done since, and have gone to bed to cry and moan all night for Peggy's
naughtiness. We were ashamed to show our faces in our own parish. But
your honour assures me you won't forget her.'
Another voice answered, 'All that I have promised I will perform, depend
on it.'
The latter voice was Murden's. Now I felt the chill air of evening, and
I shut down my window.
'Won't you have candles brought, Ma'am?' asked Agnes, entering my
chamber. 'Only think, Ma'am,' continued she, 'if that good Mr. Murden is
not going to send one of the grooms eight miles for a physician to come
to the poor Indian, because the laundry maid, who is just returned from
her, told him she is not any better. I believe there never was such a
young gentleman.'
'Do you know where he is now?' said I.
'Gone to the stables, Ma'am, to hurry away the groom.'
'Is any one with him?'
'Only an old farmer, who has been in his dressing room while he dined. I
dare say Mr. Murden has been doing some good thing or other for him
too.'
'I hope he has,' replied I. _All that I have promised, I will perform,
depend on it_,--I repeated to myself. 'Light me down stairs, Agnes,'
said I. 'I hope, indeed, Mr. Murden has done him some kindness.'
Agnes looked at me attentively, and did not reply to me. I returned to
the drawing room, divested of that pleasurable glow of feeling which I
enjoyed before the voices spoke underneath my window.
As I entered the room, Lord Ulson was saying to my mother, 'such a
reference as you propose, Madam, would be unpardonable from me, nor can
we possibly expect the lady will be sincere.'
I was surprised to understand, from the Earl's bow, that I was the
subject of their conversation; and I requested, that, if his Lordship
meant me, he would hereafter never expect to find me insincere; and I
begged to know I had merited the accusation.
Mrs. Ashburn and the Earl mutually explained. His Lordship was
persuaded, it seems, that a letter exciting such visible pleasure as
that did which the servant delivered to me must be from a favoured
lover. My mother was certain the effect was produced by my _romantic
friendship_, to use her own expression; and, as the Earl was
incredulous, she was desirous of referring the decision to me. Lady
Laura affectedly begged I would defend the _sweet powers_ of friendship;
and my mother sneeringly observed, that I had a fine scope for my
talents in the present instance.
I took your letter from my pocket. I unfolded and spread it open in my
lap. 'This is the letter,' said I.
'A pretty hand,' said Colonel Ridson.
'Nay, it is not a female character, Miss Ashburn,' the Earl said.
I asked if I should read it; the Earl professed to admire my
condescension, but my mother yawned.
I selected two passages from your letter, and read them. Lord Ulson, who
had only chosen this subject for want of something to do, was now
perfectly satisfied and convinced; for Sir Thomas had invited him to
piquet. The Colonel thought your stile very charming. Lady Barlowe
thought it very dull; and, as no one contradicted her ladyship's
opinion, the subject would here have ended, had I not as I put the
letter again into my pocket, told my mother that her friend Mrs. Valmont
had lately been ill.
A poor inanimate vapoured being, Mrs. Ashburn called her friend; dying,
she said, of diseases whose slightest symptom had never reached her, a
burden to herself, and a torment to every one else; nevertheless her
fate to be pitied, lamented, and deplored without bounds. Then it became
your uncle's turn; and his sum of enormities was divided and subdivided
into multitudes of sins, so that I was ready to ask myself if I had
really ever known this Mr. Valmont. No one spark of pity remained for
him. No: he was neither pitied by Mrs. Ashburn, nor prayed for by the
Countess of Ulson.
When my mother had exhausted her topic, I said to her, 'Your pictures
are vivid to-night, madam. Suppose you finish the family. Miss Valmont,
what say you of her?'
'I leave her to you,' replied Mrs. Ashburn; 'I only think her a little
handsome, a little proud, a little ignorant, and half insane. You can
tell the rest.'
'Pray do, Miss Ashburn,' cried Lady Mary Bowden. 'I dearly love to hear
of queer creatures.'
'I am to add,' said I, 'all that remains of a _queer creature_, already
declared to be proud, ignorant, and half mad.--To the best of my
judgment, I will. This----'
The door opened, and in came Mr. Murden; and the poor Indian, the
country girl, and the old farmer who had wept sleepless nights for
_Peggy's naughtiness_, together rushed upon my imagination. Again, Lady
Laura made room for Murden; and again, he took his seat on the same
sopha. I said to myself, as I looked at him, where are the signs of
remorse? There are none. Not even the softened eye of new-born virtuous
resolutions. Strange, that I read of nothing in that face but inward
peace and freedom!
