“Who would prize the tainted posies,
Which on ev’ry breast are worn?
Who could pluck the spotless roses
From their never touched thorn?”
The feeling expressed in these lines will be acknowledged by every man
of sense and delicacy. “No such man ever prized a heart much hackneyed
in the ways of love.” It was with exquisite pain that Count Altenberg
had heard all that had been said of Caroline--he did not give credit
to half the insinuations--he despised those who made them: he knew
that some of the ladies spoke from envy, others from the mere love of
scandal; but still, altogether, an impression unfavourable to Caroline,
or rather unfavourable to his passion for Caroline, was left on his
mind. The idea that she had been suspected, the certainty that she had
been talked of, that she had even been named as one who had coquetted
with many admirers--the notion that she had been in love--passionately
in love--all this took from the freshness, the virgin modesty, the
dignity, the charm, with which she had appeared to his imagination, and
without which she could not have touched his heart--a heart not to be
easily won.
In his own country, at the court where he resided, in the different
parts of the continent which he had visited, Germany, Poland,
Switzerland, France, he had seen women celebrated for beauty and
for wit, many of the most polished manners, many of the highest
accomplishments, some of exquisite sensibility, a few with genuine
simplicity of character, but in all there had been something which had
prevented his wishing to make any one of them the companion of his life.
In some there was a want of good temper--in others of good sense; there
was some false taste for admiration or for notoriety--some love of
pleasure, or some love of sway, inconsistent with his idea of the
perfection of the female character, incompatible with his plans of life,
and with his notions of love and happiness.
In England, where education, institutions, opinion, manners, the habits
of society, and of domestic life, happily combine to give the just
proportion of all that is attractive, useful, ornamental, and amiable to
the female character--in England, Count Altenberg had hopes of finding a
woman who, to the noble simplicity of character that was once the charm
of Switzerland, joined the polish, the elegance, that was once the
pride of France; a woman possessing an enlarged, cultivated, embellished
understanding, capable of comprehending all his views as a politician
and a statesman; yet without any wish for power, or love of political
intrigue. Graced with knowledge and taste for literature and science,
capable of being extended to the highest point of excellence, yet free
from all pedantry, or pretension--with wit, conversational talents, and
love of good society, without that desire of exhibition, that devouring
diseased appetite for admiration, which preys upon the mind insatiably,
to its torture--to its destruction; without that undefineable,
untranslateable French love of _succès de société_, which substitutes
a precarious; factitious, intoxicated existence in public, for the safe
self-approbation, the sober, the permanent happiness of domestic life.
In England Count Altenberg hoped to find a woman raised by “divine
philosophy” [Footnote: Milton.] far above all illiberal prejudice, but
preserving a just and becoming sense of religion; unobtrusive, mild,
and yet firm. Every thing that he had seen of Caroline had confirmed his
first hope, and exalted his future expectation; but, by what he had
just heard, his imagination was checked in full career, suddenly, and
painfully. His heavenly dream was disturbed by earthly voices--voices
of malignant spirits--mysterious--indistinct--yet alarming. He had not
conceived it possible that the breath of blame could approach such a
character as Caroline’s--he was struck with surprise, and shocked, on
hearing her name profaned by common scandal, and spoken of as the victim
of a disappointed passion, the scorn of one of the most distinguished
families in England. Such were the first painful thoughts and feelings
of Count Altenberg. At the time he heard the whispers which gave rise to
them, he had been actually penning a letter to his father, declaring his
attachment--he now resolved not to write. But he determined to satisfy
himself as to the truth or falsehood of these reports. He was not a man
to give ear lightly to calumny--he detested its baseness; he would not
suffer himself for a moment to brood over suspicion, nor yet would
he allow himself for present ease and pleasure to gloss over, without
examination, that which might afterwards recur to his mind, and might
create future unjust or unhappy jealousy. Either the object of his hopes
was worthy of him, or not--if not worthy, better tear her from his heart
for ever. This determined him to go immediately to Mrs. Hungerford’s.
Count Altenberg trusted to his own address and penetration for
discovering all he wished to know, without betraying any peculiar
interest in the subject.
