To Captain Fitzgerald.
Bellfield, Oct. 24.
We have been again at the cottage; and are more convinced than
ever, that this amiable girl is not in the station in which she was
born; we staid two hours, and varied the conversation in a manner
which, in spite of her extreme modesty, made it impossible for her to
avoid shewing she had been educated with uncommon care: her style is
correct and elegant; her sentiments noble, yet unaffected; we talked
of books, she said little on the subject; but that little shewed a
taste which astonished us.
Anxious as we are to know her true situation, in order, if she
merits it, to endeavor to serve her, yet delicacy made it impossible
for us to give the least hint of a curiosity which might make her
suppose we entertained ideas to her prejudice.
She seemed greatly affected with the humane concern Emily expressed
for the child's danger yesterday, as well as with the polite and even
affectionate manner in which she appeared to interest herself in all
which related to her; Emily made her general offers of service with a
timid kind of softness in her air, which seemed to speak rather a
person asking a favor than wishing to confer an obligation.
She thanked my sweet Emily with a look of surprize and gratitude to
which it is not easy to do justice; there was, however, an
embarrassment in her countenance at those offers, which a little alarms
me; she absolutely declined coming to Bellfield: I know not what to
think.
Emily, who has taken a strong prejudice in her favor, will answer
for her conduct with her life; but I will own to you, I am not without
my doubts.
When I consider the inhuman arts of the abandoned part of one sex,
and the romantic generosity and too unguarded confidence, of the most
amiable of the other; when I reflect that where women love, they love
without reserve; that they fondly imagine the man who is dear to them
possessed of every virtue; that their very integrity of mind prevents
their suspicions; when I think of her present retirement, so
apparently ill suited to her education; when I see her beauty, her
elegance of person, with that tender and melancholy air, so strongly
expressive of the most exquisite sensibility; when, in short, I see the
child, and observe her fondness for him, I have fears for her, which I
cannot conquer.
I am as firmly convinced as Emily of the goodness of her heart; but
I am not so certain that even that very goodness may not have been,
from an unhappy concurrence of circumstances, her misfortune.
We have company to dine.
Adieu! till the evening.
Ten at night.
About three hours ago, Emily received the inclosed, from our fair
cottager.
Adieu!
Your affectionate
Ed. Rivers.
"To Mrs. Rivers.
"Madam,
"Though I have every reason to wish the melancholy event which
brought me here, might continue unknown; yet your generous concern for
a stranger, who had no recommendation to your notice but her appearing
unhappy, and whose suspicious situation would have injured her in a
mind less noble than yours, has determined me to lay before you a
story, which it was my resolution to conceal for ever.
"I saw, Madam, in your countenance, when you honored me by calling
at my house this morning, and I saw with an admiration no words can
speak, the amiable struggle between the desire of knowing the nature of
my distress in order to soften it, and the delicacy which forbad your
enquiries, lest they should wound my sensibility and self-love.
"To such a heart I run no hazard in relating what in the world
would, perhaps, draw on me a thousand reproaches; reproaches, however,
I flatter myself, undeserved.
"You have had the politeness to say, there is something in my
appearance which speaks my birth above my present situation: in this,
Madam, I am so happy as not to deceive your generous partiality.
"My father, who was an officer of family and merit, had the
misfortune to lose my mother whilst I was an infant.
"He had the goodness to take on himself the care of directing my
education, and to have me taught whatever he thought becoming my sex,
though at an expence much too great for his income.
"As he had little more than his commission, his parental tenderness
got so far the better of his love for his profession, that, when I was
about fifteen, he determined on quitting the army, in order to provide
better for me; but, whilst he was in treaty for this purpose, a fever
carried him off in a few days, and left me to the world, with little
more than five hundred pounds, which, however, was, by his will,
immediately in my power.
