earning his future subsistence. Mr. Valmont tells him we shall not be
united, and forgetting that we are not the puppets of his power, even
this useless threat, Clement loads with terror. Another separation too
is about to take place, and he has not once looked forward to the hour,
when we shall wash away the remembrance in tears of joy at our re-union.
And shall I be content merely to deplore my former Clement, giving
nothing, to restore him? Oh, no!--I had written to him, I had even
ascended the stairs to his apartment, when a sudden terror seized upon
me. I hastily hid the billet from my view, and with the restlessness of
an anxious mind, first sought the wood, and then my chamber.
The billet lies before me, I have examined its purport. It calls on
Clement to become my husband. For ought I to withhold myself from giving
him the fullest proof of my affection, from renovating him by this
proof, because Mr. Valmont cruelly commands it? Surely I ought not. Mr.
Valmont's presence and benediction might adorn with one more smile the
nuptial hour, but 'tis our hearts alone that can bind the vow. If
Clement's is not in unison with mine, if he feels the necessity of other
ties, he will refuse the offer, and point out to me that I have erred.
My courage rises. The paleness of fear on my cheek gives way to the glow
of hope. I shall forget that absence, misfortune, and pain, have
intervened and live over again those hours of joy and peace, when our
bosoms heaved no sigh, save the rich sigh of transport and confidence.
I go; and to-morrow will I, though now forbidden his presence, go to my
uncle, and conjure him to convince himself that power and command are
useless, when reason and conviction oppose them. Adieu.
SIBELLA VALMONT
LETTER XV
FROM CLEMENT MONTGOMERY
TO
ARTHUR MURDEN
Read the inclosed, dear Arthur, and imagine my sudden transition from
despair to rapture. I was sitting, mute in anguish, when the divine form
of my Sibella appeared at my chamber door. She held to me a paper, and
as I took it, she turned away sighing deeply. Read, read, I say, and
partake if you can my feelings. But though I tell you, I have just
arisen from her arms, with your cold killing indifference it is
impossible you can form the shadow of a resemblance to those transports
which wrap my senses in delirium.
Did you think I had not dared to follow? O, Yes! It was not to face the
stern Mr. Valmont; no, it was in secret to receive Sibella to my arms,
whom I love more than life. It was to outplot Mr. Valmont. To enjoy a
glorious though secret triumph over this rival, this chosen, this
elected of Mr. Valmont's favour. How could I, with youth glowing in my
veins, love throbbing in my heart, reject the tempting offer, though
multitudes of dangers threatened at a distance.
Avaunt, ye dark forebodings! Ye gloomy horrors assail not now the
enraptured Clement! The hours cannot move backwards. The deed cannot be
undone.
The moon and stars shone sole witnesses of our contract! But read,
Murden. Write to me instantly, and say you have for once warmed yourself
into delight, to find something like the state of
CLEMENT MONTGOMERY
_N.B._ Exquisite, but misjudging charmer! She would have told Mr.
Valmont, that she had given herself to me. My arms my prayers could
hardly restrain her from her wild purpose.
BILLET
FROM SIBELLA TO CLEMENT
_Inclosed in the preceding Letter_
When I would speak, I weep. New feelings, new ideas agitate my mind. A
tremor that I cannot banish gives confusion to my thoughts, and all I
now wish to express should be regular, forcible.
Once, had my heart conceived the design with which it now vibrates under
a weight of apprehensions, it had been uttered without preparation: but
you are not the same. Mr. Valmont's mysteries have acted on you in their
full effect. You teach your brow caution. You learn concealments. You
fear rivals!
Rivals in Sibella's love! Oh, no! no! no! But force you say. Mr.
Valmont's power--Ah, Clement, Clement, turn your thoughts back, and find
its importance.
But you cannot, Dread has seized up on you, and Mr. Valmont heightens
the threatened evil, till it appears already arrived: it overwhelms you
with its terrors, and there is nought left to Sibella but remembrance to
paint her Clement.
Let Mr. Valmont dismiss you; that bears not the semblance of misfortune.
But you shall not go to have your efforts chained down by despair, your
vigour shall not be impaired by corroding doubts. When you seek delight,
you shall remember your love, and the present short absence shall be the
only pang her idea can inflict.
Come to my apartments. With pure hearts and hands, we will plight our
fervent unspotted faith. Say I am your's, and you are mine, and sorrow
and jealousy will vanish as a mist. You shall go the transported
confiding husband.
