By this time, my most gentle readers are growing, _tant soi peu_, tired
of--what they presume to call---my consummate nonsense! and an indulgent
public is, I must however say, somewhat prematurely thinking about
throwing aside my very charming narrative of facts in high life as they
actually took place; though I do not specify in what year or years,
being anxious to forget all such critical matters as dates.
To such of the kind public as may have a perverted taste for the
serious, I beg leave to state that I am now making my _début_ in a
tragic part; but venture humbly to express the hope that my tragical
adventures will furnish more interest to my readers than they supplied
amusement to me.
I have twice before stated that Lord Ponsonby's attachment to me
continued, or appeared to continue, unabated for the space of nearly
three years: _et, savez-vous, mes belles dames, que cela est beaucoup?_
Towards the end of that period, he one evening appeared to me unusually
melancholy. I had frequently reproached him with making a mystery to me
of something which must have happened to him; but he not only assured
me that I was mistaken, but began to affect more than his accustomed
gaiety; and he acted his part so well that I was doubtful whether I had
not been altogether deceived.
"Then perhaps you are only out of health," said I, "instead of out of
spirits? for I am sure that your hands are feverish."
"Now you have discovered it," said Ponsonby, laughing; "I am going
to die!--Would you regret me?" said he: and then, in a tone of much
feeling, added, as he put back my thick hair with his two hands, to kiss
my forehead and examine the expression of my countenance, intensely, as
though he were taking a last farewell of it--"I will not ask you; for I
am sure you would."
He now took up some paper and began to write, holding his hand before
the paper to prevent my seeing a single line.
"What are you writing?" I asked.
"Private business," was Ponsonby's answer.
On this I sat down to my pianoforte, that I might not interrupt him. Yet
it struck me that it must be something for me, or that he would not have
written it at my house.
Lord Ponsonby had often hinted that he wished to make a provision for
me, during my life, of two hundred pounds a year. I imagined that this
might be something of a promise to that effect:--but, as I knew Ponsonby
at that time to be very poor and much in debt, my resolution was taken
at once. "He will divide his purse with me," thought I, "while he lives
and loves me--and I will never look forward, nor provide for one hour
after Ponsonby shall be lost to me."
As soon as he had sealed up a letter, which he put into his pocket, he
looked at his watch and, starting upon his feet, said, in a voice of
real distress, "I must go!--Who would have imagined that it could be so
late!"
"Must you go home, already?" I asked.
"Not home, but to the House of Lords," Ponsonby replied. "But, my dear
Harriette, I cannot lose you at this moment! Perhaps you were right, and
my spirits may have been rather lower than usual to-night! Will you come
down with me in a hackney coach as far as the House?"
I acquiesced willingly; and when we arrived there I begged to be allowed
to wait for him. "I do not care if it should be all night," said I;
"for you'll come at last, and we can drive towards your house together."
Ponsonby answered that I was very good; but in the greatest despondency.
In half an hour he came to the coach-door, to say that the House would
sit late and he could not bear the idea of my waiting.
"All these things, my dearest Ponsonby," said I, "are mere matters of
taste. I am very happy in waiting for you--very!" He did not again
return to me for more than three hours. It was daylight. He seemed to
be dreadfully unwell and fatigued. I had never seen him thus since the
death of his father. He gave me, I think, almost a hundred kisses,
without uttering a single word.
"You are much fatigued, dear Ponsonby," said I; "I only wish to heaven I
might stay with you and take care of you for ever."
"I have a letter for you," said Ponsonby, drawing the one which he had
written at my house from his pocket, as we drove towards his own home.
"You must excuse my taking it," said I; "because, I will tell you
frankly, I rather guess that it is to secure me the provision which you
have so often talked about."
He was peremptory.
"I am no liar, Ponsonby," said I, "and, when I most solemnly declare to
you that I will never accept of any annuity from you, unless you were
to become so rich as to make one without the slightest inconvenience to
yourself or your family--I hope you will believe me." I then tore the
letter into many pieces and threw it out of the coach-window.
Ponsonby seemed almost ashamed of having had so little as two hundred
pounds a year to offer; but even that was not without difficulty, for he
was most magnificent in his ideas of gentlemanly expenditure.
Poor fellow! He had so little of it to spend: and from delicacy he was
afraid to say more on the subject of what he considered a trifle wholly
unworthy of me.
As he drew near his door, Ponsonby pressed me close to his heart. "My
dear Harriette," said he, "it is indeed as you say, very hard upon
us that we may not pass the whole of our lives together; but then be
assured of this truth; and I hope that it may afford you consolation,
happen what will, my affection for you, to whom I certainly owe some of
the happiest hours I have ever known."
The kiss which followed this declaration was as long and as ardent as
our first! Yet alas! how different the parting kiss of unfathomable
anguish, given in the fervour of gaunt despair, to the first
soul-thrilling embrace of wild, ardent ecstasy, which comprehends no
limits and which, like the last, could never be forgotten by me.
Ponsonby had affected me with his more than usual melancholy, and,
when I was about to take my leave, I felt that I could not speak; but
I kissed his hand eagerly and fervently, as he was hurrying out of the
coach....
I have never seen him from that hour.
On the following evening, while I was expecting Ponsonby, I received
a letter from him, the purport of which was to inform me that we had
parted for ever.
* * * * *
I remember little of the style or nature of the letter. Something I read
about a discovery made by Lady Ponsonby, and a solemn engagement or
promise extorted from him, to see me only once more, in which interview
he had intended to have explained and arranged everything; but could
not. The perusal of this letter occasioned a mist to come over my eyes,
my heart seemed to swell so as almost to produce suffocation: and yet I
did not believe it to be possible that we could have parted for the last
time, or surely my anguish had burst forth in one wild cry and then all
had been still for ever!
But hope was not yet extinct. I felt stunned, more by the sudden shock
of such an idea being presented to my imagination as possible, than from
conviction of its probability. "Dreadful!" thought I, and shuddered,
while I felt a cold dew as from the charnel-house overspread my whole
frame, "shall Ponsonby refuse to speak to me, and even look upon me as
a stranger, after all our communion of feeling, after all that deep
interest which he evinced towards me so late as this very morning?
Nonsense! palpable, gross absurdity! How I have been frightening myself!
As if it were in human nature to be so cruel even to one's greatest
enemy! And Ponsonby's nature is so kind!" and then a violent hysterical
affection steeped my senses in forgetfulness and relieved for an instant
the bitter anguish of my heart. Then I suddenly recollected his parting
kiss. Gracious God! could he have left me? My brain seemed absolutely on
fire. I flew to the window, where for years I had been in the habit of
watching his approach. "It is not high enough," thought I, "and would
but half destroy me. I will go to him first," and my trembling hands
essayed in vain to fasten the ribbons of my bonnet under my chin: "but
no, no, I will not risk her happiness. I am not really wicked, not so
very wicked as to deserve this dreadful calamity. We are sent into the
world to endure the evils of it patiently, and not thus to fly into
the face of our God. If he is our father, and I kneel down to him with
patience, this anguish will be calmed."
I locked my door, and then prostrated myself with my face on the floor
and prayed fervently for near an hour that, if I was to see Ponsonby no
more, God would take me in mercy out of a world of such bitter suffering
before the morning. I arose somewhat comforted: but stiff, and so cold
that my whole frame trembled violently. I swallowed some lavender-drops
and tried to write: blotted twenty sheets of paper with unintelligible
nonsense and wetted them with my tears.
