CHAPTER vii. -- A RETROSPECTION.
Left now to herself, sensations unfelt before filled the heart ofCecilia. All that had passed for a while appeared a dream; her ideaswere indistinct, her memory was confused, her faculties seemed allout of order, and she had but an imperfect consciousness either of thetransaction in which she had just been engaged, or of the promise shehad bound herself to fulfil; even truth from imagination she scarcelycould separate; all was darkness and doubt, inquietude and disorder!
But when at length her recollection more clearly returned, and hersituation appeared to her such as it really was, divested alike offalse terrors or delusive expectations, she found herself still furtherremoved from tranquility.
Hitherto, though no stranger to sorrow, which the sickness and earlyloss of her friends had first taught her to feel, and which thesubsequent anxiety of her own heart had since instructed her to bear,she had yet invariably possessed the consolation of self-approvingreflections; but the step she was now about to take, all her principlesopposed; it terrified her as undutiful, it shocked her as clandestine,and scarce was Delvile out of sight, before she regretted her consentto it as the loss of her self-esteem, and believed, even if areconciliation took place, the remembrance of a wilful fault wouldstill follow her, blemish in her own eyes the character she had hopedto support, and be a constant allay to her happiness, by telling her howunworthily she had obtained it.
Where frailty has never been voluntary, nor error stubborn, where thepride of early integrity is unsubdued, and the first purity of innocenceis inviolate, how fearfully delicate, how "tremblingly alive," is theconscience of man! strange, that what in its first state is so tender,can in its last become so callous!
Compared with the general lot of human misery, Cecilia had sufferednothing; but compared with the exaltation of ideal happiness, she hadsuffered much; willingly, however, would she again have borne all thathad distressed her, experienced the same painful suspence, enduredthe same melancholy parting, and gone through the same cruel task ofcombating inclination with reason, to have relieved her virtuous mindfrom the new-born and intolerable terror of conscientious reproaches.
The equity of her notions permitted her not from the earnestness ofDelvile's entreaties to draw any palliation for her consent to hisproposal; she was conscious that but for her own too great facilitythose entreaties would have been ineffectual, since she well knew howlittle from any other of her admirers they would have availed.
But chiefly her affliction and repentance hung upon Mrs Delvile, whomshe loved, reverenced and honoured, whom she dreaded to offend, and whomshe well knew expected from her even exemplary virtue. Her praises, herpartiality, her confidence in her character, which hitherto had been herpride, she now only recollected with shame and with sadness. The terrorof the first interview never ceased to be present to her; she shrunkeven in imagination from her wrath-darting eye, she felt stung bypointed satire, and subdued by cold contempt.
Yet to disappoint Delvile so late, by forfeiting a promise so positivelyaccorded; to trifle with a man who to her had been uniformly candid,to waver when her word was engaged, and retract when he thought himselfsecure,--honour, justice and shame told her the time was now past.
"And yet is not this," cried she, "placing nominal before actual evil?Is it not studying appearance at the expence of reality? If agreeingto wrong is criminal, is not performing it worse? If repentance for illactions calls for mercy, has not repentance for ill intentions a yethigher claim?--And what reproaches from Delvile can be so bitter as myown? What separation, what sorrow, what possible calamity can hang uponmy mind with such heaviness, as the sense of committing voluntary evil?"
This thought so much affected her, that, conquering all regret eitherfor Delvile or herself, she resolved to write to him instantly, andacquaint him of the alteration in her sentiments.
This, however, after having so deeply engaged herself, was by no meanseasy; and many letters were begun, but not one of them was finished,when a sudden recollection obliged her to give over the attempt,--forshe knew not whither to direct to him.
In the haste with which their plan had been formed and settled, it hadnever once occurred to them that any, occasion for writing was likely tohappen. Delvile, indeed, knew that her address would still be the same;and with regard to his own, as his journey to London was to be secret,he purposed not having any fixed habitation. On the day of theirmarriage, and not before, they had appointed to meet at the house of MrsRoberts, in Fetter-Lane, whence they were instantly to proceed to thechurch.