LETTER XVI
FROM ARTHUR MURDEN
TO
CLEMENT MONTGOMERY
SIR
Your letters, one and all, I suppose, have come in safety to my hands.
In your last you are urgent for my answer. It is this. Although you, Mr.
Montgomery, amuse your spleen or your fancy, by talking of my _cold
killing indifference_, I have such _feelings_ as tell me your conduct is
neither that of a lover nor a man.
Farewel, Sir. I renounce your friendship. I desire only to remain a
stranger to your name and remembrance.
ARTHUR MURDEN
LETTER XVII
FROM ARTHUR MURDEN
TO
CLEMENT MONTGOMERY
Montgomery
Call me mad, possessed. Curse me, reproach me, do anything, only that
when you have had your revenge, forget such a letter as I wrote you last
ever had existence.
Say it was strange, I say so too. Call it insolent, I will confess it;
unaccountable, I still join with you. It was one of the sudden whirls of
this vertigo brain of mine, almost as incomprehensible to myself as to
you.
I have no excuses to offer, for the fit may come again upon me. Promise
has no power with me, I am the creature of impulse. Alas! Alas! that
reason and consistency should thus become the shuttlecocks of fancy!
Now taking it for granted, that I gain your pardon, next have I a long
account to settle with myself. I would not partake of happiness of a
common mould; lay it before me, and I disdained the petty prize, stalked
proudly over it, and stalked on, prying, and watching, to seize hold on
some hidden blessing, that reserved itself to be the reward of a
deserving venturous hero like myself--Oh! I have embraced a cloud, and
the tormenting wheel rolls round with a rapid motion!
I know I am talking algebra to you, and if you take me for a companion,
you must even be content to travel on in the dark. It is so, but why it
is, I think your best discernment will not aid you to discover. Enquiry
is useless, expostulation, a farce. Be patient, and forgive me this, and
other transgressions, for I tell you, Montgomery, you have a potent
revenge.
There is little probability that you and I should meet each other, as
London will be the scene of your action, while I condemn myself to
wander north and south, in search of a few grains of that content I so
wantonly gave the winds to scatter. I must have room to vent my
suffocating thoughts. I cannot be pinioned in the crowd; and I would
rather seek converse with myself in a charnel house, than enter the
brightest circles of fashion. I hate to be the wonder of fools. Already
is my reputation raised, and I have now just sense enough in madness to
play my antics alone.
Driven by winds and storms, I may seek an occasional shelter at Barlowe
Hall. Whither, if you are so disposed, you may direct to
ARTHUR MURDEN
* * * * *
I believe, Montgomery, it is necessary that I say something more to you.
The above conclusion is abrupt and harsh. That I feel inclined to treat
you thus is the consequence of my own folly, rather than your deservings
of me. Let it pass then. I wish you no ill, but as I told you before, I
am become the tool of every changing impulse.
I sympathize in your change of fortune; or rather, I feel a concern that
you should colour with such darkened hues, so unimportant a
circumstance.
I too have counted upon heirship. But let my uncle the nabob put five
hundred pound in my pocket, and set me down in London, Petersburg, or
Pekin, and if I did not walk my own pace through the world, let me die
like a dog, and have no better burial.
Five hundred pound! 'Tis a mine. Ah, sigh not to be foremost of the
throng! Independence, peace, and self approving reflection may be, if
you will, the companions of your new destiny.
Certainly Mr. Valmont managed his plan of making you a Hermit with
wonderful ingenuity, to send you forth from your cave at that very age
when the fancy runs gadding after novelty, and shadow passes for
substance. He decked you too with the trappings of wealth, and expected
every man to appear before you, with a label written on his forehead, of
his souls most secret vice.--He had better have driven you out to beg
with an empty wallet, and then perhaps when one had said--_Go
work_--another had hinted--_Go steal_--and a third had passed you and
said nothing, you might possibly have returned to a leopard's skin, and
a hut of branches, the man after Mr. Valmont's own heart.
Be wiser and happier, Montgomery, than this man has been; shun his
weaknesses and your own; you also have your portion of weaknesses
follies, vices. Yes Montgomery the latter word is not too harsh, or I
should not have had now to pity you for being duped by the contemptible
Janetta L----. Other instances there are for me to cite: They press upon
my feelings--they wound--they torture me!