The book Ponsonby last read to me now caught my eye. No sense of
religion could calm me or save me from the actions of despair, while
these objects were before me, and, hastily wrapping my cloak about me, I
hurried into the streets. I walked on with incredible swiftness till my
strength failed me all at once, and, panting for breath, I sat down on
the step of a door in Half Moon-street. The night was dark and rainy. "I
have a strong mind," thought I, "and I will exert it to consider where
I shall look for help and consolation if Ponsonby has left me." As this
thought struck me, the slow tear fell unregarded down my cheek. "Death,"
was the answer my despair made me, "only death can relieve me!" But then
what is death? how soon the vital spark of life is destroyed in insects.
The poor moth, when writhing in torture of its own seeking, how often
and how easily I have put at rest! Ponsonby's neglect, Ponsonby's late
passion, his smile, and his last long kiss, cannot torture me after this
little palpitation has ceased, and I held my fingers to my throat to
ascertain the strength of what seemed all of life about me. Yet I will
suffer first, and suffer long, that I may pray for God's forgiveness,
only be it my consolation that this will terminate all.
Alas! vain was my reasoning. There was no consolation for me. I was
bent on writing to Ponsonby. "I will return home," thought I, "and shut
myself up in the small room he has never entered." My trembling knees
could no longer support me. I tried to rise; but could not. My lips were
parched, my cheeks burned, and I was very sick. "God is about to grant
the prayer I have made to him," thought I,--ever sanguine in what I
wished--"I shall die by his own will."
I grew worse, and very faint. Sickness was new to me at that time, and
now a slight touch of fear came over me. "Alas!" methought, "I am going
out of the world very young and very miserably, and before I have
written to Ponsonby. He would have returned to me. He loved me, and
while there was life there was hope. I might have been so exquisitely
happy as to have been pressed to his heart again! though but once more,
it would have compensated an age of misery. It is but in losing him
I can appreciate my late wonderful happiness. I would have been his
servant or his slave, and lived on one of his smiles for a week, as a
reward for the hardest labour. What am I? what was I, that Ponsonby
should devote his precious life to me? No matter what I was!" As I grew
still fainter, I prayed for Ponsonby's eternal happiness, as though I
had felt he required my prayers.
"Vy do you set there?" inquired a man, who was passing, in the accent
of a Jew, and, receiving no answer, after examining me attentively, he
added, "Poor ting! poor girl you are ill! don't be afraid of a poor old
Jew. Tell me vat I sal do for you." My heart was so deeply oppressed
that my strongest effort to subdue my feelings proved unsuccessful;
and, at the sound of these few words uttered in a tone of unaffected
benevolence, I sobbed aloud.
"Poor ting! poor young ting! Got bless my soul," taking my hand, "you
are very ill, you have much fever, vat shall pe done!"
"I am really ill," said I, struggling to speak calmly, "and you will
oblige me greatly if you will have the kindness to see me to a hackney
coach."
The Jew hastened to comply with my request, and with real delicacy
assisted me into the carriage he procured for me, without making a
single inquiry.
Arrived at home, my housekeeper was so alarmed and struck at my altered
appearance that she, after putting me to bed, sent for Dr. Bain, who
assured me that I was in a high fever, and that my recovery depended
entirely on my keeping myself very quiet.
I confessed to my physician that there was something on my mind which
agitated me so violently that I could find no rest till I was allowed
to write a long letter. He seemed to take a strong interest in my fate;
and, after vainly imploring me not to attempt it, suffered my maid to
place my writing-desk before me; but, alas! I could not write.
My memory began to fail me, and my head was dreadfully confused, I
remarked this to Dr. Bain as I laid down my pen.
"My dear child," said the doctor, taking my burning hand with much
kindness, "your pulse is so high at this moment, that nothing but the
most perfect stillness can ever restore you. Only obey my instructions
for three days, and I firmly hope that your fever will have left you,
and you will be able to write without difficulty on any subject you
please."
The idea of dying without having addressed Ponsonby, caused me such
extreme anguish, that I submitted like an infant to follow the advice I
received.
"Only assure me, sir," said I, "that I shall be able to write to a
particular friend, a very long, collected letter before I die--and my
mind will become comparatively calm."
The doctor gave me all the comfort in his power, and promised to see me
early in the morning.
I passed a very agitated night, I could not refrain from puzzling my
poor, confused brain as to what I should write to Ponsonby. My letter
was to decide my fate on earth, therefore must not be hurried, nor begun
till I had collected all the energies of my mind. I prayed that such
eloquence might be granted me as might persuade and lead Ponsonby, at
least to show some symptoms of humanity towards me.
It was six o'clock in the morning before the strong opiate which Dr.
Bain had prescribed for me produced any effect. At that hour, quite
exhausted in mind and body, I fell into a heavy sleep, which lasted more
than eight hours.
On opening my eyes, I saw at my bedside my dear sister Fanny and Dr.
Bain: the latter was feeling my pulse. I felt very much agitated at
seeing Fanny.
Dr. Bain told her that my disorder proceeded alone from the agitation of
my mind; but it, nevertheless, had produced such violent effects as to
make it advisable for me immediately to lose some blood.
I submitted to whatever was required of me; but I begged Fanny not to
tease or question me as to what had caused all this, assuring her that
I could not talk on the subject without disturbing my senses, and I was
earnestly desirous of obtaining a little calm reason, if only for one
hour more, that I might compose a letter before I died.
Dr. Bain, as well as my sister, said and did everything the most tender
friendship could dictate. To be brief, their kind attention and my own
excellent constitution triumphed over the fever, which had been very
severe during five days. In a little more than a fortnight I left my
bed; and, though reduced to a mere shadow of what I had been, I found
myself sufficiently collected to address the following letter to Lord
Ponsonby:
"Scarcely a month has elapsed since I possessed, or believed I
possessed, with health, reputed beauty, and such natural spirits,
'as were wont to set the table in a roar,' all my highest flights
of imagination had ever conceived or dreamed of perfect happiness
on earth--I had almost said, in heaven! Alas! I had not considered
how unreal and fleeting must ever be the glories of this life, and
I was, as a child, unprepared for the heavy affliction which has
fallen on my heart like a thunder-bolt, withering all healthful
verdure and crushing its hopes for ever.
"In encouraging so deep an attachment for a married man I
have indeed been very hardened; but, till now, I can call my God
to witness, I have never in my life reflected seriously on any
subject. Maturity of thought, it should seem, is acquired earlier
by certain characters than others; for I could affirm on my
death-bed that, hitherto, I dreamed not of injuring any one of my
fellow creatures. In short, while I loved all the world and would
fain have done them all good, I most respected Lady Ponsonby. This
assertion may seem scarcely credible to young females, differently
educated or of less wild and childish dispositions; but, just
arisen from a sick bed, I write not to deceive.
"Three weeks of bitter anguish of mind and body have changed,
or rather matured my nature so completely, that even the expression
of my features bears another character.
"My eyes are now open and I feel that, as the mistress of a
married man, possessing an innocent, amiable young wife, I could no
longer be esteemed or respected by the only being whose respect was
dear to me. As lovers then, Ponsonby, we have met for the last time
on earth!" [Here I laid down my pen; because this idea affected me.]
"I have delayed writing to you, till I could address you with
reasonable firmness, not with the mere ravings of passion. Think
you so meanly of me, dear Ponsonby, as to fancy that I could be
gratified at becoming a mere instrument of pleasure to you, after
my cool judgment has told me that I should thus forfeit all right
to your respect or esteem? You are a man of the world, and as such
may confound what is termed a lovefit, with the deep affection you
have for three years taken pains to inspire in my heart.
