of making an excursion on the continent, to avoid Mr. Venables; and to
open my heart to new pleasures and affection. The spring was melting into
summer, and you, my little companion, began to smile--that smile made
hope bud out afresh, assuring me the world was not a desert. Your
gestures were ever present to my fancy; and I dwelt on the joy I should
feel when you would begin to walk and lisp. Watching your wakening mind,
and shielding from every rude blast my tender blossom, I recovered my
spirits--I dreamed not of the frost--'the killing frost,' to which you
were destined to be exposed.--But I lose all patience--and execrate the
injustice of the world--folly! ignorance!--I should rather call it; but,
shut up from a free circulation of thought, and always pondering on the
same griefs, I writhe under the torturing apprehensions, which ought to
excite only honest indignation, or active compassion; and would, could I
view them as the natural consequence of things. But, born a woman--and
born to suffer, in endeavouring to repress my own emotions, I feel more
acutely the various ills my sex are fated to bear--I feel that the evils
they are subject to endure, degrade them so far below their oppressors,
as almost to justify their tyranny; leading at the same time superficial
reasoners to term that weakness the cause, which is only the consequence
of short-sighted despotism.
FOOTNOTES:
[91-A] The introduction of Darnford as the deliverer of Maria, in an
early stage of the history, is already stated (Chap. III.) to have been
an after-thought of the author. This has probably caused the
imperfectness of the manuscript in the above passage; though, at the same
time, it must be acknowledged to be somewhat uncertain, whether Darnford
is the stranger intended in this place. It appears from Chap. XVII. that
an interference of a more decisive nature was designed to be attributed
to him.
EDITOR.
CHAP. XIV.
"AS my mind grew calmer, the visions of Italy again returned with their
former glow of colouring; and I resolved on quitting the kingdom for a
time, in search of the cheerfulness, that naturally results from a change
of scene, unless we carry the barbed arrow with us, and only see what we
feel.
"During the period necessary to prepare for a long absence, I sent a
supply to pay my father's debts, and settled my brothers in eligible
situations; but my attention was not wholly engrossed by my family,
though I do not think it necessary to enumerate the common exertions of
humanity. The manner in which my uncle's property was settled, prevented
me from making the addition to the fortune of my surviving sister, that I
could have wished; but I had prevailed on him to bequeath her two
thousand pounds, and she determined to marry a lover, to whom she had
been some time attached. Had it not been for this engagement, I should
have invited her to accompany me in my tour; and I might have escaped the
pit, so artfully dug in my path, when I was the least aware of danger.
"I had thought of remaining in England, till I weaned my child; but this
state of freedom was too peaceful to last, and I had soon reason to wish
to hasten my departure. A friend of Mr. Venables, the same attorney who
had accompanied him in several excursions to hunt me from my hiding
places, waited on me to propose a reconciliation. On my refusal, he
indirectly advised me to make over to my husband--for husband he would
term him--the greater part of the property I had at command, menacing me
with continual persecution unless I complied, and that, as a last resort,
he would claim the child. I did not, though intimidated by the last
insinuation, scruple to declare, that I would not allow him to squander
the money left to me for far different purposes, but offered him five
hundred pounds, if he would sign a bond not to torment me any more. My
maternal anxiety made me thus appear to waver from my first
determination, and probably suggested to him, or his diabolical agent,
the infernal plot, which has succeeded but too well.
"The bond was executed; still I was impatient to leave England. Mischief
hung in the air when we breathed the same; I wanted seas to divide us,
and waters to roll between, till he had forgotten that I had the means of
helping him through a new scheme. Disturbed by the late occurrences, I
instantly prepared for my departure. My only delay was waiting for a
maid-servant, who spoke French fluently, and had been warmly recommended
to me. A valet I was advised to hire, when I fixed on my place of
residence for any time.