The first sight of Mrs. Hungerford, the gracious dignity of her
appearance and manners, the first five minutes’ conversation he had
with her, decided him in the opinion, that common report had done her
justice; and raised in his mind extreme anxiety to know her opinion of
Caroline. But, though he began the history of Zara, and of the play at
Falconer-court, for the express purpose of introducing the Percys, in
speaking of the company who had been present, yet, conscious of some
unusual emotion when he was going to pronounce that name, and fancying
some meaning in Mrs. Hungerford’s great attention as he spoke, he
mentioned almost every other guest, even the most insignificant, without
speaking of Caroline, or of any of her family. He went back to his
friend Colonel Hungerford. Mrs. Hungerford opened a letter-case, and
took from it the last letter she had received from her son since he
left England, containing some interesting particulars.--Towards the
conclusion of the letter, the writing changed to a small feminine hand,
and all India vanished from the view of Count Altenberg, for, as he
turned the page, he saw the name of Caroline Percy: “I suppose I ought
to stop here,” said he, offering the letter to Mrs. Hungerford. “No,”
she replied, the whole letter was at his service--they were only a few
lines from her daughter Lady Elizabeth.
These few lines mentioned Caroline Percy among the dear and intimate
friends whom she regretted most in Europe, and to whom she sent a
message expressive of the warmest affection and esteem. A glow of joy
instantly diffused itself over his whole frame. As far as related to
Colonel Hungerford, he was sure that all he had heard was false. There
was little probability that his wife should, if those circumstances were
true, be Caroline’s most intimate friend. Before these thoughts had well
arranged themselves in his head, a pleasing, sprightly young lady came
into the room, who he at first thought was Mrs. Hungerford’s daughter;
but she was too young to answer exactly the description of Mrs.
Mortimer.
“Lady Mary Pembroke, my niece,” said Mrs. Hungerford.
Her ladyship was followed by Mr. Barclay--Count Altenberg seemed in
a fair way to have all his doubts satisfied; but, in the hurry of his
mind, he had almost forgotten to ask for Mrs. Mortimer.
“You will not see her to-day,” said Mrs. Hungerford; “she is gone to see
some friends, who live at distance too great for a morning visit. But
I hope,” continued Mrs. Hungerford, turning to Lady Mary, “that my
daughter will make me amends for losing a day of her company, by
bringing me our dear Caroline to-morrow.”
“Is there a chance of Caroline’s coming to us?” cried Lady Mary with
affectionate eagerness.
“Is there any hope of our seeing Miss Caroline Percy?” said Mr. Barclay,
with an air of respectful regard, very different from what must have
been the feelings of a man who had trifled with a woman, or who had
thought that she had trifled with him.
Count Altenberg rejoiced that he had come without a moment’s delay to
Hungerford Castle.
“You are really a good creature, my dear,” continued Mrs. Hungerford
to Lady Mary, “for being so anxious to have Caroline here--many a niece
might be jealous of my affection, for certainly I love her as well as
if she were my own child. To-morrow, sir,” said she, turning to Count
Altenberg, “I hope I shall have the pleasure to introduce you to this
young friend of ours: I shall feel proud to show her to a foreigner,
whom I wish to prepossess in favour of my countrywomen.”
The Count said that he had already had the honour of being presented to
Miss Caroline Percy--that he had seen her frequently at Falconer-court,
and at her own home--and that he was not surprised at the interest which
she excited at Hungerford Castle. Count Altenberg showed the interest
she had excited in his own mind, whilst he pronounced, in the most sober
manner in his power, those few words.
Mrs. Hungerford perceived it, nor had it escaped her observation,
that he had forborne to mention the name of Percy when enumerating the
persons he had met at Falconer-court. She was both too well bred in
general, and too discreet on Caroline’s account, to take any notice
of this circumstance. She passed immediately and easily to a different
subject of conversation.
The next day Mrs. Mortimer returned with Caroline. The Count saw the
affection with which she was embraced by Mrs. Hungerford. The family had
crowded to the door of the antechamber to receive her, so that Caroline,
encompassed with friends, could not immediately see the Count, and he
enjoyed these moments so exquisitely, that the idea which had previously
engrossed all his soul, anxiety to see how she would look on meeting him
thus unexpectedly, was absolutely forgotten. When the crowd opened, and
Mrs. Hungerford led her forward, a smile of frank surprise and pleasure
appeared on her countenance upon seeing Count Altenberg; but her colour
had been previously so much raised, and so much pleasure had sparkled
in her eyes, that there was no judging what share of emotion was to be
attributed to this surprise. He was, and he had reason to be, satisfied
with perceiving, that in the midst of the first pleasure of meeting
intimate friends, and when she did not expect to meet any but friends,
she was not chilled by the sight of one who was, to her, as yet but a
new acquaintance.
