During the bloody period of the Barons' wars, when civil discord threw
her fire-brands around, to lay waste and make desolate the fertile
plains and fruitful fields of this long envied country; when the widow
mourned the husband torn from her embraces, and the orphan wandered
friendless and unprotected; when brother waged war against brother,
and the parent raised his arm to destroy the son he had reared and
cherished; when every castle was kept in a state of the most guarded
defence, lest it should be wrested from its owner by the ambition
and enmity of his neighbour:--then it was that _Bungay Castle_ reared
its proud towers and battlements aloft; while its massy walls stood
in gloomy and majestic grandeur, as if they could bid defiance to
every design formed against them by man, and to the more certain
influence of all-conquering time; so perfectly stupendous and strong
was this once-spacious edifice, it was not only an object of desire
to the proud and aspiring barons, but, it has been said, even to
contending kings.
The noble and loyal lord of this castle, being called upon to fill
some important office in the service of the state, appointed Sir
Philip de Morney to be governor during his absence, and never had he
shewn the goodness of his heart and the excellence of his judgment
more than in the delegation of his power and authority over so
numerous a train of vassals and dependents to this his bosom friend.
Sir Philip de Morney was a bold and hardy veteran: he was grown
grey in the service of his king and country; brave in the field,
just, merciful, and benevolent, in his dealings with all his
fellow-creatures,--possessed of an abundant fortune, he accepted this
important trust to oblige his friend, and promote the happiness of
those to whom he knew he was attached;--fond of an active and useful
life, he wished not to sink into indolence or obscurity, till the
infirmities of age should render him incapable of taking his share
in the busy scenes of that important period, in which, though the
pernicious doctrine of equality did not influence the minds of the
vulgar against their lawful sovereign, or the rights of the subject,
the ambition of the nobility, and the feuds and distraction of the
contending parties, produced scenes of misery equally distressing,
but happily not so extensive in their effects.
Into Bungay Castle he removed with his whole family, and there for
some years found that happiness he had vainly sought in more
enlivening scenes; and there he tasted those serene and contented
pleasures he had been unable to procure in the world; though formed
to make a brilliant figure on its great stage, he had every endowment
of the mind for the true enjoyment of domestic life, uniting with
the most unshaken courage the gentlest philanthropy. He had married
at the age of thirty-five a lady much younger than himself, by whom
he had several children, and looked forward with the hope of being
the parent of a more numerous offspring, while, like the patriarchs
of old, he lived respected and revered in the bosom of his family.
Ah! little did he suspect the revolution ambition would one day make
in his mind.
Lady de Morney was yet in the pride of life; her beauty unfaded, her
spirits lively, and her mind in its full vigour; her person was
lovely, her disposition amiable: sweetness, modesty, truth, and
fortitude, were the inmates of her bosom, and gave additional graces
to the ease and elegance of her manners; strictly exemplary in
performing the important duties of wife and mother, no complaints
were heard where she presided; no looks of discontent were seen on
the countenance of her dependents; time was neither abused nor found
a burden; her whole study and attention were employed to promote the
happiness of her husband, and to superintend the education of her
children; for the latter employment no one was more adequate than
herself,--her own example serving more than precept to enforce the
lessons of truth on the ductile mind of youth; her own gentleness
made them happy, while her conduct convinced them of the value and
dignity of virtue.
She considered youth and innocence as the most valuable of earthly
treasures, and she was not more anxious to preserve the one in all
its native purity, than to teach them how to enjoy the other with
cheerfulness and gratitude: Having stored their minds with virtuous
precepts, best calculated to chain the attention, and which she
hoped would lay the most solid foundation for securing their future
happiness, she lived with her children in habits of the most
soothing and perfect friendship, and very seldom was under the
unpleasant necessity of assuming the stern authority of a
dictatorial parent.
