How bright this summer's sun appear'd!
How blue to me this summer's sky!
While all I saw and all I heard
Could charm my ear, could bless my eye.
The lonely bower, the splendid crowd,
Alike a joy for me possess'd;
My heart a charm on all bestow'd,
For that confiding heart was _bless'd_.
But thou art changed!--and now no more
The sun is bright, or blue the sky;
Now in the throng, or in the bower,
I only mark thy _alter'd eye_.
And though midst crowds I still appear,
And seem to list the minstrel's strain,
I heed it not--I only hear
My _own deep sigh_ that mourns in vain.
My carriage was announced soon afterwards; and I saw by the manner of
both, that Lady Martindale was trying to persuade my husband to stay all
night: but as De Walden came with us, propriety, if not inclination,
forbade him to comply, and he sullenly enough followed De Walden and me
to the carriage. When there, that considerate friend refused to enter
it--declaring as it was moon-light he preferred walking home.
What a relief was this to my mind! for I dreaded some unpleasant
altercation, especially if De Walden expressed the belief which he
evidently entertained, that Lady Martindale and Annette Beauvais were
the same person.
When he entered the carriage my husband threw himself into one corner of
it, and remained silent. I expected this: still I did not know how to
bear it; for I could not help contrasting the past with the present. Is
there--no, there is not--so agonizing a feeling in the catalogue of
human suffering, as the first conviction that the heart of the being
whom we most tenderly love, is estranged from us? In vain could I
pretend to doubt this overwhelming fact. Seymour had resented for
another woman, and to me! He had even joined in, and enjoyed, the mean
revenge that woman took, though that revenge was a public affront to me!
And now in sullen silence, and in still rankling resentment, he was
sitting as far from me as he possibly could sit, and the attachment of
years seemed in one hour destroyed!
All this I felt and thought during the first mile of our drive home: but
so closely does hope ever tread on the heels of despair, that one word
from Pendarves banished the worst part of my misery; for in an angry
tone he at length observed, "So, madam, your champion would not go with
us: I think it is a pity you did not walk with him--I think you ought
to have done no less, after his public gallantry in your service."
"Ha!" thought I immediately, "this is pique, this is jealousy;
and perhaps he loves me still!" What a revulsion of feeling I now
experienced! and never in his fondest moments did I value an expression
of tenderness from him more, than I did this weak and churlish
observation; for he was not silent and sullen on account of Lady
Martindale's fancied injuries; but from resentment of De Walden's
interference. In one moment therefore the face of nature itself seemed
changed to me; and I eagerly replied, "I was certainly much obliged to
De Walden--I needed a champion, and who so proper to be it as himself,
the only old friend I had in the room, yourself excepted, and the only
person in it probably who now (here my voice faltered) has a real regard
and affection for me!"
"Helen!" cried Pendarves, starting up, "you cannot mean what you say!
You do not, cannot believe that De Walden loves you better than _I_ do."
"If I had not believed it I should not have said it."
"But how could you believe it? Has he dared to talk to you of love?"
"Do you think he could forget himself so far as to do such a thing? or
if he did, do you think I could forget myself so far as to listen to
him? Surely, sir, you forget of whom and to whom you are speaking."
"Forgive me: I spoke from pique. And so, Helen, you think I do not love
you?"
"Not as you did, certainly: but I excuse you. I know grief has changed
me; and it had been better for me to have died, if it had so pleased
God, when my poor child died."
"Helen! dearest! do not talk thus, I cannot bear it!" he exclaimed,
clasping me to his heart; and though I then wept even more abundantly
than before, I wept on his bosom, and all my sorrows were for awhile
forgotten.
The next morning Pendarves told me he should certainly breakfast with
me; but he must leave me soon to partake of a late breakfast at Oswald
Lodge, as he had promised to go with the party to call on a family, with
whom they were to arrange some private theatricals.
"And are you to engage in them?"
"Oh! to be sure: it will not be the first time of my acting."
"And will Lady Martindale act?"
"Yes: but not with us. We shall act in English: she will favour us with
a mono-drame, a ballet of action, and perhaps read a French play, which
she reads to perfection."
