Montalbert/Chapter 8
MRS. Vyvian arrived at the house she had taken at Hampstead a few days after the family of Mrs. Lessington had become inhabitants of that village. The description of the first meeting between her and her old friend may be given best in Rosalie's own words to Montalbert; whom, it was agreed, should not appear immediately on their arrival. "At length I have seen her, my friend—this dear Mrs. Vyvian—so nearly related to you, and therefore dear to me—the first and best friend of my childhood; for I never recollect having received so many proofs of affection from my mother as from her......Ah! Montalbert, how is she changed since I saw her last; yet it is but a little while, not yet two years; but trouble, as she said with a melancholy yet sweet smile, makes greater havoc in the constitution than time. I do not know, Montalbert, whether it is her being so nearly related to you, or the memory of her past kindness, or both, but to me there is an attraction about Mrs. Vyvian that I never was conscious of in any other person. The eminent beauty she once possessed is gone, and its ruins only remain, but the delicacy, the faded loveliness of her whole form, is, perhaps, more interesting than the most animated bloom of youth and health. She had not spirits for the first two days after her arrival to receive us all. My mother only was admitted to see her. Yesterday, however, my sister and I were allowed to attend her at an early hour of the afternoon. Maria was going to the play with a family who live here, who are distantly related to the husband of one of my sisters, and who imagined, and perhaps not without reason, that to make parties for us to visit public places is the first kindness they can show to some of the family. Only Maria, however, accepted this invitation, for I had hopes of passing the evening with Mrs. Vyvian; a pleasure I would not have exchanged for the most brilliant spectacle that London offers.
"How can Mr. Vyvian treat this charming woman with coldness, even with cruelty, as I am afraid he does, though my mother says she never complains?—How is it possible that her daughters can neglect her?—Were I her daughter, I think it would be the greatest happiness of my life to watch her very wishes before she could express them, and to relieve that languor which always seems to hang over her spirits, and cloud the brilliancy of an understanding naturally so good. But I have heard, Montalbert, she was compelled to resign the man to whom she was attached, and to marry Mr. Vyvian, who, though he knew her reluctance, was determined to persevere. Strange that there can be found a human being so selfish as to act thus, and then treat with cruelty the victim whom he has thus forced into his power. I hope I shall never again see this man, for I feel such an antipathy to him that it would really be painful to me. As to the young ladies, I find they are frequently to visit their mother, but I shall avoid them as much as possible, for they are so much changed since we played together as children of the same family, that there is no longer any affection probably between us—I shall be despised as the daughter of a country curate; and though, I hope, I am not proud, I do not love to be despised......Ah! Montalbert, it is your partiality that has, perhaps, taught me to feel this sensation more than I ought to do. The little rustic thinks that she is preferred by Montalbert, and forgets her humility.
"I thank you, most sincerely thank you, for your forbearance. Believe me, a little self-denial now will greatly accelerate the security with which we may see each other hereafter. My mother has so little idea of your having any partiality to me, that she seems quite easy now Charles Vyvian is gone, and, except that she still thinks I have done extremely wrong in refusing to encourage the addresses of Hughson, she seldom dwells on what is passed. From present appearances, my dear friend, it seems as if we should be fortunate enough to pass a few tranquil and pleasant hours in the society of each other before you go to Italy; alas! they will be but transient—for yesterday, Mrs. Vyvian, in speaking of my drawing, and recommending to my mother to procure me a good master, she said, 'When my nephew, Montalbert, goes back, as he must now do very soon, since I find his mother is become very impatient at his long stay, he shall send over some chalks and crayons, for Rosalie, much better than can be found in London.'—If either of them had looked at me, at that moment, they would have remarked, that I did not hear with indifference the name of Montalbert, but fortunately I escaped observation, and soon recovered myself.
"It is long, very long, since any circumstance has given me such pleasure as being restored to my beloved benefactress, yet she says little to me; she makes no professions of that kindness towards me, which, I believe, has not been lessened even by our long separation; but there is an affection in her manner which I cannot describe. She is civiller to my sister than to me; but she addresses her as Miss Lessington, while she calls me Rosalie. I recollect that it is her name, and it seems in her mouth to have peculiar charms.
"I have passed, perhaps, too much time since I left her in reflecting how happy I might be, could I be related to this dear woman without opposition from the more near relations of Montalbert. You have often told me, that you love her as a mother, though only the half sister of your father. The sweetness of her manners, even that weak health, and that air of pensive sorrow, which her own children, at least her daughters, seem to consider as the effect of bigotry or unsociable humour, make her to me an object of tenderer attention. O Montalbert! what delight it would be to me to soothe the hours which are embittered by matrimonial discord, and, I fear, by filial neglect.
"Yet, while I think thus, perhaps I am continuing a correspondence with you, that may be displeasing to her, that may add to her solicitude, and deprive her of the satisfaction of seeing her nephew married to a woman of equal rank and of his own church. This reflection is extremely bitter to me, and it occurs the oftener, because I see with what alarm she thinks of her son's making any other alliance than what his father would choose for him; though it is very certain that ambition only will govern him, and that, in regard to religion, she cannot, if Mr. Vyvian dictates, be gratified.
