your's, Caroline.
* * * * *
I have pondered on the contents of your letter three days. What shall I
say for myself more than you have already said for me? I feel, I
confess, that in being secret I have deceived Mr. Valmont, have been
guilty of vice. But how could I, tell me, Caroline; for my future
benefit tell if you can, how could I devise a means by which I might
have preserved my sincerity and saved my lover?--I can not. Remember it
was my Clement's peace, happiness, and welfare, for which I made the
sacrifice.
Yet now I feel it forcibly; for I hesitate to declare the rest; I, who
knew no concealment, have by one deviation from my sincerity even become
cowardly and irresolute in friendship. I fear your censures, Caroline;
and dare think of eluding them, because too conscious that I cannot
refute them.--I persevere in secresy, in deception! Mr. Valmont is still
unacquainted with our marriage. For myself, I had not done this--for
myself, I could not perceive its value or necessity. I yielded to the
ardent remonstrances of Clement; and promised to conceal our union, till
his independence should have placed him beyond the mischief of my
uncle's resentment. Ah! let me turn, to seek solace, in the end, for the
means!
Be the means what they may, the end is effected. My Clement is restored.
The energies of his mind are renovated. You will see him, Caroline: but
you will see no feebleness in his character. You will find his love
could never be _a trifling effervescence_; you will discover that we
mutually love, from the _intimate knowledge of increasing virtues_; and
no fabled or real oblivion can shed its influence on a love so elevated,
so entire, so utterly beyond the reach of annihilation.
I conjure you, my friend, by your own words, to watch over my
Clement--to preserve him free from taint; and to restore him, just such
as he so lately quitted the arms of his, and your.
LETTER V
FROM ARTHUR MURDEN
TO
CAROLINE ASHBURN
MADAM
That I most ardently desire to possess your esteem is, whether you
believe it or not, a fact I avow with all possible sincerity. Nor is it
less a fact, that I quitted Bath so abruptly to avoid giving you my
confidence: the only thing in the world by which I could be entitled to
ask your esteem.
'Why do I then write to you?'--you are about to demand--Ah! madam: I
have by me a long catalogue of such unanswered questions--Why do I do
this?--and why do I do that? insolently treads on the heel of my almost
every action.
Can you find a name more despicable than folly for the will that acts in
opposition to acknowledged reason? If you can--apply that worst of names
to me--to my incomprehensible conduct.
Oh, Miss Ashburn, almost without a motive have I pursued a dream, a
phantasy! The offspring of my heated imagination.--Fancy lent her utmost
delusions, and dressed the vision in such glowing charms that neither
prudence, honour, friendship, nor aught else could stay me in my
course--not even the heavenly--
Whither am I running!--I would give a world that I could tell you--When!
where! why! I dreamt and was awakened--not for a world's wealth though
would I tell you.
'Tis past! 'tis done! the mischief is irretrievable.--The phantom
remains; but the gilded hope that illumined her path is gone--despair
casts its length of shade around me; and sunshine is no more.
Let me recollect myself.--When I began to write, I meant to request you
would say something conciliating for me to Sir Thomas. The letter I
left for him was written in haste and from a sudden impulse, and
probably expressed nothing I either meant or ought to have said--I
beseech you, madam, do this for me. I know my uncle looks on me with
affection; and I do not consider myself entitled to make so free with
the happiness of others as I have done with my own.
If he has any expostulations to offer, any reproaches to make me, let
him send them to Barlowe Hall. There I shall be some time. But let him
not ask me to come to London.----No: Miss Ashburn, the _ignis fatuus_ is
still in view; and, though I perfectly understand its nature and have no
hope nor scarce a wish to overtake it, yet am I, lunatic-like, galloping
after it over hedge, bog, and briar.
From this assurance, and from the many other things you know of me, you
will believe I am in the right to subscribe myself the infatuated,
miserable,
A. MURDEN
LETTER VI
FROM CAROLINE ASHBURN
TO
SIBELLA VALMONT
For the first time of my life, have I become the assiduous watcher of
windows, the listener after footsteps; and have lived eternally in the
drawing room. Yet has no Clement Montgomery appeared; and I have just
now recollected that my desire of knowing him will not accelerate his
approach, that so much time given to expectation is so much thrown away,
and that to employ the same quantity of time in endeavouring to amuse
you would be more friendly and of course more laudable.
