MARY BEAUFORT AND HER VENERABLE AUNT.
The addition of Miss Dorothy Somerset and Miss Beaufort to the
morning group at Lady Dundas's imparted a less reluctant motion to
the before tardy feet of the count, whenever he turned them towards
Harley Street.
Miss Dorothy readily supposed him to have been better born than he
appeared; and displeased with the treatment he had received from Miss
Dundas and her guests, behaved to him herself with the most
gratifying politeness.
Aunt Dorothy (for that was the title by which every branch of the
baronet's family addressed her) was full twenty years the senior of
her brother, Sir Robert Somerset. Having in her youth been thought
very like the famous and lovely Mrs. Woffington, she had been
considered the beauty of her time, and, as such, for ten years
continued the reigning belle. Nevertheless, she arrived at the age,
of seventy-two without having been either the object or the subject
of a fervent passion.
Possessing a fine understanding, a refined taste, and fine feelings,
by some chance she had escaped love. It cannot be denied that she was
much admired, much respected, and much esteemed, and that she
received two or three splendid proposals from men of rank. Some of
those men she admired, some she respected, and some she esteemed, but
not one did she love, and she successively refused them all. Shortly
after their discharge, they generally consoled themselves by marrying
other women, who, perhaps, wanted both the charms and the sense of
Miss Somerset; yet she congratulated them on their choice, and
usually became the warm friend of the happy couple.
Thus year passed over year; Miss Somerset continued the esteemed of
every worthy heart, though she could not then kindle the embers of a
livelier glow in any one of them; and at the epoch called a
_certain age_, she found herself an old maid, but possessing so
much good humor and affection towards the young people about her, she
did not need any of her own to mingle in the circle.
This amiable old lady usually took her knitting into the library
before the fair students; and whenever Thaddeus entered the room, (so
natural is it for generous natures to sympathize,) his eyes first
sought her venerable figure; then glancing around to catch an
assuring beam from the lovely countenance of her niece, he seated
himself with confidence.
The presence of these ladies operated as a more than sufficient
antidote to the disagreeableness of his situation. To them he
directed all the attention that was not required by his occupation;
he heard them only speak when a hundred others were talking; he saw
them only when a hundred others were in company.
In addition to this pleasant change, Miss Euphemia's passion assumed
a less tormenting form. She had been reading Madame d'Arblay's
Camilla; and becoming enamored of the delicacy and pensive silence of
the interesting heroine, she determined on adopting the same
character; and at the same time taking it into her ever-creative
brain that Constantine's coldness bore a striking affinity to the
caution of Edgar Mandelbert, she wiped the rouge from her pretty
face, and prepared to "let concealment, like a worm in the bud, feed
on her damask cheek."
To afford decorous support to this fancy, her gayest clothes were
thrown aside, to make way for a negligence of apparel which cost her
two hours each morning to compose. Her dimpling smiles were now quite
banished. She was ever sighing, and ever silent, and ever lolling and
leaning about; reclining along sofas, or in some disconsolate
attitude, grouping herself with one of the marble urns, and sitting
"like Patience on a monument smiling at grief."
Thaddeus preferred this pathetic whim to her former Sapphic follies;
it afforded him quiet, and relieved him from much embarrassment.
Every succeeding visit induced Miss Beaufort to observe him with a
more lively interest. The nobleness yet humility with which he
behaved towards herself and her aunt, and the manly serenity with
which he suffered the insulting sarcasms of Miss Dundas, led her not
merely to conceive but to entertain many doubts that his present
situation was that of his birth.
The lady visitors who dropped in on the sisters' studies were not
backward in espousing the game of ridicule, as it played away a few
minutes, to join in a laugh with the "witty Diana." These gracious
beings thought their sex gave them privilege to offend; but it was
not always that the gentlemen durst venture beyond a shrug of the
shoulder, a drop of the lip, a wink of the eye, or a raising of the
brows. Mary observed with contempt that they were prudent enough not
to exercise even these specimens of a mean hostility except when its
noble object had turned his back, and regarding him with increased
admiration, she was indignant, and then disdainful, at the envy which
actuated these men to treat with affected scorn him whom they
secretly feared.
[Illustration: MISS EUPHEMIA DUNDAS.]