"I shall hardly hear from you, Montalbert, again, before you will be here. As now I expect you, I shall not, I think, betray myself when we meet.—Till then, my dear friend, farewell!"
That she was totally destitute of fortune gave not a moment's concern to Rosalie; dependent wholly on her mother, and likely, in case of her death, to be left wholly destitute on the world, since the share she had of Mr. Lessington's fortune was to go to her other children at her decease, she felt not the least uneasiness as to pecuniary circumstances, but, with easy faith of youth, trusted that the attachment of her lover would save her from every distress, and that before she should be deprived of her surviving parent, whose life was apparently a very good one, she should be the wife of Montalbert.
He now saw her almost every day, for as he had always been attentive to Mrs. Vyvian, there was nothing remarkable in his frequent visits to her; nor was it strange that he should renew his slight acquaintance with her friends.
Miss Lessington, whose acquaintance increased every day, had continual invitations to stay at the houses of some of them for several nights together. Rosalie failed not sometimes to receive the same kind of complements, but she generally declined them, saying, that she could not leave her mother alone: but, in fact, she had no wish to mix in those societies, or to enter into those public amusements, which gave so much pleasure to her sister. While Maria, apprehensive of the superior elegance of Rosalie, showed a visible disinclination to her joining the these parties, and gradually discouraged her friends from giving these invitations, by observing, that her sister was of a very reserved turn; that she had formed connections in a very different sphere of life from the rest of her family; and that it was merely giving her the trouble to find excuses, to invite her to scenes or society for which she had a decided repugnance.
In a very short time, therefore, the attornies and brokers wives, to whom Mr. Blagham had introduced the family, forbore to attempt engaging a young woman who they imagined gave herself airs, and was extremely proud and reserved.——Miss Lessington was left in undisturbed possession of all the admiration the set of men that belonged to these "worshipful societies" had to bestow, and Rosalie at liberty to pass her time in company much more agreeable to her.
Her mother, less refined, and loving cards rather too much, was not equally difficult as to her companions; though she had really as much affection for Mrs. Vyvian as she was capable of feeling for any body, she could not help being sometimes sensible of a want of variety. Her friend's piety and estrangement from the world made her, as good Mrs. Lessington sometimes thought, rather respectable than amusing, and instead of such long visits from her confessor, Mrs. Lessington secretly wished for another, that they might make up a rubber. Insensibly she became acquainted with some "mighty agreeable people" in the village, who never played high, but were happy to make a little snug party just to pass away the long evenings. One of these parties introduced a second, a second a third, till Mrs. Lessington could hardly spare one in a week to pass with her friend Mrs. Vyvian, who, when Rosalie was with her, seemed, however, to be scarce sensible of the absence of her mother.
But from that unfortunate prepossession received early in life, that to deny herself the most innocent gratifications were sacrifices acceptable to Heaven, Mrs. Vyvian frequently abstained from indulging herself with the cheerful conversation of Rosalie, who then, as her mother was so frequently out, and now went occasionally to London for two or three days among her own and her eldest daughter's friends, was left at home, and the visits of Montalbert were uninterrupted, and without inquiry. To be continually in presence of a beloved object, to see or suppose that his attachment every moment becomes stronger, to listen to arguments to which the heart yields but too ready an assent, was a situation of all others the most dangerous for a young woman who had not seen her nineteenth year. Montalbert, besides the advantages of a very handsome person, had the most insinuating manners and the most interesting address: he was naturally eloquent—love rendered his eloquence doubly formidable; and Rosalie had nothing to oppose to his earnest entreaties for a secret marriage, but the arms with which he had himself furnished her—the fear of discovery on the part of his mother, which he owned would injure, indeed ruin, his future prospects in life. This he still acknowledged, but averred that it was impossible his mother, who resided in Naples, should know that he was married in England. Rosalie represented, that if Mrs. Vyvian knew it, it must inevitably be known to her. Montalbert insisted that there was no necessity of Mrs. Vyvian's knowing any thing about it. Rosalie entreated that he would first go to Italy, without risking the displeasure of a parent on whom he depended. Montalbert declared, he should be wretched to leave her; that he did not know how to acquire resolution enough to absent himself, leaving her, perhaps, exposed to the persecution of other lovers, which it distracted him only to think of, while he passed the miserable hours in which he should be absent from her, in anxiety, in torture, which, if she was once securely his, would be infinitely less insupportable.