* * * * *
Judge for yourself, Montgomery, upon the right and wrong of your conduct
and intentions. I am ill fitted to become your adviser.
How could you so far mistake my character as to suppose I was the
seducer of Seymour's mistress: I think one of your letters asserted so
much. If to persuade a deceived girl to quit her profligate companion (I
will not say lover, I should disgrace the name) and return to console
the latter days of an aged grandmother be seduction, I am guilty. This I
did to Seymour, and his invectives or the rumours he may spread are as
unimportant and as little troublesome to my repose as the insects that
are buzzing around me.
Montgomery, no more of your phrases, nor his accusations. Be assured I
am neither your _soul-less_ marble, nor Seymour's _libertine_.
At a boyish age from boyish vanity I aimed to be called a man of
pleasure. It was easy to imitate the air and manners of such a man, and
not less by such imitation alone to arrive at the contemptible fame
among persons equally ready to encourage the practice and accuse the
practitioner.
I renounce the loathsome labours of the flatterers, the despicable
renown of the libertine. Miss Ashburn is my monitress, she began her
lessons at Barlowe Hall, and now continues the instruction at Bath.
Do not imagine it was done in devout lectures or pious declamations. No,
it was the stedfast modesty of her eye, her intelligent condemning mien,
which said, here shall thy proud boast be stayed.
She was the finest woman of our party; and all the rest prepared to meet
me with the glance of approbations and the smile of encouragement; yet
she having been forewarned of my renown preferred the hand or arm or
speech of a silly old colonel of sixty.--Now she knows me better. No,
she does not, I evade, I fly her penetration.
Montgomery, the worthiest feeling I know of you is, that you lament your
having made your truth and innocence a sacrifice.
I am not in love with Miss Ashburn. I would give an ear, an eye, any
thing I have on earth, except the full confidence of my heart, to call
her my sister, my friend. I admire, seek, venerate her; but, Montgomery,
I am not in love with Miss Ashburn.
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME
VOLUME II
LETTER I
FROM CAROLINE ASHBURN
TO
SIBELLA VALMONT
I have not answered your letter, my dear Sibella, as soon as you perhaps
may have expected, because I was willing to dwell on the circumstances
it contained, till the minutest shade was present with me, and till I
discovered exactly wherein to praise, or wherein to blame. The time I
have taken to deliberate has not been thrown away, for it has excited
ideas in my mind that may prove of infinite service to us both: and
should I in future find aught to add or diminish from my sentiments, I
shall offer it as frankly as I now do my present decision.
Sibella, well might you, even at the door of Clement's apartment,
retreat from your enterprise: for then, at that moment, you wandered the
first step from your rectitude; and had you, instead of sitting down to
detail your reasons to me, enquired narrowly into the cause of your
sensations, you must have discovered that error was creeping in upon
you, and that your native frankness and stedfast sincerity were making a
vigorous effort to repel _secresy_, that canker-worm of virtue.
Have you forgotten, my Sibella, when you said--'I am not weak enough to
descend to artifice. Did I believe it right to go, I should go openly.
Then might he try his opposing strength: but he would find that I could
leap, swim or dive, and that walls or moats are feeble barriers to a
determined will.'
This was noble; and I promised myself that, in you, I should find the
one rare instance wherein no temptation could incline, or terror
affright, into any species of concealment. I grant nothing could bring
the temptation more strongly forward than the state into which Clement
and you were forced: but still you should have resisted. Your every
thought should still have flown to your lips. Your every intention
should have been as public to those by whom you were surrounded as to
yourself. No matter though it should dash aside a present project. Be
openly firm in the resolution to do right, and, my life for it, the
opposition of mistake and prejudice will bear no proportion in strength
to your perseverance.
It is evident that this plain and necessary truth mixed itself with your
ideas, although the tumults of hope and fear, and the crowd of images
that were then rushing on your mind, dazzled your perception; for you
saw it in part, when you resolved to declare to Mr. Valmont in the
morning all that you had done. Would you had previously declared it! I
know how useless it is to wish over the past: yet I must again
say--would you had previously declared it!