The occasional calls of Lady Tinemouth and Miss Egerton stimulated
the cabal against Thaddeus. The sincere sentiment of equality with
themselves which these two ladies evinced by their behavior to him,
and the same conduct being adopted by Miss Dorothy and her beautiful
niece, besides the evident partiality of Euphemia, altogether
inflamed the spleen of Miss Dundas, and excited her _coterie_ to
acts of the most extravagant rudeness.
The little phalanx, at the head of which was the superb Diana, could
offer no real reason for disliking a man who was not only their
inferior, but who had never offended them even by implication. It was
a sufficient apology to their easy consciences that "he gave himself
such courtly airs as were quite ridiculous--that his presumption was
astonishing. In short, they were all idle, and it was exceedingly
amusing to lounge a morning with the rich Dundases and hoax
Monsieur."
Had Thaddeus known one fourth of the insolent derision with which his
misfortunes were treated behind his back, perhaps even his friend's
necessity could not have detained him in his employment. The
brightness of a brave man's name makes shadows perceptible which
might pass unmarked over a duller surface. Sobieski's delicate honor
would have supposed itself sullied by enduring such contumely with
toleration. But, as was said before, the male adjuncts of Miss Dundas
had received so opportune a warning from an accidental knitting of
the count's brow, they never after could muster temerity to sport
their wit to his face.
These circumstances were not lost upon Mary; she collected them as
part of a treasure, and turned them over on her pillow with the
jealous examination of a miser. Like Euphemia, she supposed Thaddeus
to be other than he seemed. Yet her fancy did not suppose him gifted
with the blood of the Bourbons; she merely believed him to be a
gentleman; and from the maternal manner of Lady Tinemouth towards
him, she suspected that her ladyship knew more of his history than
she chose to reveal.
Things were in this state, when the countess requested that Miss
Dorothy would allow her niece to make one in her party to the
Haymarket Theatre. The good lady having consented, Miss Beaufort
received the permission with pleasure; and as she was to sup in
Grosvenor Place, she ventured to hope that something might fall from
her hostess or Miss Egerton which would throw a light on the true
situation of Mr. Constantine.
From infancy Miss Beaufort had loved with enthusiasm all kinds of
excellence. Indeed, she esteemed no person warmly whom she did no
think exalted by their virtues above the common race of mankind. She
sought for something to respect in every character; and when she
found anything to greatly admire, her ardent soul blazed, and by its
own pure flame lit her to a closer inspection of the object about
whom she had become more than usually interested.
In former years Lady Somerset collected all the virtue and talent in
the country around her table, and it was now found that they were not
brought there on a vain errand. From them Miss Beaufort gathered her
best lessons in conduct and taste, and from them her earliest
perceptions of friendship. Mary was the beloved pupil and respected
friend of the brightest characters in England; and though some of
them were men who had not passed the age of forty, she never had been
in love, nor had she mistaken the nature of her esteem so far as to
call it by that name. Hence she was neither afraid nor ashamed to
acknowledge a correspondence she knew to be her highest distinction.
But had the frank and innocent Mary exhibited half the like
attentions which she paid to these men in one hour to the common
class of young men through the course of a month, they would have
declared that the poor girl was over head and ears in love with them,
and have pitied what they would have justly denominated her folly.
Foolish must that woman be who would sacrifice the most precious gift
in her possession--her heart--to the superficial graces or empty
blandishments of a self-idolized coxcomb!
Such a being was not Mary Beaufort; and on these principles she
contemplated the extraordinary fine qualities she saw in the exiled
Thaddeus with an interest honorable to her penetration and her heart.
When Miss Egerton called with Lady Sara Ross to take Miss Beaufort to
the Haymarket, Mary was not displeased at seeing Mr. Constantine step
out of the carnage to hand her in. During their drive, Miss Egerton
informed her that Lady Tinemouth had been suddenly seized with a
headache, but that Lady Sara had kindly undertaken to be their
chaperon, and had promised to return with them to sup in Grosvenor
Place.
Lady Sara had never seen Mary, though she had frequently heard of her
beauty and vast fortune. This last qualification her ladyship hoped
might have given an unmerited _éclat_ to the first; therefore
when she saw in Miss Beaufort the most beautiful creature she had
ever beheld, nothing could equal her surprise and vexation.
