THE
LIBERTINE.
IN FOUR VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
W. Flint, Printer,
Old Bailey.
THE
LIBERTINE,
BY
CHARLOTTE DACRE,
BETTER KNOWN AS
ROSA MATILDA.
AUTHOR OF
_Hours of Solitude_, _Nun of St. Omer’s_, _Zofloya_, _&c._
IN FOUR VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
If one by one you wedded all the world,
Or from the all that are, took something good
To make a perfect woman; she you kill’d
Would be unparallel’d.
SHAKESPEARE.
... Are not these strange self delusions, and yet attested
by common experience?
SOUTH.
_LONDON_:
PRINTED FOR T. CADELL AND W. DAVIES, STRAND.
1807.
THE
LIBERTINE.
CHAP. XVIII.
Time crept on, and all hope of discovering their child faded gradually
and sorrowfully from the minds of the parents. Felix had attained his
tenth year, and on him alone rested now their fond expectations. But the
mind of the mother would often revert with a sigh of bitter regret to
the probable fate of her beloved Agnes, who would now have been for her
so sweet a companion, and filled up with delight many moments that were
necessarily devoted to solitude; for Felix was more the companion of
his father than her, and though a lovely and engaging youth, he needed
that urbanity, softness, and docility of manner which fondly, she
imagined in the gentle creature she had lost. The idol of his father, it
was not unfrequently that she beheld insufficient her mild and rational
controul to restrain the impetuosity of his manners, the wildness, and
often serious impropriety of his conduct. But Angelo, who contended that
all this was but the ardour and spirit of youth, and that it would yield
to the soberer influence of judgment and increase of years, loved not
that she should check the boy; for in the fulness of a proud self-love
he would remember, that his son resembled what he himself had been at
his age.
Thus by the mismanagement, and oftentimes imprudent interference of
Angelo in his presence, many errors were suffered to take deep and
fatal root in the heart of Felix, which the anxious vigilance and
salutary reproofs of his mother might have timely extirpated, but would
at all events have rendered of little influence in his future general
character. Still she entertained hopes that unremitting perseverance on
her side, and the ultimate prevalence of increasing reason over early
folly, on his, would correct the imperfections of his present
disposition, and render him all that her anxious love desired to behold
him as a man.
The hopes of Gabrielle were however doomed to be frustrated, for the
conduct of Felix, his inattention to her counsels, and disobedience of
her commands, originated in a source deeper far than any of which she
was aware; for while she considered as the wandering of the head
merely, the errors of her child, they sprang from a heart corrupted and
contaminated by the baneful influence of surrounding circumstance.
In the domestic establishment of Angelo, was a female named Milborough;
she had been originally hired to attend exclusively upon the infant
Felix, and to keep a guard over him, excepting when under the eyes of
his parents. As Felix grew older however, and required no longer the
vigilant care of a nurse, Gabrielle conceiving a regard for the woman on
account of the attention she considered her to have bestowed upon her
charge, retained her still in the family to officiate as a personal
attendant upon herself. Nothing could be more gentle, modest, and
unassuming than the general conduct of Milborough, nothing more
treacherous, base, and diabolical than her heart: nothing could equal
the propriety of her deportment but the depravity of her principles; nor
any thing the conciliating anxiety she evinced to obey the smallest of
Gabrielle’s desires, but the secret, malign, and unprovoked hatred which
she bore her.
Possessed of a profligate intriguing spirit, she veiled it with the
profoundest art, and under the guise of an inoffensive placidity,
concealed a mercenary and deceitful soul; all she said, and all she did,
bore the stamp of candour and disinterestedness; her countenance was
never ruffled by impatience at reproof, she heard all with submission,
but felt with rancour, and revenged with bitterness.
Soon after her introduction to the family, by an unfortunate accident,
but one too easy of occurrence in a situation not strictly conformable
to propriety and virtue, this woman had discovered that marriage was not
the tie which bound in a union apparently so indissoluble those persons
who gave her bread; and far from closing her eyes and ears, as duty
dictated to a menial like herself, against a secret thus betrayed, she
spared no opportunity of endeavouring to confirm, by prying curiosity,
and unobserved remark, the truth of what at first had been but vaguely
made known to her. She soon gained, or conceived that she did, proof
sufficient to convince her. From that moment, those bad principles with
which her soul was imbued were called into action; she no longer bore
towards Gabrielle the smallest respect, viewing her no more in the light
of a superior, though she still appeared to do so; for it is an
invariable maxim with vulgar minds, when they discover aught amiss in
those above them, immediately to place themselves upon a level with
them, to consider all inequality at an end, and establish their own
claims to distinction, merely upon a comparative view with their errors.
Thus was it with Milborough, who not taking into her narrow conception
the superior birth, merits, or high qualities of Gabrielle, saw simply
an unjust difference in their present stations, and imagined when she
beheld her unpolished figure in the glass, that _her_ title to rank and
opulence was in no way inferior to that of her mistress. This ignorant
and presumptuous idea laid the foundation of a train of evils at once
mighty and incalculable.
The commands of Gabrielle, now that she beheld her in a light so
humiliated, no more enforced obedience from her as a duty; consequently
she obeyed reluctantly, for they galled and offended her; and she made
herself amends for her condescension by every means in her power. Being
from her situation (which her interest would not permit her to resign)
so placed as to be necessarily subordinate to Gabrielle, she from first
thinking herself degraded by obeying her, ultimately hated her who
commanded; yet this low born upstart presumed to consider _Gabrielle_ a
mark for envy, therefore for hatred; and in proportion as her high and
superior virtues manifested themselves, supported by a steady dignity,
the result of conscious nobility of mind, as well as birth, the hatred
of this reptile increased with every foul aggravation which low minded
malice could conceive, venting itself in secret, unsuspected, but
dreadful mischief.