'Do go on, Miss Ashburn,' cried Lady Mary.
I did, Sibella, I began once more to speak of you; and, in a little
time, I called back a part at least of the vigour and warmth which
Murden's entrance and a train of fugitive thought had chased from me.
I began with your beauty: I omitted nothing which I could devise to make
the picture worthy of the original. I spoke of the first sight I had of
you; the impressive effect at that moment of your face, your form, your
attitude, your simple attire. I appealed to my mother, to testify the
singular beauty of your eyes, your forehead, your mouth, your hair. I
told them that your hair had never been distorted by fashion; that,
parted from the top of the head and always uncovered, it fell around
your shoulder, displaying at once its profusion and its colour, and
ornamenting, as well by its shade as its contrast, one of the finest
necks that ever belonged to a human figure.
Lady Laura now grew restless in her seat; for Murden listened, he had
even dropped a shuttle he had taken out of Lady Laura's hand, and either
inattentively, or quite unconsciously, had allowed her ladyship to stoop
to the ground for it herself. Still he listened.
'Thus adorned by nature,' said I, 'in what way shall I further recommend
her? Art has disclaimed her. This _queer creature_, Lady Mary, never out
of her uncle's castle since she was six years old, has been left utterly
without the skill of the governess and waiting maid. An old tutor,
indeed, gave her some singular lessons on the value of sincerity,
independence, courage, and capacity; and she, a worthy scholar of such a
teacher, as indeed you may judge from the specimen I read of her letter,
has odd notions and practices; and, half insane, as Mrs. Ashburn says,
would rather think herself born to navigate ships and build edifices,
than to come into a world for no other purpose, than to twist her hair
into ringlets, learn to be feeble, and to find her feet too hallowed to
tread on the ground beneath her.'
'Stop!' cries Murden, bending eagerly forward, 'tell me, Miss Ashburn,
of whom you speak.'
'Of a Miss Valmont,' said Lady Laura, peevishly. 'Miss Valmont!'
rejoined Murden, 'Miss Ashburn, do you really speak of Miss Valmont?'
'I really do, Mr. Murden.'
He did not reply again; but, folding his arms, he leaned thoughtfully on
the back of the sopha. Lady Laura, now quite out of temper, began to
complain that he was an encumbrance; and, forgetting to offer the least
apology, he instantly sprang up, and took a distant chair.
I should tell you that, by this time, my mother, Sir Thomas, the Earl,
and the Colonel, were at cards, so that I had only Lady Barlowe and the
younger part of the company for my auditors.
'And how,' asked Lady Mary, does this odd young lady (I must not again
say queer creature) employ her time?'
'Playing with cats and dogs, and chattering with servants, I suppose,'
said Lady Barlowe.
'No, Lady Barlowe,' I replied, 'the resources of her mind, _various_ and
_increasing_, to use her own description, furnish better expedients. She
wishes for communication, for intercourse, for society; but she is too
sincere to purchase any pleasure, by artifice and concealment; she is
too proud to tempt the servants from their duty, all of whom, except
two, are forbidden to approach her. A grey-headed unpolished footman,
brings her breakfast and supper to her apartment. If she is there, it is
well; if not, he leaves it, be the time longer or shorter till she does
come. Her female domestic, deaf and deformed, would attend if summoned;
but Miss Valmont finds her dress simple enough, and her limbs robust
enough, to enable her to perform all the functions of her toilet. A true
child of nature, bold in innocence, day or night is equally propitious
to her rambles; and always mentally alive, she has the glow of animation
on her cheeks, the fire of vivacity in her eye, alone in a solitary wood
at noon-day or at midnight.'
'At midnight!' Lady Laura exclaimed, 'surely you did not go alone into
the woods at midnight?'
I removed the idea her Ladyship and others perhaps had of its
impropriety, by informing them your wood was of small extent, not
distant from the castle, and inclosed within the moat, which, by means
of a canal, had been carried round the park as well as castle. 'No human
foot,' said I, 'but those admitted over the draw-bridge, can enter this
wood, which though small is romantic, and though gloomy has its
beauties. It rises on the side of the canal, and terminates at the foot
of a rock. It contains a tomb. On one part of the rock are spread the
tottering ruins of a small chapel and hermitage, and these objects serve
to invite Miss Valmont to her wood, while they check the approach of
diseased imaginations.'