The happy lustre that beamed in the fine eyes of Mary shone like a
vivifying influence around her; a bright glow animated her cheek,
whilst a pleasure for which she did not seek to account bounded at
her heart, and modulated every tone of her voice to sweetness and
enchantment.
"Syren!" thought Lady Sara, withdrawing her large dark eyes from her
face, and turning them full of dissolving languor upon Thaddeus;
"here are all thy charms directed!" then drawing a sigh, so deep that
it made her neighbor start, she fixed her eyes on her fan, and never
looked up again until they had reached the playhouse.
The curtain was raised as the little party seated themselves in the
box.
"Can anybody tell me what the play is?" asked Lady Sara.
"I never thought of inquiring," replied Sophia.
"I looked in the newspaper this morning," said Miss Beaufort, "and I
think it is called _Sighs_,--a translation from a drama of
Kotzebue's."
"A strange title!" was the general observation. When Mr. Suett, who
personated one of the characters, began to speak, their attention was
summoned to the stage.
On the entrance of Mr. Charles Kemble in the character of Adelbert,
the count unconsciously turned pale. He perceived by the dress of the
actor that he was to personate a Pole; and alarmed at the probability
of seeing something to recall recollections which he had striven to
banish, his agitation did not allow him to hear anything that was
said for some minutes.
Miss Egerton was not so tardy in the use of her eyes and ears; and
stretching out her hand to the back of the box, where Thaddeus was
standing by Lady Sara's chair, she caught hold of his sleeve.
"There, Mr. Constantine!" cried she; "look at Adelbert! that is
exactly the figure you cut in your outlandish gear two months ago."
Thaddeus bowed with a forced smile, and glancing at the stage,
replied--
"Then, for the first time in my life, I regret having followed a
lady's advice; I think I must have lost by the change."
"Yes," rejoined she, "you have lost much fur and much embroidery, but
you now look much more like a Christian.'"
The substance of these speeches was not lost on Mary, who continued
with redoubling interest to mark the changes his countenance
underwent along with the scene. As she sat forward, by a slight turn
of the head she could discern the smallest fluctuation in his
features, and they were not a few. Placing himself at the back of
Lady Sara's chair, he leaned over, with his soul set in his eye,
watching every motion of Mr. Charles Kemble.
Mary knew, by some accidental words from Lady Tinemouth, that
Constantine was a Polander, and the surmise she had entertained of
his being unfortunate received full corroboration at the scene in
which Adelbert is grossly insulted by the rich merchant. During the
whole of it, she scarcely dared trust her eyes towards Constantine's
flushed and agitated face.
The interview between Adelbert and Leopold commenced. When the former
was describing his country's miseries with his own, Thaddeus unable
to bear it longer, unobserved by any but Mary, drew back into the
box. In a moment or two afterwards Mr. Charles Kemble made the
following reply to an observation of Leopold's, that "poverty is no
dishonor."
"Certainly none to me! To Poland, to my struggling country, I
sacrificed my wealth, as I would have sacrificed my life if she had
required it. My country is no more; and we are wanderers on a
burdened earth, finding no refuge but in the hearts of the humane and
virtuous."
The passion and force of these words could not fail of reaching the
ears of Thaddeus. Mary's attention followed them to their object, by
the heaving of whose breast she plainly discovered the anguish of
their effect. Her heart beat with increased violence. How willingly
would she have approached him, and said something of sympathy, of
consolation! but she durst not; and she turned away her tearful eye,
and looked again towards the stage.
Lady Sara now stood up, and hanging over Mary's chair, listened with
congenial emotions to the scene between Adelbert and the innocent
Rose. Lady Sara felt it all in her own bosom; and looking round to
catch what was passing in the count's mind, she beheld him leaning
against the box, with his head inclined to the curtain of the door.
"Mr. Constantine!" almost unconsciously escaped her lips. He started,
and discovered by the humidity on his eyelashes why he had withdrawn.
Her ladyship's tears were gliding down her cheeks. Miss Egerton,
greatly amazed at the oddness of this closet scene, turned to Miss
Beaufort, who a moment before having caught a glimpse of the
distressed countenance of the count, could only bow her head to
Sophia's sportive observation.