After introducing Count Altenberg to Mrs. Mortimer, Mrs. Hungerford
said, “Till I had my daughter and all my friends in full force about
me, I prudently did not make any attempt, Count Altenberg, upon your
liberty; but now that you see my resources, I trust you will surrender
yourself, without difficulty, my prisoner, as long as we can possibly
detain you in this castle.”
Never was man less disposed to refuse an invitation than Count Altenberg
at this moment. He wrote to Mrs. Falconer immediately that farewell note
which had shocked Miss Georgiana so much.
As Lord Oldborough was preparing to return to town, and likely to be
engrossed by ministerial business, his lordship, with less reluctance,
relinquished his company; and the Count, with infinite satisfaction,
found himself established at once upon a footing of intimacy at
Hungerford Castle. The letter he had intended to write to his father was
now written and sent; but it was expressed in yet stronger terms than
he had originally designed--he concluded by conjuring his father, as
he valued the happiness of his son, not to take a step in any of the
treaties of marriage that had been planned for him, and besought him to
write as soon as it was possible, to relieve his mind from suspense,
and to set him at liberty to declare his attachment, if, upon further
acquaintance with the English lady who had touched his heart, he should
feel any hope of making such an impression on her affections as could
induce her to make for him the great sacrifice of country, family, and
friends. In the mean time, the hours and days passed on most happily
at Hungerford Castle. Every succeeding day discovered to him some
new excellence in the object of his affection. Mrs. Hungerford, with
judicious, delicate kindness, forbore all attempts to display even those
qualities and talents in Caroline which she most valued, certain that
she might safely leave them to the discernment of her lover. That Count
Altenberg loved, Mrs. Hungerford had too much penetration to doubt; and
it rejoiced her heart, and satisfied all her hopes, to see a prospect of
her young friend being united to such a man. Mrs. Mortimer felt as much
joy and as much delicacy upon the subject as her mother showed.
In that near examination in domestic life, so dangerous to many women of
the highest pretensions, Caroline shone superior. His love, approved by
the whole strength of his reason, and exalted by the natural enthusiasm
of his temper, was now at the highest. His impatience was extreme for
the arrival of that answer to his letter, which he hoped would set him
at liberty to declare his passion.
The letter at last arrived; very different were its contents from what
he had hoped. A previous letter from his father to him, sent in a packet
with government despatches by Mr. Cunningham Falconer, had not reached
him. That letter, of which his father now sent him a copy, contained
an account of the steps which had been taken, relative to a treaty of
marriage between his son and the Countess Christina, a lady of high
birth, beauty, and talents, who had lately appeared for the first time
at that court. Count Altenberg’s father described the countess as one
who, he was sure, must charm his son; and as the alliance was eagerly
desired by the lady’s friends, and in every respect honourable for his
whole family, the old Count was impatient to have the affair concluded.
Receiving no answer to this letter, and pressed by circumstances, he had
gone forward in his son’s name with the treaty, and had pledged him so
far, that there was now, he declared, no possibility of retracting with
honour. He lamented that his son should, in the mean time, have taken
a fancy to an English lady; but, as Count Albert’s letter gave the
assurance to his family that he would not take any decisive step till he
should receive an answer, nothing could have been done in England
that would commit his honour--absence would soon efface a transient
impression--the advantages of the alliance proposed in his own country
would appear stronger the more they should be examined--the charms of
the Countess Christina, with her superior understanding, would have an
irresistible effect; “and,” concluded the old count, “I beseech you,
my dear Albert, as your friend--I will say more--_I command you as your
father_, return to your own country as soon as you can obtain passports
after receiving this letter.”
