My wrongs, my wrongs, my constant thoughts engage,
These, my sole oracles, inspire my rage.
Pope's Homer.
One evening, while the young Evellins were watching for their father,
and fancying they discerned him returning from the mountains, they
hastily ran back to their mother to inform her that a strange man lay at
the bottom of the glen seemingly much fatigued, who asked the way to Mr.
Neville's. Isabel knew that the real name of her husband was known only
to herself in that neighbourhood, and suspected a snare of De Vallance's
to get him into his power and rob him of all that remained, his life.
She anxiously inquired what further passed, little Eustace answered, "We
said nobody lived near but our father, whose name was not Neville but
Evellin. He asked us if he was tall, with dark hair, and carried himself
like a Prince. We had seen no Princes, but I put on my cap as he does,
and shewed how he walked, and the poor man caught me in his arms, almost
smothered me with kisses, and said he would never stir from that spot
till his master came."
"Foolish children," said the mother; "perhaps you have betrayed your
father to those who hunt for his life."
"No, indeed," replied Isabel, "he is too weak and ill to hurt any body.
He is very hungry still, though I gave him all the cloud-berries I had
gathered, and filled his can with water. He blessed us just as you do,
and I am sure he never would hurt my father."
"Go round by the coppice, my darling; meet your father and tell him what
you have seen; I will go to the stranger."--"And take some cordials with
you," said both the children. "He shall want no cordials if he be what
he appears," returned Mrs. Evellin; "but, sweet lambs, there are more
wolves in the world than true shepherds."
The suspicions of the fond wife were in this instance groundless. The
stranger was David Williams, formerly comptroller of the Earl of
Bellingham's household, who, discovering that his real master was not
dead, as Earl Walter now affirmed, set out with a determination of
discovering his retreat. He carried with him the honourable savings of a
life of industry; but having been attacked on the road and robbed of his
property, he arrived, exhausted and pennyless, among the Fells of
Fourness, in appearance a burden to the family he wished to serve.
Yet this faithful old servant, though bare and withering like the
scathed oak, was inexpressibly welcome to one who so deeply suffered
from the crimes of duplicity. Williams soon recovered his strength under
the care of his dear old master; and though the mountain cottage bore no
resemblance to the embattled towers of Castle Bellingham, still he was
under the roof of a true Neville, and he would not change his service to
attend an Emperor. Evellin took a lively interest in the society of his
old domestic, who, happy that his recovered health enabled him to serve,
in adversity, the noble stock under whose protection he had formerly
flourished, followed his dear lord, as he called him, over the
mountains, thinking of the days that were past. Sometimes Williams would
lead Evellin to talk of former times, when Bellingham Castle blazed with
feudal splendor, and the numerous dependents of its mighty owner,
marshalled by the sound of the bugle, rode to their sports like the
clans of the earlier ages, a gallant troop, to rouse the stag from his
lair, or to loose the hawk at the crested pheasant. The heir of that
castle, habited as an humble yeoman, sullenly listened to the narrative
of his only follower. "Does not the chace," he would say, "now afford us
equal pleasure? are not my dogs as swift, and these mountains as replete
with game as those which engird my paternal residence." A deep groan
contradicted the conclusion to which this inquiry seemed to lead; yet
Williams, fancying he amused his master, continued to deepen those
agonizing recollections which are most dangerous to poignant
sensibility. Nor had Evellin the self-command to forbear making
inquiries which must, when answered, aggravate his anguish. He bade
Williams freely state what he knew of their old neighbours and
dependents. The tale was diffusely told. Evellin listened with deep
attention, execrated his own misconduct, enjoined silence, and then, by
fresh questions, encouraged repetition. A hope had long clung to his
heart, arising from that lofty tone of feeling which is more pained at
becoming the tool of falsehood than at being the victim of misfortune.
Long-continued moody musings had affected his judgment; and he sometimes
actually doubted whether De Vallance was really treacherous, or had been
defeated in his friendly efforts by the power of a host of enemies.