"I felt too strongly the loss of this excellent parent to attend to
any other consideration; and, before I was enough myself to think what
I was to do for a subsistence, a friend of my own age, whom I tenderly
loved, who was just returning from school to her father's, in the north
of England, insisted on my accompanying her, and spending some time
with her in the country.
"I found in my dear Sophia, all the consolation my grief could
receive; and, at her pressing solicitation, and that of her father, who
saw his daughter's happiness depended on having me with her, I
continued there three years, blest in the calm delights of friendship,
and those blameless pleasures, with which we should be too happy, if
the heart could content itself, when a young baronet, whose form was
as lovely as his soul was dark, came to interrupt our felicity.
"My Sophia, at a ball, had the misfortune to attract his notice; she
was rather handsome, though without regular features; her form was
elegant and feminine, and she had an air of youth, of softness, of
sensibility, of blushing innocence, which seemed intended to inspire
delicate passions alone, and which would have disarmed any mind less
depraved than that of the man, who only admired to destroy.
"She was the rose-bud yet impervious to the sun.
"Her heart was tender, but had never met an object which seemed
worthy of it; her sentiments were disinterested, and romantic to
excess.
"Her father was, at that time, in Holland, whither the death of a
relation, who had left him a small estate, had called him: we were
alone, unprotected, delivered up to the unhappy inexperience of youth,
mistresses of our own conduct; myself, the eldest of the two, but just
eighteen, when my Sophia's ill-fate conducted Sir Charles Verville to
the ball where she first saw him.
"He danced with her, and endeavored to recommend himself by all
those little unmeaning, but flattering attentions, by which our
credulous sex are so often misled; his manner was tender, yet timid,
modest, respectful; his eyes were continually fixed on her, but when he
met hers, artfully cast down, as if afraid of offending.
"He asked permission to enquire after her health the next day; he
came, he was enchanting; polite, lively, soft, insinuating, adorned
with every outward grace which could embellish virtue, or hide vice
from view, to see and to love him was almost the same thing.
"He entreated leave to continue his visits, which he found no
difficulty in obtaining: during two months, not a day passed without
our seeing him; his behaviour was such as would scarce have alarmed the
most suspicious heart; what then could be expected of us, young,
sincere, totally ignorant of the world, and strongly prejudiced in
favor of a man, whose conversation spoke his soul the abode of every
virtue?
"Blushing I must own, nothing but the apparent preference he gave to
my lovely friend, could have saved my heart from being a prey to the
same tenderness which ruined her.
"He addressed her with all the specious arts which vice could invent
to seduce innocence; his respect, his esteem, seemed equal to his
passion; he talked of honor, of the delight of an union where the
tender affections alone were consulted; wished for her father's
return, to ask her of him in marriage; pretended to count impatiently
the hours of his absence, which delayed his happiness: he even
prevailed on her to write her father an account of his addresses.
"New to love, my Sophia's young heart too easily gave way to the
soft impression; she loved, she idolized this most base of mankind;
she would have thought it a kind of sacrilege to have had any will in
opposition to his.
"After some months of unremitted assiduity, her father being
expected in a few days, he dropped a hint, as if by accident, that he
wished his fortune less, that he might be the more certain he was loved
for himself alone; he blamed himself for this delicacy, but charged it
on excess of love; vowed he would rather die than injure her, yet
wished to be convinced her fondness was without reserve.
"Generous, disinterested, eager to prove the excess and sincerity of
her passion, she fell into the snare; she agreed to go off with him,
and live some time in a retirement where she was to see only himself,
after which he engaged to marry her publicly.
"He pretended extasies at this proof of affection, yet hesitated to
accept it; and, by piquing the generosity of her soul, which knew no
guile, and therefore suspected none, led her to insist on devoting
herself to wretchedness.
"In order, however, that this step might be as little known as
possible, as he pretended the utmost concern for that honor he was
contriving to destroy, it was agreed between them, that he should go
immediately to London, and that she should follow him, under pretence
of a visit to a relation at some distance; the greatest difficulty was,
how to hide this design from me.
