Montalbert/Chapter 17
THE narrative of Mrs. Vyvian thus went on——
"I had not yet recovered any degree of composure after the strange circumstance of finding the letter, which I continually read and studied, when some of the apprehensions, to which the intelligence I had got from Helene had given rise, were but too fatally realized. Such, indeed, were the various tortures in which I had been kept for some time, that it is astonishing, in the situation I was in, how I survived it. I might well, in the words of a favourite air which I should have sung, had not my heart been too heavy to find relief even in music——
Lasciami[1], o Ciel! peitoso,
Si non ti vuoi placar,
Lasciami respirar,
Qualche momento!
Rendasi col riposo,
Almeno il mio pensiar,
Abile a sostenar,
Nuovo tormento.——
"I know not whether my mind dwelt most continually on the circumstance of the letter, or on the dread of the inquiry that might be made from the reports that had been spread in the country. In regard to this last, however, I endeavoured to persuade myself, that Helene, understanding English imperfectly, might misconcieve or exaggerate the expressions made use of by the rest of the servants; and while I attempted to mitigate part of my anxiety by this persuasion, I endeavoured to acquire courage to investigate the ground of the other; and for this purpose I took again and again the walk alone, for not even Helene's sincere attachment to me would, I knew, have engaged her to have accompanied me without great reluctance. I thought too, that if by any strange means which I could not comprehend, nor hardly think possible, Ormsby yet lingered round Holmwood, he would be prevented by the presence of a third person from speaking to me. Life was now in my eyes of so little value, that to fear, unless it were fear of my father, I was insensible; and I believe that I should have met with indifferece, or rather torpor, the most terrific figures that imagination has ever dressed out to deter from crimes, or to enforce repentance. In my solitary and gloomy walks, however, I saw no more any object like that which had before alarmed me, nor did I hear any noise but such as I could easily account for. Every evening, without any regard to the weather, or to any thing but the precautions necessary in regard to my father, I took the same lonely walk, and for many evenings returned more astonished and depressed; for the longer this mystery remained unexplained, the more I became the prey of wild conjectures and tormenting solicitude.
"But imagine, my Rosalie, if it be possible, imagine what I suffered, when, about five days after the circumstance of my finding the letter, I was alarmed by the sudden entrance of Helene into my room, who, breathless with some new terror, endeavoured to explain something, which it was long before I understood. At length I made out that a neighbouring gentleman in the commission was come, as the servants believed, to apprehend my father with peace officers, for that a regular complaint had been laid, it was not known by whom, of the sudden disappearance of Ormsby; and at length, the accusation of having murdered him had been so often repeated, and the clamours of the country, where certainly my father had many enemies, had become so loud, that the gentleman in question could act no otherwise than he did.
"Endeavour to imagine what I endured while such a conference as this lasted, which it did for upwards of two hours; at the end of that time, the magistrates and his myrmidons departed together. Helene, who had watched them, came to tell me so: they had been out for some time with the steward and the old butler, and she was sure, she said, they had been up to the church; then they returned to the house, and, after a few moments of farther conversation with my father, quitted Holmwood apparently satisfied.
"So confused, so mingled with horror and amazement, were all my ideas, that I recollect nothing of what passed in my mind, till I saw myself seated at table as usual to help my father, who sat opposite in his great chair; when I falteringly made the usual inquiry of the day, he did not answer me. I began, however, to carve as usual for him, but he fixed his eyes on my face, with a look so menacing and stern, that it was with the utmost difficulty I supported myself....I looked in vain for comfort in the faces around me; the old butler looked as if he pitied, but could not assist me; and the footman seemed to be under such terror, that having made two or three awkward blunders, he received a very severe reprimand, and was ordered to leave the room. Our silent and melancholy meal was soon over, for my father ate little, and I in vain attempt to swallow. The table cloth was removed, and I collected voice enough to ask him, as nearly as I could in my usual manner, whether I should read to him?—He answered loudly and angrily—No——
"Then, after a pause, a dreadful pause, during which I was afraid I should have sunk upon the floor, my father spoke thus——
'If I thought only for one moment, that the infamous reports, which have gone forth in the country, had originated in your folly, or rather wickedness, I should not hesitate what to do. As for the ungrateful villian, who might, perhaps, have had the insolence to attempt, as a return for my receiving him into my house, to steal my daughter and my property from it, you will never see him or hear of him more, nor can a matter of self-defence be again tortured into what the laws might here call a crime; but for yourself, know that it is my pleasure that you immediately prepare to receive, as your husband, a friend of mine, whose estate is such as you have no pretensions to expect, unless it be as my daughter—I will not suffer myself to suppose you have forfeited that title—on your part you will be pleased to make up your mind, and to divest yourself of a manner and behaviour which I will suffer no longer: I should have forborne to have given you my commands in regard to Mr. Vyvian, till his arrival, if I had not remarked your perserverance in a sort of conduct which I will not understand, lest the most terrible vengeance should follow......I have said enough—go to your own room, and learn to obey.'
