“Three months had flown on airy wing, and neither our interviews, or
correspondence, had been discovered, which, through the medium of a
bosom friend, we had mutually enjoyed; when, one morning, by mere
chance, in conversation with the father of Cecilia, he learnt, that he
meant to take immediately his passage in the first ship that sailed for
----, in Italy, where, having an extensive magazine that required his
inspection, he had apprised his partner of his intention, and also
that he meant to bring over his daughter with him as a companion to
himself, and to improve her for one twelve-months in the language and
musical science of that inimitable country.
“This intelligence, as my friend well knew, was instant annihilation to
our hopes and happiness, to lose her beloved society for so tedious a
period was distraction; and, when I reflected on the probability of an
Italian lover superceding my humble pretension, the world had no longer
any charms for me; this, Victor, I mused to madness, for I, like you,
was _young_, was _gay_, was _happy_; the impregnate cloud of sorrow had
never veiled the sunshine of my heart, and I dreamed but of bliss, nor
knew it was a vision, till I grasped the airy shade that flitted from
my touch.
“I sought Cecilia--we met: her beauteous eyes, suffused in sparkling
tears, proclaimed the fact; mutual we wept: we swore eternal constancy.
Alas! poor idle children of delusion, we little knew how inefficient
were our weak resolves opposed to wealth and power; to have declared my
sentiments to her inexorable father, would have made her a perpetual
exile; again, I suggested assuming the habit of a domestic, sailing
in the same vessel, and obtaining, on my arrival, a capacity in her
father’s household; but there, again, the negative predominated; and,
to be as brief possible in my relation, within ten days from the first
intelligence of the voyage, I saw the vessel recede from shore, which
contained my soul’s best treasure--yes, Victor, I kissed, I blessed
her; and, on my bended knee, invoked the blessings of heaven for her
safety and protection. She promised a regular correspondence by every
post; and, compelled to be satisfied with this mutual alleviation of
our sorrows, involved in all the agonies of love, we parted--_never to
meet again_. I saw her faint upon the deck--I saw her borne in the rude
arms of sailors to the cabin--but I saw no more: a temporary stupor
seized my brain, and I found myself waked from a lethargic dream,
and surrounded by officious strangers, one of whom calling a coach,
conveyed me to my father’s house, where a violent illness ensued, which
lasted many weeks, and caused me to explain to my parents the cause
of my disorder. My mother, all meekness and gentleness, soothed my
perturbed mind with the angelic balm of every comfort she could invent;
but my father ridiculed my boyish folly, laughed me to scorn, and
reprobated my daring presumption in fixing my ideas on an object so
eminently my superior.”
I sighed from the bottom of my soul--my uncle paused--looked stedfastly
in my face to perceive the effect of his narrative--shook his
head--wiped an intruding tear of recollection, and thus continued:
“The lingering day rolled on in solemn sadness, and the only
consolation I possessed, was in the valuable society and endearing
communion of heart, that reciprocally passed between me and my ever
lamented friend Victor Montalbert: ’twas to _him_, my noble boy, I
consecrated _your_ name, and may you ever be like him in benevolence,
friendship, and virtue; for his soul was the mansion of honour, and his
heart the realm of fidelity; but fate snatched him, like every other
blessing, from my embrace; and in his loss I never risked a substitute:
one sincere friend is all a man can ever dare expect; his loss was
another dagger to my soul, but I had yet an embryo grief in store.
“I had received only four faithful and affectionate letters from my
lovely exile, when, lo! the next packet from Italy brought me a letter
from the pen, the direful pen, of her exasperated father, informing me
he had discovered my audacious correspondence with his daughter, by
means of an Italian servant, on whose probity Cecilia had confided, and
dared me ever to address another to his daughter on peril of immediate
punishment to both parties; and concluded by asserting, he had engaged
her hand, not to a _pitiful pennyless puppy_, but a man of honour and
_fortune suitable_ to her own rank in life, which nuptials he should
instantly _enforce_ her _obedience_ to celebrate.
“Distracted by this unexpected stroke of misfortune, I again relapsed
into a paroxysm of despair. No letter arrived from Cecilia, by which I
concluded she was deprived of every resource of future correspondence,
well knowing the austere tyrant she had to deal with.