"Not better than she dances, I dare say; for dancing, I suspect, was
once one of her professions."
"What nonsense is this Helen? and who has dared to give such an
erroneous and false impression of this admirable woman?"
"Surely you must have perceived that De Walden meant to insinuate that
she and Annette Beauvais are the same person?"
"Then he is a vile calumniator."
"Not so: he is only a mistaken man."
"But it seems you think he cannot be mistaken: he is an oracle!"
"My love," replied I, "we had better not talk of De Walden."
"You are right, Helen, quite right; for I am conscious of great
irritation when I think of him: for I feel, I cannot but feel, how much
more worthy of you he is than I am; and yet, foolish girl, you gave him
up for me. O Helen! when I saw him, impatient of affront to you, step
forward with that flashing eye, that commanding air, to seize the
offending brute, though I could have stabbed him, I could also have
embraced him; and I said within myself, 'And to this man Helen preferred
me! How she must repent her folly now!'"
"She never has repented, she never can repent it," said I, throwing
myself upon his neck. "You know I took you with all your faults open to
my view."
"Yes: but you fancied love and you would reform them!"
"I did--and I think we may do so still: but you must not let me fancy
you do not love me, Seymour; if you do, I shall pine and mope, and
become the object of your aversion."
"Impossible! do you think I can ever dislike you, Helen?"
"Is thy servant a dog that he should do this thing?" said I, returning
his embrace.
"I will hear no more of such horrible surmises: I have now outstaid my
time."
Then mounting his horse, he was out of sight in a moment.
Soon after my mother appeared, and, to my surprise, unaccompanied by De
Walden.
"Where is our friend?" was my first salutation.
"On the road to London."
"London! And why?"
"He had his reasons for going; and, as usual, they do honour both to his
head and heart."
"May I not know them?"
"I would not tell them to all women under your circumstances; but I can
trust you. He finds that he has not conquered his attachment; and that
he cannot behold the affecting change in your appearance, and reflect
on the cause, without feeling what his principles disapprove. Besides,
he is afraid of getting involved in a quarrel with Pendarves, as, I
suppose, you guess who this Lady Martindale is."
"I do. Well, I am glad De Walden is gone; for I know Pendarves will
rejoice."
I then related to her my conversation with my husband; and I did it
with so much cheerfulness, and such an evident revival of hope, that I
imparted some of the feelings which I experienced; and my mother's heart
was visibly softened towards Seymour, while she uttered, "Poor fellow!
he does indeed justly judge himself: you did prefer the brilliant to the
diamond. But where is he?"
"Gone out with the party at the lodge on particular business; and will
not return till night."
On hearing this my mother's countenance fell; and kissing my cheek, she
shook her head mournfully, and changed the conversation.
Pendarves came home that evening in great spirits. Every thing was
arranged for the theatricals, and the play fixed upon. It was to be the
Belle's Stratagem, and he was to play Doricourt, a part he had often
played before. The part of Letitia Hardy, was given to a young lady who
was an actress on private theatres; and every part was filled but that
of Lady Frances Touchwood.
"Oh, Helen!" cried he, "how happy should I be if you would give over all
your dismals, lay aside your scruples, and make me your slave for life,
by undertaking this mild and modest part!"
"You bribe high," I replied (turning pale at the apprehension of any
thing so contrary to my habits and my sense of right): "but you know my
aversion to things of the sort."
"I do: but I also know your high sense of a wife's duty; and that you
cannot but own a wife ought to obey her husband's will, when not
contrary to the will of God."
"You seem to have high though just ideas of a wife's duty," said I,
smiling; "now, perhaps, you will favour me with your opinion of a
husband's duty."
"Willingly. It is to wean a beloved wife, if possible, from gloomy
thoughts; to keep amusing company himself, and to make her join it: in
short, when he has engaged in private theatricals, it is his _duty_
to get his wife to engage in them also: and if you think such things
dangerous to good morals, you are the more bound to engage in them, in
order to watch over _mine_."
I suspected he was right, and that the general duty should, in this
instance, give way to the particular one; but I shrunk with aversion
from the long and intimate association with these disagreeable if not
disreputable people, to which it would oblige me; and after expressing
this dislike I begged time to consider of his request.