"This terrible sentence, which ended in so loud a tone as almost to stun me, deprived me for a moment of my recollection; as soon, however, as I was able, I arose from my chair, and with difficulty reached the door, my father's eyes following me with a look so scrutinizing and angry, that I wished at that moment the earth might open beneath my feet and swallow me for ever. I found Helene near the door; for, alarmed by the transactions of the morning, and probably by the report of the footman, she waited there for me—without her aid I should never have got to my own room. I sat down in a state of torpid despair, which it is impossible to describe. Helene spoke to me in vain. The words I had heard, the dreadful command I had received, still vibrated in my ears, and the horrors of my fate were so forcibly presented to my mind, that the few distinct thoughts that passed through it pointed to suicide as the only way to escape from a destiny I was utterly unable to support. At length the tears and prayers of my faithful Helene restored to me some degree of recollection; she knelt at my feet, imploring me to have mercy on myself, if it were only to save my father from the crimes to which his furious revenge might excite him. She endeavoured to persuade me, that what he had said of Mr. Vyvian might be only a finesse; or, that if there was such a marrige in agitation, I might delay or escape it by the interposition of Mrs. Lessington, who was probably by this time, or would be in a few days, within four miles, and from whose prudence, as well as influence over the mind of my father, much might be hoped.
"Though I knew great part of this reasoning was fallacious, I affected to be more calm, that Helene, who would not be dismissed, might talk to me no longer; but what a night did I pass! and when I obtained by opiate half an hour of unquiet slumber, with what anguish did I recollect, the moment I awoke, all that had passed the preceding day, with what dread look forward to what might befall me in that which was begun.
"One consolatory circumstance happened in the morning, which enabled me to go through it; I received a letter from Mrs. Lessington, to inform me she was arrived at home, and would see me the next day. This prospect of alleviating my sufferings gave me the power of going down to dinner with some degree of resolution—I even took courage to meet the piercing eye of my severe, my sometimes cruel father, and to repeat, when dinner was over, my question, whether I should read to him?—He again answered, No—though with less harshness than the evening before: he felt himself indisposed, and said he should endeavour to sleep.
"I no sooner had left him, than in despite of the earnest entreaty of Helene, who incessantly besought me to have more regard to my own safety, I went into the avenue, though it was nearly dark; an early moon, however, lit up, with faint but cheering radiance, the winter sky, and her rays glancing through the leafless trees, and falling on the gray trunks of a few arbeals and birches that were scattered among the more glooomy elms towards the middle of the line, I could have indulged my shuddering fancy in supposing them, indistinctly seen as they were, to be spectres beckoning me to the only sure asylum of all sorrows in the cemetary beyond.
"Why should those fear who have nothing to hope?—Of beings of this world I had no dread, for I was so miserable that religion only arrested my feeble hands, or they would have been lifted against a life which might have been called a living death; supernatural beings I had never learned to fear—if such were ever permitted to appear. Thus arguing and reflecting, I had reached the top of the avenue, and stood a moment looking at the half-ruined church, and meditating on the horrible idea taken up by the people of the country, that Ormsby was destroyed and buried in this place.......What an opinion must they have of the violence and ferocity of my father's spirit! What an idea of the provocation he had received, before they could have supposed him likely to be driven to extremities so dangerous and dreadful!—It was impossible but what the cause for such vengeance must be suspected. The secret of our attachment, my disgrace and shame, then were known, or, what was nearly the same thing, guessed at, though I no longer supposed it possible that my father could for a moment harbour a thought so contrary to humanity as the destruction of the unhappy Ormsby; yet there were a thousand daggers for my heart in the reflection that such a history was the conversation of the surrounding country, and that the real or imaginary crimes of our family were discussed by the ignorant, and enjoyed by the malicious.