But, as no character on earth can be found without having some of
the weakness and frailty of erring mortality annexed to it, the
author does not mean to present Lady de Morney to their view as a
being entirely faultless. She was vain of her high birth, being allied
to nobility; and so partial to her eldest son, that she could scarcely
suffer him to be out of her sight; yet her partiality originated from
a circumstance so interesting and affecting to all who knew it, that,
though it might by some be considered as a weakness, it was by none
but herself condemned as a fault. When her son was in his infancy,
she was seized with a fever of so malignant a nature, as deprived
her for some weeks of her senses: during this distressing period of
her delirium, and in the absence of her nurse, she one day snatched
the infant from the arms of a young woman, his attendant, and, before
any one was aware of her design, ran out of the house, and with almost
incredible swiftness down a long gravel walk to the bottom of the
garden, and threw him into a lake, by which it was bounded. By the
fortunate and timely assistance of an old and faithful servant, who
was luckily at work near the spot, and who had hastened to it on
seeing his lady so unexpectedly make her appearance, the family were
alarmed, and the child providentially, but with difficulty, saved.
This incident, of which she was unguardedly informed, made so forcible
an impression on the mind of this susceptible and affectionate parent,
as she could not shake off: it created an additional claim upon her
heart for every tender indulgence, and gave to every juvenile action
and good quality redoubled value. He had in a manner been raised from
death, rescued from a watery grave, into which her own, a mother's,
hand had hurled him; and yet he loved her, as her fond and plaintive
partiality led her often to imagine, better than the rest of her
children. She would sometimes embrace this darling son, and, with
all the enthusiasm of maternal tenderness, tremble at the horrid
remembrance of having so nearly deprived him of an existence that
added so much to the happiness of her own. To all her children Lady
de Morney was an indulgent parent; but for Edwin she felt that
indescribable fondness which not only threw a veil over his failings,
but robbed her of that fortitude and energy with which she acted on
all other occasions. So far from attempting to deny any request he
made, it was her study to prevent his wishes. She would at times
apologize to the rest of her children for the extreme affection
nature had implanted, and which she could not help cherishing for
their brother, but which she regretted as a weakness she was unable
to conquer. This conduct served to reconcile the young people to a
partiality which originated from so singular and awful an incident,
and, so far from shewing either envy or regret, it seemed to endear
their mother's favourite to their youthful and guileless hearts.
Another circumstance, which equally helped to reconcile them, was
the sweetness of Edwin's disposition, who as often availed himself
of his mother's indulgence to gratify and make them happy, as he did
to obtain any of her favours for himself.
In a situation from which thousands of her sex and age would have
shrunk disgusted and affrighted, Lady de Morney was cheerful and
contented. The rooms were Gothic and gloomy, but her husband and
children enlivened every place they inhabited. She was at times
surrounded by and exposed to dangers; but her beloved De Morney and
his faithful people were ever near to protect and guard her. She was
the wife of a noble soldier, and she had acquired a fortitude almost
equal to his from the knowledge of his unfailing courage, which
gained energy from danger, and redoubled ardour from difficulty.
The castle itself could boast few internal beauties, but her
children, whom she saw playful as youthful fawns, and happy as health,
innocence, and unbroken spirits, could make them, were treasures
inexhaustible: they beheld the rough implements of war without terror
or dismay, instructed by their father to consider them as the only
ornaments fitted for a soldier. The young De Morneys were taught the
use of arms as soon as they had learned to walk.
Seldom were the Gothic gates of the castle unbarred to admit the
social friend or gay companion to the festive board; seldom did the
voice of mirth and jollity echo through the lofty rooms and vaulted
passages; but a sweet serenity supplied their place, which, having
lost during the absence of her husband, at an early period of her
marriage, Lady de Morney now felt the full value of possessing; and,
though secluded from the gaudy pleasure of a court, she felt herself
a gainer by the exchange in the balance of happiness.--Lady de Morney
had a sister, who was placed by the Lady Gundreda as superior in the
nunnery of Bungay; with her she spent many of her leisure hours:
between them the tenderest friendship strengthened the endearing ties
in which they were united by nature.
