Duty and Inclination/Chapter 13
CHAPTER XIII.
"Trust me, no tortures which the poets feign,
Can match the fierce unutterable pain
He feels who, night and day, devoid of rest,
Carries his own accuser in his breast."
Confined within the dark and gloomy walls of the Bench, in a remote and narrow chamber, nearly obscured from the light of day, De Brooke sat melancholy, musing over his fate, and listening in suspense to the sounds of footsteps, awaiting the coming of Mr. Philimore, who, he doubted not, would call to offer him the faithful services of a friend. Nor was he disappointed, for his prison-door was at length opened, and the very person upon whom his thoughts were engaged appeared.
"Ah, my dear Philimore!" said he, "is that you? have you any tidings for me from my wife?"
Mr. Philimore in reply presented him with a letter, which De Brooke, after briefly apologizing for his abrupt manner and address, hastened to peruse.
"What misery," exclaimed he, "have I brought on this incomparable woman, and yet she would conceal that I have done so! Why am I here?" Then recollecting himself, and ashamed of the incoherence of his expressions, by a violent effort to command himself, he relapsed into silence.
After a distressing pause, his friend, though not naturally of a temper easily betrayed into sympathetic emotions, yet having learnt not to be insensible to scenes like the present, endeavoured to divert his inquietude by calling his attention to the consideration of the means best adapted to render his present situation less uncomfortable, and of the possibility of procuring bail.
De Brooke replied but by a silent shake of the head; his debts were of too large an amount, he was well assured, to admit of his indulging in hopes of such a nature. "My dear Philimore," said he, detaining him, "make this affair of mine but secondary, and lend your kind assistance to my wife, relative to the present emergency in which she is plunged; try to relieve her solicitude on my behalf; and by all means, persuade her not to visit me in this prison; tell her, my dear Sir, that nothing will inflict upon me greater pain than her taking that step; that I absolutely forbid it: tell her that I have no other sorrow than the necessity enjoined by the execution, of her quitting her present comforts, and that I conjure her, by all that is sacred, to exert the courage of which I know she is mistress, to support her under this our cruel separation. The stroke, however severe, I entertain hopes of averting, on satisfying the demands of the most pressing of my creditors; in the meantime you will be so good as to urge, from me, her removal to the small lodgings we before occupied at Kennington, since they cannot fail of affording her, under the present state of our affairs, a suitable asylum." De Brooke paused, but after an interval of ill-concealed emotion, he added, "The vicinity of those quiet lodgings to your abode, Philimore, will bestow upon my wife the more frequent consolations of your own and your amiable partner's friendship; in the assurance of which," continued he, with a deep sigh, "my mind will be lightened of one of its heaviest grievances."
Touched by the sorrowful energy of these words, Mr. Philimore returned in silence the warm pressure of his hand, but soon recovering himself, exclaimed, "Depend upon me; I now hasten to execute your commands, and will try to effect as early as possible your removal from this horrid abode."
Casting a look of concern towards the inner part of the chamber, De Brooke had but time to express his obligations, ere the door closed, and he was gone.
The presence of Mr. Philimore had diffused over the benighted soul of De Brooke one of those gleams of sunshine that in an instant appear, but as instantly vanish, leaving gloom more profound and grief more oppressive; for however he had sought to conceal the depth of his embarrassments by a gilded and false colouring, yet he was himself far from sharing in the delusion. The uncertainty involving his affairs was such, that he felt unwarranted in giving way to any expectation of speedy succour. The money to be amassed from the sale of his property, though costly and valuable, would not, he well knew, suffice for the payment of creditors so numerous and importunate as his; on the other hand, his quarterly allowance, as colonel in the army, was amply sufficient to defray the necessary expenses of his wife's separate establishment, as also his own private exigencies; but, till his debts were paid, even to their smallest fraction, no possibility existed whereby he might escape from the ignominious bondage in which he was then enthralled, and be restored to the embraces of his partner, and the caresses of his lovely children. Estranged as was his father from him, could he look to him for assistance?—vain was the thought. Cold and selfish, timid and calculating, would Mr. or Mrs. Arden, basking in the sunshine of affluence, possessing this world's goods, its luxuries, its superfluities, would they stretch out to him a helping hand to assist him in this extremity? By no means.