"But even these reflections were ease compared to those that assailed me when I remembered the conversation of the evening before and repeated to myself the dreadful name of Vyvian.—There is a kind and a degree of grief that annihilates the feeling from its violent pressure, as the extremities of bodily pain are said to deprive the sufferer of sensation. This was the effect which the commands of my father had on my mind, now that alone, and amidst the silence of the night, I reflected on them—lost in the terible contemplation of the future,I forgot the present, and was unconsious of the dreary scene around me, till I was startled from my reverie by the sight of a man, who, coming from among the ruins, slowly approached. Rivetted to the spot by fear, mingled with a strange desire to know whether this was a being of another world, or whether it brought me intelligence of Ormsby, I had no power to stir. The figure approached, and, as if encouraged by my remaining where I was, spoke to me in a low voice, and said something as if entreating me not to be alarmed; but I heard only the beginning of the sentence; the voice was, I thought, Ormsby's, and a thousand sensations, which I could neither discriminate then, nor can describe now, contributed to deprive me of my senses. The predominant idea, however, was, the hazard Ormsby was in, in thus returning round the house, for of any supernatural appearance I had none.
"On recovering some degree of recollection, I found myself on the ground, and a man kneeling by me, whom I still believed to be Ormsby, till he explained himself in these words——
'I have long waited for an opportunity of speaking to you, Miss Montalbert—recover your recollection—your presence of mind——the life of Ormsby depends on you.'
'Of Ormsby?' cried I faintly.
'Of Ormsby! (answered he)—my unfortunate brother.....It is you who must either release him; or must either restore him to life and liberty, or condemn him to end his miserable days in poverty and imprisonment.'—I have not strength, Rosalie, to relate every word as it passed; suffice it therefore to tell you, that it was one of the brothers of poor, unhappy Ormsby, who related, that he had come from Ireland on finding that my father had imprisoned Ormsby for debt; and that he had declared to the elder Mr. Ormsby by letter, that he never would release him, unless, under the most positive promise, that he would go immediately to India—never again to see or correspond with me, and renounce, in the most solemn manner, every claim that I might have given him to my person or my affections. This Ormsby had positively refused to do.
My father, irritated to frenzy by a circumstance that renewed all his suspicions, declared, in terms of the greatest violence, that Ormsby should perish in prison. His father could do nothing for him; but sent over his second son, only two years older than Ormsby, to endeavour to appease the anger of Mr. Montalbert, by engaging his brother to make the concessions that were required of him.
'I have now (said the young man) lingered about the place more than a fortnight, in hopes of having an opportunity of speaking with you. At the risk of my life I have attempted to make my way into the house, and probably have owed my preservation to the notion impressed upon your father's servants, that the restless spirit of my brother, whom they supposed to have been murdered, haunted the house and gardens.....Now, dearest Madam, (continued George Ormsby), if you have, indeed, honoured my brother with your regard, resolve to save him—resolve to restore to my poor, unhappy parents the peace this fatal circumstance has robbed them of.'——I asked faintly what I could do?—He answered, that by consenting to marry the man proposed to me by my father, I should end at once the persecution of Ormsby, and secure my own peace—I shuddered, and was on the point of declaring why it was impossible for me to do this, when the noise of voices at a distance compelled him hastily to quit me. He retired again among the ruins, and I, without knowing how I found strength, walked towards the house. I met Helene and one of the men servants coming in search of me: Helene, in accosting me, trembled so she could hardly speak—I leaned on her arm and reached the house, where I had again to encounter the angry looks and fierce interrogatories of my father. I know not how I answered; overwhelmed by the scene I had just passed I sunk once more under the violent agitation of my mind, and could hardly be said to be sensible till the soothing voice of Mrs. Lessington, at my bedside the next morning, restored me in some measure to my reason. But notwithstanding the perfect reliance I had on her friendship, I should never have had courage to relate to this dear friend the extent of my imprudence and its consequences; but Helene had already told her so much, that she entered at once upon the subject as soon as I appeared in a state to attend to her; by transferring the blame from me to my father, she reconciled me in some measure to myself, and, with some degree of composure, I suffered her to speak of what could be done in circumstances so dreadful and distressing.