The abbess was a pious, but yet she was a young and interesting
woman, of a benevolent and placid disposition; and, though she had
voluntarily secluded herself from the world, she was not so much
disgusted with its pleasures as she felt herself wounded by the
severity of its disappointments.--Early in life, death had deprived
her of a lover who had engaged her most animated and ardent affection,
and with whom she had indulged the fond hope of being united in the
indissoluble bands of Hymen; but adverse fate had ordained it
otherwise, and those virtues and good qualities which had made him
inexpressibly dear to her, rendered his loss the more exquisitely
painful. With him the world lost all its power to charm, and she
resolutely determined to fly that world for ever, and never to permit
another lover to displace the sainted Henry from her heart; she
therefore unreluctantly withdrew from the varying and busy scenes
of life,--not to avoid temptation, but to be able to indulge, in the
gloomy shades of a nunnery, the memory of a man, to whose worth and
constancy she deemed no sacrifice too great. Time served to convince
her of the wisdom of her choice; and, giving way to all the luxury
of a pure but romantic imagination, she encouraged the consoling
hope, that, if her regretted Henry were permitted to know what was
acting in this lower world, his spirit would be gratified by the
purity of her choice, and his heart convinced of the unabating
strength of her affection. She often flattered herself that her Henry
was deputed to watch her conduct, and would be the first to convey
her to the bright regions of immortality; yet, though thus severely
tried in the lessons of affliction, she troubled no one with a
repetion of her sorrows; and, though she often wept in all the
bitterness of anguish, her tears fell when no one observed them, and
only to the ear of her sympathizing sister did she venture to mention
a name so dear and so beloved.
Young Edwin de Morney, whom we have already mentioned, was at this
period in his seventeenth year, and, notwithstanding the unbounded
indulgence of his mother, he had made a rapid proficiency in every
part of his education. Nature had been equally liberal of her favours
to his mind and person: his temper was good,--his manners and
conversation those of the gentleman and the scholar, and, with all
the interesting gaiety and natural cheerfulness of youth, he united
a benevolent and susceptible heart.
His eldest sister, Roseline, was only one year younger than himself;
her form was small, but symmetry itself, every limb so nicely turned,
it would have been chosen by a statuary for the model of a Venus:
her face was beautiful in the extreme; her eyes expressive and
sparkling, and the smile which shewed itself was of that irresistible
kind as caught the attention and won the heart; and it would have
been difficult for a connoisseur in beauty to point out which feature
it was that had the greatest claim to admiration, while the unfading
and fascinating beauties of her polished mind, which was stored
with all the graces the best education could bestow, or the most
lively genius acquire, rendered her conversation as delightful as
her manners were captivating. She played on the lute, and warbled
her artless song in strains so sweet, as would have rivalled the
daughters of Italy. Her heart, unwounded by the barbed thorn of
affliction, and free from the entanglements of love, was like one
of the first days of infant-spring, which, enlivened by the bright
rays of an unclouded and all-cheering sun, serves not only to revive,
but to embellish the whole face of inanimate nature, just bursting
into life, and rendering all its sweetly modest beauties of redoubled
value to those who had lingered through a dreary winter, in eager
expectation of its approach. Lively as the birds which hovered round
the turrets of the castle, she entered gaily into all the youthful
sports of her brothers and sisters. To the little blooming Edeliza
she was particularly attached; and, though she saw her as beautiful
as herself, felt neither envy nor regret in the reflection. No modish
complaints filled her with imaginary terrors, and, as she had known
no sorrows, she thought it not only incumbent on her to shew her
gratitude to heaven and her parents, but to soften, by every
benevolent attention in her power, the miseries and misfortunes
of others.
In those days, the education of young women was completed at a more
early period than in the present; and, if the manners were not
altogether so highly finished, or the mind so profusely decorated,
or rather fettered, with innumerable, and, to too many, useless
accomplishments, the time was undoubtedly more rationally employed,
and the fair sex less exposed to the allurements of flattery and the
dangers of temptation: though more retired in their habits, and
reserved in their manners, they were neither less susceptible of the
tender passions, nor less fervent or sincere in their attachments.
Roseline had formed an early friendship with a young lady educated
in the Bungay nunnery, of which her aunt, fortunately for the young
people, was the superior. This sweet victim of ambition was designed
by a proud and haughty father for the monastic life, in order to
enable him to provide more liberally for the rest of the children.