She might still, indeed, enclose a letter for him in one to Mrs Hill, tobe delivered to him on the destined morning when he called to claim her;but to fail him at the last moment, when Mr Belfield would have drawn upthe bond, when a licence was procured, the clergyman waiting to performthe ceremony, and Delvile without a suspicion but that the next momentwould unite them for ever, seemed extending prudence into treachery, andpower into tyranny. Delvile had done nothing to merit such treatment, hehad practised no deceit, he had been guilty of no perfidy, he had openedto her his whole heart, and after shewing it without any disguise, theoption had been all her own to accept or refuse him.
A ray of joy now broke its way through the gloom of her apprehensions."Ah!" cried she, "I have not, then, any means to recede! an unprovokedbreach of promise at the very moment destined for its performance, wouldbut vary the mode of acting wrong, without approaching nearer to actingright!"
This idea for a while not merely calmed but delighted her; to be thewife of Delvile seemed now a matter of necessity, and she soothedherself with believing that to struggle against it were vain.
The next morning during breakfast Mr Monckton arrived.
Not greater, though winged with joy, had been the expedition of Delvileto open to him his plan, than was his own, though only goaded bydesperation, to make some effort with Cecilia for rendering it abortive.Nor could all his self-denial, the command which he held over hispassions, nor the rigour with which his feelings were made subservientto his interest, in this sudden hour of trial, avail to preserve hisequanimity. The refinements of hypocrisy, and the arts of insinuation,offered advantages too distant, and exacted attentions too subtle, fora moment so alarming; those arts and those attentions he had already formany years practised, with an address the most masterly, and a diligencethe most indefatigable; success had of late seemed to follow histoils; the encreasing infirmities of his wife, the disappointment andretirement of Cecilia, uniting to promise him a conclusion equallyspeedy and happy; when now, by a sudden and unexpected stroke, the sweetsolace of his future cares, the long-projected recompence of his pastsufferings, was to be snatched from him for ever, and by one who,compared with himself, was but the acquaintance of a day.
Almost wholly off his guard from the surprise and horror of thisapprehension, he entered the room with such an air of haste andperturbation, that Mrs Charlton and her grand-daughters demanded whatwas the matter.
"I am come," he answered abruptly, yet endeavouring to recollecthimself, "to speak with Miss Beverley upon business of some importance."
"My dear, then," said Mrs Charlton, "you had better go with Mr Moncktoninto your dressing-room."
Cecilia, deeply blushing, arose and led the way; slowly, however, sheproceeded, though urged by Mr Monckton to make speed. Certain of hisdisapprobation, and but doubtfully relieved from her own, she dreaded aconference which on his side, she foresaw, would be all exhortation andreproof, and on hers all timidity and shame.
"Good God," cried he, "Miss Beverley, what is this you have done? boundyourself to marry a man who despises, who scorns, who refuses to ownyou!"
Shocked by this opening, she started, but could make no answer.
"See you not," he continued, "the indignity which is offered you? Doesthe loose, the flimsy veil with which it is covered, hide it from yourunderstanding, or disguise it from your delicacy?"
"I thought not,--I meant not," said she, more and more confounded, "to
submit to any indignity, though my pride, in an exigence so peculiar,may give way, for a while, to convenience."
"To convenience?" repeated he, "to contempt, to derision, toinsolence!"--
"O Mr Monckton!" interrupted Cecilia, "make not use of such expressions!they are too cruel for me to hear, and if I thought they were just,would make me miserable for life!"
"You are deceived, grossly deceived," replied he, "if you doubt theirtruth for a moment; they are not, indeed, even decently concealed fromyou; they are glaring as the day, and wilful blindness can alone obscurethem."
"I am sorry, Sir," said Cecilia, whose confusion, at a charge so rough,began now to give way to anger, "if this is your opinion; and I amsorry, too, for the liberty I have taken in troubling you upon such asubject."
An apology so full of displeasure instantly taught Mr Monckton theerror he was committing, and checking, therefore, the violence of thoseemotions to which his sudden and desperate disappointment gave rise,and which betrayed him into reproaches so unskilful, he endeavouredto recover his accustomed equanimity, and assuming an air of friendlyopenness, said, "Let me not offend you, my dear Miss Beverley, by afreedom which results merely from a solicitude to serve you, and whichthe length and intimacy of our acquaintance had, I hoped, long sinceauthorised. I know not how to see you on the brink of destructionwithout speaking, yet, if you are averse to my sincerity, I will curbit, and have done."