"Nothing, however, could be immediately determined upon. I agreed with her, that it was necessary her husband should know my cruel embarrassment, for without his assistance and participation she could do nothing. She gave me in the mean time every consolation in her power; but I thought I perceived, not withstanding she evaded the conversation that she thought I ought to relinquish every idea of ever again seeing Ormsby, and that if I could escape from the perils of my present melancholy situation, I should dispose myself to act in compliance with my father's commands.
"Many were the conferences we now had; but probably it would have been impossible to have saved me from that death, which my father might have thought could alone wipe away the dishonour I had brought upon his family, had not Providence interfered in my favour.
"Mrs. Lessington now met and conversed with George Ormsby: they agreed that the only means of saving his brother was to procure his renunciation of every pretension to me in whatever form my father should dictate. This I alone could engage him to do, and this at length Mrs. Lessington extorted from me in a few lines, by which I asked this of him—with a trembling hand, and eyes overflowing with tears, I signed the fatal paper. Mrs. Lessington assured me George Ormsby went immediately with it to London.—In about ten days afterwards, Mrs. Lessington, who remaind at Holmwood, informed me she had heard from him; that his brother Charles was released, and on his voyage to India. There was something in all this that I could not comprehend; but I dared not trust myself either with inquiries or with conjectures—Ormsby was lost to me for ever, and I, sometime in the bitterness of my soul, accused him of having abandoned me, though, in more reasonable moments, I was compelled to acknowledge that his stay would have been destructive to us both...My father, who, as it appeared from his conduct, knew much of the truth, though this loss of my honour was yet unknown to him, became somewhat less severe toward me; yet I shrunk more than ever from his eye, and my timidity and terror must have betrayed me, if the change in my person, now every day more evident, could have escaped observation; but, whether it was that the violence of temper, which my father had yielded to in regard to Ormsby, had aggravated his arthritic complaints, or whether his constitution was breaking entirely up, he became at this period so ill, that a physician, who had always successfully attended him, was sent for from London; he gave him some relief, but declared, that unless he went to town, where constant attendance could be given him, the consequence would be greatly to be apprehended.
"The result of his advice was, that we removed to London. Thither also my friends Mr. and Mrs. Lessington removed; and Mrs. Lessington being then near her time, it was so managed, that when the hour arrived when you, my beloved child, came into the world, you were concealed by Mrs. Lessington for three weeks, and then produced as twin with the daughter of which she was delivered, who is since dead.
"You may imagine, my Rosalie, how very difficult it was to conceal the fatal secret of your birth—you may imagine, for I cannot describe, what were the terrors I had to encounter—the anguish of heart with which, when I had once beheld you, once pressed you to my heart, I saw you torn from me, and knew that I should never dare to call you mine, or again to shed over you the tears excited by the resemblance your infant features bore to those of your father.
"But, on calmer reflections, I agreed with Mrs. Lessington, who represented to me incessantly, how thankful I ought to be for the good fortune with which I had saved my reputation, if not my life. The suspicions that had been entertained, in consequence of my father's violent conduct towards Ormsby, were now, she said, blown over and forgotten. His own family had reported, that so far from his having undergone any persecution from Mr. Montalbert, it was to him he was obliged for the advantageous situation in which he was gone to India; that the circumstances which had given rise to such strange reports in the neighbourhood of Holmwood originated in error and misrepresentation; and, in a word, that the Ormsbys, instead of showing any resentment toward my father, every where made his eulogium as the benefactor of the whole family. I was not, however, the less miserable, though I owned the truth of all Mrs. Lessington urged; and whenever I was alone, I gave way to that anquish of heart, which, while I was with her, I endeavoured to repress or conceal, because I would not be thought ungrateful, or insensible of the obligations I owed to her friendship.
"During my father's very severe illness, I heard no more of Mr. Vyvian—Indeed I seldom saw my father, and when it was unavoidable, only for a few minutes. Mrs. Lessington, in whom he had great confidence, and expressed a regard unusual for him to feel, had contrived to obtain his leave for me to stay with her while she was very ill and unable to come to me, and by this management only it was that I escaped observation at the period when I could so little bear it. As my father recovered, however, my more constant attendance was again necessary. He now sometimes ordered me to read to him, and, when he was still more at ease, to play at chess with him. I was, indeed, but a poor substitute for Ormsby or Mr. Hayward; but I fancied that the latter sometimes got out of the way, as if on purpose to make me more necessary to my father, and to leave us together.
