Thus stood matters at the castle, when Sir Philip de Morney
returned, accompanied by his friend, Baron Fitzosbourne, who was
highly gratified by the cordial and respectful reception he met with.
Every one vying with each other in their endeavours to amuse him,
he assumed the most conciliating manners, appeared pleased and good
humoured, paid the most flattering attention to the young ladies,
and bestowed the warmest encomiums on their beauty and accomplishments;
at the same time admiring, or pretending to admire, the maturer graces
of the mother, who had given to the world a race of women fairer than
the first daughters of creation, and, to render the gift complete,
had stored their minds with a fund of knowledge that could put
philosophy to the blush at its own ignorance.
Sir Philip assiduously courted the Baron, seemed to watch his looks,
and to make it his whole study to oblige him,--thought as he thought,
and, whatever he recommended, was sure to approve. Lady de Morney,
seeing her husband so anxious to please, followed his example, not
doubting but he had good and sufficient reasons for what he did. She
requested her children strictly to observe the same conduct, with
which request they all at first readily complied, and exerted
themselves to entertain their noble guest. Edwin was honoured with
particular marks of his favour and approbation: he promised his best
interest to obtain him promotion in the army, when he found that was
the profession for which he was designed.
The Baron was nearly as old as his friend Sir Philip. In fact, they
had received the first rudiments of their education at the same
school, and under the same makers; and, though their pursuits were
alike, they had been thrown into a very different situations, but
ever retained a pleased remembrance of their boyish friendship, and
took every opportunity of keeping it alive, and serving each other.
The Baron, though large and robust, was neither clumsy not forbidding
in his appearance. His eyes were penetrating; he looked the warrior,
and seemed formed to command and be obeyed. He was tall, and had an
air of grandeur about him that bespoke the man of fashion: his voice
was not unpleasing; but he was rigid and austere with his servants and
dependants; and, though upon the whole they found him a generous master,
as he had nothing conciliating in his manner to them, they took every
opportunity of abusing him; for, though they durst not venture to
speak before him, they made themselves amends when they joined their
companions in the kitchen, by giving such traits of his character,
as not only shocked them, but made them feel with redoubled gratitude
the happy difference of their own situation.
Roseline, while she was compelled to treat her father's visitor with
attention and respect, felt an invincible disgust whenever he addressed
her, and attempted to give specimens of his gallantry, which was often
the case; but, if he took hold of her hand, she shrunk from his touch
as she would from that of a snake, and trembled, she knew not why, if
she saw him looking earnestly at her face.
Edeliza laughed at and detested him. She slily compare him with
De Willows, and wondered how nature could have contrived to form two
creatures so different from each other. Bertha wished to pull off
his ugly great wig, and to have it stuck upon one of the towers,
observing, that, if his frightful face were seen from another, no
enemy would ever come near them. How were they all struck with sorrow
when they found he was to spend the whole summer at the castle.
Roseline, with more earnestness than usual, questioned her mother
as to the truth of this report, but received only an evasive answer,
that the length of the Baron's stay depended on a circumstance not
yet determined.
"I sincerely hope, my dear madam, whatever it may be, that it will
at least prove unfavourable to his continuance here. My father may,
and I dare say has, just reasons for esteeming him, though no one but
himself can discover them. Every one else dislikes him, and I shall
most truly rejoice when he takes himself away."
"My dear girl, (said Lady de Morney,) consider the Baron's rank, and
the dignity of his character."
"I do consider them (she replied) as the greatest misfortunes that
could happen to any one, unless accompanied with good humour and
humility; but I think it particularly hard that other must suffer
so many mortifications because the Baron is a great man."
Again she was requested by her mother, who could scarcely forbear
smiling at the seriousness of her manner, to recollect that men of
his consequence could not bring themselves to act as if they were
upon a level with their inferiors.
"The more is the pity, (said Roseline;) therefore, my good mother,
it would be unnecessary for me to consider any thing about the Baron's
importance, since he thinks so much and so highly of it himself: but
I do not see, for my part, why rank and fortune should tempt their
possessors to assume so much on merely accidental advantages; or why
people, distinguished as their favourites, should have a greater right
to think and act as they please than those less fortunate. We were
much happier and more cheerful before he came among us, and my father
more indulgent."