The next day I went to consult my mother, who at first would not hear
the plan named, and declared that her child should not so far degrade
herself as to allow her person to be profaned by such familiarities as
acting must induce and she must suffer. But when I told her Mr. Oswald
was to act Sir George Touchwood, a quiet, elderly married man, she was
more reconciled to it on that score, but she disliked it as much as I
did on other grounds. However, having convinced myself, I at length
convinced her, that it was my duty to make myself as dear and as
agreeable to my husband as I could, and not leave him thus exposed to
the every day increasing fascinations of another woman.
"But can you, my dear child," said she, "have fortitude enough to bear
for days together the sight of his attentions to your rival? Will it not
make you pettish, grave, and unamiable, and cloud your eyes in tears,
which will incense and not affect, because they will seem a reproach?"
"It will be a difficult task, and a severe trial, I own; but I humbly
hope to be supported under it: and though the risk is great, the
ultimate success is worth the venture."
"Helen," said my mother, "till now I thought my trials as a wife great,
and my duties severe; but I am convinced that they were easy to bear
and easy to perform, compared to what a fond wife feels, who is forced
to mask misery with smiles; to substitute undeserved kindness for just
reproach; and to submit even her own superior judgement, and her own
sense of right and wrong, to the will of her husband."
"But, dear mother! I shall be repaid and rewarded at last!"
"Repaid, rewarded, Helen! how? Who or what is to repay you? As well can
_assignats_ repay bullion, as the love of a being who has grossly erred
can reward that of one to whom error is unknown."
"But he has not grossly erred; and if he had, I love him," cried I,
deeply wounded and appalled at the truth of what she said.
"Ah! there it is," she replied; "and thus does love level all in their
turns; the weak with the strong, the sensible with the foolish. One
thing more, Helen, before you go--You shall have your mother's
countenance and presence to support you under your new trials: I will
condescend to invite myself to attend rehearsals, and I will be at the
representation."
I received this offer with gratitude, and then returned to tell my
husband that I would perform the part of Lady Frances Touchwood.
He was delighted with my compliance; and on making me read the part
aloud directly he declared that I should perform to admiration.
"I should have played Letitia Hardy better," said I.
"You! how conceited!"
"I got that part by heart once, and I have often acted it quite through
for my own amusement when I was quite alone. But I prefer playing Lady
Frances now, for the days of my vanity are pretty well over."
"No, no, child, they are only now beginning, according to this; and
little did I think I had married a great actress."
Pendarves then departed in high spirits to his friends, and I sat down
to study my part. But bitter were the tears I shed over it. And was I,
so lately the mourner over a dying and a dead child, was I about to
engage in dissipations like these?--But humbly hoping my motive
sanctified my deed, I shook off overwhelming recollections, and resolved
to persevere in my new task.
For some days, and till all was ready for rehearsals, Pendarves
rehearsed his part to me, and I to him; but at length he found it
pleasanter to have Lady Martindale hear him, he said, for her broken
English was so amusing.
I could not oppose to this excellent reason my being a better judge of
his performance, but I was forced to submit in silence. Now, however, I
was soon called to rehearsals, and my mother was allowed to accompany
me.
My first performance was wretched, and I thought Seymour looked ashamed
of me; but my mother said she should have been mortified if I had done
better the first time. The next I gained credit; but on the third day I
found the party in great distress. The Letitia Hardy had been sent for
to a dying father, and there was no one to undertake her part. You may
easily guess that Seymour immediately told tales of me, and I undertook
that prominent character: but I did not shrink from it, for my husband
was to act with me; and Letitia Hardy was not more eager to charm
Doricourt, than I to charm my husband.
You know there is a minuet to be danced, and a song to be sung; and as
Le Piq and Madame Rossi were the first dancers when I was young, I had
taken lessons of both in London, and was said to dance a minuet well.
Pendarves was equally celebrated in that dance; and as we rehearsed
our minuet often at home, each declared the other perfect; nor was the
little song less warmly applauded, which I substituted for the original,
and adapted to a Scotch air. It applied to my own situation and feelings
as well as to those of the heroine, and was as follows: