animal, and flew, rather than walked, to the castle. At its portals
stood the old nurse; she almost embraced me, and I almost returned the
caress; but with a sorrowful countenance she informed me that the Prince
was dangerously ill, and had not left his bed since our departure; _that
things altogether were going on but poorly_; and that she was sure _the
sight_ of me would do her young lady’s heart good, for that she did
nothing but weep all day, and sit by her father’s bed all night. She
then informed me that Glorvina was alone in the boudoir. With a thousand
pulses fluttering at my breast, full of the idea of stealing on the
melancholy solitude of my pensive love, with a beating heart and
noiseless step, I approached the sacred asylum of innocence. The door
lay partly open; Glorvina was seated at a table, and apparently engaged
in writing a letter, I paused a moment for breath ere I advanced.
Glorvina at the same instant raised her head from the paper, read over
what she had written, and wept bitterly; then wrote again--paused,
sighed, and drew a letter from her bosom--(yes, her bosom) which she
perused, often waving her head, and sighing deeply, and wiping away the
tears that dimmed her eyes, while once a cherub smile stole on her lip
(_that smile_ I once thought _all_ my own;) then folding up the letter,
she pressed it to her lips, and consigning it to her bosom, exclaimed,
“First and best of men!” What else she murmured I could not distinguish;
but as if the perusal of this prized letter had renovated every drooping
spirit, she ceased to weep, and wrote with greater earnestness than
before.
Motionless, transfixed, I leaned for support against the frame of the
door, until Glorvina, having finished her letter and sealed it, arose to
depart; then I had the presence of mind to steal away and conceal myself
in a dark recess of the corridor. Yet, though unseen, I saw her wipe
away the traces of her tears from her cheek, and pass me with a composed
and almost cheerful air. I softly followed, and looking down the dark
abyss of the steep well stairs, which she rapidly descended, I perceived
her put her letter in the hands of the little post-boy, who hurried away
with it. Impelled by the impetuous feelings of the moment I was--yes,
I was so far forgetful of myself, my principle, and pride, of every
sentiment save love and jealousy, that I was on the point of following
the boy, snatching the letter, and learning the address of this
mysterious correspondent, this “_First and best of men_.” But the
natural dignity of my vehement, yet undebased mind, saved me a meanness
I should never have forgiven: for what right had I forcibly to possess
myself of another’s secret? I turned back to a window in the corridor
and beheld Glor-vina’s little herald mounted on his mule riding off,
while she, standing at the gate, pursued him with that impatient look
so strongly indicative of her ardent character. When he was out of
sight she withdrew, and the next minute I heard her stealing towards
her father’s room. Unable to bear her presence, I flew to mine; that
apartment I had lately occupied with a heart so redolent of bliss--a
heart that now sunk beneath the unexpected blow which crushed all
its new-born hopes, and I feared annihilated forever its sweet but
shortlived felicity. “And is this, then,” I exclaimed, “the fond
re-union my fancy painted in such glowing colours?” God of heaven! at
the very moment when my thoughts and affections, forced for a tedious
interval from the object of their idolatry, like a compressed spring
set free, bounded with new vigour to their native bias. Yet was not the
disappointment of my own individual hope scarcely more agonizing than
the destruction of that consciousness which, in giving one perfect
being to my view, redeemed the species in my misanthropic opinion.
“O Glorvina!” I passionately added, “if even thou, fair being, reared in
thy native wilds and native solitudes art deceptive, artful, imposing,
deep, deep in all the wiles of hypocrisy, then is the original sin of
our nature unredeemed; vice the innate principle of our being--and those
who preach the existence of virtue but idle dreamers who fancy that in
others to themselves unknown And yet, sweet innocent, if thou art more
sinned against than sinning if the phantoms of a jealous brain--oh!
’tis impossible! The ardent kiss impressed upon the senseless paper,
which thy breast enshrined!!! Was the letter of a friend thus treasured?
When was the letter of a friend thus answered with tears, with smiles,
with blushes, and with sighs? This, this is love’s own language.
Besides, Glorvina is not formed for friendship; the moderate feelings
of her burning soul are already divided in affection for her father, and
grateful esteem for her tutor; and she who, when loved, must be loved to
madness, will scarcely feel less passion than she inspires.”
