Frederic Glenmurray was a man of family, and of a small independent
estate, which, in case he died without children, was to go to the next
male heir; and to that heir it was certain it would go, as Glenmurray on
principle was an enemy to marriage, and consequently not likely to have
a child born in wedlock.
It was unfortunate circumstance for Glenmurray, that, with the ardour of
a young and inexperienced mind, he had given his eccentric opinions to
the world as soon as they were conceived and arranged,--as he, by so
doing, prejudiced the world against him in so unconquerable a degree,
that to him almost every door and heart was shut; and he by that means
excluded from every chance of having the errors of his imagination
corrected by the arguments of the experienced and enlightened--and
corrected, no doubt, they would have been, for he had a mild and candid
spirit, and mind open to conviction.
'I consider myself,' he used to say, 'as a sceptic, not as a man really
certain of the truth of any thing which he advances. I doubt of all
things, because I look upon doubt as the road to truth; and do but
convince me what is the truth, and at what risk, whatever sacrifice, I
am ready to embrace it.'
But, alas! neither the blamelessness of his life, nor even his active
virtue, assisted by the most courteous manners, were deemed sufficient
to counteract the mischievous tendency of his works; or rather, it was
supposed impossible that his life could be blameless and his seeming
virtues sincere:--and unheard, unknown, this unfortunate young man was
excluded from those circles which his talents would have adorned, and
forced to lead a life of solitude, or associate with persons unlike to
him in most things, except in a passion for the bold in theory, and the
almost impossible in practice.
Of this description of persons he soon became the oracle--the head of a
sect, as it were; and those tenets which at first he embraced, and put
forth more for amusement than from conviction, as soon as he began to
suffer on their account, became as clear to him as the cross to the
Christian martyr: and deeming persecution a test of truth, he considered
the opposition made to him and his doctrines, not as the result of
dispassionate reason striving to correct absurdity, but as selfishness
and fear endeavouring to put out the light which showed the weakness of
the foundation on which were built their claims to exclusive respect.
When Mrs Mowbray and Adeline first arrived at Bath, the latter had
attracted the attention and admiration of Colonel Mordaunt, an Irishman
of fortune, and an officer in the guards; and Adeline had not been
insensible to the charms of the very fine person and engaging manners,
united to powers of conversation which displayed an excellent
understanding improved by education and reading. But Colonel Mordaunt
was not a _marrying man_, as it is called: therefore, as soon as he
began to feel the influence of Adeline growing too powerful for his
freedom, and to observe that his attentions were far from unpleasing to
her,--too honourable to excite an attachment in her which he resolved to
combat in himself, he resolved to fly from the danger, which he knew he
could not face and overcome; and after a formal but embarrassed adieu to
Mrs Mowbray and Adeline, he suddenly left Bath.
This unexpected departure both surprised and grieved Adeline; but, as
her feelings of delicacy were too strong to allow her to sigh for a
man who, evidently, had no thoughts of sighing for her, she dismissed
Colonel Mordaunt from her remembrance, and tried to find as much
interest still in the ball-rooms, and the promenades, as his presence
had given them: nor was it long before she found in them an attraction
and an interest stronger than any which she had yet felt.
It is naturally to be supposed that Adeline had often wished to
know personally an author whose writings delighted her as much
as Glenmurray's had done, and that her fancy had often portrayed
him: but though it had clothed him in a form at once pleasing and
respectable,--still, from an idea of his superior wisdom, she had
imagined him past the meridian of life, and not likely to excite warmer
feelings than those of esteem and veneration: and such continued to be
Adeline's idea of Glenmurray, when he arrived at Bath, having been sent
thither by his physicians for the benefit of his health.
Glenmurray, though a sense of his unpopularity had long banished him
from scenes of public resort in general, was so pleased with the
novelties of Bath, that, though he walked wholly unnoticed except by the
lovers of genius in whatsoever shape it showed itself, he frequented
daily the pump-room, and the promenades; and Adeline had long admired
the countenance and dignified person of this young and interesting
invalid, without the slightest suspicion of his being the man of all
others whom she most wished to see.
Nor had Glenmurray been slow to admire Adeline: and so strong, so
irresistible was the feeling of admiration which she had excited in
him, that, as soon as she appeared, all other objects vanished from his
sight; and as women are generally quick-sighted to the effect of their
charms, Adeline never beheld the stranger without a suffusion of
pleasurable confusion on her cheek.