Sir Aubrey had been informed of his son's arrest by Mr. Arden, by whom the news had been carried to him with all dispatch. His proud wrath, not having abated in asperity since his last interview with his son, from the discovery then made, led him to feel rather gratified than otherwise at his son's humiliating circumstances, which he conceived would lead him into a state of contrition for past extravagances, and induce a lasting amendment in his future conduct.
Wearied by the continual sameness and perplexity of his thoughts, De Brooke was for a time drawn out of them by the contemplation of his associates in that comfortless abode. For, on account of the many unhappy persons then confined in the Bench, it had been necessary to associate two or three in one room. It had fallen to the lot of De Brooke to meet with two companions, fellow-sharers in affliction. Each by his dress presented an aspect of poverty, but each held a rank above what the outward appearance denoted. The one, an English Baronet of middle age; the other a French Marquis, somewhat older; the former tall and slender, possessing a mildness of physiognomy, not deeply marked by suffering, seeming to bend and yield with a patient fortitude to what his untowaird destiny rendered unavoidable. The Marquis was of middling stature, and unlike the picture generally given of his countrymen, rather inclined to corpulency: the expression of his countenance was various; ease, candour, and good humour had been accustomed to reign there; but in the present instance they were chased, and a sad dismay preponderated over every feature, with the exception of his brow, which in spite of mental depression maintained its arched and elevated character. The Baronet seemed to avoid alleviation derived from sympathy; which the Marquis, on the contrary, seemed eagerly to court; his heart was of a congenial softness, ever ready to impart, as to receive consolation. The Baronet was single, and his cares concentred in himself; like De Brooke, the Marquis had a wife whom he tenderly loved; he had also a little daughter, lively and playful, the sole object of her parents' hopes: to be beyond the possibility of clasping this little creature in his arms, and being soothed by her endearments, was to him the greatest of all privations. He had been himself the first to solicit the attention of De Brooke, who, to an indifferent spectator, might have seemed of the two the most calculated to excite commiseration, and, judging from circumstances, the manifestation of his grief, though but little obtrusive, appearing the more to centre within him, heightened by the anguish and deep wounds inflicted by a self-accusing and tender conscience, gave a peculiar poignancy to sufferings to which the others were strangers.
"These external manners of laments
Are merely shadows to the unseen grief
That swells with silence in the tortur'd soul."
The Baronet had hitherto injured no one but himself; on the contrary, the debt which then confined him had arisen from an excess of neighbourly kindness, and the law had taken its course. As to the Marquis, a sharer with so many in his nation's calamities, fate had robbed him of his patrimony, had exiled him from his country, had deprived him of the means of sustenance, and his debts had been entailed from his procuring for himself and little family the mere necessaries of existence.
Finding De Brooke, in despite of his own private afflictions, was inclined to lend him a compassionate hearing, the Marquis largely expatiated upon the cause of his imprisonment,—dwelt upon the ingenuity and industry of his wife, as also upon the uncommon musical talents of his child, who had scarcely attained her ninth year. The united efforts of each might, with the assistance of a generous public, have afforded them a tolerable support; but, alas! he had been persecuted for payment by an unrelenting landlord. The heart, with all its warm and natural emotions, accompanying every word he uttered, bedewed his lids with tears, which, when he ceased to speak, overflowed, falling in torrents from his eyes.
Such were the prisoners associated with De Brooke, and such was the scene presented for his contemplation, whilst awaiting the return of his friend. The night closed in; another day elapsed, and still he appeared not; a delay like this, it may be well conceived, failed not to add fresh aggravation to his reflections. Forced to abandon his wife and children, to what might they not be exposed, left to the mercy of unfeeling creditors!