Though at the period of her entering the service of Angelo, Felix
tenderly loved his mother, yet Milborough, from being constantly with
him, acquired a sort of _second love_ in his heart, which soon usurped
the place of the first,--an undue and irrational influence on his mind
likewise, such as vulgar cunning suggests, may be easiest obtained over
youth and inexperience. It was by yielding ever to his follies and
caprices, acquiescing with a smile in his wildest sallies; by
indiscriminate indulgence, improper temptations to disobey the anxious
or rational injunctions of his mother; flattery, inducing him to commit
faults for the purpose of raising her consequence in his eyes by
concealing them, and gaining his confidence and affection through the
channel of a perverted gratitude.
Felix grew fond of his nurse; his boyish mind preferred her society to
that of his mother, who content to see him happy, was never displeased
at his anxiety to return to Milborough after being a short time absent
from her; and from being merely induced to think from that circumstance
that she treated the boy with kindness, continually bestowed on her
marks of her gratitude and satisfaction; thus unconsciously cherishing a
snake, who was stinging her in the tenderest point. When Felix, still
very young, had committed one day a slight error for which Gabrielle
considered it necessary to reprove him, but did it in the mildest and
most gentle manner, Felix burst into tears, and sought his flattering
nurse, who perceiving her pretended favourite weeping bitterly, took him
immediately in her arms, and inquired the cause of his distress. Felix,
certain of being pitied and soothed, informed her, while his tears
redoubled; when giving vent to her secret malice, Milborough exclaimed,
“Indeed!--but _she_ has no right to be angry with you, Felix.”
“Oh yes,” cried the boy, instantly checking his tears, and looking up in
her face, struck as it appeared by so base an insinuation.--“Certainly
my mother has a right to be angry with me.”
“Indeed she has not, Felix,” answered Milborough, with a lip of
contempt, “your father has a right, but she is _nobody_.”
“Nobody! Milborough,” cried Felix, looking at her indignantly,--“my
mother nobody? I do not understand you,” and, instinctively as it were,
he withdrew her arm from round his neck.
“Why, Felix, you are too young to understand indeed, so let us say no
more about it.”
But the curiosity of youth is not so easily appeased; this the artful
Milborough reckoned on, and when a few minutes after Felix required an
explanation of what she had meant by saying his mother was “nobody,” her
eyes sparkled with the exultation of malice, and her base heart rejoiced
at the thought of the revenge she was taking upon the excellence, and
imagined happiness of Gabrielle, which she died to frustrate.
“Why then,” with pretended hesitation she replied--“I will tell
you,--but first promise me never to mention it to any one, but above
all, not to your mother.”
“Oh, but my mother says I must never have any secrets from her,”
answered Felix.
“Pho, nonsense,” returned Milborough, putting her arm round him again,
which action, his curiosity now on the stretch, he did not again
repulse.--“Now listen.”
The little Felix opened his ears to drink in the base pernicious
communications of the abandoned Milborough; and she availing herself of
the deep attention with which he listened, made as clear as she possibly
could to his childish capacity, that there was a certain ceremony called
marriage, which if not duly and regularly performed between two persons
deciding to live together, the female lost all consequence in society,
and was regarded as an unfit companion for other females, honourably
married; that the children, likewise, were never considered by the world
as entitled to any distinction, but on the contrary; and that therefore
they were not obliged to honour or obey a mother whom no one honoured or
esteemed, and who had so little considered in her conduct their future
welfare or estimation in society. “Thus, Felix, you perceive I was
right,” she concluded, “in saying that your mother was nobody.”
Felix was silent, his mind was confused, he felt something like painful
conviction, and this conversation made a deep impression. Above all, he
remembered a sensation of uneasiness which he had experienced at that
part of Milborough’s discourse wherein she had made an observation
respecting the opinion which the world entertained of children situated
as he now understood himself to be.
A frequent recurrence to that most infamous insinuation produced a
baleful effect upon his character: he endeavoured, child as he was, to
divest himself of all pride, conceiving from what Milborough had said,
he had no right to possess any, and in so doing unfortunately divested
himself of _that_ pride which is the foundation of every virtue, the
pride of principle. As he grew older, the destructive effect of this
idea produced daily more lamentable consequences. He lost all self
respect, all solicitude for proper conduct; he said to himself, “However
good, honourable, or virtuous I may be, no one will look at me, or think
me worthy notice.” Thus is it but too true, that however injurious may
be an excess of pride, to be wholly devoid of it is to be devoid of
every virtue; for when we despise ourselves, we are indifferent to the
approbation of others, to the noble distinction of superior worth, and
all that gives consideration to the man.
Unhappily for Gabrielle, she knew not the corruption that had been
engendered in the heart of her son; she knew not the dreadful sentiments
that there had taken root, or her anxious counsels, her just and
animated representation of that wherein true virtue and dignity consist,
depending solely on the mind, and on the heart, towering singly and
unaided, neither to be raised or depreciated by surrounding
circumstances, but making in itself the nobility of the individual; had
she but been aware, she might have destroyed the evil in its germ, and
applied the remedy ere it had proved in vain.
Her who had been the nurse of his childhood, as Felix advanced to
maturer years became the friend, the adviser of his youth, the faithful
depositary, and often partaker of his secret follies and intentions; he
now understood perfectly, from the frequent questions he had proposed to
Milborough, and which she ever answered with unwearied readiness; from
combining in his naturally intelligent mind such ideas as presented
themselves, from observation, or an inquisitiveness of spirit, all which
at first he had found it difficult to comprehend. From the joint
operation of these circumstances his respect for his mother gradually
decreased; with it decreased his love likewise, and involved with the
dereliction the finer and better qualities of his soul; for filial love
and respect cannot causelessly quit the young mind without depriving it
of some of its best and brightest virtues.