"It was in one of these tête-à-tête parties, that my father, without much ceremony or much preface, asked me, whether I had reflected on what he had determined upon in regard to Mr. Vyvian, who would now in a few days be in England, whither he came on purpose to receive my hand?
"The violent effect of this intelligence was evident on my countenance—I tried in vain to speak; my lips refused to articulate a syllable. Not only disregarding, but enraged at the pain I seemed to feel, he declared, in a voice that made me tremble like a leaf, that if I did not determine to obey without remonstrance, or hesitation, he knew how to punish, and would punish me as I deserved. He added, that I had already been the occasion of his undergoing uneasiness, which had brought on his late illness; of scenes the most disgraceful to his character, never sullied till he found a curse instead of a blessing in his daughter; and that not content with having once been nearly the cause of his death, I now was disposed to complete my work, and destroy him who had given me life.——Figure to yourself, if it be possible, what I endured at this moment, and, if it be possible to carry your imagination farther, suppose what I must have suffered before I was compelled to give my hand to Mr. Vyvian, while my heart was devoted to Ormsby; while I would most willingly have shared with him the most obscure destiny; while I would have followed him to India, or to Nova Zembla, and have exposed myself to endure any hardships in any region of the world, rather than have been mistress of the world on condition of being the wife of Mr. Vyvian.
"My friend Mrs. Lessington, however, and the Abbé Hayward, joined in this cruel persecution. The former removed you from my sight entirely, and sent you into the country; the latter seemed to have lost his usual humanity and tenderness, and to think that duty, which I had once violated, had now stronger claims upon me than before the fatal indiscretion I had been guilty of. From your father I heard nothing. His family reported every where that he was married to a woman of fortune, with whom he became aquainted on her voyage to India, whither she was sent for by an uncle, whose heiress she was. This I believed, as I had done many other stories that were among the artifices that were used to force me into this marriage. They succeeded but too well, or rather the extreme terror I had of my father left me no means of escape. I became then the wife of Mr. Vyvian. I have been ever since the most miserabe of women; my son only, and the consolation of having sacrificed myself to duty, alone supported me. Before, however, I was driven into this miserable union, I executed, as I was then of age, a deed of gift, in which I made over, during my life, to Mr. and Mrs. Lessington, the interest of four thousand pounds, which was the gift of a relation, and which I possessed independent of my father, but without the power of alienating the principal. This is part of the money which Mr. Vyvian has so often reproached me with wasting, as he terms it, on begging monks and chanting hypocrites; though, had I really bestowed it on my necessitous fellow creatures, I should have thought myself well justified in such a disposal of it.
"I had not been married above fifteen months when my father died, and left Mr. Vyvian in possession of that fortune, which was undoubtedly his chief motive for overlooking my reluctance which I repeatedly avowed to him, and which he well knew accompanied me to the altar. After my father's death, he no longer affected to treat me with the least degree of regard. We went abroad for some years, which served in some measure to relieve and dissipate the heaviness of my heart. I had often the consolation of hearing from Mrs. Lessington, and in her letters, with the acount she gave me of her family, my Rosalie, as one of that family, was always mentioned. When I returned to England, I found you, child of my fond affections, all that my fancy could form of loveliness and perfection. So many tears had my fatal error cost me, and so much I hoped had been expiated by the subsequent sacrifice I made, that I trusted it was not criminal to indulge myself with a sight of you: you know how easily I enjoyed that happiness, but I only knew what exquisite happiness it was till you grew up, and till Charles, returning from abroad, showed so much partiality for you, as made me tremble for the consequence. This fear, which a thousand circumstances contributed to irritate, rendered my life miserable—I thought, that as the heaviest punishment it could inflict, Heaven might permit a fatal passion to take place between you. This was the cause not only of the deep melancholy into which I fell, but of conduct which you then thought and I felt to be unkind and cruel."
Mrs. Vyvian here ended her long narrative, and, kissing the tears from the cheeks of her daugher, she dismissed her for that day, referring till the next day any farther conversation in regard to Montalbert.
Notes[edit]
- ↑ Metastasio