Once more then, Sibella, we are in London, this great metropolis, alike
the resort of him who possesses wealth and him who seeks to attain it.
Here merit comes, hoping in the vast concourse to find the protector of
talent; and hither the deliberating villain hastens, expecting the crowd
will be at once favourable to the practice of his crimes, and the means
of escaping their punishment. What a field here is opened for the
speculator, and the moralist! And often, Sibella, do I anticipate the
time when we shall look on the chequered scenes of life together.
When--but let me give you the remainder of Davenport's history while is
is yet fresh in my memory.
Punctual to the minute I had named, Davenport entered my apartment. The
same species of settled gloom I observed the preceding day in Arabella,
marked his voice and gesture. He looked so familiarized, so wedded to
sadness and misfortune that, desirous of expressing in my demeanour the
kindness my heart felt for him, I approached and held out my hand to
receive his. He lightly pressed it; and coldly bowing, retreated to a
seat on the other side of the room. From that motion, I perceived he
now viewed me as one who had saved him from the commission of an action
which, although of evil and dangerous tendency, would have produced to
him a benefit he knew not how, in any other way to procure; and that
after rendering it impossible for him to marry, I was about to leave him
with some general advice to the horrors of his situation. This he
imagined was the utmost of my ability; he had convinced himself of the
goodness of my intentions, and could not altogether call me his enemy;
but he was now looking round, hopeless and despairing, for the almost
supernatural means which could extricate him from his poverty and
distress.
The power was mine; and I hastened to relieve him from the anguish he
endured. I told him, he should render himself independent and happy;
that my pecuniary assistance should go hand and hand with his
endeavours; and enquired if he had any friends who could advise him in
the choice of a profession.
'Not a creature in the world who would not rather advise him to end his
miseries and disgrace with a pistol.' This was Davenport's answer.
I recollected that I had noticed some little intimacy between him and
Mr. Murden; and, supposing the precariousness of dependence must have
occasionally led Murden's thoughts to the same views, I concluded his
judgment would be useful. 'Let us consult Mr. Murden,' said I.
'No: Miss Ashburn!' cried Davenport, reddening violently. 'Contrive it
all yourself; I will obey you wherever I can; but do not command me to
the revolting task of declaring to all the world that I am--a beggar.
When Murden and I first knew each other, I was the expected heir to a
good fortune; and, as I was descended from some of the first families in
the kingdom, Murden moved in a sphere below me. He stands where he did;
but I alas am fallen.--Yet I won't hear him exult and triumph in
affected pity.--No: no! I could tell him that even a nabob's wealth
cannot blazen him with the honours that cling to the name of Davenport.'
He spoke this with surprising bitterness.
'For pity's sake, Mr. Davenport,' said I, 'do not lay on high birth more
infirmities than, from its nature, it unavoidably possesses. Were you
ten times more honourably descended it could not alter Murden's ability
to advise you, it could not degrade him or exalt you. I have seen you
court his conversation: and did you imagine your poverty was then a
secret? Oh, no! who could mistake the cause of your seeking to become
Mrs. Ashburn's husband? In defiance of his uncle's displeasure, Murden
refused this very marriage. At the same time, I must acknowledge, his
firmness has not undergone the trial you have suffered; for he had no
Arabella, I believe.'
Davenport threw his arms across upon the table by which he sat, laying
his head upon them. The attitude prevented my seeing his face; but I
thought he wept. A half supressed sob rose at intervals.
Thus he remained; for unwilling to press too hard on his prejudices, I
relinquished the idea of consulting any other person, and sat silently
examining plans for his future service. His age, his quickness of
apprehension, and his manners which are pleasing to persons of every
station, inclined me to think the study of physic would be well adapted
to his capacity and talents. I made the proposal; named the sum I would
give him yearly till he should be qualified to provide for himself; and
his gratitude was expressed with the same vehemence which alike attends
him on trivial or important occasions.
You will perhaps wonder, Sibella, that is, if the value of money is at
all known to you, and if its importance ever occupies your thoughts, how
am I enabled to make so lavish a use of it.