“Six months elapsed in the torments of cruel suspense, when one
day I met, by chance, the identical captain of the vessel in which
Cecilia left England; of him I enquired intelligence of the Delmond
family--but what words can express my horror and astonishment, when I
learned that my beloved Cecilia had been inhumanly sacrificed by her
barbarian parent, in a compulsatory marriage with an opulent merchant
residing at Florence, whose name was Lausanne. Thus ended my hopes
and happiness; for in vain my friends diverted my mind--in vain their
helpless pity soothed my grief, or roused my energies: all, all, were
dormant; and, though I was lead in the unceasing round of common-place
amusements, though I was introduced to the most accomplished and
lovely women, not one had power to extract a smile, or warm this icy
heart, for I had sworn I had abjured all women; and from that hour my
character and manner grew so misanthropical, that even _time_, that
leveller of good and evil, will ne’er irradicate the poisonous root
that still entwines the fibres of my heart; and so perfectly have I
cherished her image in my remembrance, that every feature of Cecilia
Delmond burst like a beam of sunshine on my soul, when first that
angelic girl, that Rosa Fitzclarence, met my eye. Do you now _wonder_,
Victor, at my agitation? can you pity an old man’s sorrows, and not
indicate feelings that ought perhaps to be extinct, after being a pupil
in the school of experience to the present age.”
He ceased; and, as he reclined back in his chair, I caught his hand.
“My dear, my revered uncle,” exclaimed I, “I never till this moment
knew the virtues of your heart--Why, ah! why have you concealed from
the world those principles which so justly ennoble the human heart;
was love a crime on your part! No, ’twas the voluntary effusions of a
soul replete with virtue, and crowned with honour, that bowed in silent
submission to the decree of fate.--Alas! good sir, while contemplating
your sorrows of the heart, how much may I one day experience of my
own; ah! should my destiny be consonant with your’s, where shall I find
an antidote?”
“Victor,” resumed my uncle, “heaven avert it--why look so serious? why
speak with so much energy, my boy?”
“Oh, sir,” replied I, “I cannot explain; make but Rosa Fitzclarence,
Cecilia Delmond, and search no farther the lacerated heart of St.
Alban: your own feelings must tell you what mine are at this moment,
equally, alas! hopeless as sincere.”
“My uncle started forward on his seat, “_hopeless_,” ejaculated he,“Oh!
heaven forbid; if my most sanguine wishes and endeavours can constitute
your felicity: but crush, I conjure crush, the impetuous flame, nor
let false hope, in cob-web guise, flit her visionary form before your
love-filmed eye to lead you to destruction. Rosa Fitzclarence is an
orphan heiress, in which case she is left in the power of her guardians
till she becomes of age, which I understand a few months will complete;
should the sentiments of those guardians be rigidly enforced, contrary
to the inclination and future happiness of their ward, it’s more than
probable she will adopt the system her own good judgment impels, and
give her hand where love and prudence best direct it, for she has no
stern father to oppose her happiness like her dear hapless polygraph:
but be very cautious how you proceed--you have won my heart by your
candour, and it shall not go unrewarded.”
He wept like an infant; I forced a glass of Madeira through his
trembling lips--nature wanted its revival.
“One word more,” continued he, “do not, I conjure you, drop the
slightest hint of your prepossession to Dr. Tonic; the mischief-making
imp would be a living chronicle of vexation: and, if a _shade_ could
cross your interest, in his _own behalf_, depend upon it you would rue
the result of such communication.”
I promised peculiar attention to his desire. “But, sir,” observed I,
“e’er the subject drops, did you never receive any further intelligence
of the fate, fortune, or family, of Madame Lausanne?”
“I learnt,” replied my uncle, “that she sunk into a state of apathy
almost immediately after her marriage, in which she ever expressed
herself extremely unhappy, and great doubts were entertained of
her life, for several years after, from the delicacy and impaired
state of her constitution, subjoined to the morose behaviour of her
husband, villain as he was; but thank heaven she was relieved from her
persecution five years after her marriage by the death of her hymenial
tyrant, soon after she had given birth to a daughter, a circumstance
wholly unexpected, after so long a series of indisposition acting on a
frame of such delicate texture, and I have been informed she quitted
Florence immediately, retired to the recluse shades of Italy, where she
soon after died a martyr to a broken heart, but whether her _child_ is
yet _living_, I know not.”