Count Altenberg would have left Hungerford Castle immediately, but he
had still a lingering hope that his last letter to his father would
produce a change in his mind, and for an answer to this he determined
to wait; but a sudden change appeared in his manner: he was grave and
absent; instead of seeking Caroline’s company and conversation as usual,
he studiously avoided her; and when he did speak to her, his behaviour
was so cold and reserved--so unlike his natural or his former manner,
that the difference struck not only Caroline herself, but Rosamond and
Mrs. Percy, who were, at this time, at Hungerford Castle. It happened
that, on the very day, and nearly at the very hour, when Count Altenberg
received this letter from his father, of which no one knew any thing but
himself, there arrived at Hungerford Castle another of Mrs. Hungerford’s
nieces, a young lady of uncommon beauty, and of the most attractive
and elegant manners, Lady Florence Pembroke. She was just returned
from Italy with an uncle, who had resided there for some time. Count
Altenberg, from the moment he was introduced to Lady Florence, devoted
to her his whole attention--he sat beside her--whenever he conversed,
his conversation was addressed to her; and the evident absence of mind
he occasionally betrayed, and all the change in his manner, seemed to
have been caused by her ladyship’s appearance. Some sage philosophers
know little more of cause and effect than that the one precedes the
other; no wonder then that Rosamond, not famous for the accuracy of
her reasoning, should, in this instance, be misled by appearances.
To support her character for prudence, she determined not to seem to
observe what passed, and not to mention her suspicions to her sister;
who, as she remarked, was sensible of the count’s altered manner; and
who, as she rightly conjectured, did not perceive it with indifference.
The accomplishments, good sense, and exalted sentiments of Count
Altenberg, and the marked attentions he had paid her, had made an
unusual impression on the mind of Caroline. He had never declared his
love, but involuntarily it had betrayed itself on several occasions.
Insensibly Caroline was thus led to feel for him more than she dared to
avow even to herself, when the sudden change in his manner awakened her
from this delightful forgetfulness of every object that was unconnected
with her new feelings, and suddenly arrested her steps as she seemed
entering the paradise of love and hope.
At night, when they were retiring to rest, and Caroline and Rosamond
were in their mother’s room, Rosamond, unable longer to keep her prudent
silence, gave vent to her indignation against Count Altenberg in
general reflections upon the fickleness of man. Even men of the best
understanding were, she said, but children of a larger growth--pleased
with change--preferring always the newest to the fairest, or the best.
Caroline did not accede to these accusations.
Rosamond, astonished and provoked, exclaimed, “Is it possible that you
are so blind as not to see that Count Altenberg--” Rosamond stopped
short, for she saw Caroline’s colour change. She stood beside her mother
motionless, and with her eyes fixed on the ground. Rosamond moved a
chair towards her.
“Sit down, my dear love,” said her mother, tenderly taking Caroline’s
hand--“sit down and compose yourself.”
“My dear mother, you required one, and but one promise from me--I gave
it you, firmly intending to keep it; and yet I fear that you will think
I have broken it. I promised to tell you whenever I felt the first
symptom of preference for any person. I did not know my own mind till
this day. Indeed I thought I felt nothing but what every body else
expressed, esteem and admiration.”
“In common minds,” replied Mrs. Percy, “esteem and admiration may be
very safely distant from love; but in such a mind as yours, Caroline,
the step from perfect esteem to love is dangerously near--scarcely
perceptible.”
“Why dangerously?” cried Rosamond: “why should not perfect love follow
perfect esteem? that is the very thing I desire for Caroline. I am sure
he _is_ attached to her, and he is all we could wish for her, and--”
“Stop!” cried Caroline. “Oh! my dear sister! as you wish me to be good
and happy, name him to me no more--for it cannot be.”
“Why?” exclaimed Rosamond, with a look of dismay: “Why cannot it be? It
can, it must--it shall be.”
Caroline sighed, and turning from her sister, as if she dreaded to
listen to her, she repeated, “No;--I will not flatter myself--I see that
it cannot be--I have observed the change in his manner. The pain it gave
me first awakened me to the state of my own affections. I have given you
some proof of sincerity by speaking thus immediately of the impression
made on my mind. You will acknowledge the effort was difficult.--Mother,
will you answer me one question--which I am afraid to ask--did you, or
do you think that any body else perceived my sentiments by my manner?”
Caroline paused, and her mother and sister set her heart at ease on that
point.