"'Love never kills,' says the unfeeling world: yet, unfeeling
as it may be, such a sudden desertion of your wife would have
called forth towards her its deepest commiseration. Alas! the
ceremony of marriage, read over to me by a thousand priests, could
not have added one jot to my despair, while I in vain cast my
cheerless eyes around the wide world for a single ray of pity,
which is ever denied me.
"Yet the faults of my careless youth have been sanctioned
and encouraged and shared by you, who knew well, from experience,
the future anguish you were preparing for me! You elated my
pride beyond all the bounds of humility; you blessed me with more
than human happiness, but to destroy my peace for ever! I was not
naturally vain; but, when you have shut yourself up whole days
alone, to think on our meeting and our love, till we should meet
again,--when, in movements of the wildest passion, you, with all
your talent and your glorious beauty, have called me your own
angelic Harriette, think you I could divest myself of delicious
pride in the object of my passion? And if I did not believe or
fancy myself an angel, perhaps my attributes as a woman were but
the more appreciated by me, as you preferred them.
"Enough of a subject I had determined not to touch upon. I bow
with humility to the fate which compels me to resign such happiness
as few, among wiser and better people, have been permitted to
enjoy; and, 'come what may, I have been blessed.'
"Had it pleased heaven to have bestowed on me the husband of
my choice, there is nothing great or good or virtuous that I had
not aspired to: as it is, I am a poor fallen wretch, who ask of
your compassion one line or one word of consolation to save me from
despair.
"Oh! I have known such moments of deep anguish as I could
never describe to you. Ponsonby, my dear Ponsonby! I throw myself
on my knees before you, I raise the eyes you have so often
professed to love and admire, now disfigured, and half closed by
constant weeping, towards heaven, and I ask of God to soften your
heart, that you may not torture me beyond my strength. Recall then
those dreadful words,--'we must part now, Harriette, and for ever!'
I too am a woman! and Lady Ponsonby desires not my death.
"Trust me, the errors and little weaknesses which humanity
dictates shall be found more acceptable in the eyes of God, than
such stoical virtue as results from hardness of heart.
"If I survive the punishment you have declared I must submit
to, it will be by the strength of my constitution, which shall
be proof against an age of anguish! My heart was ever warm and
unusually affectionate. I ask but to live yet for you, not with
you. I would but obtain your approbation as a reward for my earnest
endeavours to do right, and obtain for myself an existence, by
my own industry, if ever my former health and strength should be
restored to me.
"When you come and speak to me of what is right and virtuous
shall I not love virtue for your sake? Have I ever wished to
disobey you? I do not ask you to visit me alone. Call on me with
Lord Jersey. Come soon, and give but the assurance that still and
for ever you will be all to me that honour and virtue permits; that
once in every year, while I act virtuously, you will visit me, and
encourage me with your friendship and approbation.
"I am overpowered with faintness and fatigue, else I had many,
many more arguments to urge. Hope, almost life, hangs on your
answer; therefore, dear Ponsonby be merciful, and so may God bless
you.
"HARRIETTE."
My mind was very much relieved, after I had despatched my letter; for
I considered that I should certainly hear from Lord Ponsonby, if he
possessed one spark of feeling toward me; and, if he did not, of course
my respect and affection must naturally abate.
I watched for the appearance of the postman, who usually brought my
letters, from morning till night, with indescribable emotion; nor did I
cease to hope for a whole week. At last however I was convinced that the
epistle which had cost me so much labour of thought, was indeed entirely
disregarded by the person on whom I expected it would have made a deep
impression.
Somewhat of an indignant feeling began to take the place of affection.
All my woman's pride was roused, and yet methought, this man, so cruelly
unfeeling to me now, has watched my slumbers in breathless silence, and
still he smiles with the same brilliant expression on others, and all
about him are impressed with that dignified air of true nobility, that
reserve so delightfully and condescendingly thrown aside, in favour of
the few who please him.
A slow intermitting fever began to prey on my constitution. I felt a
violent oppression of the chest, which increased so rapidly, in spite of
all my kind friend, Dr. Bain, could do for me, that in less than a month
after I had addressed my last letter to Ponsonby, I could never find
breath sufficient to enable me to ascend the stairs to my bed-chamber,
without sitting down to rest more than once. I began to hate society;
above all I avoided anything like gaiety.
It was now that I believed in all I had heard as to the wretchedness
of this life, and I wanted to reconcile myself to my God. "I will pass
my heavy hours in doing the little good to my fellow creatures, in my
power," said I one day, as I recollected my former slight acquaintance
with a woman whom I knew to have been lately taken to Newgate for rather
a heavy debt. She was Lord Craven's housekeeper, during the time I had
lived with him at Brighton.
I ordered my carriage to the debtors' door of Newgate. My mind was so
deeply absorbed with one object, that the misery I saw there did not
much affect me. The poor woman, Mrs. Butler, was surprised and delighted
to see me.
"I wish I could pay your debt," said I, panting for breath as usual, and
speaking with pain and difficulty.
"My dear, dear young lady," said Mrs. Butler, looking at me with much
compassion, "what has happened to that sweet, merry, blooming face of
yours?"
It only required a single word, uttered in a tone of sympathy, to bring
the ready tears into my eyes. Mine now fell, disregarded by me, down my
pale cheek. "You," returned I, "are not the only person in affliction;
but, never mind, talk to me, my good woman, of anything except my
unhappiness. I cannot pay your debt, with common justice to my own
creditors; but this trifle I can spare, and you are very welcome to it."
I then placed in her hand all I at that moment possessed in the world,
except a single one pound note.
Mrs. Butler really was what she appeared, very grateful. I sat an hour
with her, and promised constantly to visit her and provide for all her
little wants, as long as she continued in prison. When I was taking my
leave, just as the last bell was about to ring, which was to exclude all
strangers for the night, I observed an interesting young girl of about
fourteen years of age, in one corner of the room, weeping bitterly; near
her sat an elderly lady apparently in much affliction. A working man was
in the act of making up a large bundle, out of I knew not what.
"Those poor people are in great affliction," said Mrs. Butler, observing
what had fixed my attention. "The mother has seen better days; they have
hitherto contrived to pay 3_s._ 6_d._ a week for the hire of their bed,
which that man is now taking away, because their means are exhausted." I
was instantly about to desire the man to put down the bed, when prudence
whispered in my ear that I had just given all I possessed but a single
pound note. "No matter," thought I, taking out my purse, "poverty
cannot add to such affliction of the mind as mine is." Again I paused.
This lady has seen better days and must be treated with more delicacy.
I hastened towards her and, taking hold of her hand to place my bank
note in it, I whispered in her ear, my request, that she would do me
the favour to make use of the trifle, and without waiting her answer I
hurried on after the man, who was now disappearing with the poor woman's
mattress and bed-clothes, and desired him to return with them.
The next morning I was surprised by a visit from the Duke of Wellington,
who had unexpectedly arrived from the continent the night before.
"How do you do? what have you been about?" asked His Grace: then, fixing
his eyes on my pale, thin, care-worn face, he absolutely started, as
though he had seen the ghost of some man he had killed, honestly of
course!
"What the devil is the matter?" inquired Wellington.
"Something has affected me deeply," answered I, my eyes again filling
with tears, "and I have been ill for more than two months."
"Poor girl!" said Wellington, as though he really would have pitied me,
had he but known how, and then added, "I always dreaded your getting
into some scrape. Do you recollect I told you so? How much money do you
want?" said this man of sentiment, drawing near the table and taking up
my pen to write a draft.