"My God, with what a light heart did I set out for Dover!--It was not my
country, but my cares, that I was leaving behind. My heart seemed to
bound with the wheels, or rather appeared the centre on which they
twirled. I clasped you to my bosom, exclaiming 'And you will be
safe--quite safe--when--we are once on board the packet.--Would we were
there!' I smiled at my idle fears, as the natural effect of continual
alarm; and I scarcely owned to myself that I dreaded Mr. Venables's
cunning, or was conscious of the horrid delight he would feel, at forming
stratagem after stratagem to circumvent me. I was already in the snare--I
never reached the packet--I never saw thee more.--I grow breathless. I
have scarcely patience to write down the details. The maid--the plausible
woman I had hired--put, doubtless, some stupifying potion in what I ate
or drank, the morning I left town. All I know is, that she must have
quitted the chaise, shameless wretch! and taken (from my breast) my babe
with her. How could a creature in a female form see me caress thee, and
steal thee from my arms! I must stop, stop to repress a mother's anguish;
left, in bitterness of soul, I imprecate the wrath of heaven on this
tiger, who tore my only comfort from me.
"How long I slept I know not; certainly many hours, for I woke at the
close of day, in a strange confusion of thought. I was probably roused to
recollection by some one thundering at a huge, unwieldy gate. Attempting
to ask where I was, my voice died away, and I tried to raise it in vain,
as I have done in a dream. I looked for my babe with affright; feared
that it had fallen out of my lap, while I had so strangely forgotten
her; and, such was the vague intoxication, I can give it no other name,
in which I was plunged, I could not recollect when or where I last saw
you; but I sighed, as if my heart wanted room to clear my head.
"The gates opened heavily, and the sullen sound of many locks and bolts
drawn back, grated on my very soul, before I was appalled by the creeking
of the dismal hinges, as they closed after me. The gloomy pile was before
me, half in ruins; some of the aged trees of the avenue were cut down,
and left to rot where they fell; and as we approached some mouldering
steps, a monstrous dog darted forwards to the length of his chain, and
barked and growled infernally.
"The door was opened slowly, and a murderous visage peeped out, with a
lantern. 'Hush!' he uttered, in a threatning tone, and the affrighted
animal stole back to his kennel. The door of the chaise flew back, the
stranger put down the lantern, and clasped his dreadful arms around me.
It was certainly the effect of the soporific draught, for, instead of
exerting my strength, I sunk without motion, though not without sense, on
his shoulder, my limbs refusing to obey my will. I was carried up the
steps into a close-shut hall. A candle flaring in the socket, scarcely
dispersed the darkness, though it displayed to me the ferocious
countenance of the wretch who held me.
"He mounted a wide staircase. Large figures painted on the walls seemed
to start on me, and glaring eyes to meet me at every turn. Entering a
long gallery, a dismal shriek made me spring out of my conductor's arms,
with I know not what mysterious emotion of terror; but I fell on the
floor, unable to sustain myself.
"A strange-looking female started out of one of the recesses, and
observed me with more curiosity than interest; till, sternly bid retire,
she flitted back like a shadow. Other faces, strongly marked, or
distorted, peeped through the half-opened doors, and I heard some
incoherent sounds. I had no distinct idea where I could be--I looked on
all sides, and almost doubted whether I was alive or dead.
"Thrown on a bed, I immediately sunk into insensibility again; and next
day, gradually recovering the use of reason, I began, starting
affrighted from the conviction, to discover where I was confined--I
insisted on seeing the master of the mansion--I saw him--and perceived
that I was buried alive.--
"Such, my child, are the events of thy mother's life to this dreadful
moment--Should she ever escape from the fangs of her enemies, she will
add the secrets of her prison-house--and--"
Some lines were here crossed out, and the memoirs broke off abruptly with
the names of Jemima and Darnford.
APPENDIX.
[ADVERTISEMENT.
THE performance, with a fragment of which the reader has now been
presented, was designed to consist of three parts. The preceding sheets
were considered as constituting one of those parts. Those persons who in
the perusal of the chapters, already written and in some degree finished
by the author, have felt their hearts awakened, and their curiosity
excited as to the sequel of the story, will, of course, gladly accept
even of the broken paragraphs and half-finished sentences, which have
been found committed to paper, as materials for the remainder. The
fastidious and cold-hearted critic may perhaps feel himself repelled by
the incoherent form in which they are presented. But an inquisitive
temper willingly accepts the most imperfect and mutilated information,
where better is not to be had: and readers, who in any degree resemble
the author in her quick apprehension of sentiment, and of the pleasures
and pains of imagination, will, I believe, find gratification, in
contemplating sketches, which were designed in a short time to have
received the finishing touches of her genius; but which must now for ever
remain a mark to record the triumphs of mortality, over schemes of
usefulness, and projects of public interest.]