I spoke further, Sibella, of your favourite lonely haunt, the flying
speed with which I have seen you bound there, the affectionate caresses
of your little fawn, and numberless other circumstances. Lady Laura was
resolved neither to be amused by the novelty, nor seduced by the merit I
had attributed to you. She found you more whimsical than pleasing; more
daring than delicate. She wished you all manner of good things; and,
among the rest, that you might not at last fall in love with one of your
uncle's footmen.
I smiled and replied to her Ladyship, that your uncle's wisdom and
foresight had provided against that misfortune. You already had a lover
worthy of you.
'Good God! Are you acquainted with Clement Montgomery?'
It was Murden from whom this exclamation burst; and I looked at him
without power to reply. It almost appeared miraculous, to hear any one
in that room name Clement Montgomery.
'Is that the Mr. Montgomery,' Lady Barlowe asked, 'you went abroad with,
Murden?'
'Yes, madam.'
'Then,' said I, 'you know Clement Montgomery intimately.'
He replied that he did.
'How could you be so cruel,' said I; 'why did you not interrupt me long
since? You, who know Miss Valmont's lover, must know Miss Valmont also.
Why did you not take the voice of that lover, and paint, as you must
have heard him paint, her attractive graces, her noble qualities? Oh it
was barbarous to leave that to be done by monotonous friendship, to
which the spirit of love could alone do justice!'
Methinks his answer was a very strange one; so cold, so abrupt! I felt
displeased at the moment; and checked myself in some eager question I
was about to ask respecting Clement Montgomery. Murden's reply, Sibella,
was,--That I had done enough: and he withdrew, too--immediately
withdrew, as if weary of me and my subject.
At supper, his place at table was vacant. His valet alledged he was
writing letters. Sir Thomas would be positive he was ill; we heard of
nothing but _the fever_, and it is highly probable the house would have
been presently half filled with physicians, and Sir Thomas really in
need of them, if Murden had not come smiling and languishing into the
supper room.
This time I had the honour of his choosing his seat next me; and, as I
saw that he only pretended to eat in order to appease his uncle, I told
him in a low voice I believed he was ill.
'My mind is my disease,' he said.
Ah, then, thought I, he does perhaps repent! I longed to talk to him,
but I could think of no subject, no name but _Peggy_; and Peggy I had
not courage to mention.
I made an awkward remark upon our ride to the water side; then I
introduced as awkwardly, and to as little purpose, the time of my
leaning out of my chamber window. Murden, unconscious of my meaning and
allusions, heard me composedly; and I ended only where I began. He found
me absent and embarrassed; and, though little suspecting that _his mind
was_ also _my disease_, his attentions were more exclusively mine, than
I had ever before experienced them to have been.
A few minutes before the company separated, Murden said to me, 'I am
informed, Miss Ashburn, that you intend visiting our poor Indian
to-morrow morning.'
'Yes,' I said, 'I had ordered my horse early for that purpose.'
'I should request your permission to attend you, madam; but I am in some
sort engaged to eat my breakfast on brown bread and new milk at a
farm-house.'
'A farm-house!' said I.
'Yes, madam,' rejoined Murden, as calmly as though he had carried
content and joy into that farm-house, instead of remorse and misery;
'Yes, madam, the most charming spot in this country. My constant house
of call in the shooting season. Many pleasant brown bread breakfasts and
suppers have I eaten there.'
So unblushing, so hard-hearted a confession absolutely startled me. I
had already risen to retire, he rose also, and said, 'Will you, Miss
Ashburn, allow me to ride with you in the morning?'
'And neglect the farm-house, Mr. Murden.'
He replied, 'the time is of little consequence, I can go there
afterward.'
'Oh, but it is,' said I, '_now_ of infinite consequence. Not for the
world would I be the means of your dispensing with one title of your
promises to that farm-house. Pray,' said I, turning back, after having
bade him good night, 'Mr. Murden, do you correspond with Clement
Montgomery?'
Again I became reconciled to him; again I was persuaded, that he
repented of his error, and that he is not hardened in his
transgressions, for he understood the fullest tendency of my question.
His countenance instantly expressed shame, surprise, and sorrow too; and
his voice faultered while he said--
'Why, Miss Ashburn, why should you wish to know that?' And when he
added, 'I do indeed, madam, correspond with Mr. Montgomery,' he looked
from me.
My _good night_ was more cordial than the former one; and I hope, that,
if Murden finds his breakfast at the farm-house less pleasant than
heretofore, its usefulness will increase, as its pleasure ceases.