“After all,” said Rosamond, addressing herself to her mother, “I may
be mistaken in what I hinted about Count Altenberg. I own I thought the
change in his manner arose from Lady Florence Pembroke--I am sorry I
said any thing of it--I dare say when he sees more of her--she is very
pretty, very pleasing, very elegant, and amiable, no doubt; but surely,
in comparison with Caroline--but I am not certain that there is any
rivalship in the case.”
“I am certain that there shall be none,” said Caroline. “How
extraordinary it is that the best, the noblest, the most delightful
feelings of the heart, may lead to the meanest, the most odious! I
have, within a few hours, felt enough to be aware of this. I will leave
nothing to chance. A woman should never expose herself to any hazard. I
will preserve my peace of mind, my own esteem. I will preserve my
dear and excellent friends; and that I may preserve some of them, I am
sensible that I must now quit them.”
Mrs. Percy was going to speak, but Rosamond interposed.
“Oh! what have I done!” exclaimed she: “imprudent creature that I was,
why did I speak? why did I open your eyes, Caroline? I had resolved not
to say a single word of the change I perceived in the Count.”
“And did you think I should not perceive it?” said Caroline. “Oh,
you little know how quickly--the first look--the first tone of his
voice--But of that I will think no more. Only let me assure you, that
you, my dear Rosamond, did no harm--it was not what any body said that
alarmed me: before you pointed it out, I had felt that change in his
manner, for which I cannot account.”
“You cannot account?--Can you doubt that Lady Florence is the cause?”
said Rosamond.
“Yes, I have great doubts,” said Caroline.
“So have I,” said Mrs. Percy.
“I cannot believe,” said Caroline, “that a man of his sense and
character would be so suddenly captivated: I do not mean to detract from
Lady Florence’s merits, but before they could make the impression you
suspect on Count Altenberg, there must have been time for them to be
known and appreciated. Shall I go on, and tell you all that has passed
in my mind? Yes, my mother and sister should see me as I am--perhaps
under the delusion of vanity--or self-love--or--But if I am wrong, you
will set me right--you will help me to set myself right: it has never
been declared in words, therefore perhaps I am vain and presumptuous to
believe or to imagine--yet I do feel persuaded that I am preferred--that
I am--”
“Loved! Oh, yes!” said Rosamond, “a thousand times I have thought so,
I have felt certain, that Count Altenberg loved you; but now I am
convinced, alas! of my mistake--convinced at least that his love is of
that light, changeable sort, which is not worth having--not worth your
having.”
“That last,” cried Caroline, “I can never believe.” She stopped, and
blushed deeply. “What does my mother say?” added she, in a timid voice.
“My mother, I am sure, thought once that he loved Caroline--did not you,
mother?” said Rosamond.
“Yes, my dear,” answered Mrs. Percy, “I have thought so, and I am not
yet convinced that we were mistaken; but I entirely agree with Caroline
that this is a subject upon which we ought not to let our thoughts
dwell.”
“Oh! so I have thought, so I have said on former occasions, how often,
how sincerely!” said Caroline. “But this is the first time I ever felt
it difficult to practise what I know to be wise and right. Mother, I beg
it as a favour that you will take me away from this place--this place,
where but yesterday I thought myself so happy!”
“But why, Caroline--why, mother, should she do this?” expostulated
Rosamond. “If she thinks, if you think that he loves her, if you do not
believe that he has changed, if you do not believe that he is struck
with a new face, why should Caroline go? For Heaven’s sake do not take
her away till you are sure that it is necessary.”
“I will be guided by her opinion,” said Mrs. Percy; “I can depend
entirely on her own prudence.”
“Indeed, I think it will be most prudent that I should not indulge
myself in staying longer,” said Caroline. “From what I have seen of
Count Altenberg, we have reason to think that he acts in general from
wise and good motives. We should therefore believe that in the present
instance his motives are good and adequate--I cannot suspect that he
acts from caprice: what the nature of the obstacle may be, I can only
guess; but I am inclined to think that some opposing duty--”
“His duty,” said Rosamond, “I suppose he must have known before to-day.
What new duty can he have discovered? No, no; men are not so very apt in
love matters to think of opposing duties as women do: much more likely
that he has heard something to your disadvantage, Caroline, from the
Falconers. I can tell you that Lady Frances Arlington gave me a hint
that strange things had been said, and great pains taken to misrepresent
you to the count.”