CHAP. XV.
DARNFORD returned the memoirs to Maria, with a most affectionate letter,
in which he reasoned on "the absurdity of the laws respecting matrimony,
which, till divorces could be more easily obtained, was," he declared,
"the most insufferable bondage. Ties of this nature could not bind minds
governed by superior principles; and such beings were privileged to act
above the dictates of laws they had no voice in framing, if they had
sufficient strength of mind to endure the natural consequence. In her
case, to talk of duty, was a farce, excepting what was due to herself.
Delicacy, as well as reason, forbade her ever to think of returning to
her husband: was she then to restrain her charming sensibility through
mere prejudice? These arguments were not absolutely impartial, for he
disdained to conceal, that, when he appealed to her reason, he felt that
he had some interest in her heart.--The conviction was not more
transporting, than sacred--a thousand times a day, he asked himself how
he had merited such happiness?--and as often he determined to purify the
heart she deigned to inhabit--He intreated to be again admitted to her
presence."
He was; and the tear which glistened in his eye, when he respectfully
pressed her to his bosom, rendered him peculiarly dear to the unfortunate
mother. Grief had stilled the transports of love, only to render their
mutual tenderness more touching. In former interviews, Darnford had
contrived, by a hundred little pretexts, to sit near her, to take her
hand, or to meet her eyes--now it was all soothing affection, and esteem
seemed to have rivalled love. He adverted to her narrative, and spoke
with warmth of the oppression she had endured.--His eyes, glowing with a
lambent flame, told her how much he wished to restore her to liberty and
love; but he kissed her hand, as if it had been that of a saint; and
spoke of the loss of her child, as if it had been his own.--What could
have been more flattering to Maria?--Every instance of self-denial was
registered in her heart, and she loved him, for loving her too well to
give way to the transports of passion.
They met again and again; and Darnford declared, while passion suffused
his cheeks, that he never before knew what it was to love.--
One morning Jemima informed Maria, that her master intended to wait on
her, and speak to her without witnesses. He came, and brought a letter
with him, pretending that he was ignorant of its contents, though he
insisted on having it returned to him. It was from the attorney already
mentioned, who informed her of the death of her child, and hinted, "that
she could not now have a legitimate heir, and that, would she make over
the half of her fortune during life, she should be conveyed to Dover, and
permitted to pursue her plan of travelling."
Maria answered with warmth, "That she had no terms to make with the
murderer of her babe, nor would she purchase liberty at the price of her
own respect."
She began to expostulate with her jailor; but he sternly bade her "Be
silent--he had not gone so far, not to go further."
Darnford came in the evening. Jemima was obliged to be absent, and she,
as usual, locked the door on them, to prevent interruption or
discovery.--The lovers were, at first, embarrassed; but fell insensibly
into confidential discourse. Darnford represented, "that they might soon
be parted," and wished her "to put it out of the power of fate to
separate them."
As her husband she now received him, and he solemnly pledged himself as
her protector--and eternal friend.--
There was one peculiarity in Maria's mind: she was more anxious not to
deceive, than to guard against deception; and had rather trust without
sufficient reason, than be for ever the prey of doubt. Besides, what are
we, when the mind has, from reflection, a certain kind of elevation,
which exalts the contemplation above the little concerns of prudence! We
see what we wish, and make a world of our own--and, though reality may
sometimes open a door to misery, yet the moments of happiness procured by
the imagination, may, without a paradox, be reckoned among the solid
comforts of life. Maria now, imagining that she had found a being of
celestial mould--was happy,--nor was she deceived.--He was then plastic
in her impassioned hand--and reflected all the sentiments which animated
and warmed her.
-- -- -- --
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
CHAP. XVI.
