should believe, you are sceptical; where you should doubt, your faith is
unshaken; and I expect when I tell you I am more and more convinced, by
the recollection of many circumstances and by the Earl's awkward
evasions, that Miss Valmont is her father's heiress--I expect, I say,
that you will assure me I am deceived: and, as to my resolution of
stealing her, you will assert that it is a project idle, vain, and
impracticable. Yet, were I now to abandon the enterprise, you would
wonder at my stupidity, would declare nothing could appear so certain as
her fortune, and nothing so easy as its attainment. Therefore, dear
Walter, I do not ask your advice; I only ask your attention. Six or
seven thousand a year! The lady a minor too from the age of six, and no
expences incurred upon her education!--Think of these circumstances,
Walter; and, if you love arithmetic, cast up the accumulations of all
these years; and to make the sum total of my future possessions, add the
10,000l. per ann. of her uncle who never had any other heir than this
untutored Sibella! Would not such a sum convert even deformity into
grace? But they say too she has beauty. Her ignorance and barbarism I
will forgive; for I can at all times escape from a wife, though I cannot
escape from the debts which are hourly accumulating to my destruction.
Marry a fortune or fly my country: there's the alternative. I choose the
former. As to flying one's country, I know of no country in which a man
may drink, game, &c. &c. and spend his own and other people's money so
easily as in that where, being born rather of one parent than another,
the delightful privilege becomes as it were part of his legal
inheritance.
It must be done too, if possible, time enough to prevent the necessity
of a last mortgage to pay the notes I gave to Spellman. I was bubbled
out of that money, but I was heated and the rascal so cool, I was unable
to detect him; it becomes therefore a debt of honour and someway or
other pay I must----Pshaw! Walter, thou wert always a dunce at school
and at college. Now art thou turning over the page to seek the parting
scene 'twixt me and honour. Foolish fellow! Didst thou never hear there
are two sorts of honour? Honour of principle, and honour of fashion.
Honour of principle says--'Do not steal Miss Valmont out of her uncle's
castle; and pay thy poor tradesmen before thou payest the gambler
Spellman.'--Here advances honour of fashion. What grace, what ease in
her attitudes? How unlike is she to the awkward fellow who has just
spoken, and who, without one bow, one smile, stood as upright as if he
dared show his face to the gods. But hark her mellifluous accents steal
upon mine ear. 'Be,' says she, 'the accomplished nobleman for which
nature in her happiest mood designed you. Exercise the elegance of your
taste in the disposal of Miss Valmont's wealth. Above all, pay Spellman;
or you forego, among the higher circles, the rapture of staking
thousands on the cast of a die.'
It would be strange if a young man of my accomplishments did not know
how much more useful and endearing a companion is honour of fashion than
honour of principle! I will go and drink one bumper to the little
solitary; then, I'll go dream. Aye: I'll dream that we are married; for
I am upon honour there too. Adieu!
FILMAR
_P.S._ Since I wrote the above I have given four hours to deliberation
on the chances for and against my design; nor have I found any obstacle
which may not be overcome, though I have not yet discovered the means.
Do not laugh at me, for I think it no inconsiderable step toward success
to have divined all the probabilities which may oppose my success.
To-morrow, I go to the castle. Griffiths shall attend me. He was once
your valet too. Need I a more skilful engineer think you? Who knows what
opportunities may occur to-morrow? A sigh, a glance, a word--Oh, but I
forget! I am not even to look at her, says Don Distance. Well! well! we
will talk of that hereafter. Twice have I perambulated around the park;
but it is so walled and wooded and moated that the great Mogul's army
and elephants might be there invisible.
A propos, in the second of these circuits, which was on yesterday
evening, as I was leading my horse down a hill at the bottom of which
Valmont's moat forms a sudden angle, I perceived a young man walking
hastily up the narrow lane towards the moat. Hearing my horse's feet, he
turned towards me; then, wheeling round, he fled out of sight in a
moment. In one hand he held a long pole; and in the other a small
basket. His figure was uncommonly elegant; and I imagined I had some
knowledge of him, but there are no gentlemen's houses in this quarter,
except the castle and Monckton Hall. The little valley where I saw him
is unfrequented; and scarcely passable, it is so encumbered with
brambles and underwood. Woods rise immediately on the other side of the
moat, whose shade, with that of the high barren and black, which shows
its rugged side to the valley, spreads forbidding gloom over the whole.