You pause, Sibella--you are convinced: but you instantaneously quit the
regret of that error for selfcongratulation. I can enter into all your
feelings; and I find you now dwelling with pleasure on the supposition
that I condemn only the concealment, that I look on the contract itself
as an act of justice, and that I am about to applaud you for the
fulfillment of a duty. And herein it is that I have doubted. To this one
point have I called every present and remote circumstance; and it is
from the combination of circumstances alone that I have been able to
decide. The distinction becomes nice between praise and blame, for I
have both to offer: yet, if I judge aright, some praise belongs to
you--to the blame Mr. Valmont has an incontestible title.
With such an education as he has given you, unless you had been a mere
block without ideas, it was impossible you should not become a romantic
enthusiast in whatever species of passion first engaged your feelings:
and Mr. Valmont took care to make that first passion _Love_. Whatever
cause can have led him to his present inconsistency, it is as evident to
me as light and sensation--that it was his settled plan to render love
for each other the ruling feature of your's and Clement's character. The
contrivance was worthless; but the performance was admirable. Thus you
and Clement loved from habit.
Youth is always ardent and lively; it inclines to fondness; and you had
none of the constraints which society lays on the first expansions of
tenderness. You had no claimants, from kindred or family, on your
affections: for the forbidding Mr. Valmont excited only fear; and you
sought shelter in each other's arms, from the terrors of his frown. It
was not more natural to breathe, than to love--it was not more natural
to love, than to obey its dictates. Thus you and Clement, secluded from
the world with your every pleasure arising only from mutual efforts to
please, could not fail to love from habit. Had Clement and you been
educated in the world, Clement would still have loved from habit:
because I suspect he possesses more of softness than of strength. He
would have loved often; and it would have been a trivial love: neither
arising to any height, nor directed by any excellence.
You, Sibella, would have loved from reflection, from a more intimate
knowledge of increasing virtues, from the intercourse of mind: then call
it friendship, or call it love, it would indeed possess those
predominant and absorbing qualities you describe, and which you now
feel. But, Sibella, depend on it Clement had never been the object.
Pardon me, I do not mean to wound you. I know you will not shrink from
truth; and I must therefore tell you, that the alteration in Clement
which you ascribe wholly to Mr. Valmont's mysteries I ascribe to
feebleness of character. Wherever your's rises to superiority his sinks.
Had he been equal, and had there been no secresy in the case, I would
have hailed your _marriage_. I well know, my friend, that you did not
mean to separate duty and pleasure. Motives the most chaste and holy
guided you. No forms or ceremonies could add an atom to your purity, or
make your's in the sight of heaven more a marriage--yet do I wish, with
all the fervency of my soul, this marriage had been deferred--that you
had previously informed Mr. Valmont.
'Tis past: and repentance is only of value as it guides us in our future
actions. We must endeavour to rouse Clement from his inactivity. I do
believe he is not vicious, though your uncle's conduct respecting him
has the worst of tendencies: my Sibella's excellence must have placed a
talisman around him from which vice retires hopeless of influence. This
is one great step: and, as I understand from Mr. Murden he is to be in
London, I will seek his friendship; give a spur to every lurking talent;
endeavour to preserve him free from taint; and if I had judged too
hastily, if he is beyond what I expect, with what delight shall I
contemplate the merits of him whose fate you have interwoven with your
own!--Ah, how close is the texture--with what firmness can you think--to
what excess can you love!
The dark season of the year is arrived. The fashionable world haste to
the capital. We are never hindmost of the throng; yet this once have I
urged forward our removal to London with all my influence; for I
apprehend the succession of its gay diversions, and the multiplicity of
varied engagements which must then occupy my mother, will remove from
her mind any inclination towards a second marriage. Here, opportunity is
always at hand for that despicable race of young men who are ever on
the watch to sell their persons and liberty to the highest bidder; and,
as Mrs. Ashburn's immensity of wealth is the general topic, her splendor
the general gaze, and her vanity not a whit more concealed from
observation, the fortune hunters crowd around her. At first the love of
flattery appeared wholly to engage her and each was acceptable in his
turn; till, at length, the elegant person of one youth became
distinguished in a manner that alarmed me. Not but I should rejoice to
see my mother yield herself to the guardianship of some good man, who
had sense enough to advise, and resolution to restrain her lavish
follies. Of such an union I have not any hope; and I must, if possible,
prevent her being the dupe and victim of a misguided choice.