On our first arrival in England, my mother assigned me an annual income
proportioned to the splendour of her appearance, and the immense fortune
that I am destined to possess when her advantages in it shall be
eternally proscribed.
That I do not employ this allowance in keeping pace with her elegance,
that I do not blaze in jewels, and riot in the luxury of dress,
displeases my mother; yet she continues me the stated income, flattering
herself daily though daily disappointed that I will secure my own
indulgencies by overlooking the errors reason tells me I am to condemn
in her.
But to return to Davenport: on the subsequent morning, I ordered my
horse very early intending to pass an hour with Arabella, when a servant
informed me Mr. Davenport and a lady requested to see me. I hurried down
stairs, to chide Mr. Davenport for suffering Arabella (supposing it must
be her) to hazard an increase of her disorder, by coming out while the
air was raw and cold, and the morning fog not yet dispelled. I opened
the parlour door with the reproof almost ready on my lips, when
Davenport, with his eyes glistening, his cheeks glowing, seized my hand
and placed it within that of a young lady, who kissed it, and with
mingled ardour and pleasure pressed it to her bosom. Surprised, I
stepped back; and, looking alternately at her and at Davenport, a
strong resemblance anticipated his introduction of a sister.
This sister, whom Davenport had forgotten in his misfortunes, was newly
married; and had arrived at Bath the preceding evening, with her
husband, a merchant of the name of Beville. Davenport had related the
scenes he had passed through in those glowing colours whose use is so
familiar to him; and the whole family were disposed to think I had
rendered them an important service. Accepting Mrs. Beville's invitation
to dinner, I was that day introduced also to Mr. Beville and Miss
Harriot Davenport.
Davenport's feelings are ever alive to extremes. He was now in the bosom
of his family. He saw his sister no longer the humble dependent of a
proud relation, but the wife of an affectionate opulent husband, sharing
her advantages too with his other sister. Then, how could Davenport look
at them and remember either what he had been or might yet be. He was
extravagant; sometimes brilliant, but always fanciful; and the
incoherencies of his conversation formed an amusing contrast with the
steady uniform bluntness of Mr. Beville. He was even too gay to be
grateful; for, instead of thanking his brother-in-law for an offer of
taking him into immediate partnership, in preference to the plan I had
proposed, on terms so liberal as brought tears from his sister's eyes,
Davenport began to ridicule and burlesque trade. He was determined for
this afternoon at least to enjoy his mirth in defiance of the checks,
instigations, or reproaches of the better inmates sincerity and common
sense.
Poor fellow! The grimace, the laugh, the jest reign no longer; for
Arabella cannot live! Perfectly satisfied with the prospects of her
Henry, with his affection for her child, and the present attentions of
his family to her, she calmly looks forward to that abode where the
_wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest_; while he
suffers ten thousand agonies in anticipating their eternal separation.
With Mrs. Beville and Harriot Davenport the remembrance of Arabella's
former transgression now lies dormant, their former affection revives,
gains new strength from the aid of pity, and instigates them to attend
the dying Arabella as a sister. But I suspect from accidental hints they
are yet infected with the worldly maxim that the guilt of such a sailing
remains wholly with the female, from whom in every other instance of
life we look for nothing but weakness and defect. Love more perhaps than
reason has taught Davenport a better lesson; he would certainly have
married Arabella, and Mr. Beville would have supported him in the
resolution, knowing it to be now as much his duty as it was before their
mutual duty to abstain from the transgression.
Thus have I saved Davenport. But not my mother. No--she will assuredly
marry to prove to me her power and pre-eminence. She will pique herself
also on choosing a husband, as handsome as engaging as the fugitive
Davenport.
In the mean time flattery is flattery; and the dose being doubled from a
female tongue approaches so near to an equivalent that the immediate
necessity of a lover becomes less urgent. The happy Mrs. Ashburn--happy
in her acquisitions--has lately gained a companion who can treble the
quantity on occasion. In good English language, with the animation of
French vivacity and French action, Mademoiselle Laundy deals out her
bursts of admiration and exstacies of rapture from one of the prettiest
mouths in the world. Shaping herself, most Proteus-like, to the whim of
the moment, my mother sees not that she is young and handsome; and,
could a painting be shown to Mrs. Ashburn the exact but silent
representation of Mademoiselle Laundy, unless previously instructed to
look for the likeness, I am positive she would not recognize one feature
of her companion.
