Lady Margaret Delaval, only surviving sister of the Duke of Altamonte,
was born in Ireland, where she remained until her marriage with Captain
Buchanan. She then established herself at Naples; the fleet in which
her husband served being stationed in the Mediterranean sea. After the
birth of her son William, she immediately sent him to Ireland, there
to receive, under her brother’s tuition, an education more fitting the
heir of Altamonte, and the future husband of Lady Calantha Delaval.
Freed from the last tie which had bound her to one feeling of honour
or of virtue, she, without remorse, gave way during the absence of
her child and husband (who accompanied the boy to Ireland) to a life
of extravagance and vice, ensnaring the inexperienced by her art, and
fascinating the most wary by her beauty and her talents. The charms of
her person and the endowments of her mind were worthy of a better fate
than that which she was preparing for herself. But, under the semblance
of youthful gaiety, she concealed a dark intriguing spirit, which could
neither remain at rest, nor satisfy itself in the pursuit of great and
noble objects. She had been hurried on by the evil activity of her own
mind, until the habit of crime had overcome every scruple, and rendered
her insensible to repentance, and almost to remorse. In this career,
she had improved to such a degree her natural talent of dissimulation,
that, under its impenetrable veil, she was able to carry on securely her
darkest machinations; and her understanding had so adapted itself to her
passions, that it was in her power to give, in her own eyes, a character
of grandeur, to the vice and malignity, which afforded an inexplicable
delight to her depraved imagination.
While she was thus indulging her disgraceful inclinations, her heart
became attached with all her characteristic violence to Lord Dartford,
a young English nobleman, who had accompanied the Countess of Glenarvon
to Naples, and who, after passing some months in her society, had
already made her the offer of his hand. He no sooner, however, beheld
Lady Margaret than he left that object of his first attachment; and the
short-lived happiness of guilty passion was thus enhanced by a momentary
triumph over a beautiful and unfortunate rival.—Lady Glenarvon lived
not to lament it: the blow which was given by the hand she loved, went
straight as it was aimed; it pierced her heart; she did not long survive.
Her son, already advancing towards manhood, she committed to the care of
the Count Gondimar, the only being who, amongst the numerous attendants
in the hours of her prosperity, had remained with her in this last
trying scene, and received her dying wishes.—“He has no father,” said
she, weeping in remembrance of the gallant husband she had lost; “but
to you I consign this jewel of my heart, the dear and only pledge of
my true and loyal love. Whatever crime I have committed since the loss
of Glenarvon, my only protector, let not a shade of it be cast upon my
son, to sully the bright splendor of his father’s fame! Promise a dying
mother to protect her child, should he be restored to his grandfather’s
titles and fortunes. To you, to you I entrust him. Ah! see that he be
safely conducted to his own country.”
The Italian Count promised all that Lady Glenarvon desired; and wept
as he kissed the faded cheek of the English boy. But no sooner was the
momentary interest which he had conceived for the unhappy sufferer at
an end—no sooner had Lady Glenarvon expired, than, disregarding her last
request, he sought only to render himself useful and necessary to her son.
For this purpose he eagerly assisted him in all his pursuits, however
criminal, and whilst he lived upon the sums which were regularly sent
from Ireland to supply the necessary expences of his charge, he lost no
opportunity of flattering Lord de Ruthven, the present possessor of the
estate, and conniving with him in the means of detaining Glenarvon in
Italy, and thus depriving him of a great share of his property. Gondimar’s
lessons were, however, unnecessary; Glenarvon soon emancipated himself
from his tuition; and the utmost the base Italian could boast, was that
he had assisted in perverting a heart already by nature, but too well
inclined to misuse the rare gifts with which it had been endowed.
Glenarvon passed the first years after his mother’s death, in visiting
Rome and Florence. He, after this, expressed a wish of entering the
navy; and having obtained his desire, he served under the command of Sir
George Buchanan. He even distinguished himself in his new profession;
but having done so, abruptly left it.
Love, it was said, was the cause of this sudden change in Glenarvon’s
intentions.—Love for the most beautiful woman in Florence. Young as he
then was, his talents and personal attractions soon gained the object of
his pursuit; but a dreadful tragedy followed this success. The husband of
Fiorabella revenged the stigma cast upon his wife’s fame, by instantly
sacrificing her to his vengeance; and, since that fatal deed, neither
the chevalier nor Glenarvon had ever again appeared in Florence.
Some said that the unhappy victim had found an avenger; but the proud and
noble family of the chevalier, preserved a faithful silence concerning
that transaction. Glenarvon’s youth prevented any suspicion from falling
upon him; and the death of Giardini was ascribed to another, and a more
dangerous hand. Strange rumours were also circulated in Ireland, after
this event; it was every where affirmed that Glenarvon had been secretly
murdered; and Lady Margaret, then at Naples, had even written to apprize
her brother of the report.