“If injurious representations have been made of me to him,” replied
Caroline, “he will in time discover the falsehood of such report; or, if
he believe them without examination, he is not what I imagine him to be.
No; I am convinced he has too noble a mind, too just an understanding,
to be misled by calumny.”
Mrs. Percy declared she was decidedly of this opinion. “The obstacle,
whatever it may be, my dear mother,” continued Caroline, with the
earnest tone and expression of countenance of a person of strong mind,
at once feeling and thinking deeply, “the difficulty, whatever it is,
must be either such as time will obviate or increase; the obstacle must
be either conquerable or unconquerable: if he love me, as I thought he
did, if he have the energy of character I think he possesses, he will
conquer it, if it can be conquered; if it be unconquerable, what misery,
what madness, to suffer my affections to be irrevocably engaged! or
what base vanity to wish, if it were in my power, to inspire him with an
unhappy passion! Then, in every point of view, mother, surely it is best
that I should leave this--dangerous place,” said Caroline, smiling. “Yet
you are both so happy here, I am sorry to be the cause.”
“My love,” said her mother, “to us all things are trifles, compared with
what it is right and becoming that you should do. I entirely approve and
applaud your prudence and resolution: what you desire shall be done as
soon as possible. We will go home to-morrow morning.”
“But, my dear ma’am! so suddenly! consider,” cried Rosamond, “how very
strange this will appear to Mrs. Hungerford, and to every body!”
“My dear Rosamond, these are some of the small difficulties, the false
delicacies, which so often prevent people from doing what is right,
or what is essentially necessary for the security of the peace and
happiness of their whole lives,” said Mrs. Percy.
“That is true,” replied Rosamond; “and I do not object to doing the
thing, but I only wish we had some good, decent excuse for running
away: you don’t expect that Mrs. Hungerford will part with you without
remonstrance, without struggle, without even inquiring, why you must run
away? I am sure I hope she will not ask me, for I am not prepared with
an answer, and my face would never do, and would give way at the first
glance of her penetrating eye--what will you say to Mrs. Hungerford?”
“The truth,” replied Caroline. “Mrs. Hungerford has ever treated me with
so much kindness, has shown me so much affection and esteem, feels such
a warm interest in all that concerns me, and is herself of so noble a
character, that she commands my entire confidence--and she shall have
it without reserve. Since my mother agrees with me in thinking that Lady
Florence has not been in any degree the cause of the change of manner
we have observed, there can be no impropriety on that account in
our speaking of the subject to Mrs. Hungerford. It may be painful,
humiliating--but what is meant by confidence, by openness towards our
friends?--We are all of us ready enough to confess our virtues,”
said she, smiling; “but our weaknesses, what humbles our pride to
acknowledge, we are apt to find some delicate reason for keeping
secret. Mother, if you do not disapprove of it, I wish you to tell Mrs.
Hungerford the whole truth.”
Mrs. Percy entirely approved of Caroline’s placing confidence in this
excellent friend. She observed, that this was very different from the
girlish gossiping sort of _confidences_, which are made often from one
young lady to another, merely from the want of something to say, or the
pleasure of prattling about love, or the hope of being encouraged by
some weak young friend, to indulge some foolish passion.
The next morning, before Mrs. Hungerford had left her apartment, Mrs.
Percy went to her, and explained the reasons which induced Caroline
to refuse herself the pleasure of prolonging her visit at Hungerford
Castle.
Mrs. Hungerford was touched by the confidence which Caroline placed in
her. “Believe me,” said she, “it is not misplaced--I feel all its value.
And must I lose her? I never parted with her without regret, and that
regret increases the more I see of her. I almost forget that she is not
my own, till I am called upon to relinquish her: but much as I value
her, much as I enjoy her society, I cannot be so selfish as to wish to
detain her when her peace of mind is at stake. How few, how very few are
there, of all the various young women I know, who would have the good
sense and resolution, I will say it, the integrity of mind, to act as
she does! There is usually some sentimental casuistry, some cowardly
fear, or lingering hope, that prevents young people in these
circumstances from doing the plain right thing--any thing but the plain
right thing they are ready to do--and there is always some delicate
reason for not telling the truth, especially to their friends; but _our_
daughters, Mrs. Percy, are above these things.” With respect to Count
Altenberg, Mrs. Hungerford said, that, from many observations she had
made, she felt no doubt of his being strongly attached to Caroline.