"Your father (said Lady de Morney, with the utmost earnestness) is,
I have no doubt, perfectly satisfied that he is acting right, and
therefore you, Roseline, must be blameable in the presuming to call
his conduct in question. I insist, as you value his and my favour,
that you never again address me on this subject; and let me advise
you, if you with to be happy, to shew no disgust to the Baron, but
receive his attentions with politeness and good humour."
On saying this, she withdrew, and left Roseline, struck dumb with
surprise, to form what conclusions she pleased. She knew not what to
think from this unusually strange and unpleasant conversation, and
could not comprehend either her father's or mother's reasons for being
so much attached to any one, whatever might be his ranks, who was so
little formed to excite any feelings but those of disgust in the
minds of those unfortunate people who whom he condescended to associate.
She saw and lamented that, since the Baron's arrival, neither
De Clavering, De Willows, nor Hugh Camelford, came without a formal
invitation from her father, while the reserve which prevailed in
their parties banished all that enlivening conversation that once
rendered them so pleasant. Her sisters too, the dear Edeliza, and
the sweet Bertha, were kept under so much restraint before this
great personage, they seemed almost afraid to speak.
Roseline, to shake off for a time these uncomfortable reflections,
stole into the prisoner's room, in which she seldom failed to find
her brother: there she lost all remembrance of the Baron; and, in
conversing with friends so dear to her heart, progressively recovered
that native cheerfulness which was one of the most engaging features
of her character.--The sonnets, which her brother had so recently
given her, not only served to raise her spirits, but had made an
indelible impression on her mind. She smiled with something more
than even her usual complacency on this love-taught poet. Of his
tenderness and sincerity she could cherish no doubt. His honour and
worth it was equally impossible to suspect. No one knew them better,--no
one estimated them so highly as herself. To suppose he could be less
amiable, less deserving of her attachment, would have appeared to
her a crime of the most enormous magnitude. Thus did the fond effusions
of love throw a veil over the eyes of their artless votary, in order
to give a fair colouring, and to reconcile her to a conduct which, in
another, her prudence would have taught her to condemn; but thus it
is with too many erring mortals: when once they become the hood-winked
slaves of any predominant passion, they are not only regardless of the
world's opinion, but insensible to the secret admonitions of that
silent monitor, which they carry in their bosom. Roseline as first
acted merely from the generous impulse of pity and universal benevolence;
but, in so doing, she admitted a guest to dispute with them a place
in her breast, which neither time, reason, nor prudence, could banish
thence.
Our artless heroine was unfortunately the darling child of sensibility,
and her mind so susceptible of the miseries and misfortunes of others,
that, from the moment she discovered them, they became her own. What
then must be the poignancy of her feelings, when she reflected on the
dependent, helpless, and unprovided state of a lover, dearer to her
than life!--who dared not disclose even his name,--whose blameless
conduct proved to her partial judgement that he suffered unjustly, and
whose virtues could alone reconcile her to herself for having risked
so much on his account, and entrusted her heart to the keeping of one
whose situation precluded hope,--who had declared he belonged to no
one,--a prisoner, a stranger, without fortune or friends: yet, think
as she would, these cruel circumstances, after the strictest
investigation, acted as a talisman in favour of her lover.
The life, which she fancied, under Providence, she had been the
humble means of preserving, she concluded it was now her duty to
render happy; therefore, to deprive it of its value, by affecting an
indifference she did not feel, was as far from her power as her
inclination; yet there were moments when she recollected, with the
severest anguish, how much her brother, as well as herself, was acting
in opposition to the designs and will of her parent. To deceive such
parents was a thought which, in her most impassioned moments, she
could not dwell upon, but love and sensibility had woven their webs
so close around her heart, that she struggled in vain to disentangle
herself from the bewitching snare.
Sensibility I have long thought, nine times out of ten, proves a
source of misery to the generous and benevolent, and as often is
merely the boast of the ignorant, who pretend to be overstocked with
the milk of human kindness, and whose feelings are equally excited
by the death of a husband or a lap-dog. I am satisfied there is no
blessing more earnestly to be wished for than a calm and composed
resignation to the events of this life, and all its complicated
concerns.--It appears rather an Irishism, that to be happy we must
become indifferent,--but so it is.
Real sensibility is of all burthens the heaviest to bear. Long
experience and careful observation have convinced me too painfully
of this truth. A thousand and a thousand times I have shed torrents
of tears, and felt the most tormenting anxiety for those who would
have seen me with the most stoical apathy begging through the street
for bread. The pleasures attending high-raised sensibility are so
much over-balanced by the painful effects they produce, that I protest
I had rather be an oak, or a cabbage, than alive to such every-varying
and corrosive feelings, which act upon the human mind as slow poison
would upon the body.