This young person was born of English parents who were settled in
France. Her father, being deprived of an enormous pension, by the change
of government, chose rather to break his heart than live upon a
contracted income, which could only furnish him with the necessaries of
life; and such worthless accommodations as are beneath the enjoyment of
a courtier.
After his decease, a ci-devant Dutchess brought Mademoiselle Laundy to
England, to try her fortune; and, most opportunely, chance threw her in
our way at the very same time when my mother was seized with the rage of
entertaining a companion. Money was an object with Mademoiselle Laundy,
but none to Mrs. Ashburn; and the former knew how to hold off from the
bargain till the latter's wishes and expectations were wound up to the
highest. The pride also of enabling her companion to outdress half the
fashionable young women about town was doubtless an additional motive
with Mrs. Ashburn; and the enormous salary demanded was to me the first
unfavourable specimen of Mademoiselle Laundy's principles.
Nor has the young lady improved on farther acquaintance. Supple as she
is, she cannot accommodate the feigned artlessness of her countenance to
the examination of my eye. Native simplicity would neither court nor
retire; but Mademoiselle Laundy invites my favour, while she evades my
scrutiny.
Resigning her personal pretensions to charm, and labouring incessantly
to acknowledge the already inflated superiority of the people around
her, she becomes the universal favourite; and 'tis hard to say whether
the _dear, unfortunate, amiable_, Mademoiselle Laundy is more necessary
to Mrs. Ashburn or to Mrs. Ashburn's acquaintance.
To her establishment here, however, I cannot object, because I should
not be understood. Picking and stealing to be sure are very atrocious
things; but who ever thought of calling selfishness, art, and
insincerity by the name of vice?--Oh no! garret-lodgings philosophers
may speculate, and dream over their airy systems; but we people of
fashion know better things. We know self-love and insincerity to be
useful and important qualities, the grand cement which binds our
intercourse with each other. Born a superior race, we can bid truth and
plain honesty depart; and, having dressed falsehood and guile in all the
fascination of the senses, can bow down before the idol of our own
creation.
'Tis all true, Sibella: although, in rambling about your woods, and
looking into your own heart, and arranging the matter of your former
studies, you may find what ought to be, you cannot discover one trait of
what really exists.
Sir Thomas Barlowe is ill of the gout, and almost pines in his
confinement for the society of his nephew; while the whimsical Murden,
in defiance of command or intreaty, is capering about the country nobody
knows why, nor nobody knows where.
Murden! Why cannot I name Murden without feeling a portion of that
anxiety which so visibly preys on the happiness, and throws a veil of
mystery over the actions of that inconsistent young man?
Various have been the endeavours I have used to understand the nature of
his mind's disease; but he has wrapped an impenetrable fold of secresy
around his heart. At times, I imagined that acknowledgment was ready to
burst from his lips; nay I even imagined at times I had caught some
remote allusions that I thought I understood; yet in attempting to trace
them to a source, I lost their original form, and became more and more
entangled in the labyrinths of surmise.
As Sir Thomas and Lady Barlowe regulate all their jaunts and expeditions
by ours, and as we have together made one household at Bath, it was
natural enough that we should journey together to London. Mr. Murden of
course was included in the arrangements; and he neither breathed a
syllable of doubt or objection to the plan. The evening before we
quitted Bath, our party included only four or five visitors, but had
there been twenty I must have directed all my attention towards Murden.
The preceding day I had seen him petulant; and the preceding part of
that day, I had observed him to be more than commonly pensive and
absent. He did not appear at dinner; but joined us early in the evening,
with smiles and gaiety. So sudden and so singular a change excited my
wonder and curiosity! I perceived it was not the gaiety of force; yet it
had a tinge of complacent melancholy; and, from his subsequent conduct,
I am convinced it had its origin in some determination he had taken,
whether for himself, fortunate or unfortunate, the sequel alone can
explain.
He shook my hand affectionately, when he bade us good night; and, at
breakfast the following morning, we learned that he had galloped away at
day break. He had left a letter for his uncle, not filled with
flattering apologies, never fear it, but containing a short harangue on
the impossibility of his going at present to London, and a few cold
wishes for the general safety of the party at large.