The abandoned Milborough rejoiced in the train of mischief she was
secretly laying, which in time she hoped to see explode, causing
dreadful and unspeakable havoc. The boyish partiality of Felix for her
increased rather than diminished with his years--she was so gentle, so
yielding, so ever ready to acquiesce in all his wishes however difficult
to be atchieved; she appeared too so happy when she could compass for
him any point he desired, so delighted to favour or oblige him. Being
frequently the companion of his father, he would sometimes in the
plenitude of youthful exhiliration speak of her in terms of highest
praise. Angelo would listen with a smile; he was not surprised at the
fondness of a young boy for the woman who had been a kind nurse to him
in his childhood, but he was wholly incompetent to judge of the merits
of Milborough; she did not come within his sphere, and he had scarcely
ever bestowed on her a moment’s attention. Induced at length by the
reiterated observations of the youth in her favour, he one morning, when
she entered the room where he was sitting with Gabrielle, raised
mechanically his eyes to her face.--He beheld there an expression of
modesty and ingenuousness which pleased him, and sufficient attraction
to obviate the charge of ugliness, an attraction which, though devoid of
youth or beauty, boasted a sort of charm independent of either.
Felix, who had remarked with pleasure that his father had noticed
Milborough, seized the first opportunity of their being alone to ask
him if he did not think Milborough handsome.
“Not particularly so,” was the reply of Angelo; “but since she has
deported herself so well towards you, tell her from me, that whenever
she chuses to marry, I will give her a sufficient portion to ensure the
good-will of her husband.”
Felix, delighted at the idea of having so pleasing a communication to
make to Milborough, and hoping that it would infinitely raise his
consequence with her, hastened when he left his father to impart it to
her. Scarce had Milborough heard him to an end, ere an idea flashed
across her mind which tinged her cheek with the fire of exultation; she
beheld in the munificent promise of Angelo, not merely what it proposed,
but far more that it implied; disguising her joy however, she with an
apparent modesty and humility entreated Felix to return her most
grateful thanks to her lord, but with an air of embarrassment added,
that she had no intention of ever marrying.
That night, sleep was a stranger to the eyes of Milborough; visions of
aspiring hope floated before her; extravagant presumptuous calculations
filled her brain, and she wondered at her dulness in having so long
failed to see the road which lay most open for her to opulence and
grandeur, but above all, to compass that destruction in which
unceasingly she had longed to involve her envied hated mistress. The
casual notice of Angelo, and the intimation sent her by him through
Felix, formed the basis of her present golden dreams. Since he had
deigned to listen to her praises, and so far acquiesced in their justice
as to send her a special embassy proving his disposition in her favour,
what might she not in reason expect? Well she knew she could not
appreciate too highly the estimation in which she was held by Felix. He
possessed an unlimited influence over his father, it was only therefore
to render him voluntarily or involuntarily, no matter which, the medium
of introducing her more fully to the observation of Angelo, and her most
sanguine anticipations might be easily fulfilled.
Pursuant to this idea, she redoubled her attention towards the son, and
threw herself, as much as her department in the family would allow,
without suspicion, in the way of the father; she endeavoured by every
artifice compleatly to estrange the affections of Felix from his
mother, and to court him from her society to her own. For this purpose
she filled her apartment with entertainment for him, drawing materials,
with subjects more amusing than instructive, from which to copy, books,
pernicious rather than edifying, musical instruments and songs that she
accompanied him with, calculated from their tendency to corrupt the
heart and mislead the imagination. Milborough, who had not an
indifferent voice, one evening carelessly and with a smile observed to
Felix, after concluding a song, “Do you not think, Felix, that my lord
would like to hear some of our songs?”
“I am certain he would,” answered Felix eagerly, “but you would not sing
before my mother, Milborough.”
“How simple you are,” returned Milborough; “certainly not.”
“Shall I ask my father then to come and hear you?” said Felix.
“Oh, not for the world,” returned Milborough laughing, “I am certain I
could not sing a note in the presence of my lord.”
“Well, but if you did not see him?” cried Felix, smiling archly and
looking at Milborough.
“Oh, perhaps I might then,” answered the artful Milborough, catching his
idea.
“To-morrow evening I will bring my father to hear you, as if by
accident, and he shall remain in the next room to you.”
“But he must not know,” interposed Milborough, “that I have any
knowledge of his being there.”
“He shall not, indeed.”
“Well, upon those terms,” said Milborough with a musing air, but
secretly rejoiced, and desiring to have the air of submitting to an
arrangement of which she had been the first instigator, “upon those
terms I think I have no objection.”
“It is decided,” cried Felix: “now let us have another song, and then I
must leave you.”
The next evening Felix proposed to his father to be an unseen auditor of
Milborough’s singing. Angelo, who had not the least anxiety to hear such
vulgar harmony as he conceived hers must be, at first directly refused,
but yielding to the entreaty of his son, he at length consented, and
promised, laughing, that he would accompany him to the room adjoining
hers for that purpose, at the time mutually agreed on. When the hour
arrived, Angelo had forgotten his promise, but at the vexed remonstrance
of the impetuous youth, he yielded acquiescence, and followed him to the
appointed spot. A small glass window fixed in the door which separated
the two rooms, was usually covered with a curtain, but the scheming
Milborough, whose plan was artfully laid, had drawn this curtain the
least degree possible aside, yet sufficiently, while it appeared the
work of accident, to give an insight into the chamber. There accurately
drest, that is modestly, though to the highest advantage, she awaited
the moment when by a little signal previously agreed on between her and
Felix, she should be informed of their entrance, and know when to begin
her song. No sooner had she received from the unthinking boy the
necessary hint, than she commenced by carelessly humming an air, not
without taste, which at intervals she interrupted, as more intent upon
her employment, which was embroidering flowers in a frame; then
gradually she entered on the song of the air she had been humming. The
subject was simply interesting and artfully chosen. It related to the
concealed love of a maid in lowly station for a lord of high rank, and
it painted her secret anguish in mournful expression, and melancholy
tone, to which she managed to give peculiar effect, and concluded with
the death of the maid from her hopeless passion, in consequence of the
marriage of her lover with another.