"Answer me truly, Williams," said he, while his lip quivered with
emotion, and his hand trembled as he affected to stroke his falcon with
a careless air: "you see the present and the future are now indifferent
to me. You remember the time when Walter's father rescued me, a cradled
infant, from Tyrone's rebellious kerns in Ireland, and thus laid the
foundation of the friendship between our houses. You remember, Walter
himself saving me from the lake when I was nearly drowned. Surely he was
then a warm-hearted, generous boy. The tears he shed over my supposed
corse could not be dangerous and deceitful drops. At school, at college,
and when we crossed the Alps together, ever sharing my bed and table, I
saw him in every different situation. Was his life one act of deceit,
and mine a long dream of credulity? When, in the fullness of my soul, I
told him he was more than worthy my sister's love, he answered that
though the noble blood of Devereux ran in his veins, it did not become
his humble fortunes to aspire to the Lady Eleanor. After my father's
death, he would no longer reside with me, but entered into the service
of his cousin, the Lord Essex, saying he would not quarter an expensive
retainer on the scanty portion of a younger brother, which needed good
husbandry, but that his heart still remained with me, and would be a
cheap sojourner. Was not this the language of a noble spirit? You look,
Williams, as if you had a mystery to unfold. Come, tell all your tale as
you would repeat it to gossips on a wassail night. The world is now
forgotten by me, and I am forgotten by the world."
"My noble Lord," Williams began--"Again," said Evellin, "after my strict
injunctions, do not insult me with empty titles. Have I not told you
that my patent of nobility is cancelled? I am Goodman Evellin of the
Fells, husband of the best of women, and father of two wanton prattlers,
who know not the misery of having fallen from an eminently glorious
station. Mark, Williams, the story of what I was shall die with me, or
only survive close shut in the treasured remembrance of my faithful
wife. I would not for the universe cloud the laughing features of these
happy babes, by awakening desires which I cannot gratify; therefore
forget my lapsed greatness."
"Even in our privacies?" inquired Williams.
"Certainly; and habit will make familiarity easy. Sit beside me on the
ground, and leave off putting your hand to your bonnet. Do we not look
like two smart woodmen, enjoying, over our evening repast, a tale of
other times?"
"I must turn my face from your honour," said Williams, "before I can
attempt to forget that you was Sir Allan, my old master's favourite son;
but it is in vain for you to try to pass for a country yeoman. They who
have spent their lives in these mountains, and never seen a noble
personage, rudely explain their notions of majesty and dignity by
describing you; and, by the grace of Heaven, they shall find they
guessed right, when they said the stranger from the south-country was a
man of another sort of a world."
"Let us have no more day-dreams, I asked you about Walter de Vallance."
"He is now Earl of Bellingham."
Evellin gnawed his lip, and angrily struck his fawning spaniel. "True,"
replied he, "the King would have him so. He forced these honours on him;
and if is thus, by prejudice and injustice, that he tampers with the
loyalty of a brave nation. Canst thou blame De Vallance for catching my
coronet before it fell to the ground by a false attainder? Why should
the title lie in abeyance? Is it not better worn by one allied to our
house than by an alien? Who so fit to sit in the baronial chair of our
common ancestor as my sister's son, now I am exscinded as a diseased
branch."
"He is a lad of the fairest promise," answered Williams, "but he will
never live to be Earl of Bellingham. Grant that no singular judgments
fall on the house of usurpation, yet the honourable blood which he
inherits from the Nevilles will so strive with the foul current of De
Vallance, that the ill-compounded body will not grow to manhood."
Evellin smiled: "Thou thinkest then," said he, "that Walter has played
the thief's part, and stolen what he could not honestly acquire."
"'Tis past thinking about," answered Williams; "the blame rests not on
the King's Majesty, whom Heaven prosper. He is too much raised above the
common intercourse of life to look into the hearts of those who take
care to approach him with a fair outside. His days are consumed by cares
and perplexities, and those who are apt and courteous in business must
needs have his ear. I well know that De Vallance gained the royal favour
by appearing to be your devoted friend, and by praising you for those
qualities in which it was Heaven's will to leave you somewhat defective.