“Their characters, their understandings, are suited to each other; they
have the same high views, the same magnanimity. With one exception--you
must allow a mother’s partiality to make an exception in favour of her
own son--with one exception Count Altenberg is the man of all others to
whom I could wish to see Caroline united. I never till yesterday doubted
that it would be; but I was as much struck with the change in his manner
as you have been. I agree with Caroline, that some obstacle, probably of
duty, has arisen, and I hope--but no, I will imitate her example, and as
you tell me she forbids herself to hope, so will I--if possible. At all
events she raises herself, high as she was in my esteem, still higher by
her present conduct. Tell her so, my dear Mrs. Percy--you, her mother,
may give this praise, without hurting her delicacy; and tell her that,
old as I am, I have not forgotten so completely the feelings of my
youth, as not to be aware that suspense in some situations is the worst
of evils. She may be assured that my attention shall be as much awake as
even her mother’s could be--and when any thing that I think important or
decisive occurs, she shall hear from me immediately, or see me, unless I
should lose the use of my limbs, or my faculties.”
A messenger came to summon Mrs. Hungerford to breakfast--soon afterwards
a ride was proposed by Mrs. Mortimer. Count Altenberg was to be one of
this party, and he looked for a moment surprised and disappointed, when
he found that Caroline was not going with them; but he forebore to
ask why she did not ride, and endeavoured to occupy himself solely in
helping Mrs. Mortimer to mount her horse--Rosamond was glad to perceive
that he did not well know what he was doing.
Before they returned from their ride, the Percys were on their way
to the Hills. Till this moment the sight of home, even after a short
absence, had, on returning to it, always been delightful to Caroline;
but now, for the first time in her life, every object seemed to have
lost its brightness. In the stillness of retirement, which she used to
love, she felt something sad and lifeless. The favourite glade, which
formerly she thought the very spot so beautifully described by Dryden,
as the scene of his “Flower and the Leaf,” even this she found had lost
its charm. New to love, Caroline was not till now aware, that it throws
a radiance upon every object, which, when passed away, seems to leave
all nature changed.
To banish recollections which she knew that she ought not to indulge,
she employed herself unremittingly. But her mind did not turn with its
wonted energy to her occupations, nor was it acted upon by those small
motives of ordinary life, by which it had formerly been excited. When
reading, her thoughts would wander even from her favourite authors:
every subject they discussed would remind her of some conversation
that had passed at Hungerford Castle; some coincidence or difference of
opinion would lead her to digress; some observation more just or more
striking; some better expression, or some expression which pleased her
better than the author’s, would occur, and the book was laid down. These
digressions of fancy were yet more frequent when she was endeavouring
to fix her attention to drawing, needle-work, or to any other sedentary
employment. Exercise she found useful. She spent more time than usual
in planting and in gardening--a simple remedy; but practical philosophy
frequently finds those simple remedies the best which Providence has put
within the reach of all.
One morning, soon after her return home, when she was alone and busy in
her garden, she heard voices at a distance; as they approached nearer,
she thought she distinguished Mrs. Hungerford’s. She listened, and
looked towards the path whence the voices had come. All was silent--but
a minute afterwards, she saw Mrs. Hungerford coming through the narrow
path in the thicket: Caroline at first sprang forward to meet her, then
stopped short, her heart beating violently--she thought that, perhaps,
Mrs. Hungerford was accompanied by Count Altenberg; but she was alone.
Ashamed of the hope which had glanced across her mind, and of the
sudden stop which had betrayed her thoughts, Caroline now went forward,
blushing.
Mrs. Hungerford embraced her with tenderness, and then assuming a
cheerful tone, “Your mother and sister wanted to persuade me,” said she,
“that I should never find my way to you--but I insisted upon it that I
could. Had I not the instinct of a true friend to guide me?--So now
let me sit down and rest myself on this pretty seat--a very comfortable
throne!--and that is saying much for a throne. So these are your
territories?” continued she, looking round, and talking with an air of
playfulness, to give Caroline time to recover herself.