Since that time, I also have been favoured with a letter from him which,
although it is not intended to elucidate any part of his conduct, has
brought back to my mind, with additional force, a surmise I formerly
dismissed as too improbable.
What a length of letter! You see, Sibella, how closely I consider our
feelings as united; for, while I endure no weariness myself, I fear not
the chance of inflicting it upon you. Adieu, my sweet friend: may
principle alone, not personal fatal experience, teach you, that your
present system of secresy is erroneous.
CAROLINE ASHBURN
LETTER VII
FROM LORD FILMAR
TO
SIR WALTER BOYER
What a life have I led these three days! An old house my habitation,
built according to old customs, with its casements staring at one
another across a narrow court, and the very offices turning their backs
on noble prospects; two old men and one ugly old woman my companions. No
young nor pretty face abides within these walls, for thy poor friend's
amusement.
Called up at nine! and, what is still worse, sent to bed at eleven! Did
you ever go to bed at eleven, Boyer?--There I wake, and dose, and
dream--dream I hear the inspiring rattle of dice boxes--wake, and curse
myself for ever having known their enticements, and then curse them for
not being now beside me.
What, in the name of wonder, could have become of you the day I left
London! Your valet was drunk when I stopped full of intelligence at your
lodgings. Uc--and Hic--was all I could get from the fellow for a
time--and then followed 'Yes, Sir,--to be sure, my Lord--I'll tell you
at once--my Lord is gone, Sir,--in a post-chaise and four, my Lord.'--
'Where is Sir Walter gone, puppy?'
'Sir Walter, my Lord!--Oh yes--Sir Walter is gone--I don't know where he
is gone, Sir Walter.'
Drive on, cried I; and home I went, to step from my carriage to the
travelling chaise, in which with my dear father I was gently whirled
down to Monkton Hall.
What a life have I led these three days!--A pestilence on your throat, I
say!--There he sits, Walter, the bird of night and wisdom; and, with his
quavering Hoo----oo----oo, calls on me to be solemn if I can't be wise.
I hate wisdom; and, had I not a story to tell you, would sit down and
rail at it.
Every clock from every steeple last Wednesday morning sounded seven as I
with pledged honour and empty pockets drove home from ----. The memento
was insolent; and I was splenetic. I longed to throw stones at the
steeples; and to knock down each sturdy porter who looked into the
chariot, to inform me by his clear eye and vigorous step that he has
passed the night in rest, and had arisen poor indeed but happy. Impudent
scoundrel! He, a porter! I, a viscount!
I undressed and went to bed; where I had the felicity of ruminating till
ten o'clock upon the vast increase of my knowledge and happiness since I
became so intimately connected with Spellman and his associates. At
which hour of ten, the Earl sent a servant to request I would breakfast
with him. Qualms of apprehension stole upon me. I foreboded strange
discoveries and severe remonstrances; and, as I felt too humbled in my
own opinion to be insolent even to my father, I considered how to avoid
the interview, till I had mechanically staggered into the Earl's
dressing-room, where I was received with 'good morning to your
lordship.'
'I hope you are well, my Lord,' said I; and throwing myself across the
sopha we sipped a cup of chocolate in silence.
'I enquired for you last evening,' said the Earl. 'I believe, Lord
Filmar, it was extremely late ere you came home.'
'It was extremely late my Lord,' replied I. As I so readily agreed in
his opinion, the Earl was at a loss how to proceed. Twice he removed his
chair, played with a tea-spoon, and we finished our chocolate.
After the breakfast things were removed, the Earl turned his chair more
toward me. 'Hem,' said he,--'Hem!' I arose and wished his lordship a
good morning.
'Stay, Lord Filmar, a moment--pray sit down. Hem! I understand but too
well--that is I suspect--I am fearful, the company you keep will do you
harm.'
Now, Walter, this man, the Earl of Elsings! a peer of the realm of Great
Britain! had not courage to say to his own son--'Dick, thou art a fool,
and wilt be a beggar. Thy companions are gamblers, sharpers, and knaves;
and henceforward I command thee to abstain from their society.'