One morning at the pump-room, when Glenmurray, unconscious that Adeline
was near, was reading the newspaper with great attention, and Adeline
for the first time was looking at him unobserved, she heard the name of
Glenmurray pronounced, and turned her head towards the person who spoke,
in hopes of seeing Glenmurray himself; when Mrs Mowbray, turning round
and looking at the invalid, said to a gentleman next her, 'Did you say,
Sir, that that tall, pale, dark, interesting-looking young man is Mr
Glenmurray, the celebrated author?'
'Yes, ma'am,' replied the gentleman with a sneer: 'that is Mr
Glenmurray, the celebrated author.'
'Oh! how I should like to speak to him!' cried Mrs Mowbray.
'It will be no difficult matter,' replied her informant: 'the gentleman
is always quite as much at leisure as you see him now; for _all_ persons
have not the same taste as Mrs Mowbray.'
So saying, he bowed and departed, leaving Mrs Mowbray, to whom the sight
of a great author was new, so lost in contemplating Glenmurray, that the
sarcasm with which he spoke entirely escaped her observation.
Nor was Adeline less abstracted: she too was contemplating Glenmurray,
and with mixed but delightful feelings.
'So then he is young and handsome too!' said she mentally: 'it is a pity
he looks so _ill_,' added she _sighing_: but the sigh was caused rather
by his looking so _well_--though Adeline was not conscious of it.
By this time Glenmurray had observed who were his neighbours, and the
newspaper was immediately laid down.
'Is there any news to-day?' said Mrs Mowbray to Glenmurray, resolved to
make a bold effort to become acquainted with him. Glenmurray, with a bow
and a blush of mingled surprise and pleasure, replied that there was a
great deal,--and immediately presented to her the paper which he had
relinquished, setting chairs at the same time for her and Adeline.
Mrs Mowbray, however, only slightly glanced her eye over the paper:--her
desire was to talk to Glenmurray; and in order to accomplish this point,
and prejudice him in her favour, she told him how much she rejoiced
in seeing an author whose works were the delight and instruction of
her life. 'Speak, Adeline,' cried she, turning to her blushing daughter;
'do we not almost daily read and daily admire Mr Glenmurray's
writings?'--'Yes, certainly,' replied Adeline, unable to articulate
more, awed no doubt by the presence of so superior a being; while
Glenmurray, more proud of being an author than ever, said internally,
'Is it possible that that sweet creature should have read and admired my
works?'
But in vain, encouraged by the smiles and even by the blushes of
Adeline, did he endeavour to engage her in conversation. Adeline was
unusually silent, unusually bashful. But Mrs Mowbray made ample amends
for her deficiency; and Mr Glenmurray, flattered and amused, would
have continued to converse with her and look at Adeline, had he not
observed the impertinent sneers and rude laughter to which conversing so
familiarly with him exposed Mrs Mowbray. As soon as he observed this, he
arose to depart; for Glenmurray was, according to Rochefoucault's maxim,
so exquisitely selfish, that he always considered the welfare of others
before his own; and heroically sacrificing his own gratification to save
Mrs Mowbray and Adeline from further censure, he bowed with the greatest
respect to Mrs Mowbray, sighed as he paid the same compliment to
Adeline, and, lamenting his being forced to quit them so soon, with
evident reluctance left the room.
'What an elegant bow he makes!' exclaimed Mrs Mowbray. Adeline had
observed nothing but the sigh; and on that she did not choose to make
any comment.
The next day Mrs Mowbray, having learned Glenmurray's address, sent him
a card for a party at her lodgings. Nothing but Glenmurray's delight
could exceed his astonishment at this invitation. He had observed Mrs
Mowbray and Adeline, even before Adeline had observed him; and, as he
gazed upon the fascinating Adeline, he had sighed to think that she too
would be taught to avoid the dangerous and disreputable acquaintance of
Glenmurray. To him, therefore, this mark of attention was a source both
of consolation and joy. But, being well convinced that it was owing to
her ignorance of the usual customs and opinions of those with whom she
associated, he was too generous to accept the invitation, as he knew
that his presence at a rout at Bath would cause general dismay, and
expose the mistress to disagreeable remarks at least: but he endeavoured
to make himself amends for his self-denial, by asking leave to wait on
them when they were alone.