Day-light bursts into my chamber. In another hour, I shall prepare to
visit the Indian. My Sibella, farewel!
CAROLINE ASHBURN
LETTER VIII
FROM CLEMENT MONTGOMERY
TO
ARTHUR MURDEN
Infidel as thou art toward beauty, and indolent as thou art in
friendship, whence dost thou still derive the power to attract the
homage of beauty, and the zeal of friendship.
That Janetta, the Empress of all hearts, but callous thine, possessed
sensibility, susceptibility, or even animation, thou, infidel Arthur,
didst deny. Yet Janetta can sometimes torture her admiring Clement by
the repetition of thy praises.
Four letters of mine, long letters, letters to which I yielded hours
that might have been rapturous in enjoyments, those letters lie, the
last as the first, unanswered, unheeded in thy possession.
I devoutly thank the star that shed its influence over the hour of my
birth, that it gave me a temperament opposite to thine, Arthur: for,
have I not seen thee more than insensible, even averse to the offered
favours of the fair? Have I not seen thee yawn with listlessness at an
assembly, where rank and splendor, the delights of harmony, and the
fascinations of beauty, filled my every sense with exstacy? Give me the
sphere of fashion, and its delights! Fix me in the regions of ever
varying novelty!
Mine is life. I sail on an ocean of pleasure. Where are its rocks, its
sands, its secret whirlpools, or its daring tempests? Fables all! Fables
invented by the envious impotence of snarling Cynics, to crush the
aspiring fancy of glowing youth! Thy apathy, Murden, I detest. Nay, I
pity thee. And I swear by that pity, I would sacrifice some portion of
my pleasures, to awaken thee to the knowledge of one hour's rapture.
Soul-less Arthur, how couldst thou slight the accomplished L----? How
could thou acknowledge that she was beautiful, yet tell me of her
defects?--Defects! Good heaven! Defects, in a beautiful, kind, and
yielding woman!--Arthur, Arthur, in compassion to thy passing youth, thy
graceful figure, and all those manly charms with which thou art formed
to captivate, forget thy wild chimeras, thy absurd dreams of romantic
useless perfections; and make it thy future creed, that in woman there
can be no crime but ugliness, no weakness nor defect but cruelty.
Every day, every hour, Janetta brings me new proof that thy judgment is
worthless. She has tenderness, she has sensibility; she does not, as
thou didst assert, receive my love merely to enrich herself with its
offerings; and constancy she has, even more boundless than I (except for
a time) could desire; for she talks of being mine for ever, and says,
wherever I go thither will she go also.
And I will soothe her with the flattering hope. Why should I damp our
present ardors, by anticipating the hour when we must part? Why should I
suffuse those brilliant eyes with the tears of sorrow; or wound that
fondly palpitating heart, by allowing her to suspect that she but
supplies the absence of an all-triumphant rival?
Ah, let not my thoughts glance that way! Let not imagination bring
before me the etherial beauty of my Sibella! Let it not transport me to
her arms, within the heaven of Valmont wood! or I shall be left a form
without a soul; and be excluded from the enjoyment that I now admire, as
being in absence my solace, my happiness.
I expected I should have been dull without thee, Murden; but I hardly
know, except when I am writing, that thou hast left me. I dress, I
dance, I ride, I visit, I am visited. My remittances bring me all I
wish, in their profusion. I adore, and am adored; the nights and days
are alike devoted to an eternal round of pleasures; and lassitude and I
are unacquainted.
'Read the hearts of men,' says Mr. Valmont. I cannot. I am fascinated
with their manners. I pant to acquire the same soft polish; and their
endearing complaisance to my endeavours.
That graceful polish is already thine; and, there, I envy thee. I envy
too thy reputation; but I hate thy cold reserve. Why, if these triumphs
which are attributed to thee be really thine, why conceal them? Others
can tell me of thy successes, can show me the very objects for whom thou
hast sighed, whom thou hast obtained. When I alledge that I found thee
constantly dissatisfied, contemplating some imaginary being, complaining
that too much or too little pride, defective manners, or a defective
mind, gave thee an antidote against love, I am assured that it was the
mere effect of an overweening vanity. Seymour, who pretends to know thee
much better than I do, declares thou art vain beyond man's belief or
woman's example. He is thy sworn enemy; and well he may, provided his
charges against thee be true, for the other night in the confidence of
wine, he assured me, that thou art the seducer of his mistress. A
mistress, fond and faithful, till she listened to thy seductions. Is it
possible, Murden, thou canst have been thus dishonourably cruel? I doubt
the veracity of Seymour's representation; for, I think thou are not only
too strict for the transaction, but too inanimate to be assailed by the
temptation.