"I have no money," I replied, "not a single shilling; but this is not
the cause of my sufferings."
"Nonsense, nonsense," rejoined Wellington, writing me a cheque. "Where
the devil is Argyle? Why do not you make him pay your debts? I will
give you what I can afford now, and you must write to me, as usual, at
Thomas's Hotel, if this is not sufficient. Good God! how thin you are
grown! Were you sorry I left you? I remember you shed tears when I told
you I was off for Spain. I am a cold sort of fellow. I dare say you
think so, and yet, I have not forgotten that either: because there is
no humbug about you; and, when you cry, you are sorry I believe. I have
thought of you very often in Spain; particularly one night, I remember,
I dreamed you came out on my staff."
Wellington consoled me as well as he could, and sat with me nearly three
hours. His visit made no impression on me, except that I was grateful
for his kindness in leaving me the money I wanted.
The oppression on my chest increased daily, and I became so reduced as
to excite the commiseration of a kind opposite neighbour, who sent over
her footman to know if the poor young creature she saw from her window,
and who appeared so very ill, had proper advice, and friends in town to
take care of her?
My grief seemed now to settle in deep despondency. I considered my late
intimacy with Ponsonby as unreal mockery, a bright vision of the fancy.
I believed that were he suddenly to appear again before me, I should
instantly expire. Dr. Bain, I know, believed that my symptoms bordered
on a decline and he wished me to try Italy.
In about a week I paid a second visit to Mrs. Butler, although my
trembling limbs could scarcely support me up the stairs of the prison;
and, when I entered, I was absolutely speechless with the effort for
nearly a quarter of an hour. Mrs. Butler was all gratitude; while
expressing the concern I believe she felt, lest I should injure myself
by venturing out in such a miserable state of health.
Observing in the room several women, who appeared to examine me with
perfect curiosity, I asked Mrs. Butler if she knew what it meant.
"Why," said Mrs. Butler, "that woman, whose bed they were taking away
from her when you noticed her last week, knows you, and has been
malicious enough to tell all the room that you are a mere kept mistress
with whom she should be ashamed to converse."
I threw on the stranger to whom I had given my very last pound a hasty
and indignant glance, but, neither the expression nor the colour of
anger would dwell on a cheek bloodless as mine, and I might apply to
myself, what Sterne said of his poor old monk, that nature had done with
its resentments.
"I never injured any of those women," reflected I, with meek
resignation: "but God will be kinder to me and to my errors than they
are!"
I offered all the little comforts in my power to Mrs. Butler, and then
my health obliged me to take my leave. As I passed close to the woman
into whose hands I had placed my pound-note, she smiled and curtsied
affectedly. I fixed my sunk eyes, for an instant on her face, and then
withdrew them, more in sorrow than in anger.
I lingered thus for about two months, without any visible change in my
health or spirits, except that I grew weaker and thinner every day. All
the kindness which could be administered to a mind diseased I received
from my mother and sister Fanny.
About this time the Duke of Argyle arrived from Scotland. He was, no
doubt, greatly shocked to see me so ill, although the cause of my
melancholy state of mind being known to him, did not either flatter or
interest him; more particularly as he had often himself remarked to me,
that he wondered any woman alive could resist Lord Ponsonby.
I had always liked Argyle, and was glad to see him, and should have
indeed found much consolation in his society, but that he loved to
trifle with my distress, as it regarded Lord Ponsonby.
"I have just dined with Ponsonby," said Argyle to me one night, "and
I never saw him look better. He showed me a letter, containing an
invitation from that nasty sister of yours, Amy, who wanted to have me
last year."
That way madness lies: I could not listen to another word. I was rushing
past Argyle, when he detained me, frightened at the wildness of my looks.
"It is all a joke you credulous little fool," said he, running after me.
"I cannot run," said I, turning round, and panting for breath. "Pray,
pray, leave me now. You torture me by staying. Come this evening, and I
shall thank you for your visit." It was long before I could induce him
to leave me.
The moment I was alone, I despatched the following note to Lord
Ponsonby.
"I thank you that you renounced my prayers; for you thus
cured me of half my esteem. It was my fixed determination never
to intrude myself again on your attention; but the Duke of Argyle
has mentioned to me this morning my sister Amy having written to
you. Once more then, Ponsonby, I implore you, as you would save
me from self-destruction, satisfy my wretched mind in what cannot
injure Lady Ponsonby. Declare to me--nobody has or shall....
Ponsonby, I am addressing you for the last time. Have mercy on the
dreadful agitation of my mind and answer me directly. You are quite
happy, Argyle says; and I in the very flower of my age am dying.
One line can relieve me perhaps from madness! Your watch, chain
and ring are sealed up. I could not look on them. I never shall
again. My poor eyes have looked their last on them and you; and I
shall never write to you again; therefore, God bless you. When age
shall overtake you, in some moment of affliction, perhaps you will
remember me and what I could have been to you. Adieu."
I despatched my letter almost without hope. "If he could resist the
other," thought I, "this is more stupid, and less likely to affect him."
The agitation Argyle's stay had occasioned produced an increase of
fever. Towards night I began to think seriously of dying, and not
without reason, being reduced to a mere skeleton, and having now been
afflicted with cough and extreme difficulty of respiration for almost
five months. There is a restlessness in all disorders of the mind,
which the sufferer imagines can be best relieved by exercise. About
nine o'clock, having read the New Testament for several hours, I felt
a strange desire to behold the outside of Lord Ponsonby's house once
again before I died. I had avoided passing within a mile of it since he
had left me, and this night I fancied something good would turn up from
going there, if I could but find strength to accomplish my design. To
have mentioned it to my housekeeper would have been at once to put it
out of the question. I really believe she would have locked me into my
room, while she had sent for my sister and Dr. Bain; therefore, getting
rid of her and of my footman, I gained a hackney-coach unobserved, and
was set down in Park Lane, very near Lord Ponsonby's house. It was a
fine mild evening, and the watchman was calling the hour of ten. I was
terribly afraid of him, and my breath failed me when I tried to hasten
out of his way. I wandered about till I could stand no longer, and,
with difficulty, contrived to obtain a seat on the steps of a large
portico-door.
The atmosphere now began to threaten rain, which soon fell in torrents.
A poor shivering girl sought shelter by my side. She was coughing most
dreadfully, and her breath was still more oppressed than my own. "That
cough," thought I, "is not feigned, and perhaps this wretched creature
is thus nightly exposed to the inclement weather, to obtain existence
by the prostitution of her person to unfeeling and drunken strangers:
and what am I, that I should turn my back on a sister in affliction?" I
immediately inquired of her why she left her home with such a dreadful
cough.
The poor creature turned her head towards me in much apparent surprise.
She was not beautiful, nor was she rouged, and her dress was rather neat
than tawdry. The set characters of death appeared to me to be stamped on
features which once had been very lovely.
"I have no home," was the poor girl's answer. "I had half a bed, till
last night," added she, "but you see what I suffer, and, therefore,
being unable to obtain a single shilling, they have turned me into the
streets."
"Dreadful! dreadful!" I ejaculated. "Good God! how could you ever
degrade yourself thus? What labour would not have been preferable at the
beginning!"
The poor creature interrupted me with loud sobs, which produced such a
dreadful fit of coughing, I thought that she would have expired on the
spot.
"Good heavens!" said I, "what is to be done? I am so very weak myself,
that I cannot help you or seek for a coach to carry us home; but, when
the watchman passes us, I will send him for one and take you with me,
and have you put into a warm bed and see you taken care of. When I
have done this, I do not think you will swear at me, or frighten me,
or ill-use me, will you?" added I, taking hold of her hand. "I am sure
you would not, you could not, nobody could if they knew but half how
wretched I am."