Thus he praised your prudence, and produced your flight in proof of your
innocence; yet, in the same breath, gave some instance of your rashness,
and shewed that flight was ever the villain's resource. So contrariwise
were his pleadings and his praises, that His Grace said one day of him,
jestingly, 'Whatever my council may decide about Neville, I must keep De
Vallance in my service; for though he is an unapt advocate, he is a
right trusty friend.'"
"We are now," returned Evellin, "acting as jurors, deciding upon the
better part of a man's possessions, his honour. Let us then be candid
and wary. Zeal, like anger, often overshoots the mark. The lively
promptitude of feeling hurries our judgment beyond its natural pace. Let
us admit that the stern character of that bloody conclave, before whom
De Vallance often pleaded my cause, might confuse a man, among whose
natural defects I have noted a constitutional timidity, apt to tremble
at the frown of a fellow-creature. Before a court constituted like the
Star-chamber, armed with unlimited powers to impose fines, imprisonment,
sequestration, banishment, nay even the punishment of personal
mutilation, no wonder the sole friend and unsupported advocate of a man,
whom they were bent to ruin, took improper methods of serving him."
"It is too true," returned Williams, "that this court has of late
stretched its originally unconstitutional powers, and has further
provoked the unwarrantable licence of the times by trying to restrain
it. The King's best friends allow that it has in many instances 'held
that for honourable which pleased, and that for just which profited; and
being the same persons who composed the council, the same individuals
acted in two courts; in one, enjoining the people what was not law, and
prohibiting what was not prohibited; and, in the other, censuring
disobedience to their own decrees by heavy fines and severe
imprisonments. But the tendency of these proceedings has been rather to
supply the King's necessities with money, which, since his breach with
his parliament he cannot legally obtain, than wantonly to sport with the
rights of his people, from which no advantage can be derived to the
crown[1].' And truly, those noble persons who compose this assembly are
too well aware of the unpopularity and odium of their proceedings to
give any needless cause of complaint; nor would they have dared to
commit such a foul misdemeanor, as to condemn and sentence a peer of the
realm for a capital offence, without giving him a solemn and public
trial. Now, my dear master, has your clear understanding been so misled
as to make you suppose their misdoings ever reached such atrocity, or
that they would unwisely give contention such a handle."
Evellin's judgment had ever contradicted Walter's statements, and the
conclusions which remaining affection, and his own unwillingness to own
himself a dupe, laboured to draw, he now inquired how his estates came
to be confiscated, and his person cast out of the protection of the law.
"On account of your contumacy," answered Williams; "you did not
surrender when the royal proclamation called upon you to take your
trial, and then a writ of outlawry was required by your prosecutor."
"Was it not Walter's duty to convey that proclamation to me?" said
Evellin. Williams replied, it was; he mentioned its date, and Evellin
knew it tallied with that of his marriage, at which time Walter more
earnestly conjured him to remain in the closest concealment. A heavy
groan burst from his heart, he rested his head on his folded hands, and
bade Williams proceed.
"Yet though a long term of years had elapsed," continued he, "so
unwilling was the King to proceed to extremities, that from term to term
the cause stood over, and the hungry vulture who longed to gorge your
possessions grew weary of acting the dove's part. I had long seen his
base nature. In vain did he dress his face and his person in the solemn
hue of mourning, or your false-hearted sister shed Hyaena tears,"--
"Tears! For what did she weep?"
"For your death."
"My death," said Evellin, starting up; "De Vallance knew I was alive."
"Aye, my noble master, and so did I too, or I should never have lived to
drag my bones to the banks of Windermere; grief would have killed me ere
I had gone half my journey. I caught the villain destroying your
letters; I saw the date of one; you were alive at Ribblesdale in
November, so could not have died the preceding month at Launceston."
"Who durst affirm that I did?"