Who is there that can enter into the secret folds of the heart and
know all its miseries? Who participate in that joy which dissolves
and rarifies man to the essence of heaven? Soul must mingle with
soul, and the ethereal voice of spirits must speak before these
things can be comprehended.
Ready to suffocate with the emotions she repelled from her eyes, Mary
gladly affected to be absorbed in the business of the stage, (not one
object of which she now saw), and with breathless attention lost not
one soft whisper which Lady Sara poured into the ear of Thaddeus.
"Why," asked her ladyship, in a tremulous and low tone, "why should
we seek ideal sorrows, when those of our own hearts are beyond
alleviation? Happy Rose!" sighed her ladyship. "Mr. Constantine,"
continued she, "do not you think that Adelbert is consoled, at least,
by the affection of that lovely woman?"
Like Miss Beaufort, Constantine had hitherto replied with bows only.
"Come," added Lady Sara, laying her soft hand on his arm, and
regarding him with a look of tenderness, so unequivocal that he cast
his eyes to the ground, while its sympathy really touched his heart.
"Come," repeated she, animated by the faint color which tinged his
cheek; "you know that I have the care of this party, and I must not
allow our only _cavalier_ to be melancholy."
"I beg your pardon, Lady Sara," returned he, gratefully pressing the
hand that yet rested on his arm; "I am not very well. I wish that I
had not seen this play."
Lady Sara sunk into the seat from which she had risen. He had never
before taken her hand, except when assisting her to her carriage;
this pressure shook her very soul, and awakened hopes which rendered
her for a moment incapable of sustaining herself or venturing a
reply.
There was something in the tones of Lady Sara's voice and in her
manner far more expressive than her words: mutual sighs which
breathed from her ladyship's bosom and that of Thaddeus, as they sat
down, made a cold shiver run from the head to the foot of Miss
Beaufort. Mary's surprise at the meaning of this emotion caused a
second tremor, and with a palpitating heart she asked herself a few
questions.
Could this interesting young man, whom every person of sense appeared
to esteem and respect, sully his virtues by participating in a
passion with a married woman? No; it was impossible.
Notwithstanding this decision, so absolute in his exculpation, her
pure heart felt a trembling, secret resolve, "even for the sake of
the honor of human nature," (she whispered to herself), to observe
him so hereafter as to be convinced of the real worth of his
principles before she would allow any increase of the interest his
apparently reversed fate had created in her compassionate bosom.
What might be altogether the extent of that "reversed fate," she
could form no idea. For though she had heard, in common with the rest
of the general society, of the recent "melancholy fate of Poland!"
she knew little of its particulars, politics of every kind, and
especially about foreign places, being an interdicted subject in the
drawing-rooms of Sir Robert Somerset. Therefore the simply noble mind
of Mary thought more of the real nobility that might dwell in the
soul of this expatriated son of that country than of the possible
appendages of rank he might have left there.
With her mind full of these reflections, she awaited the farce
without observing it when it appeared. Indeed, none of the party knew
anything about the piece (to see which they had professedly come to
the theatre) excepting Miss Egerton, whose ever merry spirits had
enjoyed alone the humor of Totum in the play, and who now laughed
heartily, though unaccompanied, through the ridiculous whims of the
farce.
Nothing that passed could totally disengage the mind of Thaddeus from
those remembrances which the recent drama had aroused. When the
melting voice of Lady Sara, in whispers, tried to recall his
attention, by a start only did he evince his recollection of not
being alone. Sensible, however, to the kindness of her motive, he
exerted himself; and by the time the curtain dropped, he had so far
rallied his presence of mind as to be able to attend to the civility
of seeing the ladies safe out of the theatre.
Miss Egerton, laughing, as he assisted her into the carriage, said,
"I verily believe, Mr. Constantine, had I glanced round during the
play, I should have seen as pretty a lachrymal scene between you and
Lady Sara as any on the stage. I won't have this flirting! I declare
I will tell Captain Ross--"
She continued talking; but turning about to offer his service to Miss
Beaufort, he heard no more.
Miss Beaufort, however self-composed in thought, felt strangely: she
felt cold and reserved; and undesignedly she appeared what she felt.
There was a grave dignity in her air, accompanied with a
collectedness and stillness in her before animated countenance, which
astonished and chilled Thaddeus, though she had bowed her head and
given him her hand to put her into the coach.