But notwithstanding the frequent opportunities they now had of meeting, and even of passing whole hours alone together, how was it possible that a private marriage could be effected?—Rosalie knew that to escape to Scotland, and return without being missed, and without avowedly eloping, was impossible. Montalbert allowed it to be so, but he had another expedient ready—they might be married by a Catholic priest. Rosalie had heard, but in a vague way, that such marriages were not valid, but Montalbert reasoned her out of this persuasion. "Admitting, (said he), my dearest love, that it were as you have heard, would not such a marriage be binding to me? Might it not at any time be renewed according to the laws of any country where we may reside, when I shall be wholly at liberty? and is it material to you what restrictions are laid upon such marriages in England, if your husband looks upon other laws binding to him?—Even if we were to have the ceremony performed in your church, I should think it necessary to have it gone over a second time by a priest of ours." By such arguments he sometimes shook the wavering resolution of Rosalie, who, except the single circumstance of his mother's known aversion to his marrying an English protestant, which her reason told her was unjust and unreasonable, saw nothing that ought to prevent her giving her person where she had already given her heart. In point of family and fortune, Montalbert was infinitely her superior. Her mother therefore, however she might reproach her with having married clandestinely, could not accuse her with having debased herself or degraded her family. She had no other person to whom she was accountable, unless it was her elder brother, whom she loved too much to be quite easy as to his sentiments; but, on the other hand, it was impossible he could make any objections, unless it was the difference of religion; yet she dared not venture to tell him, least that single circumstance should appear to him of consequence enough to prevent entirely a union otherwise so desirable.
Every opportunity that occurred, Montalbert pressed his suit with redoubled ardour: he urged, with all the vehemence of passion, the necessity of his immediate return to Italy, as he had already, on various pretences, prolonged his stay two months beyond the time he intended.—There was now a danger that his mother might suspect that some of those connections, she was so averse to, were the occasion of his prolonged absence, and might engage some of her friends in England in an inquiry that would be the cause of discovering what nobody now seemed to suspect. This and numberless other reasons Montalbert always had ready to offer why there was no time to deliberate: he had already conquered one obstacle—the difficulty of finding a Catholic priest who would venture to perform the ceremony.
Besides the consequence, both in England and in Italy, of his family and his connections, the ease with which a dispensation might be obtained whenever his mother withdrew her opposition, and the pecuniary advantage Montalbert promised the priest, with whom he had at length succeeded; knew that Rosalie was the daughter of a country clergyman, and had no relations who were at all likely to be displeased at her marrying a man so greatly her superior, and of course not likely to proceed against one who had committed a breach of law so much to their advantage: he rather wished to detach Montalbert from his pursuit, by representing the great distance between him and Rosalie in temporal concerns, as well as the difference in spiritual affairs, which appeared to him so momentous. Finding it, however, very bootless to argue with a man of three and twenty, madly in love, he consented to do as Montalbert required, and reconciled his conscience by that accommodating reflection at hand on so many occasions, "If I do not do it, some other will." He stipulated with Montalbert, however, that if there should be any probability of his incurring the heavy penalty for marrying a minor, that he should be immediately sent to Rome at the expence of Montalbert; an expedient which Montalbert immediately agreed to, as indeed he would have done so to any demands the father thought proper to have made, however unreasonable they might have been.
The longer Rosalie reflected on the proposals of her lover, the fainter became her opposition; yet still conscious that it could not be right to dispose of herself without the consent of her mother and her brother, she more than once intreated Montalbert to allow her to consult them; but he heard this request always with impatience, declaring, that if she determined to tear herself from him, to abandon him to all the horrors of that despair which her loss would inflict, she could find no way more certain than what she proposed. His vehemence, and the conviction of his sincerity, which that vehemence brought with it, once more conquered her scruples. Montalbert extorted once more a reluctant and trembling acquiescence, and then eagerly insisting on finding some immediate opportunity for them to meet, where the priest might attend, Rosalie, terrified at the step she was about to take, again recoiled, and intreated to be released from her inconsiderate promise.
Though the attachment between these young people seemed not even to be suspected either by Mrs. Vyvian or Mrs. Lessington, yet the conflict in the mind of Rosalie had such an effect on her frame, that the former one day observed it to her as they were sitting together alone. "Surely, my dear, (said she, laying down her work, and looking very earnestly at Rosalie), surely you are not well."
"Dear Ma'am, (answered Rosalie), why do you suppose so?"
"You are pale, (said Mrs. Vyvian); your eyes are heavy and languid, I am afraid, my love,————————-" She hesitated, and the conscience of Rosalie at that moment accusing her, a faint blush overspread her countenance as she eagerly cried, "Afraid, my dear Madam, of what?"
"Nay, of nothing, Rosalie, that need alarm you: I will tell you my fears—either you have some affection that makes you uneasy, or the almost total seclusion in which you live is too much for your spirits."
"Indeed, Madam, my spirits would be very ill bear the dissipation in which my sister lives. The seclusion that gives me an opportunity of passing some of my hours with you, is the greatest gratification I can enjoy."
"But to the other article, Rosalie, what do you say?"
"To what article, Madam?"
"Oh! you have forgot already—to what I told you I feared as one cause of the alteration I have observed."
"Indeed, my dear Mrs. Vyvian, I am sensible of no alteration. You know how few people I see, and that with fewer still I have much acquaintance, or with it."
Mrs. Vyvian shook her head with an air of incredulity, and as Rosalie fancied of concern; but she suffered the discourse to drop, and Rosalie left her, trembling lest the truth was suspected, and dreading, yet feeling it necessary, to give an account of this dialogue to Montalbert.