"Walter De Vallance.--He claimed an audience of the King, and shewed an
attested certificate, stating that Allan Neville had there deceased. An
account was subjoined of his person, his way of living, and the time he
had resided in that borough, all made to correspond with your likeness
and history. I had followed him to the door of the privy-chamber, and
waited among the pages. Methinks I see him now screw up his hypocritical
face and wink his eyes, as if he wept." "Your Majesty," said he, "will
be no more persecuted with my suit for my ill-fated brother-in-law.--Lady
Eleanor commends her duty to the Queen.--Alas, I fear the same stroke
will leave me friendless and a widower.--Never was such love." He went
on, sobbing aloud--"A broken heart brought him to his grave.--One, only
error; else the very mirror of honourable faculties." Thus he stood as
one beside himself with anguish, holding out the certificate, which a
gentleman read to His Highness. And then, my noble master, you might
have seen how true pity looks by the side of its vile counterfeit. "I
knew Allan Neville well," said the King, "and I once truly loved him.
Ill rest the calumniators of those who can no longer justify themselves!
His faults die with him. The pardon I meant to have granted to his
offences, if he would have sought my mercy, shall turn into favours to
those who share his blood." Walter answered, he could scarce be
comforted even by such gracious words; but he acted his part ill, for
though the King's goodness was too noble to suspect him, the courtiers
nicknamed him the merry-mourner.
"Why speaks not my noble master," said Williams, observing the fixed
posture and quenched eye of Evellin. At last he exclaimed--"I am not
dead;" and bursting into an hysterical laugh, he swore De Vallance
should find he was not dead.
"That is the point," replied Williams, "to which I have long wished to
urge you. Only appear and prove your identity; nothing more is wanting.
But rest on my arm, your whole frame is convulsed. Ah, woe is me, that a
base upstart should thus destroy so true a sample of old English worth!"
"I have survived the loss of my patrimony," said Evellin; "I have bowed
my aspiring mind to the lowliness of which I was born to be the
protector; I have a good King, a good cause, a faithful wife, dear
lovely children. De Vallance shall not long triumph. But say, Williams,
didst than ever hear of treachery so complicated, so deep, so totally
void of even a twinkling ray of common rectitude."
"I know but one character more vile and unnatural," returned Williams,
"and that is the Lady Eleanor."
"I pass her by," said Evellin. "Nature cast her mind in its most sordid
mould; and her heart is capable only of mean inclinations and low
desires; I have, from my youth, reproved her follies, and as she never
loved me, she would see no crime in plotting my destruction."
"What--because you strove to render her worthy her lineage," answered
Williams. "If a bad nature is an excuse for crimes, may not Satan object
to the severity of his sentence. Beauty made her vain, and adulation
made her haughty. Yet other ladies on the same personal graces have
engrafted the lovelier stock of truly noble virtues. The husband whom
she deigned to marry, because she found him a ready slave to her
designs, will live to rue the day when he made marriage a ladder to
ambition. May Heaven guard our Queen from so dangerous a friend. Never
did a falser serpent with a beautiful outside dart its poisons into the
ear of Majesty."
Williams went on repeating anecdotes, which proved the degeneracy of the
new Countess from the antient stock of noble ladies who were better
pleased to act as faithful and provident stewards of the bounty of
Heaven, than, like greedy whirlpools, to absorb every thing within their
reach. He contrasted their circumspect liberality with her thoughtless
waste; the matronly sobriety and tempered magnificence of their attire
with her new fangled fickleness and wanton costliness; their modest
dignified courtesy with her wayward perverseness; their gravity with her
lightness, in acting at court-revels and maskings, familiar with every
gallant, and accepting praise from the most polluted sources. He spoke
to the winds; the full proof of that perfidy which Evellin had so long
struggled to disbelieve, fell like a thundering cataract on his mind,
and swept away all power of attention. Long-indulged sorrow had preyed
on his mental and corporeal functions, and rendered him ill able to
support that severe blow. Williams sincerely repented the circumstantial
disclosure he had made. A feverish listlessness seized on the unhappy
Evellin, which yielded only to the visitation of a more dreadful
calamity. It was not decided insanity, but it dispelled the hopes which
had been formed of his being able to reclaim his usurped birth-right.