On their way home Miss Egerton ran over the merits of the play and
farce; rallied Thaddeus on the "tall Pole," which she threatened
should be his epithet whenever he offended her; and then, flying from
subject to subject, talked herself and her hearers so weary, that
they internally rejoiced when the carriage stopped in Grosvenor
Place.
After they had severally paid their respects to Lady Tinemouth, who,
being indisposed, was lying on the sofa, she desired Thaddeus to draw
a chair near her.
"I want to learn," said she, "what you think of our English theatre?"
"Prithee, don't ask him!" cried Miss Egerton, pouring out a glass of
water; "we have seen a tremendous brother Pole of his, who I believe
has 'hopped off' with all his spirits! Why, he has been looking as
rueful as a half-drowned man all the night; and as for Lady Sara, and
I could vow Miss Beaufort, too, they have been two Niobes--'all
tears.' So, good folks, I must drink better health to you, to save
myself from the vapors."
"What is all this, Mr. Constantine?" asked the countess, addressing
Thaddeus, whose eyes had glanced with a ray of delighted surprise on
the blushing though displeased face of Miss Beaufort.
"My weakness," replied he, commanding down a rising tremor in his
voice, and turning to her ladyship; "the play relates to a native of
Poland, one who, like myself, an exile in a strange land, is
subjected to sufferings and contumelies the bravest spirits may find
hard to bear. Any man may combat misery; but even the most intrepid
will shrink from insult. This, I believe, is the sum of the story.
Its resemblance in some points to my own affected me; and," added he,
looking gratefully at Lady Sara, and timidly towards Miss Beaufort,
"if these ladies have sympathized with emotions against which I
strove, but could not entirely conceal, I owe to it the sweetest
consolation now in the power of fate to bestow."
"Poor Constantine!" cried Sophia Egerton, patting his head with one
hand, whilst with the other she wiped a tear from her always smiling
eye, "forgive me if I have hurt you. I like you vastly, though I must
now and then laugh at you; you know I hate dismals, so let this tune
enliven us all!" and flying to her piano, she played and sang two or
three merry airs, till the countess commanded her to the supper-
table.
At this most sociable repast of the whole day, cheerfulness seemed
again to disperse the gloom which had threatened the circle. Thaddeus
set the example. His unrestrained and elegant conversation acquired
new pathos from the anguish that was driven back to his heart; like
the beds of rivers, which infuse their own nature with the current,
his hidden grief imparted an indescribable interest and charm to all
his sentiments and actions. [Footnote: When this was written, (in the
year 1804,) domestic hours were earlier; and the "supper hour" had
not then dissipation and broken rest for a consequence.]
Mary now beheld him in his real character. Unmolested by the haughty
presence of Miss Dundas, he became unreserved, intelligent, and
enchanting. He seemed master of every subject talked on, and
discoursed on all with a grace which corroborated her waking visions
that he was as some bright star fallen from his sphere.
With the increase of Miss Beaufort's admiration of the count's fine
talents, she gradually lost the recollection of what had occupied her
mind relative to Lady Sara; and her own beautiful countenance
dilating into confidence and delight, the evening passed away with
chastened pleasure, until the little party separated for their
several homes.
Lady Tinemouth was more than ever fascinated by the lovely Miss
Beaufort. Miss Beaufort was equally pleased with the animation of the
countess; but when she thought on Thaddeus, she was surprised,
interested, absorbed.
Lady Sara Ross's reflections were not less delightful. She dwelt with
redoubled passion on that look from the count's eyes, that touch of
his hand, which she thought were signs of a reciprocal awakened
flame. Both actions were forgotten by him the moment after they were
committed; yet he was not ungrateful; but whilst he acknowledged her
generous sympathy at that time, he could not but see that she was
straying to the verge of a precipice which no thoroughly virtuous
woman should ever venture to approach.
He found a refuge from so painful a meditation in the idea of the
ingenuous Mary, on whose modest countenance virtue seemed to have
"set her seal." Whilst recollecting the pitying kindness of her voice
and looks, his heart owned the empire of purity, and in the
contemplation of her unaffected excellence, he the more deplored the
witcheries of Lady Sara, and the dangerous uses to which her
impetuous feelings addressed them.
* * * * * * *