I HAVE just received a most affecting letter from Mr. Macartney. I
will inclose it, my dear Sir, for your perusal. More than ever have
I cause to rejoice that I was able to assist him. Mr. Macartney to
Miss Anville.
Madam,
IMPRESSED with deepest, the most heartfelt sense of the exalted
humanity with which you have rescued from destruction an unhappy
stranger, allow me, with humblest gratitude, to offer you my fervent
acknowledgments, and to implore your pardon for the terror I have
caused you.
You bid me, Madam, live: I have now, indeed, a motive for life,
since I should not willingly quit the world, while I withhold from
the needy and distressed any share of that charity which a disposition
so noble would otherwise bestow upon them.
The benevolence with which you have interested yourself in my affairs,
induces me to suppose you would wish to be acquainted with the cause
of that desperation from which you snatched me, and the particulars
of that misery of which you have so wonderfully been a witness. Yet,
as this explanation will require that I should divulge secrets of a
nature the most delicate, I must intreat you to regard them as sacred,
even though I forbear to mention the names of the parties concerned.
I was brought up in Scotland, though my mother, who had the sole
care of me, was an English-woman, and had not one relation in that
country. She devoted to me her whole time. The retirement in which we
lived, and the distance from our natural friends, she often told me,
were the effect of an unconquerable melancholy with which she was
seized upon the sudden loss of my father, some time before I was born.
At Aberdeen, where I finished my education, I formed a friendship with
a young man of fortune, which I considered as the chief happiness
of my life:-but, when he quitted his studies, I considered it as my
chief misfortune; for he immediately prepared, by direction of his
friends, to make the tour of Europe. As I was designed for the church,
and had no prospect even of maintenance but from my own industry,
I scarce dared permit even a wish of accompanying him. It is true,
he would joyfully have borne my expenses: but my affection was as free
from meanness as his own; and I made a determination the most solemn,
never to lessen its dignity by submitting to pecuniary obligations.
We corresponded with great regularity, and the most unbounded
confidence, for the space of two years, when he arrived at Lyons in
his way home.
He wrote me thence the most pressing invitation to meet him at Paris,
where he intended to remain some time. My desire to comply with his
request, and shorten our absence, was so earnest, that my mother,
too indulgent to control me lent me what assistance was in her power,
and, in an ill-fated moment, I set out for that capital.
My meeting with this dear friend was the happiest event of my life: he
introduced me to all his acquaintance; and so quickly did time seem to
pass at that delightful period, that the six weeks I had allotted for
my stay were gone, ere I was sensible I had missed so many days. But
I must now own, that the company of my friend was not the sole subject
of my felicity: I became acquainted with a young lady, daughter of an
Englishman of distinction, with whom I formed an attachment, which I
have a thousand times vowed, a thousand times sincerely thought, would
be lasting as my life. She had but just quitted a convent in which
she had been placed when a child, and though English by birth, she
could scarcely speak her native language. Her person and disposition
were equally engaging; but chiefly I adored her for the greatness of
the expectation, which, for my sake, she was willing to resign.
When the time for my residence in Paris expired, I was almost
distracted at the idea of quitting her; yet I had not the courage to
make our attachment known to her father, who might reasonably form
for her such views as would make him reflect, with a contempt which
I could not bear to think of, such an offer as mine. Yet I had free
access to the house, where she seemed to be left almost wholly to
the guidance of an old servant, who was my fast friend.
But, to be brief, the sudden and unexpected return of her father,
one fatal afternoon, proved the beginning of the misery which has ever
since devoured me. I doubt not but he had listened to our conversation;
for he darted into the room with the rage of a madman. Heavens! what a
scene followed!-what abusive language did the shame of a clandestine
affair, and the consciousness of acting ill, induce me to brook! At
length, however, his fury exceeded my patience, he called me a
beggarly, cowardly Scotchman. Fired at the words, I drew my sword;
he, with equal alertness, drew his; for he was not an old man, but,
on the contrary, strong and able as myself. In vain his daughter
pleaded;-in vain did I, repentant of my anger retreat-his reproaches
continued; myself, my country, were loaded with infamy, till no longer
constraining my rage,-we fought,-and he fell!