ONE morning confusion seemed to reign in the house, and Jemima came in
terror, to inform Maria, "that her master had left it, with a
determination, she was assured (and too many circumstances corroborated
the opinion, to leave a doubt of its truth) of never returning. I am
prepared then," said Jemima, "to accompany you in your flight."
Maria started up, her eyes darting towards the door, as if afraid that
some one should fasten it on her for ever.
Jemima continued, "I have perhaps no right now to expect the performance
of your promise; but on you it depends to reconcile me with the human
race."
"But Darnford!"--exclaimed Maria, mournfully--sitting down again, and
crossing her arms--"I have no child to go to, and liberty has lost its
sweets."
"I am much mistaken, if Darnford is not the cause of my master's
flight--his keepers assure me, that they have promised to confine him two
days longer, and then he will be free--you cannot see him; but they will
give a letter to him the moment he is free.--In that inform him where he
may find you in London; fix on some hotel. Give me your clothes; I will
send them out of the house with mine, and we will slip out at the
garden-gate. Write your letter while I make these arrangements, but lose
no time!"
In an agitation of spirit, not to be calmed, Maria began to write to
Darnford. She called him by the sacred name of "husband," and bade him
"hasten to her, to share her fortune, or she would return to him."--An
hotel in the Adelphi was the place of rendezvous.
The letter was sealed and given in charge; and with light footsteps, yet
terrified at the sound of them, she descended, scarcely breathing, and
with an indistinct fear that she should never get out at the garden gate.
Jemima went first.
A being, with a visage that would have suited one possessed by a devil,
crossed the path, and seized Maria by the arm. Maria had no fear but of
being detained--"Who are you? what are you?" for the form was scarcely
human. "If you are made of flesh and blood," his ghastly eyes glared on
her, "do not stop me!"
"Woman," interrupted a sepulchral voice, "what have I to do with
thee?"--Still he grasped her hand, muttering a curse.
"No, no; you have nothing to do with me," she exclaimed, "this is a
moment of life and death!"--
With supernatural force she broke from him, and, throwing her arms round
Jemima, cried, "Save me!" The being, from whose grasp she had loosed
herself, took up a stone as they opened the door, and with a kind of
hellish sport threw it after them. They were out of his reach.
When Maria arrived in town, she drove to the hotel already fixed on. But
she could not sit still--her child was ever before her; and all that had
passed during her confinement, appeared to be a dream. She went to the
house in the suburbs, where, as she now discovered, her babe had been
sent. The moment she entered, her heart grew sick; but she wondered not
that it had proved its grave. She made the necessary enquiries, and the
church-yard was pointed out, in which it rested under a turf. A little
frock which the nurse's child wore (Maria had made it herself) caught her
eye. The nurse was glad to sell it for half-a-guinea, and Maria hastened
away with the relic, and, re-entering the hackney-coach which waited for
her, gazed on it, till she reached her hotel.
She then waited on the attorney who had made her uncle's will, and
explained to him her situation. He readily advanced her some of the
money which still remained in his hands, and promised to take the whole
of the case into consideration. Maria only wished to be permitted to
remain in quiet--She found that several bills, apparently with her
signature, had been presented to her agent, nor was she for a moment at a
loss to guess by whom they had been forged; yet, equally averse to
threaten or intreat, she requested her friend [the solicitor] to call on
Mr. Venables. He was not to be found at home; but at length his agent,
the attorney, offered a conditional promise to Maria, to leave her in
peace, as long as she behaved with propriety, if she would give up the
notes. Maria inconsiderately consented--Darnford was arrived, and she
wished to be only alive to love; she wished to forget the anguish she
felt whenever she thought of her child.
They took a ready furnished lodging together, for she was above disguise;
Jemima insisting on being considered as her house-keeper, and to receive
the customary stipend. On no other terms would she remain with her
friend.
Darnford was indefatigable in tracing the mysterious circumstances of his
confinement. The cause was simply, that a relation, a very distant one,
to whom he was heir, had died intestate, leaving a considerable fortune.