"She had never before concealed a thought from her beloved Fanny;
nor could he now have prevailed on her to deceive me, had he not
artfully perswaded her I was myself in love with him; and that,
therefore, it would be cruel, as well as imprudent, to trust me with
the secret.
"Nothing shews so strongly the power of love, in absorbing every
faculty of the soul, as my dear Sophia's being prevailed on to use art
with the friend most dear to her on earth.
"By an unworthy piece of deceit, I was sent to a relation for some
weeks; and the next day Sophia followed her infamous lover, leaving
letters for me and her father, calculated to perswade us, they were
privately married.
"My distress, and that of the unhappy parent, may more easily be
conceived than described; severe by nature, he cast her from his heart
and fortune for ever, and settled his estate on a nephew, then at the
university.
"As to me, grief and tenderness were the only sensations I felt: I
went to town, and took every private method to discover her retreat,
but in vain; till near a year after, when, being in London, with a
friend of my mother's, a servant, who had lived with my Sophia, saw me
in the street, and knew me: by her means, I discovered that she was in
distress, abandoned by her lover, in that moment when his tenderness
was most necessary.
"I flew to her, and found her in a miserable apartment, in which
nothing but an extreme neatness would have made me suppose she had ever
seen happier days: the servant who brought me to her attended her.
"She was in bed, pale, emaciated; the lovely babe you saw with me in
her arms.
"Though prepared for my visit, she was unable to bear the shock of
seeing me; I ran to her, she raised herself in the bed, and, throwing
her feeble arms round my neck, could only say, 'My Fanny! is this
possible!' and fainted away.
"Our cares having recovered her, she endeavored to compose herself;
her eyes were fixed tenderly on me, she pressed my hand between hers,
the tears stole silently down her cheeks; she looked at her child, then
at me; she would have spoke, but the feelings of her heart were too
strong for expression.
"I begged her to be calm, and promised to spend the day with her;
I did not yet dare, lest the emotion should be too much for her weak
state, to tell her we would part no more.
"I took a room in the house, and determined to give all my attention
to the restoration of her health; after which, I hoped to contrive to
make my little fortune, with industry, support us both.
"I sat up with her that night; she got a little rest, she seemed
better in the morning; she told me the particulars I have already
related; she, however, endeavored to soften the cruel behaviour of the
wretch, whose name I could not hear without horror.
"She had in the afternoon a little fever; I sent for a physician,
he thought her in danger; what did not my heart feel from this
information? she grew worse, I never left her one moment.
"The next morning she called me to her; she took my hand, and
looking at me with a tenderness no language can describe,
"'My dear, my only friend,' said she, 'I am dying; you are come to
receive the last breath of your unhappy Sophia: I wish with ardor for
my father's blessing and forgiveness, but dare not ask them.
"'The weakness of my heart has undone me; I am lost, abandoned by him
on whom my soul doated; by him, for whom I would have sacrificed a
thousand lives; he has left me with my babe to perish, yet I still love
him with unabated fondness: the pang of losing him sinks me to the
grave!'
"Her speech here failed her for a time; but recovering, she
proceeded,
"'Hard as this request may seem, and to whatever miseries it may
expose my angel friend, I adjure you not to desert my child; save him
from the wretchedness that threatens him; let him find in you a mother
not less tender, but more virtuous, than his own.
"'I know, my Fanny, I undo you by this cruel confidence; but who else
will have mercy on this innocent?'
"Unable to answer, my heart torn with unutterable anguish, I
snatched the lovely babe to my bosom, I kissed him, I bathed him with
my tears.
"She understood me, a gleam of pleasure brightened her dying eyes,
the child was still pressed to my heart, she gazed on us both with a
look of wild affection; then, clasping her hands together, and
breathing a fervent prayer to heaven, sunk down, and expired without a
groan--
"To you, Madam, I need not say the rest.