Thus was he ruminating, when sounds without indistinctly met his ear; the door was suddenly opened, and though the object presented was not the one expected, yet it was not the less welcome to his view; it was Robert, his trustworthy negro, so faithful in his attendance upon him, and the more so in this present sad vicissitude.
"What of your mistress?" exclaimed De Brooke, tremblingly impatient; "is all well?"
"Yes, Sir, my missus is not ill, tank God; and de shildren be quite hearty, bless deir little souls; but", presenting a letter, "dis will tell you all you wish to know."
De Brooke snatched it from his hand, and hastily ran over its contents. It was dated from Kennington, where, with satisfaction, he found his wife had now taken up her residence. The tenderness in which her language was dictated conveyed to him a soothing balm; her regrets seemed principally to arise from his protracted absence; he thence perceived that Mr. Philimore, in conformity with his request, had kept from her view those circumstances, the knowledge of which could tend, without answering any useful purpose, but to irritate her grief and add activity to her apprehensions.
Whilst De Brooke was perusing the billet, Robert, who, not from prying curiosity, but from honest fidelity, made his master's concerns his own, stood transfixed, his eyes riveted upon his countenance, till he started from his position, on the question being put to him, whether he could give any information relative to Mr. Philimore, or the motives which detained him so long absent.
"He has not forgot you, my dear massa; me heard him say he has been about your affairs more dan once, and he has been very goot to my missus and de shildren in conducting dem to Kennington; and me tink he has been sometimes at the auction of your tings, and he did wat he could to raise de value of some tings, by bidding himself, or dey could have been knocked down at no price." He then turned to cast a look of inquiry towards the other inmates of the chamber, but finding them in close conversation, bending over a three-legged table, Robert, lowering his voice, muttered, "Alack, who would have tought it, dat dose fine paintings dat cost massa so much, and took many a hundred out of his pocket, should fall into de hands of others for less dan half deir value?—and your favourite picture, Sir, de view of Lisbon."
"What of that, Robert, and is that gone for nothing?"
"Yes, goot massa, you will never cast eye upon it again, nor me neider; I used to lub to see de spot where we lived, enjoying many a happy day. Alack! who would have tought it?"
"But those Italian paintings, Robert, those beautiful landscapes, and the Venus, do you know for how much they were sold?"
"Dey were knocked down for not more dan sixty pounds de tree."
"For which I gave three hundred!" exclaimed De Brooke.
"Tink no more of it, massa, tink no more of it," said the honest black, wiping a tear from his eye; "preserb your health, let what will happen; shut up in dis cold chamber, 'tis enough to gib you an ague fit."
"Repeat not these expressions to my wife, Robert; tell her I am well, and keep your kind sympathies to yourself. My father—has there been any message from him?"
"None, Sir."
"It is well; go, my good fellow; return to your mistress. I need not commend her to your vigilance; I know your worth and hitherto faithful services, which are the best warrant for those of the future."
"As long as me hab any blood in my veins, me would stand by your youngest shild."
"I doubt it not, my honest friend," waving his hand; "let me see you again tomorrow."