When Roseline was going to bed, the servant who attended her, and
who, from having lived some years in the family, was indulged in
the habit of conversing familiarly with the young ladies, determined
to get rid of a kind of confidential secret, which had been entrusted
to her by one of her fellow-servants.
"Laws, Miss Roseline, (said she,) what think you that frightful old
Baron comed here for?--As I live I should not have dreamed of any
thing so ludicurst!"--
"Came for? (replied Roseline,)--why he came to see my father to be
sure;--what else could be his inducement for visiting this
stupid place?"
"Ha, ha! I thought I should poze you, miss, (cried Audrey, drawing
herself up, and giggling at her own consequence,)--why, as sure as
you be borned and christened, he comed here to pick up a wife, if
he can meet with one to please his own superannuated meagrims; and
his man, Pedro, thinks as how a person I could name would suit him
to a tee, but I thinks otherwise.--Such an old frumpish piece of crazy
furniture, says I, will not suit any of the ladies that belongs to
the noble genitors of Bungay Castle and its henvirons. 'You my be
mistaken, dame, said the saucy fellow;--if they suit my master, my
master may suit them sure, for he is as rich,--as rich as Crasus."
"For heaven's sake, (said Roseline,) what nonsense have you picked
up? You must not presume, Audrey, to speak of the Baron in so
disrespectful a manner. If my father and mother heard you, I am not
sure that you would be permitted to stay another night in the castle."
"It would be a good story, indeed, (resumed the talkative Abigail,)
to turn away a servant for such an offence! As I have a soul, which,
by the goodness of father Anselm, I hope to get saved, my heart bleeds
for you, miss, and I could claw out his ugly, staring eyes for to go
for to think that you, who be so sweet tempered, and kind, and affabel,
to your unfeerors, should have to nurse his crazy old carcase.--'Tis
vexing to--"
Roseline had started up in her bed as soon as she found herself so
strangely introduced with the Baron, and seeing that Audrey had taken
up the candle in order to leave the room, gently called her back,
and begged some explanation of what she had heard, which she declared
herself unable to comprehend.
"Mayhap you are;--so much the better, (said Audrey.)--Less said is
soonest mended, as I have gone to the end of my line;--I may be
turned away if I assume to speak of the beautiful old Baron;--things
will all come out in time;--I can be spectful to my betters:--they
that link an old husband let them have him;--'tis no bread and butter
of mine.--Good night, miss;--the Baron is a fine old Gracian, and
will make his lady marvelly happy."
Saying this, she left the room, and Roseline was too much displeased
to call her back a second time, but determined to question her still
farther the first opportunity. "The Baron came to the castle for a
wife!"--It was too ridiculous to be believed; but, if he did, he
could not possibly think of uniting himself with her! Servants were
ever prying into the secrets of their betters, or forming such stories
as only very ignorant people could think of inventing.
She now went to sleep, forgot the Baron, and dreamed of the prisoner,
whom her fancy represented as being released from confinement, and
eager, with the consent of Sir Philip, to lead her in triumph to the
altar of Hymen. To the delusive excursions of the soul we will for
the present consign her; but, before we take leave of the inhabitants
of the castle for the night, we will just take a peep into the kitchen,
where, around a blazing fire, spread on a hearth four yards wide, were
seated several of the domestics, earnestly engaged in talking over
the affairs of the family, each of them drawing the character of their
master or mistress, as the humour of the moment dictated, and giving
their opinions of actions, the motives of which they knew so little,
that they were just as able without a fair and candid examination.
Sir Philip, it was said, was become quite proud and penurious,--the
young ladies troublesome,--and Lady De Morney cross, whimsical, and
suspicious. Suddenly the door burst open, and a young man, who had
been for some time an assistant in the stables, tumbled into the
kitchen, and, with terror depicted on his countenance, exclaimed, "I
saw it,--I saw it!==I saw the light with my own eyes!--The ghost
followed me up to the door, and then vanished in a flash of fire!--Shut
the door, or it may get in!"