While she sang, so apparently unconscious that any human being was nigh,
Angelo, whose expectations she had completely surpassed, for he had
attributed the praises of Felix merely to his want of taste in the
science, found himself first involuntarily drawn towards the artfully
contrived aperture, better to catch the notes of her voice, and next
rivetted there, by the well arranged figure and pleasing countenance
which displayed itself to his view. He continued gazing near a minute
after the song was ended, and was only roused from his intentness by the
gentle voice of Felix, who pulling him by the arm, in the spirit of
boyish mischief whispered, “Let us break suddenly in upon Milborough, my
lord, and tell her we have heard her song,--she will look so frightened
and confused!”
“No, no, Felix,” replied Angelo, laughing, “what folly!”
“Oh, to oblige me, my lord--to oblige me, my dear father; do not refuse,
I entreat you,” said Felix; and dragging his father forward, half
reluctant, half careless, he with his foot burst open the door which led
into her room, and both stood suddenly before her, Felix laughing
immoderately at her confusion and alarm, so well affected as to deceive
even himself. But since Angelo had for the first time entered her
apartment, she was desirous to avail herself of the auspicious moment.
On their sudden entrance the frame had fallen from her hand, she started
up, and appeared in the greatest perturbation; now she trembled
violently, seeming unable to sustain herself, attempted to catch at a
chair for support, and failing, staggered and fell to the ground.
Angelo, somewhat flushed with wine, had given inconsiderately into the
frolic of his son; but now seriously sorry for the terror he had
occasioned a weak and timid female, he instinctively attempted to raise
her from the ground, in which Felix, no longer gay and laughing, most
earnestly assisted. At length Milborough appeared to recover, she was
raised from the ground, but seeming suddenly to perceive that it was the
hand of Angelo which held hers, to assist her, she swiftly withdrew it
with a slight exclamation of alarm, and glanced on him a look, in which
love struggling with apprehension, and pleasure with trembling timidity,
were artfully contrasted. Angelo observed the expressive look; though
past his youthful day, his natural character remained unchanged, at
least in principle; ever open in a degree to the blandishments of women,
he had not yet learnt to contemn them, and his vanity was still
susceptible of being flattered by their admiration, as his heart to be
influenced by their charms.
Thus Milborough, whose look had penetrated immediately to his self-love,
began to wear additional attractions in his eyes; he now fancied there
was meaning in the expression of her song, and while vanity faintly
whispered that she dared to entertain an affection for him, self-love
extenuated her presumption, and bade him pity, rather than despise her.
Honour and propriety would have dictated to Angelo at this imagined
discovery, an unvarying countenance, excepting of increased coolness,
and a speedy departure from her chamber, which if not expressive of his
disgust, must have convinced her at least of the total impossibility of
his supposing that _such_ a look directed to _him_, could contain the
slightest meaning. But no, true to the latent principles of his nature,
of a character that wanted energy, firmness, and decision, that was ever
acted on by the influence of circumstance, or the moment, and was devoid
of the dignified fortitude which can resist adventitious temptation, he
suffered _more_ softness to be visible in his looks, more interest in
the tone of his voice, more tenderness in the assistance he gave; but
all this was urged by _pity_, and by the delicacy which a woman commands
from a man, who discovers that she unhappily cherishes an imprudent
passion for him. Instead of hastening from her room, as soon as
possible, his stay was prolonged; nor did he quit her till he beheld her
perfectly recovered, and then with the hope, expressed in the gentlest
accents, that by the following day she would suffer no ill effects from
the alarm she had experienced. Milborough seeming overpowered with
confusion, scarcely lifted her eyes from the ground; and when Angelo
rose for the purpose of departing, she arose likewise, for he had
compelled her to sit in his presence, and seemed incapable, from a sense
of the honour conferred upon her, of returning her faltering
acknowledgments for such condescension.
CHAPTER XIX.
Who would not have believed, after so long a period of constancy and
perseverance in the right path, that the follies of Angelo were for ever
at an end? Far otherwise; the errors of the libertine are too frequently
so imbued with the character, as to be invincible to the operation of
time, experience, conscience, or reason, and to end but with the life of
the wretched being they tyrannize over.
And on what had depended hitherto the virtue of Angelo? on what the
peace of the unhappy Gabrielle? On accident alone; no meteor presenting
itself to his eyes, no attraction offering, he walked directly forward,
nothing occurring to lead him astray; he sought not temptation, if it
sought not him, but if it did he became its slave. Ill fated Gabrielle,
rejoice in the slender portion of happiness thou hast experienced, dream
it o’er in imagination, for never more shalt thou experience its
reality.
Novelty, in the form of Milborough, presented itself to Angelo, and he
was incapable of resisting the attraction: it is not _age_ that checks
the career of folly in the libertine--no, his follies then became
_vices_, they degenerate into depravity; his feelings become vitiated,
and he possesses no longer that choice delicacy of taste attendant on
the pride of youth. Thus, from having been in an unguarded moment, by
the influence of an idle boy, induced to pay a slight share of attention
to a presumptuous menial, he found himself involuntarily interested,
drawn frequently upon various pretexts to her apartment, and each time
of seeing her, that she occupied, when out of her presence, an increased
portion of his thoughts. Her artful demeanour tended greatly to
strengthen those at first vague impressions; in it he saw, or fancied
that he saw, a deep concealed love struggling with the profoundest
respect, and most invincible timidity. If he entered suddenly, she
started, blushed, and trembled, forgot her employment, hesitated, and
knew not whether to stand or sit. If she chanced to meet him, which she
likewise endeavoured to do as frequently as possible, she stood still,
seeming undecided from confusion whether to pass him, or turn back.