Thus did matters rest, and De Brooke was still left to count the tedious hours in his gloomy confinement. One of his companions had met with a better fate; the Baronet, though not liberated, had succeeded in obtaining an apartment to himself. The Marquis had become his exclusive companion, and they were seated together, mutually commiserating their untoward destiny, when the door being opened, the jailer said, with a significant nod, that there were persons without who demanded an instant admittance to the prisoner Colonel De Brooke. Sensations indescribable overwhelmed him; they were no, other than his wife and children who met his fond, his transported gaze, and who were alternately clasped in wild ecstasy to his bosom; presenting a scene to the humane eye of the Marquis that filled him with the warmest sympathy, forgetting his own griefs in the part he took in those before him. Upon entering that small chamber, an icy chill had pervaded the frame of Mrs. De Brooke; she led by the hand her eldest child, the young Aubrey, then about seven years of age; her little daughters, Oriana and Rosilia, were carried in the arms of Robert. Scared at the dismal objects around her, the youngest uttered cries of fear, till soothed by the caress of her father. Oriana also hung affrighted upon the neck of her sable supporter. Less sensible to the gloom around him, the little Aubrey seemed only affected by the sadness preponderating over the features of his unhappy parents. The representation made to his mother by Mr. Philimore had been so much softened as to bear but little analogy to what she then witnessed; overcome by the afflicting impressions of the scene that surrounded her, faint and feeble, she sunk upon the shoulder of her husband, who exerted every effort in his power to calm and soothe her.
After half an hour had thus passed, Mr. Philimore, so long and anxiously expected, suddenly made his appearance. Unprepared for the sight of Mrs. De Brooke, he hesitated ere he spoke, till at length, in answer to the inquiring looks he received, with deep concern he expressed the defeat he had met with, respecting an immediate grant of a private chamber conceded to the petition of his friend.
"How dreadful!" exclaimed Mrs. De Brooke. The importunate cries of her younger children prevented her further utterance; and their father, aroused from his painful reverie, begged of their mother to return with them to their lodgings. Rising to embrace her, he conjured her to be comforted, as he did not yet despair but that he should finally effect his release, having equal right to the clemency exercised towards persons in his situation as others. But too well aware of the truth of what he said, from her own experience, Mrs. De Brooke endeavoured to tear herself from his embraces, who again, with a look of unutterable anguish, pressing her to his heart, and making a motion to Mr. Philimore, consigned her to his care.
His hope, his pride, his darling boy, whom he looked upon as the rescue of his name from oblivion, still clung about his knees; raising him in his arms, he took an affectionate farewell of him, as also of his little sisters, borne away in the arms of Robert. The door closed; but ere the harsh sound of the latch was heard in turning, "Papa, papa; oh my papa!" mournfully articulated by his son, fell upon his ear. Those melting tones unmanned him, sending from his overcharged heart those bitter sighs which before he had endeavoured to stifle.
Supported by Mr. Philimore, with trembling feet, Mrs. De Brooke reached the hackney-coach in waiting, that bore her from her husband, her only stay, protector, and staff, in whom every kindred centred, left as she had been a destitute and unfriended orphan! Alas! she little dreamt of the still greater anguish, the storm ready to break over her head, the volcano to burst from beneath her feet.
On the third day after the visit made to De Brooke by his wife, one person only appeared to interupt the sameness of his prison, but whose visit was not to him. A stranger advancing, accosted the Marquis in the familiar accents of a friend. "I have no doubt," said he, "my dear Marquis, that every day passed here in this vile place has seemed to you an age, but however you may have languished, I have now to announce to you that you are free; your liberation has been effected, and you have therefore only to follow me, the coach being in waiting to conduct us away. On your road home, I shall tell you how this good fortune has been brought about: your friends have been active in your service, and have all contributed to bail you; come, therefore, and let us begone hence;" so saying, he hastily took him by the arm, and began to lead him along.
Joy of heart then resumed its native ascendancy over the Marquis's irregular but pleasing features; nevertheless, turning a look of kind commiseration upon De Brooke, and stepping nimbly towards him, he made him an offer of his services, directing at the same time his hand to his heart in token of his perfect sincerity. With a smile of satisfaction at seeing his fellow-prisoner liberated, De Brooke heartily congratulated him on his good fortune, and thanked him for his obliging proposal.
The Marquis then bowed, and left him with that ceremonious elegance of his country, which, while it too often supplies the place of solid worth, is itself rarely superseded even by conscious goodness of intention, much less gives place to vulgar familiarity. Thus while his friend the Marquis was conducted to the fond embraces of his wife and child, De Brooke remained a gloomy inhabitant of the Bench.