While thought after thought thus chased each other down, like the
mutinous billows of a stormy ocean, I continued pacing my chamber
with quick and heavy strides; forgetful that the Prince’s room lay
immediately beneath me. Ere that thought occurred, some one softly
opened the door. I turned savagely round--it was Glorvina! Impulsively
I rushed to meet her; but impulsively recoiled: while she, with an
exclamation of surprise and pleasure, sprung towards me, and by my
sudden retreat would have fallen at my feet, but that my willing arms
extended involuntarily to receive her. Yet, it was no longer the almost
sacred person of the once all-innocent, all-ingenuous Glorvina they
encircled; but still they twined round the loveliest form, the most
charming, the most dangerous of human beings The enchantress!--With what
exquisite modesty she faintly endeavoured to extricate herself from my
embrace, yet with what willing weakness, which seemed to triumph in
its own debility, she panted on my bosom, wearied by the exertion
which vainly sought her release. Oh! at that moment the world was
forgotten--the whole universe was Glorvina! My soul’s eternal welfare
was not more precious at that moment than Glorvina! while my passion
seemed now to derive its ardour from the overflowing energy of those
bitter sentiments which had preceded its revival. Glorvina, with an
effort, flung herself from me. Virtue, indignant yet merciful, forgiving
while it arraigned, beamed in her eyes. I fell at her feet;
I pressed her hand to my throbbing temples and burning lips. “Forgive
me,” I exclaimed, “for I know not what I do.” She threw herself on a
seat, and covered her face with her hands, while the tears trickled
through her fingers. Oh! there was a time when tears from those
eyes--but now they only recalled to my recollection the last I had seen
her shed. I started from her feet and walked towards the window, near
that couch where her watchful and charitable attention first awakened
the germ of gratitude and love which has since blown into such full,
such fatal existence. I leaned my head against the window-frame for
support, its painful throb was so violent; I felt as though it were
lacerating in a thousand places; and the sigh which involuntarily
breathed from my lips seemed almost to burst the heart from whence it
flowed.
Glorvina arose: with an air tenderly compassionate, yet reproachful,
she advanced and took one of my hands. “My dear friend,” she exclaimed,
“what is the matter? has anything occurred to disturb you, or to awaken
this extraordinary emotion? Father John! where is he? why does he not
accompany you? Speak!--does any new misfortune threaten us? does it
touch my father? Oh! in mercy say _it does not!_ but release me from the
torture of suspense.”
“No, no,” I peevishly replied; “set your heart at rest, it is nothing;
nothing at least that concerns you; it is me, me only it concerns.”
“And therefore, Mortimer, is it nothing to Glorvina,” she softly
replied, and with one of those natural motions so incidental to the
simplicity of her manners, she threw her hand on my shoulder, and
leaning her head on it raised her eloquent, her tearful eyes to mine.
Oh! while the bright drops hung upon her cheek’s faded rose, with what
difficulty I restrained the impulse that tempted me to gather them with
my lips; while she, like a ministering angel, again took my hand, and
applying her fingers to my wrist, said, with a sad smile, “You know I am
a skilful little doctress.”
The feelings I experienced when those lovely fingers first applied
their pressure to my arm, rushed on my recollection: her touch had
lost nothing of its electric power: my emotions at that moment were
indescribable.
“Oh, good God, how ill you are!” she exclaimed. “How wild your pulse;
how feverish your looks! You have overheated yourself; you were unequal
to such a journey in such weather; you who have been so lately an
invalid. I beseech you to throw yourself on the bed, and endeavour to
take some repose; meantime I will send my nurse with some refreshment to
you. How could I be so blind as not to see at once how ill you were!”
Glad, for the present, of any pretext to conceal the nature of my
real disorder, I confessed I was indeed ill, (and, in fact, I was
_physically_ as well as morally so; for my last day’s journey brought
on that nervous headach I have suffered so much from;) while she,
all tender solicitude and compassion, flew to prepare me a composing
draught. But I was not now to be deceived: this was pity, mere pity.
Thus a thousand times have I seen her act by the wretches who were first
introduced to her notice through the medium of that reputation which her
distinguished humanity had obtained for her among the diseased and the
unfortunate.
I had but just sunk upon the bed, overcome by fatigue and the vehemence
of my emotions, when the old nurse entered the room. She said she had
brought me a composing draught from the lady Glorvina, who had kissed
the cup, after the old Irish fashion, * and bade me to drink it for her
sake.
* To this ancient and general custom Goldsmith allude in his
Deserted Village:--
“And kissed the cup to pass it to the rest.”
“Then I pledge her,” said I, “with the same truth she did me,” and I
eagerly quaffed off the nectar her hand had prepared. Meantime the nurse
took her station by the bed-side with some appropriate reference to her
former attendance there, and the generosity with which that attendance
was rewarded; for I had imprudently apportioned my donation rather to my
real than apparent rank.