Angelo was convinced by these appearances, and while he compassionated
an unhappy love, he involuntarily thought with tenderness of her who
loved.
Mean time the conduct of Milborough towards Gabrielle was widely
different from the respect she evinced for Angelo, and from what it had
formerly been to herself; it was such precisely as a vulgar mind,
impudently elate in anticipated good fortune, must manifest to one,
whose high superiority it had presumed to envy. Gabrielle, mild as she
was, became incensed at this change in the manners of a domestic, who
had so much reason to persevere in a proper line of conduct, and she
taxed her with her presumption in terms, for her, unusually severe. At
her just reproof, the countenance of Milborough wore an audacious
expression, between a sneer and a smile of triumph, and she deigned not
to utter a sentence in mitigation of her faults.
It was the aim of this intriguing woman to bring as early as possible
her plans to bear; she desired to provoke Gabrielle to dismiss her from
her service, and while, to induce this result, she sought by the most
unqualified insolence and offensive demeanour to try her patience beyond
endurance, she caused Felix to represent to his father that she felt
such symptoms of indisposition, as announced premature decay; at the
same time artfully intimating to the youth that she wished her
communications to be kept secret from all but himself, lest Gabrielle,
who had become less kind to her than formerly, should insist on her
removal; and then, with false tears, lamenting death only as it would
deprive her of the happiness of seeing her dear Felix a man.
This was sufficient to hasten Felix, who for this worthless being
possessed an affection far greater than for his amiable mother, to
disclose to his father her most important secret. Angelo, with a
momentary flutter at his heart, saw it was for him she pined--he felt
interested; and half determined in his mind, that if Gabrielle, who was
incapable of so unworthy an act, should dismiss the poor creature on
account of ill health, to make it a point to do all that _humanity_
required of him to promote her comfort. Thus did he seek ever to blind
himself to the real motives that in certain particulars actuated his
conduct. He formed immediately a pretext for paying her a visit, and in
the plenitude of a deceiving self-love, he conceived, on regarding her,
that her cheek looked paler, and her form reduced. This idea gave an
additional victory to that slow undermining power she was gaining over
his heart, and caused him, when he discovered the increasing interest
which he felt for her, to excuse himself with the vain reflection, that
she was a female formed for a higher station than the one in which
fortune had placed her.
While her mean and treacherous influence was thus gaining ground in the
mind of Angelo, her conduct became daily more insufferable to the pride
and feelings of Gabrielle. She at length determined to dismiss her, but
in consequence of her having been, as she believed, a tender nurse to
Felix, she decided, first to inform Angelo of the various causes she had
received from her of provocation, and to ask his concurrence in her
intention. Accordingly she took the first opportunity of introducing
the subject, expressing at the same time her regret that the ingratitude
of the woman at so late a period of her service, should have induced her
reluctantly to entertain an ill opinion of her heart. Ere she had half
concluded, Angelo interrupted her, and while his conscience smote him
for the thought he cherished, he hastily exclaimed, “Why not at once
discard her?”
“I intended to have informed you such was my wish,” observed Gabrielle.
“Why ask my concurrence, upon such a trifle,” he faltered with a slight
blush:--“do it--do it this instant, if you choose.”
Gabrielle, who could see in this nothing but most ready acquiescence in
her proposal, (for though she had sometimes been obliged to think
_severely_ of Angelo, she had never yet thought _humbly_ of him,)
dropped the subject as unworthy further discussion, simply resolving to
put her purpose in immediate execution. Thus in a few hours Milborough
received orders to quit the house; she only smiled at the mandate, and
prepared to obey with alacrity. While she was busily employed, Angelo,
led by one of those impulses he never knew how to resist, entered her
apartment. Milborough, who had fully expected this visit, nevertheless
affected surprise, forgot as usual in what she was engaged, and in the
utmost agitation stood still. Angelo, scarcely conscious of the purport
of his visit, regarded her with some embarrassment; he felt humbled, and
ashamed of the situation in which he found himself, yet knew not how to
retract. Milborough saw that an impellant was necessary; she raised her
eyes to those of Angelo, and casting them hastily down again, burst into
tears. This was sufficient for him, man becomes reassured when he
perceives that the confusion of a woman is greater than his own; he
approached Milborough, took her hand, and inquired the cause of her
distress.
“Oh, my lord, do not ask me,” she cried; “am I not going to quit my
beloved Felix? to quit you--your service, my lord?”
“And do you so much regret that, Milborough,” said Angelo, in a soothing
voice. The tears of Milborough redoubled, but she did not speak, for she
knew when to be silent. Angelo’s heart was softened by her seeming
anguish; he raised to his lips the hand he held, unworthy Angelo! and
causing Milborough to be seated, he said in the low voice of a man who
is conscious that he is saying what he ought not, “Grieve not,
Milborough; be assured, that although you quit this house, I shall ever
remember you with gratitude for the--the tenderness you have evinced
towards my son, and--and--”
“Talk not of gratitude to me, my lord,” cried Milborough with a sigh.
“Of love then, Milborough,” cried Angelo, with a smile. “But whither do
you go from hence? inform me at once, for I hear Felix coming towards
us.”
“I hear him too, my lord,” said Milborough with a timid glance; “and
since--since you deign to ask me of my destination--I go to my sister,
who resides at----” Felix drew nearer. Angelo approached his ear, and
the rest of her communication was whispered; when, unwilling that just
at this moment Felix should behold him with Milborough, he glided
hastily through the door that led into the apartment where first he had
become debased by attending to her. Miserable Angelo! how art thou sunk,
when even from the presence of thy child, thou fliest in confusion!