“Why did you never invite me to your garden?--Perhaps, you think me a
mere fire-side, arm-chair old woman, dead to all the beauties of
nature; but I can assure you that I have, all my life, from principle,
cultivated this taste, which I think peculiarly suited to women,
salutary not only to their health, but to their happiness and their
virtues--their domestic virtues, increasing the interest they take in
their homes, heightening those feelings of associated pleasure which
extend from persons to places, and which are at once a proof of the
strength of early attachments and a security for their continuance to
the latest period of life. Our friend, Count Altenberg, was observing to
me the other day that we Englishwomen, among our other advantages, from
our modes of life, from our spending so many months of the year in the
country, have more opportunity of forming and indulging these tastes
than is usual among foreign ladies in the same rank of life. Fortunately
for us, we are not like Mr. Clay’s French countess, or duchess, who
declared that she hated innocent pleasures.”
After mentioning French Clay, Mrs. Hungerford passed to a comparison
between him and Count Altenberg. She had met Mr. Clay in town, and
disliked him. “He is an Englishman only by birth, and a Frenchman only by
affectation; Count Altenberg, on the contrary, a foreigner by birth, has
all the tastes and principles that make him worthy to be an Englishman.
I am convinced that, if he had liberty of choice, he would prefer
residing in England to living in any country in the world. Indeed, he
expressed that sentiment at parting from us yesterday.”
“He is gone then,” said Caroline.
“He is, my love.”
Caroline wished to ask where? and whether he was gone for ever? Yet she
continued silent--and became extremely pale.
Mrs. Hungerford, without appearing to take any notice of her emotion,
continued, and answered all the questions which she wished to ask.
“He is gone back to Germany to his own court--recalled, as he told me,
by some imperious duty.”
Caroline revived.
“So far you see, my dear, we were right, as those usually are who judge
from general principles. It was not, indeed, to be credited,” continued
Mrs. Hungerford, “that a man of his character and understanding should
act merely from caprice. What the nature of the duty may be, whether
relating to his duty as a public or a private man, he did not
explain--the latter, I fear: I apprehend some engagement, that will
prevent his return to England. In this case he has done most honourably,
at whatever risk or pain to himself, to avoid any attempt to engage your
affections, my dear; and you have, in these trying circumstances, acted
as becomes your sex and yourself.”
“I hope so,” said Caroline, timidly: “my mother and Rosamond endeavoured
to re-assure me on one point--you have seen more since, and must
therefore be better able to judge--Count Altenberg has none of that
presumption of manner which puts a woman upon her guard against his
_inferences_. But, in secret, do you think he ever suspected--”
“I cannot, my love, tell what passes in the secret recesses of man’s
heart--much more difficult to penetrate than woman’s,” replied Mrs.
Hungerford, smiling. “But let this satisfy you--by no word, hint, or
look, could I ever guess that he had formed such a hope. Of your whole
family he spoke in terms of the highest regard. Of you he dared not
trust himself to say much; but the little he did venture to say was
expressive of the highest respect and esteem: more he did not, and ought
not, I am convinced, to have allowed himself.”
“I am satisfied--quite satisfied,” said Caroline, relieving her heart
by a deep sigh; “and I thank you, my kind Mrs. Hungerford. You have put
this subject at rest for ever in my mind. If Count Altenberg _can_ love
me with honour, he will; if he cannot, Heaven forbid I should wish it!”
From this time forward Caroline never spoke more upon the subject,
never mentioned the name of Count Altenberg. She exerted all the strong
command she possessed over herself to conquer the languor and indolence
to which she had found herself disposed.
It is a difficult task to restore what may be called the tone of the
mind, to recover the power of being acted upon by common and every
day motives, after sensibility has been unusually excited. Where the
affections have been deeply and long engaged, this is a task which the
most severe philosophy cannot accomplish without the aid of time--and of
that superior power which it would be irreverent here to name.
By using no concealment with her friends, by permitting no
self-delusion, by having the courage to confess the first symptom of
partiality of which she was conscious, Caroline put it out of her own
power to nourish a preference into a passion which must ultimately have
made herself and her friends unhappy. Besides the advantages which
she derived from her literary tastes, and her habits of varying her
occupations, she at this time found great resources in her warm and
affectionate attachment to her own family.
She had never yet arrived at that state of _egoisme_, which marks the
height of passion, when all interests and affections sink and vanish
before one exclusive and tyrant sentiment.