At that moment I could almost have destroyed myself! The young lady
fainted with terror; the old servant, drawn to us by the noise of the
scuffle, entreated me to escape, and promised to bring intelligence
of what should pass to my apartments. The disturbance which I heard
raised in the house obliged me to comply; and, in a state of mind
inconceivable wretched, I tore myself away.
My friend, whom I found at home, soon discovered the whole affair. It
was near midnight before the woman came. She told me that her master
was living, and her young mistress restored to her senses. The absolute
necessity for my leaving Paris, while any danger remained, was forcibly
argued by my friend: the servant promised to acquaint him of whatever
passed, and he to transmit to me her information. Thus circumstanced,
with the assistance of this dear friend, I effected my departure from
Paris, and, not long after, I returned to Scotland. I would fain have
stopped by the way, that I might have been nearer the scene of all my
concerns; but the low state of my finances denied me that satisfaction.
The miserable situation of my mind was soon discovered by my mother;
nor would she rest till I communicated the cause. She heard my
whole story with an agitation which astonished me:-the name of the
parties concerned seemed to strike her with horror:-but when I said,
We fought, and he fell; -"My son," cried she, "you have then murdered
your father!" and she sunk breathless at my feet. Comments, Madam,
upon such a scene as this, would to you be superfluous, and to me
agonizing: I cannot, for both our sakes, be too concise. When she
recovered, she confessed all the particulars of a tale which she had
hoped never to have revealed.-Alas! the loss she had sustained of my
father was not by death!-bound to her by no ties but those of honour,
he had voluntarily deserted her!-Her settling in Scotland was not
the effect of choice,-she was banished thither by a family but too
justly incensed.-Pardon, Madam, that I cannot be more explicit!
My senses, in the greatness of my misery, actually forsook me, and,
for more than a week, I was wholly delirious. My unfortunate mother was
yet more to pitied; for she pined with unmitigated sorrow, eternally
reproaching herself for the danger to which her too strict silence had
exposed me. When I recovered my reason, my impatience to hear from
Paris almost deprived me of it again; and though the length of time
I waited for letters might justly be attributed to contrary winds,
I could not bear the delay, and was twenty times upon the point of
returning thither at all hazards. At length, however, several letters
arrived at once, and from the most insupportable of my afflictions I
was then relieved; for they acquainted me that the horrors of parricide
were not in reserve for me. They informed me also, that as soon as the
wound was healed, a journey would be made to England, where my unhappy
sister was to be received by an aunt, with whom she was to live.
This intelligence somewhat quieted the violence of my sorrows. I
instantly formed a plan of meeting them in London, and, by revealing
the whole dreadful story, convincing this irritated parent that
he had nothing more to apprehend from his daughter's unfortunate
choice. My mother consented, and gave me a letter to prove the truth
of my assertions. As I could but ill afford to make this journey,
I travelled in the cheapest way that was possible. I took an obscure
lodging,-I need not, Madam, tell you where,-and boarded with the
people of the house.
Here I languished, week after week, vainly hoping for the arrival
of my family; but my impetuosity had blinded me to the imprudence
of which I was guilty in quitting Scotland so hastily. My wounded
father, after his recovery, relapsed, and when I had waited in the
most comfortless situation for six weeks, my friend wrote me word
that the journey was yet deferred for some time longer.
My finances were then nearly exhausted; and I was obliged, though most
unwillingly, to beg further assistance from my mother, that I might
return to Scotland. Oh, Madam!-my answer was not from herself;-it was
written by a lady who had long been her companion, and aquainted me
that she had been taken suddenly ill of a fever,-and was no more!
The compassionate nature of which you have given such noble proofs,
assures me I need not, if I could, paint to you the anguish of a mind
overwhelmed with such accumulated sorrows.
Inclosed was a letter to a near relation, which she had, during
her illness,
with much difficulty, written; and in which, with the strongest
maternal tenderness, she described my deplorable situation, and
intreated his interest to procure me some preferment. Yet so sunk was
I by misfortune, that a fortnight elapsed before I had the courage or
spirit to attempt delivering this letter. I was then compelled to it
by want. To make my appearance with some decency, I was necessitated
myself to the melancholy task of changing my coloured clothes for a
suit of mourning;- and then I proceeded to seek my relation.