His bodily health was in time restored, and his mental infirmity became
a wild humoursome eccentricity, preserving traces of his noble
character, but querulously impatient of controul, subject to extravagant
transports, and incapable of steady exertion or connected thought. Still
magnanimous, independent and honourable, but moody, rash, and
intractable, he was the automaton of generous instinct, no longer
animated by reason.
Such a situation required constant vigilance to prevent irritation and
supply soothing recreations and gratifying objects. Williams was a most
useful assistant to Mrs. Evellin. He was practically versed in
husbandry, he knew the world, and had a creditable share of literature;
he could thus amuse his master, direct the domestic management, and
instruct the children. Isabel in all these instances found him a
considerable relief to her cares. That excellent woman knew not what
immediately hastened her husband's malady. Williams had often stated the
possibility of his regaining his rights; but she, dreading every
proposal that might agitate his mind, solemnly urged that that topic
should be avoided. "In my prayers to Heaven," said she, "I never dared
to supplicate for more than that he might ever continue what he was when
I first revered and loved him. Reason and judgment are positive
advantages; fortune and title, accidents which the possessor may convert
into evils. I should have been most thankful, if, during our journey to
the vale of years, he had been always able to act as my counsellor and
guide. His conversation was 'the daily banquet of my nourished mind.' I
hoped ever to feed on the words of wisdom breathed from the lips of
kindness. I know not what important contingencies in my eternal
existence are connected with my present trial; but this I know, if I
sustain it patiently and cheerfully, it must promote much present good.
I did not consider marriage merely as a summer voyage. Before I left the
quiet harbour of singleness I thought of winter and its future storms.
Most happily I did not choose a vessel laden with perishable treasures.
While reason and judgment illuminated his mind, my Evellin was the
delight and ornament of society; yet still his holier hopes, pursued a
good, less transient than the applause of man. If while the faithful
servant labours in his vocation a premature night falls upon him and
suspends his toil, will the just Master who ordains the privation, be
extreme in noting the remissness of infirmity? I once was the happiest
of wives, nor can I now be wretched since I still minister comfort to my
beloved."
Thus, with a mind naturally firm, and still further supported by
principle and undeviating affection through years of trial, Mrs. Evellin
persevered in active duty and enduring fortitude. The anxiety which her
suffering husband excited, and the attentions he required, slowly
undermined a constitution originally delicate, but she made no parade
either of her sorrows or her cares. She courted no compassion, and her
suppressed anguish would have been known only to her Creator, had she
not observed that Evellin, in his wildest aberrations of intellect, felt
her sorrows, and was not only tranquillized but restored to a transient
recollection by the sight of her distress. She bestowed infinite care on
her children, labouring to impart to them a portion of her own cheerful
fortitude and active vigilance. The superintendance of her farm added to
her employments; she had no leisure for unavailing regret; and till
sickness was added to sorrow, her busy days were frequently rewarded by
nights of peaceful slumber. The occupied mind, however acute its
sensibility, rarely sinks into despondence. The soothing consciousness
of usefulness overcomes its regrets, and the habit of exertion creates
confidence in its own powers. This sentiment, though criminal when it
annihilates religious dependence, is highly commendable when it acts as
its ally, inspiring a generous resolution of not adding to the burden of
our fellow-pilgrims, who like us toil heavy-laden through the wilderness
of life. On the other hand those, who, when visited by irremediable
affliction, give up their whole souls to the indulgence of grief, may
dignify their passive dejection with the name of finer feelings, and
more tender sensibility, but they will at last find, that they have
submitted to the bondage of a tyrant who will deprive them of all their
remaining comforts. Does gloomy despondence bespeak a higher degree of
social virtue? Is melancholy an instance of the soul's reliance on
Divine goodness? Do they not rather shew a rebellious disposition to Him
from whom affliction proceeds, and a selfish disregard of those whose
comforts are all blasted by the depressing influence of indulged despair?
[1] This is Clarendon's account of that famous court.