The poor creature fell on her knees before me, and strove in vain to
express her gratitude, with wild incoherency. I never saw any one thus
affected.
"My poor young woman," said I, exerting my strength to raise her, "you
must have met with very hard hearts to be thus surprised and overpowered
by a little common humanity towards a poor fellow creature in distress.
Pray be calm, that we may cure you and give you an opportunity of making
amends for your past life, by becoming a useful and respected member of
society."
Before I could contrive to get the poor creature placed in a
hackney-coach, which the watchman procured, she had fainted, and was
still insensible when, at past one in the morning, I arrived at my own
house.
My footman was at that instance setting off for my sister and Dr. Bain:
and my good housekeeper was in tears.
"Do not agitate me," said I, "with your questions and all this bustle; I
am too ill to endure them; but this distressed object, whom I have met
with by mere accident, is worse than I am and more in want of your care.
Never mind who or what she is; but pray get her to bed, and see that she
has all she requires. Tell her I wish that I could attend her myself;
but I am not able."
My good old servant, knowing well how contradiction always irritated me,
sent my housemaid to undress me, and hastened to obey my commands.
In about an hour she returned to acquaint me that the poor young girl
had fallen asleep, completely worn out with fatigue. "Poor soul!"
continued my housekeeper, "she is not long for this world, I fear; yet
she is as gentle as a lamb, and nothing like a vulgar or a bad word
comes out of her mouth."
My mind was a good deal relieved at this account of my protégée, and I
tried to compose myself to rest. It was not however till eight o'clock
in the morning that I could close my eyes; and at eleven I put on my
dressing-gown, and went to visit the poor invalid. By the first glance
on her emaciated countenance, I felt persuaded that nothing would save
her, though the poor young woman herself appeared very sanguine.
"If it should please God, my dear lady, to spare me a little longer,
you shall never, never have to regret your great goodness. I have not
long led this dreadful life. It is scarcely two years ago, since I
lived as nursery-maid in a respectable family, where I was a great
favourite. There, madam, I became acquainted with a young tradesman, who
professed a desire to make me his wife. We kept company for nearly a
twelvemonth. He always told me he thought it would be prudent to delay
our marriage from day to day, as he was in hourly expectation of the
arrival of his father, whose consent he was sure of obtaining, although
he should have to dread his displeasure, were he to marry me without it.
At last, I discovered by the merest accident that this man had a wife,
to whom he had been married four years, as well as three fine young
children. I immediately left my place to avoid meeting him again. My
mistress strongly recommended me to a friend of her own, as nurse to her
infant daughter; but grief preyed so on my mind, that I could not give
satisfaction in my situation.
"I was shortly afterwards afflicted with this terrible cough. To drown
the anguish of my mind I got into bad company, and, having lost my
character as well as my health, I have, for the last four months, been
reduced to eat the bread of sin.
"I have been vainly trying to get into one of the hospitals, but there
are no hopes of that," said the poor creature, her tears falling fast
down her pale cheeks, "for they say that mine is an incurable disorder
which they do not want to be troubled with."
"What unfeeling creatures," said I, "but do not fret, poor soul, or
despair. While there is life there is hope. If I cannot get you into a
hospital, where you shall have from me linen, tea, wine, and all you may
require, you shall be at least as well off in my house, so keep yourself
quiet. While I live and you do your duty you shall never want a friend;
and if we both die shortly, as may happen, let us hope that God will be
found an indulgent father, instead of a severe judge, and will receive
us into a better world."
The poor creature absolutely seemed to forget her own severe sufferings,
while endeavouring to think of what would best relieve mine.
In the course of the morning Dr. Bain prescribed for her, and promised
to bring me a letter for her admittance into St. George's Hospital.
On the next morning, when the poor creature was admitted into that
Institution, she fainted from excess of joy and gratitude.
Soon after the departure of my protégée, my servant brought me a letter,
by the twopenny post; the handwriting was Lord Ponsonby's. Gracious
heavens, how my heart beat! I could not open it. I kissed it a thousand
times, placed it next my heart--thought I should never have found
courage to read it, and when I did at last in fear and trembling, for I
had begun to doubt the probability of any good happening to me on earth,
it was as follows--very short, and not particularly sweet.
"Why, dearest, will you consider these things so seriously!
Upon my honour, upon my soul, I can say no, in reply to your
question: and you may tell the Duke of Argyle that he is mistaken
if he thinks me happy. Do you remember what I said to you at our
last meeting, and will you do me the justice to believe I did not
deceive you? Pray do.
"Adieu,
"PONSONBY."
"Does this man love me!" thought I, half wild with the delightful idea,
"and shall we not meet again? Impossible! As friends, at least, we must,
shall meet, or I will die in the attempt."
The letter gave me new life, I imagined myself cured. Gay visions of
departed happiness filled my imagination. I placed myself before the
glass, to contemplate the havoc which sickness and anxiety had made on
my features, and sighed heavily. "No matter!" vanity whispered, "I am
more interesting, though not half so brilliant"; and then I hoped he
would not love me less for the suffering his neglect had occasioned
me. This world, said I, is a blank without him. I have endeavoured and
prayed for tranquillity of mind in vain, during many long months, which
yet have brought me no consolation. Too well I know I must renounce him
as a lover; but for ever out of his sight I cannot exist, and longer
I will not. I will take him by surprise. I will wait for hours, days,
years at his door; but I will hear his voice once more. Shall I continue
to suffer thus for what his footmen, tradesmen and valet, enjoy freely
every day?
I, who would sign my own death-warrant but once again to kiss the dear
hand which inscribed this beautiful little note! What have I done so
very wicked, that I may not ever again behold him? I will wait at his
door every night that I can ascertain he is from home, and, the first
time he happens to return on foot, I cannot fail to see him; and one
word he must say to me, if it is but to order me home. Something like
the man, who boasted of having been addressed by the Emperor Bonaparte:
"What did he say to you?" somebody asked. "_Va t'en coquin,_" answered
this true Christian.
Well, then, to conclude, since I am sure my readers are growing as
tired of this dismal love-story as I am, I wandered nightly round Lord
Ponsonby's house, which I believe I have said was now at the corner of
Upper Brook Street, in Park Lane, for nearly a fortnight to no purpose.
He returned not before daylight, when I dared not show myself, or he
either came in his carriage, or had not left his house. The night air
so increased my cough, that, God knows where I found strength for these
wild nocturnal promenades; but love does wonders! I passed the whole day
coughing in bed, to obtain strength at least to die at his door: for I
had taken an oath to behold Ponsonby again or die in the attempt.
One night, dread of observation from the watchman, or insult from the
passing strangers, made me parade slowly, on the opposite side of the
street, before his house. The moon was shining beautifully, at near one
in the morning. A magnificent, tall, elegant man, habited in black,
turned hastily round the corner from Park Lane, and knocked loudly
at Ponsonby's door. Could I be mistaken? I felt in every drop of my
thrilling blood, and at the bottom of my heart, that it was Ponsonby,
almost before I had caught a glimpse of him; and, darting across the
street, with the light swiftness of former times, alas! _ils étaient
passés, ces jours de fêtes là_. A bar of iron across my chest seemed
to arrest my flight, and I was compelled to stand quite still for an
instant. That instant decided my fate. I obtained Ponsonby's dwelling as
the porter shut him out from my sight. The anguish of that moment I will
not attempt to describe.