On the news of Darnford's arrival [in England, a person, intrusted with
the management of the property, and who had the writings in his
possession, determining, by one bold stroke, to strip Darnford of the
succession,] had planned his confinement; and [as soon as he had taken
the measures he judged most conducive to his object, this ruffian,
together with his instrument,] the keeper of the private mad-house, left
the kingdom. Darnford, who still pursued his enquiries, at last
discovered that they had fixed their place of refuge at Paris.
Maria and he determined therefore, with the faithful Jemima, to visit
that metropolis, and accordingly were preparing for the journey, when
they were informed that Mr. Venables had commenced an action against
Darnford for seduction and adultery. The indignation Maria felt cannot be
explained; she repented of the forbearance she had exercised in giving up
the notes. Darnford could not put off his journey, without risking the
loss of his property: Maria therefore furnished him with money for his
expedition; and determined to remain in London till the termination of
this affair.
She visited some ladies with whom she had formerly been intimate, but was
refused admittance; and at the opera, or Ranelagh, they could not
recollect her. Among these ladies there were some, not her most intimate
acquaintance, who were generally supposed to avail themselves of the
cloke of marriage, to conceal a mode of conduct, that would for ever have
damned their fame, had they been innocent, seduced girls. These
particularly stood aloof.--Had she remained with her husband, practising
insincerity, and neglecting her child to manage an intrigue, she would
still have been visited and respected. If, instead of openly living with
her lover, she could have condescended to call into play a thousand
arts, which, degrading her own mind, might have allowed the people who
were not deceived, to pretend to be so, she would have been caressed and
treated like an honourable woman. "And Brutus[138-A] is an honourable
man!" said Mark-Antony with equal sincerity.
With Darnford she did not taste uninterrupted felicity; there was a
volatility in his manner which often distressed her; but love gladdened
the scene; besides, he was the most tender, sympathizing creature in the
world. A fondness for the sex often gives an appearance of humanity to
the behaviour of men, who have small pretensions to the reality; and they
seem to love others, when they are only pursuing their own
gratification. Darnford appeared ever willing to avail himself of her
taste and acquirements, while she endeavoured to profit by his decision
of character, and to eradicate some of the romantic notions, which had
taken root in her mind, while in adversity she had brooded over visions
of unattainable bliss.
The real affections of life, when they are allowed to burst forth, are
buds pregnant with joy and all the sweet emotions of the soul; yet they
branch out with wild ease, unlike the artificial forms of felicity,
sketched by an imagination painful alive. The substantial happiness,
which enlarges and civilizes the mind, may be compared to the pleasure
experienced in roving through nature at large, inhaling the sweet gale
natural to the clime; while the reveries of a feverish imagination
continually sport themselves in gardens full of aromatic shrubs, which
cloy while they delight, and weaken the sense of pleasure they gratify.
The heaven of fancy, below or beyond the stars, in this life, or in those
ever-smiling regions surrounded by the unmarked ocean of futurity, have
an insipid uniformity which palls. Poets have imagined scenes of bliss;
but, fencing out sorrow, all the extatic emotions of the soul, and even
its grandeur, seem to be equally excluded. We dose over the unruffled
lake, and long to scale the rocks which fence the happy valley of
contentment, though serpents hiss in the pathless desert, and danger
lurks in the unexplored wiles. Maria found herself more indulgent as she
was happier, and discovered virtues, in characters she had before
disregarded, while chasing the phantoms of elegance and excellence, which
sported in the meteors that exhale in the marshes of misfortune. The
heart is often shut by romance against social pleasure; and, fostering a
sickly sensibility, grows callous to the soft touches of humanity.
To part with Darnford was indeed cruel.--It was to feel most painfully
alone; but she rejoiced to think, that she should spare him the care and
perplexity of the suit, and meet him again, all his own. Marriage, as at
present constituted, she considered as leading to immorality--yet, as the
odium of society impedes usefulness, she wished to avow her affection to
Darnford, by becoming his wife according to established rules; not to be
confounded with women who act from very different motives, though her
conduct would be just the same without the ceremony as with it, and her
expectations from him not less firm. The being summoned to defend herself
from a charge which she was determined to plead guilty to, was still
galling, as it roused bitter reflections on the situation of women in
society.
FOOTNOTES:
[138-A] The name in the manuscript is by mistake written Cæsar.
EDITOR.