This young man possessed in a very emminent degree the advantages of
person, air, and address; yet, when he directed his attentions wholly
towards Mrs. Ashburn, there was such evident constraint in his manner,
and his professions were so laboured, that almost any other woman would
have condemned him. Mrs. Ashburn did not. She received, she encouraged
him, she led him into every circle in open triumph, as her devoted
lover: while his forced levity, at one time, and at another, his pale
cheek, absence of mind, and half uttered sighs, told to every observer
that he was a sacrifice but not a lover. I could not believe that the
affair would ever be brought to so absurd a conclusion, till I found
that the day of marriage was actually fixed on. I ought to have
interfered before; for my interference has now saved them from the
commission of such a folly.
I must, Sibella, reserve the history of this young man till another
letter. I am called from the pleasing occupation of writing to you, by
an engagement with a being more variable, more inexplicable, than any
being within my knowledge, yet to me not less interesting than any. I
mean Mr. Murden.
Never need I be wearied with the sameness of my thoughts, while I reside
under one roof with Murden; for, let me turn them on the caprices of his
conduct, and I shall find puzzling varieties without end.
Ever your's
CAROLINE ASHBURN
LETTER II
THE SAME--TO THE SAME
Henry Davenport is the young man of whom I am to speak. It was publicly
mentioned here that he was related to several noble families; and at the
same time was always hinted that he possessed no fortune. This I was
ready to believe, from his addressing my mother.
Constantly surrounded with parties, and studious to avoid me, it was
useless to attempt reasoning with my mother. I therefore wrote a card to
Mr. Davenport, requesting an hour's conversation with him the succeeding
morning.
He came. He was light and gay in his habit and address. His voice
possessed an unusual softness; and his cheek was flushed with an hectic
colour, equally proceeding, I thought, from want of rest and
intemperance.
'Mr. Davenport,' said I, interrupting his compliments, 'you will
convince me most that you are pleased with this interview by answering
the questions I shall propose with seriousness and sincerity.'
He folded his hands and ludicrously lengthened his visage; but of this I
took no notice. 'Tell me,' continued I, 'frankly and truly, what is your
opinion of my mother?'
His levity instantly disappeared; and he replied in a hurrying
manner--'I think Mrs. Ashburn a very charming--a very fine woman
indeed.'
'What are your motives, sir, for marrying her?'
'Miss Ashburn,' said he, with great quickness and removing from the
opposite side of the room to a chair next me, 'I do respect and admire
you as much or perhaps more than any woman on the face of the earth. I
would eat my flesh rather than injure you; and if Mrs. Ashburn give me
her hand, I swear your interest in her fortune shall not be affected. I
do not wish to be master of the principal. I only want to share some of
that income which is lavished on superfluities.--O God! O God! how happy
would the uncontrouled, independent, present possession of some of those
hundreds make me!'
You cannot conceive the force with which he uttered this; and it seemed
to recal a world of pressing ideas to his mind: for I found it necessary
to wait till his attention returned of itself.
'And the enjoyment of this income in marriage will make you happy, year
after year, all your life, Mr. Davenport?'
'Surely, Miss Ashburn,' and he looked at me stedfastly, 'you cannot
think I would ever use your mother ill.'
'Do you love her, sir?'
'I have told you, Miss Ashburn, I admire her--I think her a fine
spirited woman.'
'Do you love her, sir?' rejoined I with more emphasis.
'Love! why yes--no!--I have a great friendship for her, madam.--But as
to love 'tis out of fashion--it is exploded.' He rose; and walked
towards the window. 'Love is a romance; a cant; a whine; a delirium; a
poison; a rankling wound that festers here, here!' he laid his hand on
his heart, and leaned against the wainscot.
I sighed too: for the under tone of voice in which he pronounced the
last few words was in scribably affecting. He quickly started from this
posture, and threw himself on his knees before me.
'I confess it all,' said he, 'I am not more wretched than desperate.
This marriage is my resource from worse evils. Oh, Miss Ashburn! by that
benignity which irradiates your every action I conjure you suffer it to
proceed!--I will be grateful.--I will honor and revere your
mother.--More I cannot promise--I cannot. Allow me to depart, madam, I
cannot endure to be questioned.'
And thus saying, he would have quitted the room, had I not held him by
the arm, and with difficulty prevailed on him again to take his seat,
and to listen to me patiently while I pourtrayed the evils of such a
marriage, and the cruel injustice he was guilty of towards a woman so
chosen.