Who could this youth be, I wonder; and where could he be going?
Adieu, Walter! Think of to-morrow.
LETTER XI
FROM CAROLINE ASHBURN
TO
SIBELLA VALMONT
I charge you, Sibella, by the value you affix to my friendship, that you
remain at present passive. It is a term of probation for Clement on
which the colouring of your future days depends.--More of this
hereafter. I write now with a kind of restless eagerness. Images,
apprehensions, and even hopes, all finally resting on you, fill the
place of soberer judgment.--This wood wanderer! This spirit--'part
mortal and part etherial,'--fascinates my attention. I see him gliding
through the paths you had trodden. The tree which screened him from your
view cannot conceal him from mine. I see him listen almost breathless to
your prayer. The new-born colour on his cheek hangs trembling, daring
not then to depart; and the throbbings of his agonized bosom collect
themselves while restrained, and give force to that sign whose utterance
has echoed a thousand times in my imagination. I see him dart the ball
forward to meet your feet; and then he rushes into the thickest gloom to
hide himself, if possible, even from himself.
This is no spirit of your uncle's choosing, Sibella. No: it is one who
has refined upon romance; who can give, I perceive, as much enthusiasm
to the affections, and carve misery for himself as ingeniously, as
though he had passed his days under the safeguard of Mr. Valmont's walls
and draw-bridges. '_He will protect, but cannot harm thee._' In truth, I
believe it. Go to the wood then, Sibella. See him, if possible; and tell
me, did symmetry ever mould a statue in finer proportions than his form
can boast? His eye in its passive state is a clear grey, its shape long;
and the finest eye-brow and eye-lash that ever adorned mortal face, not
excepting even your's Sibella, belong to his. Hold him in conversation
and you will see that eye almost emit fire; it will dazzle you with its
rays; or, if a softer subject engage him, it can speak so submissively
to the heart that words become but the secondary medium of his theme.
Observe how his hair, bursting from confinement into natural ringlets
around his temples, contrasts itself with the fairness of his
complexion--fair without effeminacy. His colour is of a doubtful kind;
for it retires as you perceive it, or suffuses the whole of his fine
countenance, just as you had begun to lament that he was too pale. His
nose and mouth, though somewhat large, and perhaps irregular, yet
admirably correspond with the harmony of the whole face. You probably
will think Clement's glowing face handsomer: I do not. Chase but by one
smile and dissatisfaction of your spirit, and there will a radiance, if
I may so call it, beam upon you, that my best art fails to delineate.
I shall not underwrite the name till you have judged of my painting.
Cease your astonishment, my friend, for I am no sorceress, and the
spright is too etherial, too imaginative, to hold counsel with a mere
mortal like me. To the means of his being with you I confess I have no
clue; but if you read my former letters you will perhaps find mention of
some few of the reasons and circumstances which incline me to infer I
have discovered him.
You will find though what I am now about to tell you; for my heart only
transmitted it to my understanding, where it remained to have its
justice and propriety closely investigated.--Yes, Sibella, wild,
variable, and inconsistent, as is this spirit of your woods, _I_ could
have loved him if--'_he would have let me_.' But 'tis past: 'twas a
trace on the sands. Love shall never write its lasting characters on my
mind, till my reason invites it: and where hopes rests not, reason
cannot abide.
Clement's eagerness to cultivate our acquaintance is by no means
flattering. I have known him but a week. It was at the opera that I
observed Laundy's eye stealing to the adjoining box with something more
than mere inquisitiveness. Mine followed. A party of young men occupied
the box, all known to me except one: and from the position in which the
stranger sat neither Laundy nor I could gain more than an oblique view
of his face. Now I do acknowledge that even this oblique view gave
promise of the whole being worthy of observation; yet my curiosity
lulled itself to repose till the Dutchess de N---- (constantly of our
parties) arose at the end of another act, to gaze around with that
confidence which women of a certain rank deem infinitely becoming in
themselves, though if perceived in a shopkeeper's wife or daughter
downright impudence alone would be called its proper description.
'Ah!' screamed the Dutchess, 'Le Chevalier Montgomery!'
Clement, (for it was your Clement) starting from his former posture,
bowed hastily; and having carelessly looked on the rest of the party
returned to his seat.
