idol upon which
every feeling and affection was fixed, rendered him more miserable than
he was even before the fulfilment of his wishes.
The education of the lady Calantha and William Buchanan was now entirely
laid aside; the feuds and tumults in the adjacent countries were
disregarded; and he might be said to live alone in those apartments
where, robed in state, and cradled in luxury, the little infant lay
helpless and unconscious of its honours and importance. Not a breath of
air was suffered to blow too rudely upon the most noble and illustrious
Sidney Albert, Marquis of Delaval. The tenants and peasantry flocked,
from far and near, to kneel and do him homage, gazing in stupid wonder on
their future Lord. The Duchess feebly resisted the general voice, which
encouraged an excess of care, hurtful to the health of him, whom all
were but too solicitous to preserve. Yet the boy flourished, unaffected
by this adulation, the endless theme of discussion, the constant object
of still increasing idolatry.
Without delay, the Duke resolved to intimate to his sister, Lady Margaret
Buchanan, who was at Naples, the change which had taken place in her
son’s expectations. He felt the necessity of softening the disappointment
by every soothing expression; and, as he loved her most sincerely he
wrote to urge her immediate return, with all the warmth of fraternal
affection;—informing her at the same time of the circumstance which
at once occasioned his delight, and her disappointment. With what fond
overweaning vanity did he then flatter himself, that she, who was the
next dearest object of his affections, would share his present joy; and
forgetful of the entire ruin of her fondest hope, doat like him upon the
child who had deprived her son of all his expectations! He knew not Lady
Margaret:—less than any other, he knew that fierce spirit which never
yet had been controuled—which deemed itself born to command, and would
have perished sooner than have endured restraint.
At this very period of time, in the prosecution of her sudden and accursed
designs, having bade adieu to brighter climes and more polished manners,
with all the gaiety of apparent innocence, and all the brilliancy of wit
which belong to spirits light as air and a refined and highly cultivated
genius, she was sailing, accompanied by a train of admirers, selected
from the flower of Italy, once again to visit her native country. With
their voices and soft guitars, they chased away the lingering hours;
and after a fair and prosperous voyage, proceeded, with their equipages,
horses and attendants, to Castle Delaval.
Lady Margaret was received with delight at the house of her father, in her
own native land. A burst of applause hailed her first appearance before
the wondering crowd assembled to behold her. Fond of admiration, even from
the lowest, she lingered on the terrace, which commanded the magnificent
scenery of which Castle Delaval was the central object,—leaning upon the
arm of the Duke and bowing gracefully to the people, as if in thanks for
their flattering reception. Buchanan alone met his mother without one
mark of joy. Cold and reserved, from earliest childhood, he had never yet
felt attachment for any other being than himself; and fully engrossed by
the splendour with which he was at all times surrounded, he looked with
indifference on every event which did not promote or prevent his own
personal amusements. He saw many new guests arrive without experiencing
the slightest accession of pleasure; and when those departed whom he
had been in the habit of seeing around him, it seldom cost him even a
momentary regret. He had so long and so frequently been informed that he
was heir of the immense possessions now belonging to his uncle, that he
was overpowered by the sense of his greatness; nor did the commiseration
of his attendants, on his disappointed hopes, awaken him to the conviction
of the great change which had occurred since the birth of the Marquis
of Delaval. Indeed he seemed as indifferent on this occasion as on all
others. Yet whatever his errors, he was at least in person and manner all
that Lady Margaret could wish. She was also much pleased with Calantha,
and thought she traced, in her radiant countenance, some resemblance to
her own.
The Duchess of Altamonte had, in mind and person, won the affections
of all who approached her. She had a countenance in which languor and
delicacy added sensibility and grace, to beauty,—an air of melancholy
half veiled in smiles of sweetness,—and a form soft and fragile as the
bright fictions of a poet’s dream; yet a visible sadness had fallen upon
her spirits, and whilst she appeared alone to sooth and bless every other
heart, she seemed herself in need of consolation. Lady Margaret’s beauty
irresistibly attracted; her wit enlivened; and her manners fascinated—but
the dreadful secrets of her heart appalled!
Lady Margaret was not much liked by Mrs. Seymour, nor by many other of
the guests who frequented the castle. Her foreign domestics, her splendid
attire, her crafty smiles and highly polished manners,—all were in turn
criticised and condemned. But neither prejudice nor vulgarity received
from her lips the slightest censure. She did not even appear to see the
ill will shewn to her. Yet many thought the discords and disasters which
occurred after her arrival in Ireland, were the fruits of her intriguing
spirit, and all soon or late regretted her presence at the castle, till
then, the seat of uninterrupted harmony and almost slumberous repose.