My mouth immediately filled with blood. Whether this was the effect of
mental suffering, or whether I had done myself an internal injury by
over-exertion, I know not: nor do I scarcely recollect how I happened
to find myself in a hackney-coach. All I know for certain as to the
adventures of that miserable night, is that I opened my eyes at five
in the morning to behold Dr. Bain and a surgeon, who was binding up my
arm to bleed me, my sister Fanny, in tears, and the Duke of Argyle, who
stood at the foot of my bed, consulting with Dr. Bain. I know not why
the kind, scarlet fever attacked me, in the midst of all my troubles;
but that was the disorder under which I suffered.
I will not dwell on what I endured during a fortnight; indeed, as I was
so frequently delirious, I knew little about it.
At the end of that time, however, my life was despaired of; but, in a
few days, the disorder took a favourable turn and, after lingering six
weeks, during which I had full time to reflect on all the follies I had
indulged in, and having for more than a week been desired by Dr. Bain
to prepare my mind for death, my late passion assumed the character of
madness. I considered Ponsonby's conduct towards myself and his wife
as equally heartless, and undeserved by all I had suffered for him. I
earnestly prayed that he might hereafter make his lady amends for the
former neglect I had occasioned her. I no longer desired to see him.
"I have suffered too much," I often thought to myself, "and will not
dwell on the occasion of it lest I lose sight of that charitable spirit
towards all mankind in which I hope to die. Were he now in that room
waiting to see me, I should desire him to return to his home and leave
me to die in peace." I hoped that God would not be as deaf to his last
prayers as he had been to mine. I sent his watch, chain and ring to Amy,
to do exactly what she pleased with. I never mentioned Lord Ponsonby
but once during my last illness; it was addressing Fanny,--"If ever you
meet with him, after my death, tell him that I forgave him: and, for his
wife's sake, as well as for his own, I prayed that God would mend his
heart; but that I felt no desire to see him, or to take my final leave
of him."
During this severe illness, the Duke of Argyle was very attentive to
me. He was now the only man living for whom I felt the least interest.
My sister Amy knew this, as well as all my late suffering; yet I was
scarcely considered convalescent, when she made a desperate attack on
Argyle's heart, which he complained of to me in terms of strong disgust.
One night in particular before I had left my room, he came to me, after
the opera.
"I have had a narrow escape," said Argyle.
"From what?" I asked.
"A rape!" was his reply.
"Who then, in this land of plenty," said I, "is so very hard up?"
"Your sister Amy," returned Argyle. "She asked me to see her to a coach;
then insisted on setting me down,--drove me, _bongré, malgré_, to her
house; and would make me walk upstairs and sup with her. I was as
obstinate as a stoic. 'Why, where are you going?' inquired your sister
Amy? 'To a sick relation of yours,' was my answer; at which Amy looked
like a fury, as she wished me a good night."
"How you abuse her," said I. "Really you seem to have entirely forgotten
our relationship."
"Why," added Argyle, "she sets me the example."
I fought Amy's battles as long and as earnestly as though she had really
loved me, assuring Argyle that she was not bold and had been kind to but
very few lovers.
Argyle, no doubt from all I said, began to think he had made a valuable
conquest, and, rather than the poor thing should die, and appear at
his bed-side afterwards, like unfortunate Miss Bailey, I suppose he
determined to look at her again the next time he met her.
At that period, I believe he could have attached himself to me very
sincerely; more so than formerly. His old friend, Lady W----, was in a
very bad state of health, and was not expected to live. Argyle lamented
the prospect of her loss, with real friendship, and would have found
consolation in my society, but for my late desperate passion for
another, which however I should soon have overcome, now that all was
still and calm and quiet about the region of my heart. This calm was
heaven to a poor wretch who had undergone so much mental suffering. I
could not account for it; or rather, I could still less account for all
my former misery.
As soon as I was able to converse, I inquired after my poor protégée,
at St. George's Hospital. My housekeeper informed me, that she still
lingered in a very hopeless state. The idea of dying without seeing me
again appeared to affect her much. I desired my housekeeper to carry her
everything she wanted, and to assure her that my very first visit should
be to her, the moment Dr. Bain would permit me to leave the house. That
very kind friend had so reasoned with me, about the sin and folly of
trifling as I had done hitherto with the blessings of health, that I
had passed my word to obey him in everything, on pain of incurring his
lasting displeasure.
On the very first day I received permission to go out, while my carriage
was waiting at the door, I was shocked by a most melancholy scene. The
poor young creature from St. George's Hospital, having resisted the
persuasions and threats of the matrons, declaring that she would see me
before she died, drove up to my door in a hackney-coach literally in
the agonies of death! My landlord, who had just called for his rent,
hearing from my servants that a dying woman was come to me from the
hospital, declared that she should not enter his house. What was to be
done? We were all women and could not contend. My footman would have had
her brought in by force; but force was the very thing in which the most
particlerst man as is was most deficient. The poor creature held out her
hands, entreating me for the love of God not to send her away from me
in her last moments. The scene was indeed disgraceful to humanity and
I was very much affected by it; but how could I help it? The landlord
insisted she should not come in. There was no time to be lost, she must
go to the workhouse.
"We will lose no time in contention with this unfeeling wretch," said I,
"but I will go with you to the workhouse, and nurse you."
"God bless you! God bless you!" exclaimed the poor dying creature,
faintly. "I am not afraid of dying, while you are with me."
I will not dwell on a scene, which even at this distant period I cannot
remember without shuddering. In less than an hour after my poor protégée
was placed on a miserable couch in Marylebone workhouse, she expired in
my arms, earnestly and piously recommending her soul to God....
My health suffered much from this shock, and it was more than a week
after the poor girl's death before I could again venture to leave the
house. My sister Fanny at last prevailed on me to go and pass the day
with her. There I met Julia, who had forgotten her constant swain,
Colonel Cotton, though he still appeared to adore her. She had fallen
madly in love with Sir Harry Mildmay, who, for a short time, seemed to
return her passion and was really attentive to her, till somebody at
Melton Mowbray asked him one day what the deuce he was doing with an
old woman who might be his mother! All the love Mildmay ever felt for
any daughter of Eve originated in vanity, and was fed and nourished by
vanity, therefore, I need not add, that he cut Julia from that hour, and
from that hour Julia's passion for him regularly increased; although it
was unmixed or unpurified by the least atom of affection.
I inquired after Sophia, who had not been permitted to visit me because
the scarlet fever was considered infectious. She was still living in the
shabby, confined lodging Deerhurst had provided for her, and Deerhurst
also continued to provide her with currant wine and raisin wine! He saw
but little of her, and the less the better for the taste of Sophia, who
declared that water was by no means an indispensable requisite at that
nobleman's toilette. In short he was as much afraid of it as though he
had been bitten by a mad dog.
I desire to know who consoled her for Deerhurst's dirtiness, and
Deerhurst's neglect, and was told by Fanny that Colonel Berkeley tried
hard to make himself agreeable, to which Julia added, "He is there from
morning till night."
"And how does Sophia like him?"
"She dislikes him particularly. Henry De Roos is less disagreeable to
her, I believe; but Sophia does not trouble her head for an instant
about any man; only she really does wish that Deerhurst would wash
himself a little more, and in particular his head."
Fanny went on to say that somebody told him what Sophia said on the
subject, and Deerhurst, having accused her of circulating these stories
out of school, asked her if he was not remarkably nice in his person.
"I think so," Sophia answered, "very nice indeed, I always said so."