Poor I, all flutter and palpitation, eager to know if this Montgomery
was the identical Montgomery, was almost in despair that he should not
avail himself of the Dutchess's recognition; but she was not to be so
baffled. With some trouble, on account of the nabob's gouty toe, she
displaced Sir Thomas and Lady Barlowe, and got close to the box. Already
had she raised her fan to accost him with the tap of familiarity, when I
heard Mr. Hanway his companion say--'Mrs. and Miss Ashburn.' Clement's
eye instantly met mine. A smile gathered round his mouth; and in two
seconds he was in our box, regularly introduced by Mr. Hanway.
For the first minute, I was sure he resembled you; in the next, the
likeness became indistinct; and in two more, I lost it entirely. His
face, with all its advantages of complexion, colour, brilliant eyes, and
exquisite teeth, has not the variety which your's possesses; though to
say here that he is less handsome than any creature upon earth is almost
a crime, and the ladies scruple as little to tell him he is a Phoenix as
to think him one.
We had scarcely any conversation that evening; for my mother and the
Dutchess vied with each other in their attention to Montgomery. Lady
Barlowe could not claim a share of him, though Sir Thomas immediately
recollected Clement and renewed their acquaintance with apparent
pleasure.
'Don't you remember, Mr. Montgomery,' said the nabob, 'the day you and
Arthur set out for the continent you dined with me? How much every body
was delighted with my nephew's vivacity! That very day a gentleman said
to me, Sir Thomas,--and a very great judge he was I assure you--Sir
Thomas, said he, your nephew will make a figure in the world. If you
bring him into parliament, what with his abilities and his relationship
to you, Sir Thomas, he may stand almost any where in this country. Well,
Mr. Montgomery, when I sent for him home so much sooner than I first
intended, it was because this gentleman's advice appeared to me very
good, and because he further told me no time was to be lost. Home Arthur
came, and I could have bought him a borough the next day.'--'No,
indeed,' he said, he would neither buy votes or sell votes; nor did the
conduct of parliament please him; nor could he--in short, he had so many
faults to find and objections to make, that he out-talked me, and I
couldn't tell what to say to him. But, thought I, he will think better
of it; and I let the matter rest a while; and made another proposal in
the mean time, and had he done as I wished he would now have been one of
the richest men perhaps in the kingdom. Yet, upon my soul, he point
blank refuses this too; and talked as much of principle and integrity
and I know not what, as in t'other case! 'Twas damned insolent! and so I
told him.--No, nor had he ever the modesty to ask my pardon; but took it
all as coolly as you can imagine.--Well, and when I forgave him of my
own accord, and behaved to him more kindly than ever, he has taken some
new freak into his brain, and playing so many odd tricks of late that I
am actually afraid of him.'
'Oh never was such an unaccountable!' said Lady Barlowe.
'The ball-night at Bath!' added my mother laughing.
'His letters are algebra to me;' said Clement, 'and I have been half
tempted to forswear his correspondence.'
'Last winter,' said Mr. Hanway; 'he made conquests by dozens. Some cruel
fair one is revenging, I suppose, her slighted sex.--In love, no doubt!'
'I believe not,' replied Clement; and the conversation ended: for the
Dutchess now chose to talk; and, never having seen this incomprehensible
irresistible Murden, she could not talk of him, you know.
The party adjourned to sup at Sir Thomas Barlowe's: we and the Dutchess
de N----, by a previous engagement, Clement and Mr. Hanway in
consequence of the baronet's pressing invitations. Mademoiselle Laundy
complained of indisposition, and returned home immediately from the
opera. She, as well as her friend the Dutchess, had been acquainted with
Clement in Paris; but, after the first cold bow, Mademoiselle Laundy
remained unnoticed by him.
No man could be more gallant, more gay, or unrestrained, than your
chevalier, as the Dutchess persists in calling him. At the nabob's table
we met several persons of fashion, to whom he was already known, and by
whom he was treated with attention. His person and manners are no
trivial recommendation; and the belief which every where prevails of his
being heir to Mr. Valmont supports his consequence with its due
proportion of power.
I debated with myself to determine, whether or not this belief ought to
pass without contradiction; and, foreseeing many injurious consequences
that might arise to Clement from the expences and dissipation which it
encouraged, I resolved to seek an early opportunity of conversing with
and encouraging him to disown the supposition. No opportunity occurred
during that evening; but, ere we separated, Clement was engaged to dine
on the succeeding day in one of my mother's private parties.