This in a moment alarmed the whole set; they all crowded round the
terrified man, and with one voice eagerly inquired what ghost, what
lights he meant? and when and where he had seen them? After drinking
a copious draught of ale, he became able to satisfy the curiosity he
had excited, and told them, as he was coming from the stables, just
as he passed the gate of the inner ballium, and was within forty yards
of the South tower, he saw a light as plain as ever he had seen one
in his life, through one of the grated windows, and, after it had
disappeared a few seconds, it appeared again at a much lower window,
flashed upon the wall, and smelt like sulphur. At the moment it
vanished the second time, he saw something all in white, which he
thought glided past him, but, on looking behind him, it was there
also, and it had actually followed him till he fell into the kitchen.
"Then, as sure as we are alive,(said one of the grooms,) Thomas has
seen the ghost of the lady who died for love of the young officer
that was put to death in the dungeons. I have heard my grandfather
say a thousand times he must have died innocent, for he was a bold
as a lion till his last gasp."
"Well, (said one of the women-servants,) I shall be afraid to stir out
after dark, if these confounded ghosts are again found taking their
nightly rambles, and prying into every thing that is going forwards."
"I always knew (said another) this castle was disturbed ever since
the great clock struck twelve twice in one night; for what on earth
could touch it at that time, if it had not been a spirit?"
"Ah! (said a third,) no doubt there have been sad doings in the castle."
"Not since we came to it, (replied an old grey-headed footman.) My
master has practised no deeds of darkness that would bring the dead
from their graves. As to what was done before our time, that can be
no business of ours, and I don't see how any ghost can have a right
to frighten and interrupt, either by day or night, those who were
never acquainted with it."
"Christ Jesus preserve us! (cried on of the maids,) I verily thinks
I saw something glide past that door! Surely father Anselm should be
sent for to give them absolution:--There! did you not hear that rustling?"
"I see and hear nothing, (said the before mentioned old servant,)
but what I wish neither to see not hear. You are all a parcel of
superstitious ignorant fools, and, if my master should once find
out what cowards you all are, he would soon compel you to give place
to a bolder set. Come, come, let us go to bed, and leave the ghosts
to do the same."
The old man led the way with a candle in his hand; the rest followed,
clinging to each other like a flight of bees, not one of them daring
to be left behind; and the groom, who had really seen a light from
the tower inhabited by the prisoner, was to convinced he had seen a
ghost, that neither father Anselm, nor all the fathers in Christendom,
could have persuaded him to think the contrary; and so much had it
alarmed him, that his terrified imagination had mistake his own shadow
for the ghost following close at his heels, and it was with some
difficulty he could be prevailed upon by his fellow-servants to go
to bed, lest he should see it again.
The next morning, when Audrey went to call her young lady, Roseline
requested she would forgive her for having spoken so angrily the
preceding evening, and with the most winning softness begged to be
informed what she meant by coupling her name with that of the Baron.
Audrey, who had never before seen Roseline so much out of humour,
and had neither forgotten nor forgiven the affront of being prevented
from disclosing a secret which she had for several days found very
troublesome to keep, replied, "I couples no one; matches are made
in heaven, or in the church, or at wakes; but I think, for my part,
some are made in a much worser place, and so she will think too who
is tacked in hollybands with the old Baron." "But who do you think,
my good Audrey, will ever be so unfortunate?" "Why will you ax me
miss? I must not speak my senterments: we poor servants never knows
nothing; but this I do know for certain, if ever I marries, it shall
be to a young man, a pretty-looking man,--good humoured ones I
loves,--something like Mr. Camelfor;--not to an old crab, sowrer
than vinegar, who would not suffer me to see with my own dear eyes,
nor believe with my own natural senses,--a crotched paced toad, who
would shut me up for life; mayhap, if I liked a better or a younger
man than himself,--an accident I think that might happen."
"But how should the Baron find out what you thought?"
"By going to a negromancer. Such old cattle are to the full as cunning
as their black master, and might strike one dumb."
"That, to be sure, (replied Roseline,) would be a heavy misfortune
to those who were fond of hearing the sound of their own voice in
preference to that of any other person."
"For my part, (said Audrey,) voice or no voice, I verily thinks
something mendusly bad after all will happen to this crazy castle,
for Thomas last night saw lights in the South tower, and the ghost
of a young woman followed him in such a hurry, that, if he had not ran
as fast as a hound, it would have stamped upon his heels. It went away
like a sky-rocket, and the smell of sulphur almost _sifficated_ the
poor fellow, who will certainly have a _parletic_ stroke."
Lady de Morney's bell now ringing, Audrey left the room, without
having said half so much as she intended to do about the ghost, or
unburthening her mind of a secret she heartily wished to reveal.