In a few days I renewed my visit to Mrs Harley:--a strong sympathy
united us, and we became almost inseparable. Every day I discovered in
this admirable woman a new and indissoluble tie, that bound me to
her. Her cultivated understanding afforded an inexhaustible fund of
instruction and entertainment; and her affectionate heart spread a charm
over her most indifferent actions. We read, we walked, we conversed
together; but, with whatever subjects these conversations commenced,
some associated idea always led them to terminate in an eulogium on the
virtues and talents, or an expression of regret, for the absence of
Augustus. There was a portrait of him (drawn by a celebrated artist,
which he had lately sent from town as a present to his mother) hung up
in the library. I accustomed myself to gaze on this resemblance of a
man, in whose character I felt so lively an interest, till, I fancied,
I read in the features all the qualities imputed to the original by a
tender and partial parent.
Cut off from the society of mankind, and unable to expound my
sensations, all the strong affections of my soul seemed concentrated to
a single point. Without being conscious of it, my grateful love for Mrs
Harley had, already, by a transition easy to be traced by a philosophic
mind, transferred itself to her son. He was the St Preux, the Emilius of
my sleeping and waking reveries. I now spent almost my whole time in the
cottage of my friend, returning to Morton Park late in the evening, and
quitting it early in the morning, and sometimes being wholly absent for
weeks together.
Six months thus passed away in tranquillity, with but little variation.
Mr Montague, during this period, had several times left Mr Morton's, and
returned again abruptly: his manners became sullen, and even, at times,
ferocious. I carefully avoided encountering him, fearful of exasperating
a spirit, that appeared every moment on the verge of excess.
Hastening one evening to my friend, after a longer separation than
common, (having been prevailed on by Mr Morton and his daughters to
accompany them on a distant visit, where business of Mr Morton's
detained us for some days) I ran into the library, as usual, and threw
myself into the arms of Mrs Harley, that opened spontaneously to receive
me.
'Ah! you little truant,' said she, in a voice of kindness, 'where have
you been so long? My son has visited me in your absence; he passed
through this part of the country, in his way to the seat of a friend.
He staid with me two days, during which I sent half a dozen messages to
Morton Park, but you were flown away, it seems, nor could I learn any
tidings of you. Augustus,' continued she, without observing the emotions
she excited, 'had scarcely quitted the house an hour when you arrived.'
I made no reply; an unaccountable sensation seized, and oppressed, my
heart--sinking on the sopha, I burst into a convulsive flood of tears.
My friend was struck: all the indiscretion of her conduct (as she
has since told me) flashed suddenly into her mind; she felt that, in
indulging her own maternal sensations, she had, perhaps, done me an
irreparable injury, and she shuddered at the probable consequences. It
was some moments before either of us recovered;--our conversation was
that evening, for the first time, constrained, reserved, and painful;
and we retired at an early hour to our respective apartments.
I spent the night in self-examination. I was compelled to acknowledge,
to myself, that solitude, the absence of other impressions, the previous
circumstances that had operated on my character, my friendship for Mrs
Harley, and her eloquent, affectionate, reiterated, praises of her son,
had combined to awaken all the exquisite, though dormant, sensibilities
of my nature; and, however romantic it might appear to others, and did
appear even to myself, I felt, that I loved an ideal object (for such
was Augustus Harley to me) with a tender and fervent excess; an excess,
perhaps, involving all my future usefulness and welfare. 'People, in
general,' says Rousseau, 'do not sufficiently consider the influence
which the first attachments, between man and woman, have over the
remainder of their lives; they do not perceive, that an impression so
strong, and so lively, as that of love, is productive of a long chain of
effects, which pass unobserved in a course of years, yet, nevertheless,
continue to operate till the day of their deaths.' It was in vain I
attempted to combat this illusion; my reason was but an auxiliary to
my passion, it persuaded me, that I was only doing justice to high
and uncommon worth; imagination lent her aid, and an importunate
sensibility, panting after good unalloyed, completed the seduction.
From this period Mrs Harley was more guarded in her conduct; she
carefully avoided the mention of her son.--Under pretence of having an
alteration made in the frame, she removed his picture from the library;
but the constraint she put upon herself was too evident and painful;
we no longer sought, with equal ardour, an interchange of sentiment,
reserve took place of the tender confidence of friendship; a thousand
times, while I gazed upon her dear averted countenance, I yearned to
throw myself upon her bosom, to weep, to unfold to her the inmost
recesses of my mind--that ingenuous mind, which languished for
communication, and preyed upon itself! Dear and cruel friend, why did
you transfix my heart with the barbed and envenomed arrow, and then
refuse to administer the only healing balsam?
My visits to Mrs Harley became less frequent; I shut myself up whole
days in my apartment, at Morton Park, or wandered through its now
leafless groves, absorbed in meditation--fostering the sickly
sensibility of my soul, and nursing wild, improbable, chimerical,
visions of felicity, that, touched by the sober wand of truth, would
have 'melted into thin air.' 'The more desires I have' (observes an
acute, and profound French Philosopher[4]) 'the less ardent they are.
The torrents that divide themselves into many branches are the least
dangerous in their course. A strong passion is a solitary passion, that
concentrates all our desires within one point.'
[Footnote 4: Helvetius.]