I very seldom breakfast with my mother, our hours of rising and morning
avocations are so different; however, I went to her dressing room that
morning, purposely to talk of your Clement. I spoke much of your
attachment to each other; and Mrs. Ashburn immediately declared she
would take his constancy under her protection, as such elegance and
accomplishments, she said, as those possessed by Mr. Montgomery would be
assailed with more temptation than such charming candour and simplicity
might be able to withstand. To Miss Laundy my mother appealed for her
confirmation of Clement's praise; and she either did, or I fancied she
did, give her assent with a languor and inattention not usual to her. I
had no reason, however, to accuse her of inattention when I hinted at
the change in Clement's expectations; for, although my mother suffered
it to pass unnoticed, Mademoiselle Laundy thought proper to press
questions on me relative to this subject. I resented her inquisitive
curiosity on a point which could not in any way concern her; and,
declining to answer her questions, I quitted the room.
To join _a private party_, my mother had invited Clement: that was
fifteen visitors, placed at a table covered with the most luxurious
delicacies served in gilt plate, and surrounded with attendants as
numerous as the company. Mrs. Ashburn, less splendid, but more tasty
than usual in her dress and ornaments, was studiously attentive to
Clement; declared herself his guardian; and spoke with rapturous
admiration of you, Sibella, but without naming you, Clement blushed,
bowed, returned compliment for compliment; and, graceful in all his
changes, assumed an air and mien of exultation. Sometimes he turned his
eye toward Mademoiselle Laundy.
The evening had far advanced before I could engage him in any
conversation. He then showed me a letter from your uncle, wherein to my
very great surprise Mr. Valmont desires Clement to be cautious in
confiding his prospects or intentions to any one; bids him study mankind
and despise them; tells him he does not mean to limit him to the sum he
has already in his possession if more should be necessary; and advises
him to be speedy in his choice of a profession; talks of the value of
disappointment, the blessings of solitude, the duty of obedience, of
his own wisdom, his own prudence and power; begins with the kind of
appellation of--'My dear adopted son;' concludes with the stern
Valmont-like phrase of--'Your friend as you conduct yourself.'
Here my interference ends. Henceforward, Mr. Valmont plans and Clement
executes each in his own way. Your uncle has quite an original genius,
Sibella; following no common track, he labours only to make a glare by
strong opposition of colours, and to surprise by contrariety of images.
To Clement's murmurs against Mr. Valmont, succeeded a little species of
delirium: for I named you, and no impassioned lover-like epithet was
omitted in the recital of your charms.--Whatever, Sibella, may be my own
vanity and pretensions I could hear praises of your beauty from a
thousand tongues without envy or weariness. Yet, from Clement, a
slighter mention would have pleased me better. He is the chosen of your
heart; and should prize the mind you possess equal to heaven. An Angel's
beauty might be forgotten, when the present and future contemplation of
such a mind could be brought in view.
Alas, your lover is no philosopher! He laments the energy which I
idolize.--Allow me to indulge the percipient quality I suppose myself to
possess, and sketch Montgomery when my messenger, presents him the
letter you inclosed to me. No sooner does he behold that writing, than
Sibella rises to his view in all her grace and loveliness. Could he give
existence to the vision, that moment would be too rich in transport. He
trembles with an exquisite unsatisfied delight: and, while the senseless
paper receives his eager kisses, he could fight dragons, or rush through
fire to obtain you.--At length he reads.--Well: the same Sibella is
there--she whom he calls the most perfect and lovely of all God's
creatures!--the same Sibella whose enchantments cast a magic illusion
around the horror-nodding woods of Valmont!--The same Sibella, but poor
and dependent, is now quitting those woods for ever and ever--she leaves
behind her even the trace of wealth; and flies an outcast to Clement,
who, involved in the same ruin, has neither fortune, fame nor
friend!--Delightful expectations vanish. Torture succeeds. And the agony
of this prospect to Clement could in no one instance be equalled, except
perchance by the knowledge of your being in the possession of a rival
and lost to him for ever.
I suspect there are some latent shades in this picture which will
displease you: but remember, my ever dear girl, that early, even at the
commencement of our intimacy, we reciprocally laid it down as a solemn
truth that without full and entire confidence friendship is of no value.