Triumphing in the folly of the one, and the misery she was preparing for
the other, the worthless Milborough quitted the house of her
benefactors, where for years she had possessed all the comforts of
polished life, and been cherished as the humble friend and well wisher
of the family; in return she had insulted the wife, seduced the husband,
and corrupted the child. Such too often is the return of the depraved
and mercenary vulgar for favours received, on whom benefits make no
impression beyond the moment, and in the vocabulary of whose sensations
the feeling, gratitude is not admitted.
A new æra of folly, or rather of vice, in the life of Angelo, now
presents itself; the vice no longer of youth either, but of maturer
years, the most unworthy, the most inexcusable, of all his former vices.
If in the seduction of Gabrielle might be pleaded an impetuous love,
excited by her manifold perfections; if in forsaking such excellence,
might be pleaded his natural fickleness, allured by the sprightliness
and affected simplicity of an Oriana; if further outraging a love and
sentiments of which he was unworthy, he could presume to offer in
extenuation the ravishing beauty, youth, and seeming innocence of a
Paulina; what could he urge, when neither youth, grace, mind, nor
manners, could be adduced as the attraction? What but a cureless
depravity of taste, which being satiated by that which is good, seeks to
excite anew a sickly appetite, by a reference to that which is bad?
Milborough possessed nothing, impartially considered, to charm or to
allure; she was neither beautiful nor young, nor from her birth and
education could she possibly be even elegant; in all probability she
would for ever have passed unnoticed by Angelo, had she not introduced
herself to his attention by flattering his vanity. Instantly he
discovered in her a thousand charms, which she possessed not, and which,
but for that single inducement, he never would have conceived her to
possess. Now he became weary of the sameness of being virtuous, though
he was only negatively so, and longed again for the meretricious
pleasures of guilt.
Thus then, after the departure of the worthless Milborough, his feet
wandered from home towards her habitation; her joy at beholding him,
though decorously she desired to veil it, scarcely could be concealed
from his view. The first decisive step once taken, the successive ones
were easy, and followed rapidly; visit produced visit; from frequency,
grew familiarity, from familiarity a fixed and settled intercourse that
ultimately involved the most terrible consequences.
For a time Milborough continued to pay court to the weak side of Angelo,
which her keen vulgar cunning had discovered to be an inordinate
vanity: this mode of conduct had first drawn him towards her, and now
rivetted him, and when at times his own polished education, refined
knowledge of customs, and propriety, would discover to him the gross
inaccuracies of Milborough, he would excuse himself for being pleased
with her society in the fancied conviction of her possessing an
excellent heart, and in the flattering belief that if he were to abstain
from seeing her, she would die of grief. But when once a vulgar mind
gains an ascendancy over a weak one, its obsequiousness ends, and the
fawning flatterer becomes a most insufferable tyrant; its requisitions
are those of profound folly, ignorance, and boundless presumption; and
such trammels are more difficult to be shaken off than those of wisdom
or of virtue.
Such was Milborough: she waited patiently till she beheld her empire
secure; that it was so she ascertained by increasing gradually her
demands upon Angelo; and finding each time that they were complied with
without a single remonstrance, although she well knew at the time, they
were such as he must find it difficult to compass; for example, among
other things, she once desired him to procure for her some jewels which
she remembered to have seen Gabrielle wear, promising that she would
return them immediately that she had used them once, and he might then
replace them from whence he took them, ere Gabrielle could perceive that
they were missing. The imprudent Angelo complied with this most insolent
demand, when to his confusion she afterwards laughingly refused to
resign them, and observing his embarrassment, vowed like a fury that
she was determined to keep them, or never see him more.
Angelo, in the true spirit of the libertine, who requires a zest even to
what he loves, was terrified at this threat; for though he might have
endured a separation with indifference, had he found she trembled at the
thought, yet when she became the instigator, he discovered in her charms
which he had never seen before. But what resource had he in the dilemma
in which he had unwarily involved himself? Unwilling to lead Gabrielle
into the error of suspecting any one unjustly, unwilling to appear or to
acknowledge himself a thief in her eyes, he had then only this
alternative. He caused a set precisely similar to those he had deprived
her of to be formed in paste, and replaced them in her cabinet ere,
domestic and unadorned as she ever was, she had missed them. Oh!
passion, when indulged for a worthless object, to what degradation wilt
thou hurry man!
Mean time Gabrielle who had been for some time in ignorance of this
disgraceful connexion, and who could not possibly suspect it, from
having been accustomed to appreciate too highly the pride and dignity of
Angelo, now heard of it from all with whom she had any acquaintance, who
scarcely even imagined it a secret from her; her own servants were fully
informed of the odious truth, and though they seemed indignant at the
infamy of Milborough, and treated their mistress with increased respect,
it was perhaps more from envy (which ever exists among the vulgar
against each other) at the good fortune of the former, than sincere and
generous sympathy in the outrage offered to the latter.
Indeed, the low minded Milborough did her utmost to impress upon the
mind of Gabrielle, that these reports were far from being unfounded: she
had an elegant establishment, and she disguised from no one, that it was
the Count D’Albini who enabled her to support it; she had an equipage
emblazoned with his arms, servants wearing his livery, and with these
her base and insensible soul led her to parade in unblushing triumph
past the door of her former mistress, in hopes of at some period
attracting her attention. Sometimes she even carried her shameless
audacity so far as to force into the seat beside her, the weak, degraded
Angelo, who, fearing to refuse, was borne along to catch the view of her
he was so cruelly insulting, yet not unblushing, but trembling like a
culprit who hides his head, with shame, from the glance of a just
judge.
Gabrielle saw, in silence saw, the career of Angelo, at a period of life
when the wild horses of folly slacken their course, and reason, becoming
powerful, calls them from the chace; when the soul desires to _rest_
from vain and ignoble pursuits, and experiences in the calm of a
reformed and virtuous life, more happiness than was ever found in the
palling irrational excesses of youth. She lived in the firm and pious
hope, that each day would convince him more deeply of his misconduct,
and that better reason must speedily prevail over what she considered
the last ebullitions of expiring error.
Bitter adversity, frequent disappointment, had so rationalized as it
were the firm mind of Gabrielle, that she now considered events rather
in a philosophical point of view, as resulting from an inevitable
necessity, and not therefore to be deeply or vainly lamented. In the
pride of her youth and beauty, bitterly had she felt the derelictions of
Angelo; but now with a humility that rendered her but more exalted,
placing the rich treasures of her mind from the question, and estimating
her personal charms even far below their real standard, she remembered
that she was no longer so young or so attractive as formerly, and that
the passions, tastes, and inclinations of men outliving, from their
habits and mode of education, those of women, would sometimes lead them
to pursue to a late period of life the means of indulging or gratifying
them, and that therefore they were not to be too severely arraigned for
faults almost implanted in their nature. Thus did she endeavour to
excuse in Angelo, not only to herself, but to others, a conduct for
which all who knew her despised and condemned him; and this she did,
still cherishing hope, that her patience, toleration, and forbearance,
must have ere long its effect over a good and honest heart, which still,
spite of his errors, she believed Angelo’s to be. Neither could she
think, as at first she could not credit _who_ it was that had attracted
Angelo, that an object so every way despicable could continue to detain
him in the path of evil.
But when at length hope faded from her bosom, and still she perceived
that his degradation continued; heart-sick and wretched, she shut
herself up in her chamber; and a native pride which few could
understand, and which she inherited from her noble father, made her
refuse to see any one whose pity must have humbled, and whose unfeeling
condolence she would have deemed an insult. The unhappy Gabrielle
perceived too soon, that in flattering herself the dreadful misconduct
of Angelo would be but of short duration, she possessed not a just
knowledge of human nature; for the errors of later years are far more
inveterate than those of youth. She perceived likewise that what little
decorum he had for a time thought fit to observe towards her, and which
had been with her indeed a strong ground of hope (for naturally, argued
she, he is ashamed, and will not therefore persevere in what gives a
feeling of humiliation) gradually wore off, and a bold insensibility of
demeanour succeeded, not more cruel and unworthy, than it was offensive
to delicacy and propriety. He was now seldom at home, he avoided as much
as possible the sight of the injured Gabrielle, but if accidentally they
met, he seemed impatient, and his manners were constrained, or coldly
polite. What alternative for her under circumstances so hopeless? She
still remembered she had a son; at some future period she might be
assured that she had still a daughter; she decided then at once to
remain unshaken, to _bear_ and to _forbear_ with the father for the sake
of his children.
Such was her resolution, a resolution, as she conceived, of duty and
necessity. But soon she found that even on this principle she might be
justly exonerated from further endurance of the treatment of Angelo,
from the sacrifice of her best and tenderest feelings at the shrine of
that duty which had ever been the invariable motive of all her actions,
and to which she was still willing to become a martyr.
The young Felix, who, as has been already observed, entertained for his
superior mother but little affection, bestowed all of that sentiment
which he was capable of feeling on the abandoned Milborough, for whom he
pined in secret, and whom since her departure from the house he had not
seen. In vain did the unfortunate mother seek in the eyes of her son for
some shadow of respectfully tender commiseration; in them she beheld,
often a restless roving expression, but at all times an indifference to
her. There was no eloquent sympathy in the tone of his voice; in his
manners, no soothing gentleness; from him too was she compelled to turn
with a deep drawn sigh of anguish, but in that sigh _remembered_ that
though unhappily he loved her not, he was her son.
Such became the boundless and audacious extravagance of the worthless
Milborough, whose aim it was as much to reduce Angelo to beggary, to
destroy Gabrielle, as to enrich herself, that the magnitude of her
demands sometimes anticipated, and even exceeded the receipts of Angelo.
In his absence she kept the lowest society, such as was most consonant
to her birth, ideas, and former station, and indulged with them in the
most expensive and riotous carousals. As a man is rarely singly vicious,
that is, vicious in a single point alone, Angelo, to support and gratify
the unlimited profusion of this woman, found an excuse for resorting
with increased ardour to what had ever been a favourite pursuit of his,
the vice of gaming: success had attended him often, when as a pleasure
merely he yielded to the propensity, but now that he resorted to it as a
mean, while Milborough was draining him on one hand, this was
impoverishing him on the other. Loss succeeded to loss, and his
perpetual failure, so far from inducing him to withdraw, ere certain
ruin should ensue, rendered him desperate, and caused him to persevere,
in the delusive hope, that one fortunate throw would speedily retrieve
all. He was mistaken however; fortune, fickle like himself, repaid him
in kind, and fled from him when most he courted her.
It now remained only for the artful Milborough, who had found the pliant
Angelo acceding, whether remonstratingly or otherwise, but still
acceding to her every request, to propose to him one which in insolence
and depravity should far exceed any which she had hitherto proposed. It
was not enough for her, that by the most ruinous excesses, and shameless
profligacy, she was shortening the life of Gabrielle, as she was
abridging her means of existence, but she desired to injure her in a
deeper degree, or rather to destroy her at once.
Aware that though she had weaned the love of Felix from his mother, yet
aware likewise of her extravagant fondness for him, and considering that
while he was no longer in the sphere of her attraction, nor capable of
being contaminated by her influence, nature and the exquisite goodness
of his unhappy parent might prevail in his heart, she determined to
deprive Gabrielle of him, whom groundlessly she feared might prove a
consolation to her in her misery; and for this purpose she demanded of
Angelo, in that flattering fawning tone in which she usually solicited
favours of him, and which, strange to say, seldom failed of producing
its effect, that he would permit, as the highest gratification he could
confer on her, that the boy Felix might visit her for one day, adding,
“I know you will not refuse me, my dearest Angelo: you never look so
captivating as when you grant my requests.” Angelo, with a pleased
smile, while he absolutely considered her the most engaging female he
had ever known, replied that he would think of what she required,
secretly determining in his mind, without the smallest compassion for
the feelings of the insulted Gabrielle, that he would surprise her that
very evening with the sight of her favourite Felix.
Nothing could equal the sycophantic insidiousness of Milborough, when
she wished to gain a point with Angelo, nothing her base deceit; she
could be compared only to the snake, which gently coiling round the
victim it wishes to destroy, twists tighter and more tight till its firm
grasp can be no more disputed, and agonizing death ensues. Possessed of
no internal dignity, no high-mindedness, the most abject meanness of
conduct conveyed no unpleasant feeling to her heart: she flattered, and
fawned, and crouched, when desiring a favour; she was arrogant, and
daring, and insufferable, when she had obtained it--passing rapidly from
the extreme of slave to tyrant. But if by a most unusual chance she did
_not_ immediately obtain it, if Angelo dared to hesitate, then she had
another line of acting in reserve; she ranted, stormed, and threatened
that if he did not instantly comply, she would quit him suddenly, and he
should never hear of her more; thus artfully bringing before him as a
misfortune, that which would have been for him the greatest good that
could have befallen.
Faithful to his intention, the degraded Angelo left her for the purpose
of returning to her with Felix. As the youth was frequently a companion
in his rambles, to the edification neither of his head nor heart, his
going with him from home excited no remark from Gabrielle, but pleased
her rather, from the so natural conviction that he could not be going to
Milborough.
Felix neither asked nor cared whither he was going; he was going from
home, from under the same roof with his ever melancholy mother, and his
vivacity speedily revived, thoughtless and wild. Angelo made no
observation with respect to the object he had in view, till they arrived
at the door of an elegant habitation; as soon as they gained
admittance, he ran up stairs, bade Felix follow, and in a moment he was
in the presence of Milborough, who receiving him with open arms,
scarcely knew how to express the exuberance of her joy.
Felix was now happy, he was with Milborough; he thought indeed she
appeared less handsome, because less easy than in her homely attire, but
she was more sprightly than his melancholy mother, and towards him at
least was unaltered. Too young accurately to understand, he yet surmised
something of the truth, and easily perceived that his favourite
Milborough was likewise, as he had often wished her to be, a favourite
with his father; he looked upon her as his _indulgent_ mother, who never
exerted over him any authority like his _severe_ one, as he had been
taught to consider the mild and gentle Gabrielle, and who, if she could
see him happy, would never disapprove of the means by which he became
so.
The education of the youth, independently of his little application,
was, through the eternal procrastination and carelessness of Angelo, but
very slightly improved; he feared to damp his young energies by
ponderous and oppressive study, he remembered that he himself had never
been pestered with school learning, and that he had parents (to the full
as inconsiderate towards him as he was now towards his own son,) who
would not suffer him to quit home, or to clog his sprightly genius, but
procured for him a private tutor, under whom he made sufficient progress
to qualify him for the rank and situation he was to hold in society;
while from his mother he learnt affability and sweetness of manners,
from his father, polite and elegant demeanour. Such then he insisted
should alone be the education of Felix. Thus is error transmitted from
father to son, and frequently perpetuated to the destruction of
successive generations. A private tutor, Angelo observed, might be
always obtained; mean time he could himself impart to his son some
necessary instruction, and it was useless to deprive himself so
precipitately of an entertaining companion and pleasing associate, of
whom he was so extravagantly fond.
Thus, then, on Gabrielle devolved the task of fitting his young mind for
future study, by imbuing it with a love of science and thirst of further
knowledge. The stores of her own rich and elegantly fraught mind,
fraught by the delicate and careful hand of a father, she desired to
impart to her son, and fully adequate was she to the task: but Felix
soon perceiving that no one but her attempted to restrain him, (for
Angelo, unmindful even of his own arrangement, had no _leisure_ as yet
to give instructions which he could at _any time_ impart,) and that his
avocations with his mother detained him frequently from a pleasurable
excursion with his father, or from some entertainment prepared for him
by Milborough, conceived, from the imprudence and improper conduct of
those around him, a disgust for study, which, at the insinuations of the
domestic traitor, Milborough, who might have differently exerted her
influence, was easily transferred into a dislike of her who taught.
Thus, from the peculiarly unfortunate situation in which she was placed,
Gabrielle perceived by slow degrees, and with an anguish inexpressible,
her power over the mind of her son on the wane; he no longer attended to
her implicitly, or if she succeeded in rivetting him for a moment,
Angelo would too frequently call him off for some more agreeable, but
more unprofitable pursuit. Felix by these means was induced rather to
shun than court her society; and, in dismay at finding herself the only
tyrant of the youth, her firm perseverance relaxed, for she felt that
those instructions must be useless which were never received but with
reluctance. Thus was a fine field left open for the suggestions of
ignorance and depravity; for where wisdom and virtue were not suffered
to take root, the weeds of error sprang up apace.
Milborough had asked of Angelo that he would permit Felix for _once_ to
visit her; but her request only literally granted, would not have
answered her purpose; she therefore having obtained possession of the
youth, would no more suffer him to depart, but assured Angelo laughing,
that having long this idea in view, she had had an apartment in
readiness for him, for some time past. Angelo was confounded; he
declined entering into any dispute with Milborough before his son, but
flattered himself that he should easily prevail upon her to give up so
indecorous and extravagant a caprice at another opportunity.
Mean time Felix, rejoiced to excess, was permitted to remain, and the
abandoned Milborough carried as usual her point.