Being still very weak I left them early in the evening, and, passing by
Amy's door on my road home, I observed a carriage waiting, very like
the Duke of Argyle's. I could not possibly be in love with Argyle that
was very certain. I had of late given too many absurd proofs of love
for another; and yet I had never ceased to admire and like him. He had
lately been my sole friend, and his attention had promoted my recovery.
In short, my nerves had undergone a shock, which to this day I have not
recovered, nor ever have I enjoyed nor shall I, most probably, enjoy
another hour's health.
At that time a mere nothing affected me. I hastily pulled the
check-string and requested my servant to inquire of the coachman
if that was really the equipage of His Grace. He was answered in
the affirmative. I am ashamed to confess how much and how long this
circumstance affected me. It was painful to my heart to acknowledge
a sister so unnatural, and it caused another relapse. Amy heard the
occasion of it and, sporting fine feelings, one fine morning after
having by my kind recommendation lived with Argyle more than a month and
become pregnant by him, she came suddenly into my room and, observing my
deathlike aspect, began to blubber downright.
Hypocrisy was very disgusting to me. I had, in full, warm, sisterly
confidence introduced her to the duke and praised her to him, till I
changed his disgust into something like partiality: dressed her up in
my own elegant clothes, because hers were always as shabby as they were
showy, in the style of her black-pudding dinners and champagne suppers:
and she intruded herself into my house, warm from the embraces of my
lover, to show off tenderness! I experienced a sudden fit of rage almost
amounting to madness.
"You disgusting, deceitful creature!" I exclaimed, locking her in my
room and taking out the key, "since you have forced your company on me
you shall repent it." I then looked round for some instrument to execute
vengeance!
Readers, can you conceive anything half so monstrous, half so ruinous to
black-pudding men, so destructive to the rising generation?
I was just thinking about killing her!
Amy opened the window, and called out to a boy in the street, that a
wicked woman who was no better than she should be had locked her in.
"I shouldn't wonder," answered the boy, laughing and running away, "a
pair of you, no doubt!"
I, by this time, was heartily ashamed of having been thus surprised into
temporary madness, owing to the extreme irritability of my nerves.
"Go out of the house," said I, "for God's sake; there is something too
indelicate and disgusting in your pity. You are very welcome to live
with Argyle, if you can endure the idea. I certainly felt the loss of a
friend, in my present low nervous state; but His Grace knows well that
I have been in love with another for the last three years, one on whom
your soft circular effusions made not the slightest impression, unless
of disgust."
I hastened out of the room and locked myself in my bed-chamber. Amy's
visit, I afterwards found, was in consequence of the anxiety Argyle had
expressed concerning my health, and Amy guessed that she must show off
sisterly affection, or Argyle would dislike her!
The next day Argyle visited me. He was very melancholy, and had scarcely
shaved since Lady W----'s death, which had lately taken place. He
reminded me that, when he dearly loved me, I never _gênée'd_ myself or
him; that he was now unhappy and could have devoted himself to me; but
that he saw no hopes of a steady return.
"Yes! but then a sister!" said I; "the idea to me is so disgusting--but
do not let us dwell on it, I forgive anything in your conduct which
has caused me pain, and destroyed the possibility of our ever being
more than friends for the rest of our lives:--and yet I trust we shall
never be less. A very trifle affects me now; so do not be too vain, nor
attribute to sentiment what is due to the scarlet fever. You believed
me incapable of steady regard; because I did not fix my undivided
affections on you, after I had learned, from your own letter, now in my
possession, that you could not be wholly mine. Is that fair, or rather
are not you a terrible coxcomb, master Argyle?
"Apropos, for here must end all sentiment between us, so, to talk of
something else, Mr. Colman accuses you of having cut him dead in the
Park yesterday when he bowed to you."
"What a vulgar fellow!" Argyle remarked.
"Why vulgar?"
"It is a vulgar idea, and one which certainly never occurred to me; not
because I happen to be Duke of Argyle; for a private gentleman's rank
in society is the same as mine; therefore what right have I to cut him?
or what right would any duke have to cut a private gentleman? If a man
does not return my bow I take it for granted he is absent, or not in the
humour, or thinking of something else. Tell Mr. Colman he is an ass, my
dear pretty----"
"Argyle!" interrupted I, "no more dear prettys, if you please. I have
left off being pretty; but thank God I am heartwhole, and propose
remaining so to the end of my natural life. Nevertheless, whatever the
cause may be, I am truly sorry to see you so changed, and so melancholy."
"Thank you," returned Argyle, sighing. "Then oblige me, and don't tell
anybody in the world that I am unhappy."
His Grace seemed to leave me with regret. I did not invite him to repeat
his visit.
My health soon after this began to improve rapidly. My late fever seemed
to have carried away all the oppression on my chest, except what was the
mere effect of debility.
I took an early opportunity of paying Sophia a visit, and I had scarcely
time to inquire after that young lady's _petite société_, before Colonel
Berkeley was announced. It was in the evening, at about eight o'clock.
He was very lively and agreeable, which I think was generally the case
with him. The man bears an indifferent character and, perhaps, with some
reason; but I have always seen him pleasant, and I never knew or heard
of his breaking his word. His fancy for Sophia did not prevent his being
polite and attentive to me, as often happens with ill-bred young men of
the present day.
In less than half an hour after Colonel Berkeley's arrival in bounced
Lord Deerhurst, in an agony of tears!
"Oh Sophy! Sophy!" exclaimed his lordship, blubbering and wiping his
eyes with a very dirty, little, old, red pocket-handkerchief--"Oh Sophy,
I never thought you would have used me in this way!"
Sophy declared herself innocent, which was indeed the fact as far as
regarded Colonel Berkeley.
"I cannot bear it," continued Deerhurst, rushing out of the room, like
the strolling representative of a tragic king in a barn, and, seating
himself on the stairs, near the street-door, to sob and blubber more at
his ease.
Colonel Berkeley looked at his lordship in utter astonishment,
exclaiming, "My good fellow, what the devil is the matter?"
"Why! did you not--" he paused.
"Did he not what?" I asked.
"Oh, Lord! oh, dear!" roared out Deerhurst.
"Don't take on so, my lord," interposed Sophia's fat landlady, offering
his lordship a glass of water.
Deerhurst accepted it with apparent gratitude, as though quite subdued.
"Could you have believed it, madam?" said he. "Did you believe that
young creature was so depraved?"
"What do you mean by depraved?" I asked. "Why I can answer for it,
Sophia has never given Colonel Berkeley the slightest encouragement, and
beyond a mere yes or no she never opens her lips to him."
"Oh! don't tell me! don't tell me!" still blubbered his lordship, the
big tears rolling down his cheeks.
"This is incredibly astonishing!" ejaculated Colonel Berkeley, in a very
natural tone of surprise.
"What is incredibly astonishing?" I asked. "I am determined to
understand this. In fact, I think I have guessed already. Lord
Deerhurst, by the restoration of his annuity, will put two hundred
pounds a year into his pocket on Sophia's first act of infidelity. You
are his friend, and have done nothing but express your astonishment at
his lordship's tears and apparent jealousy ever since he came blubbering
into the room; therefore, since his arrival so quickly succeeded
yours, I will lay my life you two desperate _mauvais sujets_ came here
together!"
"Nonsense!" replied Colonel Berkeley, laughing.
"I am now sure of it," added I.
Colonel Berkeley slily nodded assent to my remark.
Deerhurst was smelling a bottle of hartshorn, which Sophia's landlady
held fast to the end of his nose. Berkeley addressed Sophia in a
whisper. Deerhurst jumped up like a madman, and was leaving the room.