I have said that Clement and you love from habit. Nor let it wound you
that I say so still; for I am willing to seek conviction, and though I
cannot be more candid than now, nor ever more worthy of your affection
than while I am offending your heart to inform your judgment, yet if
conviction meet me, I shall be more joyful by millions of degrees in
owning I had mistaken.
At all events, whether Clement approves or disapproves the intention,
your leaving your uncle and his castle now would be decidedly wrong.
Your education, constantly in opposition to that which a dependent
should have had, unfits you for entering the world without protection.
You have so much to learn of the manners of society, that perhaps any
plan you might form would turn out the very reverse of your
expectations.--Stay, patiently if you can: at any rate, stay, till
Clement makes his final determination, and then I'll tell you more of my
mind.
Be happy, my sweet my beloved friend! You have it largely in your power;
and surely 'tis better to summons fortitude and walk boldly over a few
thorns, than creep through miserable paths to avoid them, or sit down
idly to bemoan their situation.
CAROLINE ASHBURN
_P.S._ I have opened my letter, in consequence of a visit from Clement
Montgomery. He came to me, Sibella, agitated and trembling. Your letter
had conjured up a horrible train of fears and suppositions, and he was
scarcely assured the evil he most dreaded had not already arrived.
'Rash, cruel Sibella!' he exclaimed, 'even now, perhaps, your have for
ever undone me with Mr. Valmont!' I reminded him that you had said in
the concluding lines of your letter to me that you waited, though
unwillingly, for Clement's determination. 'O that is true!' cried
he--'and 'tis my salvation! Dear Miss Ashburn, conjure her, by your love
and my own, to guard our secret faithfully from her uncle. Tell her, she
cannot judge of the destruction she would hurl upon my head if she were
now to betray me. Tell her, I intreat, I insist, that she make not one
attempt to quit the castle.--Will you, dear Miss Ashburn, undertake this
kind office? Will you turn the adorable romantic girl from her mad
enterprise?'
'Certainly Mr. Montgomery,' I replied, 'I will deliver your own message
exactly in your own words. As to my opinion, I have given it to Sibella
already: it is against her quitting the castle.'
I should also have told Clement what were my motives for wishing you to
remain with your uncle, had not my mother and Mademoiselle Laundy, at
that instant, entered the room. Their presence, however, did not prevent
Clement from thanking me with great warmth; and, the worst of his fears
being now removed, his countenance again brightened into smiles, and he
readily acquiesced in my mother's wish of his attending her to convey
him to his lodgings to dress, and, as he quitted us, I bade him remember
the purpose for which he came to London. Blushes covered his face, and
he departed without speaking. Once more, adieu! Forget not the
wood-haunter.
LETTER XII
FROM JANETTEA LAUNDY
TO
CLEMENT MONTGOMERY
Wounded pride bids me forget the cold, cruel Montgomery; but fatally for
the peace of Janetta, her love, betrayed injured and neglected as it is,
still is more powerful than her pride. I have seen my family stripped of
their honours and possessions by a band of ruffians. I have been left a
destitute orphan: and compelled to seek subsistence in a strange
country: compelled to descend even to a species of servitude! Yet how
trivial such misfortunes, compared with the loss of thee, Montgomery!
How could you leave me unjustified and unheard? How could you meet me as
you did this night? Do you never remember, Montgomery, the sacrifices
made to you by the undone Janetta? Do you never remember the hours of
your solicitations, vows, and promises? and if you do remember them, can
you thus kill with scorn and aversion her who solicits your return to
your vows with tears of passion, love, and anguish?
I did not feign when I pleaded indisposition to excuse my attendance on
Mrs. Ashburn to Sir Thomas Barlowe's; for, which in your presence and
restrained by the presence of others from giving freedom to my emotions,
I suffered indescribable torture. What dangers do I not incur by setting
the messenger who shall give you this to watch your quitting the party?
But you will not, Montgomery, dear adored Montgomery, if you do hate and
despise me, you will not give me up to the contempt of others! My
reputation is still sacred: and, but for you, the peace within my bosom
had now been inviolate.
I must see you, I will see you, Montgomery! Do not drive me to
desperation! I have woes enough already. Let me but once have an
interview to explain that cruel mistake of your's, concerning the Duke
de N----; and, when I have proved my innocence, if you still bid me
languish under your hatred, I will then suffer in silence. No complaint
shall ever reach you. Should you again smile on me--oh heavens! the
rapture of that thought!