"The eloquence of angels could not paint my distress; I saw the
friend of my soul, the best and most gentle of her sex, a breathless
corse before me; her heart broke by the ingratitude of the man she
loved, her honor the sport of fools, her guiltless child a sharer in
her shame.
"And all this ruin brought on by a sensibility of which the best
minds alone are susceptible, by that noble integrity of soul which made
it impossible for her to suspect another.
"Distracted with grief, I kissed my Sophia's pale lips, talked to
her lifeless form; I promised to protect the sweet babe, who smiled on
me, and with his little hand pressed mine, as if sensible of what I
said.
"As soon as my grief was enough calmed to render me capable of any
thing, I wrote an account of Sophia's death to her father, who had the
inhumanity to refuse to see her child.
"I disdained an application to her murderer; and retiring to this
place, where I was, and resolved to continue, unknown, determined to
devote my life to the sweet infant, and to support him by an industry
which I did not doubt heaven would prosper.
"The faithful girl who had attended Sophia, begged to continue with
me; we work for the milleners in the neighbouring towns, and, with the
little pittance I have, keep above want.
"I know the consequence of what I have undertaken; I know I give up
the world and all hopes of happiness to myself: yet will I not desert
this friendless little innocent, nor betray the confidence of my
expiring friend, whose last moments were soothed with the hope of his
finding a parent's care in me.
"You have had the goodness to wish to serve me. Sir Charles Verville
is dead: a fever, the consequence of his ungoverned intemperance,
carried him off suddenly: his brother Sir William has a worthy
character; if Colonel Rivers, by his general acquaintance with the
great world, can represent this story to him, it possibly may procure
my little Charles happier prospects than my poverty can give him.
"Your goodness, Madam, makes it unnecessary to be more explicit: to
be unhappy, and not to have merited it, is a sufficient claim to your
protection.
"You are above the low prejudices of common minds; you will pity the
wretched victim of her own unsuspecting heart, you will abhor the
memory of her savage undoer, you will approve my complying with her
dying request, though in contradiction to the selfish maxims of the
world: you will, if in your power, endeavor to serve my little
prattler.
"'Till I had explained my situation, I could not think of accepting
the honor you allowed me to hope for, of enquiring after your health at
Bellfield; if the step I have taken meets with your approbation, I
shall be most happy to thank you and Colonel Rivers for your attention
to one, whom you would before have been justified in supposing
unworthy of it.
"I am, Madam, with the most perfect respect and gratitude,
"Your obliged
and obedient servant,
F. Williams."
Your own heart, my dear Fitzgerald, will tell you what were our
reflections on reading the inclosed: Emily, whose gentle heart feels
for the weaknesses as well as misfortunes of others, will to-morrow
fetch this heroic girl and her little ward, to spend a week at
Bellfield; and we will then consider what is to be done for them.
You know Sir William Verville; go to him from me with the inclosed
letter, he is a man of honor, and will, I am certain, provide for the
poor babe, who, had not his father been a monster of unfeeling
inhumanity, would have inherited the estate and title Sir William now
enjoys.
Is not the midnight murderer, my dear friend, white as snow to this
vile seducer? this betrayer of unsuspecting, trusting, innocence? what
transport is it to me to reflect, that not one bosom ever heaved a sigh
of remorse of which I was the cause!
I grieve for the poor victim of a tenderness, amiable in itself,
though productive of such dreadful consequences when not under the
guidance of reason.
It ought to be a double tie on the honor of men, that the woman who
truely loves gives up her will without reserve to the object of her
affection.
Virtuous less from reasoning and fixed principle, than from
elegance, and a lovely delicacy of mind; naturally tender, even to
excess; carried away by a romance of sentiment; the helpless sex are
too easily seduced, by engaging their confidence, and piquing their
generosity.
I cannot write; my heart is softened to a degree which makes me
incapable of any thing.
Do not neglect one moment going to Sir William Verville.
Adieu!
Your affectionate
Ed. Rivers.