"My good fellow," said the colonel, taking Lord Deerhurst by the arm,
for this excellent acting had really deceived even Berkeley himself,
whom his lordship had brought to Sophia's door in his own carriage for
the express purpose of taking her off his hands, "if you really are
annoyed at my visit, if you have changed your mind--only say so, and I
give you my word I will not call on Sophia again. Be a man! don't make
this noise and bellowing; but tell me frankly what you wish. You and I
are old friends."
Deerhurst said that his feelings were wounded and his heartstrings
cracked; therefore he must go home and get them mended: and he darted
out of the house.
"What the deuce can all this mean?" said Berkeley. "The man really is
unhappy. I must go after him."
"Take me with you," I said, "just to gratify my curiosity."
"With all my heart," replied Berkeley, "if my carriage is at the door."
"Did not you drive here in it?"
"No," whispered he, "Deerhurst brought me with him, and I desired my
coachman to follow, with my _vis-à-vis._"
We found it at the door, and were set down at Lord Deerhurst's house in
Half Moon Street.
We were shown into the drawing-room, where, after waiting about five
minutes, his lordship half-opened the door of his bedroom, which was the
one adjoining, and showed us such a merry looking face, _qu'il n'était
plus réconnaissable._
"Glad to see you both," said his lordship, wiping his hands with a
very dirty towel. "Will you come in? But you must excuse the disorder.
You know it is a mere bachelor's room," continued he, lighting a
long tallow-candle by a short piece, which was burning in a broken
candlestick.
"Why don't you ride and tye regularly with your two muttons," said I,
"when you want to be economical? and then no one would know they had
not been allowed to burn on together with an equal flame like you and
Sophia."
"Oh Lord!" said Deerhurst, laughing, "I can't cry any more at this
moment, for I have just washed my face."
"But seriously," Colonel Berkeley observed, "I have followed you
because, upon my soul, I do not understand you. I want to know whether
my attentions to Sophia are really disagreeable; for I don't see how a
man could command so many tears to flow at pleasure."
"Oh! there was a boy at Westminster could cry a great deal better than I
can," said Deerhurst.
"I won't believe you," retorted Berkeley, laughing, "unless you'll sit
down on that chair and favour me with another cry: and first ring for
some proper candles, will you? How came those stinking butchers' candles
in your room?"
"Bachelor, you know, bachelor!" said Deerhurst, grinning.
"What the devil has that to do with it?" exclaimed Berkeley.
Deerhurst excused himself, declaring that tears, even sham ones, must be
spontaneous: "And yet," said he, sinking into an arm-chair, and again
taking out the selfsame dirty, little, red, calico pocket-handkerchief,
"and yet, though I appear a wild, profligate, hardened young man, I
never think of that sweet girl Sophia without its bringing tears into my
eyes:" and he blubbered aloud, and again the big tears rolled down his
cheeks.
"This would melt a heart of stone," I observed, putting on my cloak, "so
I am off."
"What! won't you have any more?" said Deerhurst, jumping up and
laughing.
"Capital!" exclaimed Berkeley, taking up his hat.
"Why, you are not going to trust yourself in that rake's carriage
alone?" said Deerhurst to me.
"I am afraid there is no danger," answered I.
"Some of the most virtuous ladies in England have been attacked by the
gay colonel until they have called out murder; and two of them lost
their diamond brooches coming from the Opera, before they could get hold
of the check-string----"
"Or cry out, stop thief!" added I. "For my part I have more reasons than
one for believing the colonel to be very harmless in a carriage, or I
should not have ventured. I, too, have heard of his gallant feats of
prowess in chariots and _vis-à-vis!_ but I will tell you a story:--There
was a pretty, elegant Frenchwoman joined my party one night after the
Opera, and explained to me the mere accident which threw her on my
charity for a safe conveyance home. I had already Fanny, Julia, and
little Fanny, as we called my young niece, to carry home, and only a
chariot. What was to be done? The rain fell in torrents. It was on a
Tuesday night, and there was nobody in the round room that anybody knew,
as that fool of a Brummell used to say, except Colonel Berkeley, who
joined us immediately. In spite of the most prolific account I had heard
of the gay colonel, I considered my friend old enough to take care of
herself: and, as to sending her three miles in such a costume, at such
an hour, and in such weather, the thing was out of the question: so I
told Berkeley that I must intrude on his politeness to set my friend
down. 'To oblige you, with great pleasure,' was his prompt reply, before
he had even looked in the face of the young Frenchwoman, to whom I
presented him, when he assured her his coachman waited for her commands.
"The next morning I made it a point to call and inquire after
madame's health. She thanked me for having procured her so polite an
acquaintance. 'I hope he was polite,' said I, 'for, to tell you the
truth, I very unwillingly placed you under his protection.' 'Why?'
asked my friend. 'To be frank with you,' I replied, 'Colonel Berkeley
is said to be such a terrible fellow that no woman can safely remain a
single instant _tête-à-tête_ with him, particularly in a carriage. I
understand he attacks both old and young, virtuous and wicked, handsome
and ugly, maid, wife and widow.'
"'And sal I be de only exception?' asked the Frenchwoman, in real dismay.
"'What then,' I inquired, in astonishment, 'are you sorry he was not
impudent to you?' 'I do not conceive what you have told me, impudence,'
continued the Frenchwoman, '_nous prenons cela autrement, en France_.
De only impudence vat I sal never forgive, is dat Colonel Berkeley have
presumed to make me de exception and, if I ever meet him in de street,
_je lui cracherai au nez._'
"'_Non pas! non pas!_' rejoined I, 'you are too pretty to have been an
exception. It is a mere false character they have given the colonel,
or may be he set it about himself. For my part, I will take the first
opportunity of getting into his carriage, in order to convince you of
another exception, that you may hold up your head with the best of us.'"
This night has already proved I was right.
"Oh, Lord, what a falling off is here!" said Deerhurst to Berkeley.
"I had no desire for your Frenchwoman," replied the colonel, "and, as
for you, if you would not fall in love with me some time ago, when I was
your very humble servant, what chance had I after you had seen me making
love to Sophia? Besides my poor brother Augustus is going mad for you,
Harriette, and, apropos of him, you really treat him very ill."
"I mean to have that young gentleman confined to a madhouse," said I,
"if he conducts himself in such a strange way again as he did last
Saturday; throwing himself on his knees in my box, and acting his
Cheltenham-tragedies at the opera."
"He is very handsome," Deerhurst observed.
"A mere ruffian!" I retorted.
"Do not be so severe on poor Augustus," said Colonel Berkeley, who was
always the most affectionate brother I ever met with in my life. "He
is a sailor, you know, and upon my honour he is very fond of you. I
want you and Sophia to favour me with your company to dine at Richmond
on Monday, and, if you will trust yourself to my care, I will drive my
barouche."
"Willingly," answered I.
"But this is not all," continued the Colonel. "I am commissioned to
intercede for Augustus."
"I am off then," said I, "for your brother is much too rude for my
present state of health, and would I know tease me into a fever."
"Upon my word," said Berkeley, "I can make him do just what I please,
and I have only interceded for him after receiving his promise not to
say or do anything that can possibly offend."
The engagement was concluded for Monday, and Deerhurst begged to be of
our party.
"No more of your rural fighting parties for me," I hastily observed,
"and I neither like eggs and bacon nor pot-houses to eat my dinner in."
"No!" said Berkeley, laughing heartily, "did he really give you eggs and
bacon for dinner?"
"And in the dog-days too!" continued I.
We then took our leave, and Colonel Berkeley set me down at my own door
in perfect safety.