Prithee, Arthur, banish this thy ever impenetrable reserve; and tell me
truly, whether thou art inflated with victory; fastidious from change;
or, whether, as I deem thee, thou are not really too cold to love;
whether thou hast not cherished the indolent caprice of thy temper, till
it has deadened thee into marble?
Once more, I thank heaven I am not like thee. Ever may I thrill at the
glance, the smile of beauty! Ever may I live, to know no business but
pleasure; and may my resources ever be as unconfined as my wishes!
CLEMENT MONTGOMERY
LETTER IX
FROM SIBELLA VALMONT
TO
CAROLINE ASHBURN
It is now a week since, one evening at sunset, I carried your letters,
and that portrait painted by Clement in the days when we knew no sorrow,
into the wood; where, shutting out every remembrance, save those of love
and friendship, I was for a time wrapped in the sublimity of happiness.
Is the mind so much fettered by its earthly clog the body, that it
cannot long sustain these lofty flights, soaring as it were into
divinity, but must ever sink back to its portion of pains and penalties?
For, this I have before experienced; and, at the time of which I speak,
pain and grief suddenly burst in upon me. I rushed from the foot of my
oak to the monument; and, resting there, wept with a bitterness equal in
degree to my former pleasure.
Nina was at my side--and her flying from me into the wood, was a signal
that some one approached. I raised my head; and beheld, descending from
the Ruin on the Rock, the tall figure of a venerable man, with a white
and flowing beard. He was wrapped in a sort of loose gown; a broad hat
shaded part of his face; his step was feeble; he frequently tottered;
and, when he had come near to me, he leaned both hands on his staff, and
addressed me thus.
'Fair virgin, weep not! The spirits of the air gather round you; and
form a band so sacred, that the malignant demons hover at a distance,
hopeless of approach. Your guardian angel presides over this grove.
Here, Mildew, Mischief, and Mischance, cannot harm you. Fair virgin weep
not!' He paused, I said, 'Who are you?'
'Once,' he continued, 'I was the hallowed tenant of yon ruined mansion;
once, an inhabitant of earth, it was my lot to warn the guilty, and to
soothe the mourner. Well may such tears as thine draw me back to earth.
I come, the spirit of consolation. Fair virgin, why weepest thou?'
'I know,' I said, 'that the sleep of death is eternal. That the grave
never gives back, to form and substance, the mouldering body; and it
indeed matters little to me who or what you are, since I well know you
cannot be what you would seem.'
I stepped down from the monument; and turned up the wood path, leading
to the castle.
'Stay,' cried he. 'Do you doubt my supernatural mission?--View my
testimony. Behold, I can renovate old age!'
I looked back, the beard, the hat, the mantle were cast aside; and a
young man of graceful form and fine physiognomy appeared before me.
I stood, an instant, in surprise; and then, I again turned toward the
castle. He stepped forward, and intercepted my path with outspread arms.
'Fear me not,' said he. 'I----'
'No,' I answered. 'I do not fear you, though I know of no guardian
angels but my innocence and fortitude.'
He folded his arms, fixed his eyes upon the ground, and I passed on
without further interruption.
When Andrew brought supper into my apartment, I asked if there were
strangers in the castle; and Andrew shook his head, by which I
understood that he did not know if there were any.
The following morning, I expected my uncle's commands to absent myself
from the wood; and though no message came, I did absent myself, both on
that day and on the succeeding day and their nights, confining all my
walks to the open ground behind the castle and the lawn.
During these two days, I was attended only by Margaret. Poor Andrew was
indisposed. Banished from my oak, deprived of my Nina's society,
excluded even from the slight intercourse the table afforded with Mr.
and Mrs. Valmont (for my uncle has lately determined, that it is an
indelicate custom to meet together at stated times for the sole purpose
of eating; and refreshment is now served up to each in our separate
apartments) it is nearly impossible to tell you, Caroline, how much
_alone_ I felt myself, while these two days and two nights lasted.
The third day was bleak and stormy; the wind roared; and showers fell
frequently. Every one of this household seems at all times loath to
encounter such inclemencies, and I imagined that to me alone these were
things of little moment. I went, therefore, to the wood; but, ere Nina
had expressed half her joy, the stranger appeared.
'Why fly me,' he said, 'if you do not fear me?'
'I shun you,' replied I, 'because I do not understand you.'