While I was glad that this talkative old woman had fallen in my way;
for though I knew I had nothing to hope from that incorruptible fidelity
which was grounded on her attachment to her beloved nursling, and her
affection for the family she had so long served, yet I had everything to
expect from the garrulous simplicity of her character, and her love
of what she calls _Seanachus_, or telling long stories of the Inismore
family; and while I was thinking how I should put my Jesuitical scheme
into execution, and she was talking as usual I know not what, the
beautiful “_Breviare du Sentiment_” caught my eye lying on the
floor:--Glorvina must have dropped it on her first entrance. I desired
the nurse to bring it to me; who blessed her stars, and wondered how
her child could be so careless: a thing too she valued so much. At
that moment it struck me that this _Brevaire_, the furniture of the
_boudoir_, the vases, and the fragment of a letter, were all connected
with this mysterious friend, this “first and best of men.” I shuddered
as I held it, and forgot the snow-drops it contained; yet, assuming a
composure as I examined its cover, I asked the nurse if she thought I
could procure such another in the next market town.
The old woman held her sides while she laughed at the idea; then folding
her arms on her knees with that gossiping air which she always assumed
when in a mood peculiarly loquacious, she assured me that such a book
could not be got in all Ireland; for that it had come from foreign parts
to her young lady.
“And who sent it?” I demanded.
“Why, nobody sent it, (she simply replied,) he brought it himself.”
“Who?” said I.
She stammered and paused.
“Then, I suppose,” she added, “of course, you never heard”-----
“What?” I eagerly asked, with an air of curiosity and amazement. As
these are two emotions a common mind is most susceptble of feeling and
most anxious to excite, I found little difficulty in artfully leading
on the old woman by degrees, till at last I obtained from her, almost
unawares to herself, the following particulars:
On a stormy night, in the spring of 17----, during that fatal period
when the scarcely cicatrised wounds of this unhappy country bled afresh
beneath the uplifted sword of civil contention; when the bonds of human
amity were rent asunder, and every man regarded his neighbour with
suspicion or considered him with fear; a stranger of noble stature,
muffled in a long, dark cloak, appeared in the great hall of Inismore,
and requested an interview with the Prince. The Prince had retired to
rest, and being then in an ill state of health, deputed his daughter to
receive the unknown visitant, as the priest was absent. The stranger was
shown into an apartment adjoining the Prince’s, where Glorvina received
him, and having remained for some time with him retired to her father’s
room; and again, after a conference of some minutes, returned to the
stranger, whom she conducted to the Prince’s bedside. On the same night,
and after the stranger had passed two hours in the Prince’s chamber,
the nurse received orders to prepare the bed and apartment which I now
occupy for this mysterious guest, who from that time remained near three
months at the castle; leaving it only occasionally for a few days, and
always departing and returning under the veil of night.
The following summer he repeated his visit; bringing with him those
presents which decorate Glorvina’s boudoir, except the carpet and vases,
which were brought by a person who disappeared as soon as he had left
them. During both these visits he gave up his time chiefly to Glorvina;
reading to her, listening to her music, and walking with her early and
late, but never without the priest or nurse, and seldom during the day.
In short, in the furor of the old woman’s garrulity, (who, however,
discovered that her own information had not been acquired by the most
justifiable means, having, she said, by chance, overheard a conversation
which passed between the stranger and the Prince,) I found that this
mysterious visitant was some unfortunate gentleman who had attached
himself to the rebellious faction of the day, and who being pursued
nearly to the gates of the castle of Inismore, had thrown himself on
the mercy of the Prince; who, with that romantic sense of honour which
distinguishes his chivalrous character, had not violated the trust thus
forced on him, but granted an asylum to the unfortunate refugee; who, by
the most prepossessing manners and eminent endowments, had dazzled the
fancy and won the hearts of this unsuspecting and credulous family;
while over the minds of Glorvina and her father he had obtained a
boundless influence.
The nurse hinted that she believed it was still unsafe for the stranger
to appear in this country for that he was more cautious of concealing
himself in his last visit than his first; that she believed he lived in
England; that he seemed to have money enough, “_for he threw it about
like a prince_.” Not a servant in the castle, she added, but knew well
enough how it was; but there was not one but would sooner _die_
than betray him. His name she did not know; he was only known by the
appellation of the gentleman. He was not young, but tall and very
handsome. He could not speak Irish, and she had reason to think he had
lived chiefly in America. She added, that _I_ often reminded her of him,
especially when I smiled and looked down. She was not certain whether he
was expected that summer or not; but she believed the Prince frequently
received letters from him.
The old woman was by no means aware how deeply she had been betrayed by
her insatiate passion for hearing herself speak; while the curious and
expressive idiom of her native tongue gave me more insight into the
whole business than the most laboured phrase or minute detail could have
done. By the time, however, she had finished her narrative, she began
to have some “compunctious visitings of conscience.” she made me pass my
honour I would not betray her to her young lady; for, she added, that
if it got air it might come to the ears of Lord M-------- who was the
prince’s bitter enemy; and that it might be the ruin of the Prince; with
a thousand other wild surmises suggested by her fears. I again repeated
my assurances of secrecy; and the sound of her young lady’s bell
summoning her to the Prince’s room, she left me, not forgetting to take
with her the “_Breviare du Sentiment_.”