She had not yet however entered on the year of her novitiate; but
it was soon to commence, and, at its awful close, she was to bid a
final adieu to that world, to which her heart had of late become too
tenderly and anxiously attached. As it approached, time seemed to
wing his flight with redoubled rapidity, and she felt a trembling
dread that her fortitude, like a false friend, would forsake her in
the hour of trial, and a trembling presentiment that the moment,
which shut her from the society at the castle, would exclude her
from every prospect of happiness; yet this repugnance to obey the
will of her parents was new to her mind:--she dared not investigate
the cause too nicely, lest she should find a subject for
self-condemnation. She found, with painful regret, a troublesome
guest was admitted to her bosom, and she was afraid, in attempting
to become more intimately acquainted with its prevailing influence,
she should permit the stranger to gain greater ascendancy.
The youthful Madeline, on her first entrance into the nunnery, had
neither felt nor shewn any discontent: she had assumed the formal
and unbecoming habit without a sigh, and yielded to the rigid rules
prescribed with uncomplaining resignation; but, as time crept on
with solemn and leaden pace, unrelieved by any of the innocent
amusements of social life, only to repeat and bring forward the same
dull round of gloomy and mortifying scenes, not only repugnant to
the feelings of nature, but disgusting to the senses, she began to
think and to complain to the bosom of friendship, that those fetters,
put on by the rigid will of unfeeling parents, to be finally closed
by the iron laws of bigotry and superstition, were unjust and galling,
and the free-born soul of innocence and virtue drooped and pined
beneath the sacred walls by which it was inclosed;--how cruel to make
religion a pretext for such persecution and misery, and to counteract
the designs of the Creator, who never formed his creatures for
seclusion from that world in which he had profusely strewn so many
blessings for the enjoyment of rational and social beings!
Roseline, by the urgency of her entreaties, frequently obtained
leave of the abbess for Madeline de Glanville to visit at the castle.
This favour was the more readily granted, from her having observed
with real regret that some secret grief preyed on the mind of her
young charge, which, though she could not help commiserating, she
did not choose to mention. Those days, which the fair Madeline spent
at the castle, were the happiest she had ever known; while there,
she was gay and cheerful as the youthful companions who studied to
amuse and entertain her. The song, the dance, the lute, drove from
her remembrance the gloomy nunnery in which she was condemned to
waste and linger out her future life.
Sir Philip and Lady de Morney treated her with the tenderness and
indulgence of parents; the friendship and affection between her and
Roseline was mutual and sincere; for Edwin she felt, as she innocently
supposed, the fond regard of a sister. All the younger branches of
the De Morney family rejoiced to see her, and gladly assisted in
rendering her happy; and when the hour arrived for the unfortunate
Madeline to return to the nunnery, whilst she observed with secret
gratitude the gloom it threw on the countenances of her friends, it
gave additional pangs to the feelings of her own heart; her spirits
instantly deserted her, and tears of unfeigned regret marked the sad
moment of departure. When she re-entered her solitary cell, she would
sink into a despondency which the austere rules of the order was not
likely to conquer.
The inhabitants of the castle and its environs were in themselves a
little commonwealth, which contained a vast variety of characters.
Men of different nations were met together, and, by the unaccountable
effects of accident, ambition, or necessity, brought into the same
habits, and lived cordially together, serving one master; and, united
by one cause and interest, the utmost harmony prevailed among them;
for Sir Philip de Morney was a just and active governor; gentle as
the lamb and forgiving as mercy to the virtuous or injured,--but a
terror and a stern master to the traitor or oppressor, whether friend
or foe: he knew the importance of his situation, and how much the
happiness of others depended on the careful and faithful discharge
of those duties belonging to his high station, and intrusted to him
by his noble friend the Earl of Norfolk; he therefore wisely and
justly determined not to be biassed nor misled, either by the
partiality or designs of other men, nor to suffer any prejudice to
gain ascendancy over his mind in the rewards he bestowed, or the
punishments which guilt would sometimes compel him to inflict.