Again abandoned to my wretched self, the succeeding hour was passed in
such a state of varied perturbation, that it would be as torturing
to retrace my agonizing and successive reflections as it would
be impossible to express them. In short, after a thousand vague
conjectures, many to the prejudice, and a lingering few to the advantage
of their object, I was led to believe (fatal conviction!) that the
virgin rose of Glorvina’s affection had already shed its sweetness on
a former, happier lover; and the partiality I had flattered myself in
having awakened, was either the result of natural intuitive coquetry,
or, in the long absence of her heart’s first object, a transient beam
of that fire, which once illumined, is so difficult to extinguish, and
which was nourished by my resemblance to him who had first fanned it
into life.--What! _I_ receive to my heart the faded spark, while another
has basked in the vital flame! _I_ contentedly gather this after-blow of
tenderness, when another has inhaled the very essence of the nectarious
blossoms? No! like the suffering mother, who wholly resigned her bosom’s
idol rather than divide it with another, I will, with a single effort,
tear this late adored image from my heart, though that heart break with
the effort, rather than feed on the remnant of those favours on which
another has already feasted. Yet to be thus deceived by a recluse,
a child, a novice!--_I_ who, turning revoltingly from the hackneyed
artifices of female depravity in that world where art forever reigns,
sought in the tenderness of secluded innocence and intelligent
simplicity that heaven my soul had so long, so vainly panted to
enjoy! Yet, even there--No! I cannot believe it She! Glofvina, false,
deceptive! Oh, were the immaculate spirit of _Truth_ embodied in a human
form, it could not wear upon its radient brow a brighter, stronger
trace of purity inviolable, and holy innocence than shines in the seraph
countenance of Glorvina!
Besides, she never _said_ she loved me. _Said!_--God of heaven! were
words then necessary for such an _avowal!_ Oh, Glorvina! thy melting
glances, thy insidious smiles, thy ardent blushes, thy tender sighs,
thy touching softness, and delicious tears; these, these are the sweet
testimonies to which my heart appeals. These at least will speak for me,
and say it was not the breath of vain presumption that nourished those
hopes which now, in all their vigour, perish by the chilling blight of
well-founded jealousy and mortal disappointment.
Two hours have elapsed since the nurse left me, supposing me to be
asleep; no one has intruded, and I have employed the last hour in
retracing to you the vicissitudes of this eventful day. You, who
warned me of my fate, should learn the truth of your fatal prophecy.
My father’s too; but he is avenged! and I have already expiated a
deception, which, however innocent, was still _deception_.
IN CONTINUATION.
I had written thus far, when some one tapped at my door, and the next
moment the priest entered: he was not an hour arrived, and with his
usual kindness came to inquire after my health, expressing much surprise
at its alteration, which he said was visible in my looks. “But, it is
scarcely to be wondered at,” he added: “a man who complains for two days
of a nervous disorder, and yet gallops, as if for life, seven miles in a
day more natural to the torrid zone than our polar clime, may have some
chance of losing his life, but very little of _losing his disorder_.”
He then endeavoured to persuade me to go down with him and take some
refreshment, for I had tasted nothing all day, save Glorvina’s draught;
but finding me averse to the proposal, he sat with me till he was sent
for to the Prince’s room. As soon as he was gone, with that restlessness
of body which ever accompanies a wretched mind, I wandered through the
deserted rooms of this vast and ruinous edifice, but saw nothing of
Glorvina.
The sun had set, all was gloomy and still, I took my hat and in the
melancholy maze of twilight, wandered I knew not, cared not whither.
I had not, however, strayed far from the ruins, when I perceived the
little postboy galloping his foaming mule over the drawbridge, and the
next moment saw Glorvina gliding beneath the colonnade (that leads to
the chapel) to meet him. I retreated behind a fragment of the ruins, and
observed her to take a letter from his hand with an eager and impatient
air: when she had looked at the seal, she pressed it to her lips: then
by the faint beams of the retreating light, she opened this welcome
packet, and putting an enclosed letter in her bosom, endeavoured to read
the envelope; but scarcely had her eye glanced over it, than it fell to
the earth, while she, covering her face with her hands, seemed to lean
against the broken pillar near which she stood for support. Oh! was this
an emotion of overwhelming bliss, or chilling disappointment? She again
took the paper, and still holding it open in her hand, with a slow step
and thoughtful air, returned to the castle; while I flew to the stables
under pretence of inquiring from the post-boy if there were any letters
for me. The lad said there was but one, and that, the postmaster had
told him was an English one for the lady Glorvina. This letter, then,
though it could not have been an answer to that I had seen her writing,
was doubtless from the mysterious friend, whose friendship, “_like gold,
though not sonorous, was indestructible_.”