"No, do not have done," cried she, much softened; "your sincerity doesme nothing but honour, and hitherto, I am sure, it has done me nothingbut good. Perhaps I deserve your utmost censure; I feared it, indeed,before you came, and ought, therefore, to have better prepared myselffor meeting with it."
This speech completed Mr Monckton's self-victory; it shewed him notonly the impropriety of his turbulence, but gave him room to hope that amildness more crafty would have better success.
"You cannot but be certain," he answered, "that my zeal proceeds whollyfrom a desire to be of use to you; my knowledge of the world mightpossibly, I thought, assist your inexperience, and the disinterestednessof my regard, might enable me to see and to point out the dangers towhich you are exposed, from artifice and duplicity in those who haveother purposes to answer than what simply belong to your welfare."
"Neither artifice nor duplicity," cried Cecilia, jealous for thehonour of Delvile, "have been practised against me. Argument, and notpersuasion, determined me, and if I have done wrong--those who promptedme have erred as unwittingly as myself."
"You are too generous to perceive the difference, or you would findnothing less alike. If, however, my plainness will not offend you,before it is quite too late, I will point out to you a few of theevils,--for there are some I cannot even mention, which at this instantdo not merely threaten, but await you."
Cecilia started at this terrifying offer, and afraid to accept, yetashamed to refuse, hung back irresolute.
"I see," said Mr Monckton, after a pause of some continuance, "yourdetermination admits no appeal. The consequence must, indeed, be allyour own, but I am greatly grieved to find how little you are aware ofits seriousness. Hereafter you will wish, perhaps, that the friend ofyour earliest youth had been permitted to advise you; at present youonly think him officious and impertinent, and therefore he can donothing you will be so likely to approve as quitting you. I wishyou, then, greater happiness than seems prepared to follow you, and acounsellor more prosperous in offering his assistance."
He would then have taken his leave; but Cecilia called out, "Oh, MrMonckton! do you then give me up?"
"Not unless you wish it."
"Alas, I know not what to wish! except, indeed, the restoration of thatsecurity from self-blame, which till yesterday, even in the midst ofdisappointment, quieted and consoled me."
"Are you, then, sensible you have gone wrong, yet resolute not to turnback?"
"Could I tell, could I see," cried she, with energy, "which way I oughtto turn, not a moment would I hesitate how to act! my heart should haveno power, my happiness no choice,--I would recover my own esteem by anysacrifice that could be made!"
"What, then, can possibly be your doubt? To be as you were yesterdaywhat is wanting but your own inclination?"
"Every thing is wanting; right, honour, firmness, all by which the justare bound, and all which the conscientious hold sacred!"
"These scruples are merely romantic; your own good sense, had it fairerplay, would contemn them; but it is warped at present by prejudice andprepossession."
"No, indeed!" cried she, colouring at the charge, "I may have enteredtoo precipitately into an engagement I ought to have avoided, but it isweakness of judgment, not of heart, that disables me from retrieving myerror."
"Yet you will neither hear whither it may lead you, nor which way youmay escape from it?"
"Yes, Sir," cried she, trembling, "I am now ready to hear both."
"Briefly, then, I will tell you. It will lead you into a family of whichevery individual will disdain you; it will make you inmate of a house ofwhich no other inmate will associate with you; you will be insulted asan inferior, and reproached as an intruder; your birth will be a subjectof ridicule, and your whole race only named with derision; and whilethe elders of the proud castle treat you with open contempt, the man forwhom you suffer will not dare to support you."
"Impossible! impossible!" cried Cecilia, with the most angry emotion;"this whole representation is exaggerated, and the latter part isutterly without foundation."
"The latter part," said Mr Monckton, "is of all other least disputable;the man who now dares not own, will then never venture to defend you. Onthe contrary, to make peace for himself, he will be the first to neglectyou. The ruined estates of his ancestors will be repaired by yourfortune, while the name which you carry into his family will beconstantly resented as an injury; you will thus be plundered though youare scorned, and told to consider yourself honoured that they condescendto make use of you! nor here rests the evil of a forced connection withso much arrogance,--even your children, should you have any, will beeducated to despise you!"
"Dreadful and horrible!" cried Cecilia;--"I can hear no more,--Oh, MrMonckton, what a prospect have you opened to my view!"
"Fly from it, then, while it is yet in your power,--when two paths arebefore you, chuse not that which leads to destruction; send instantlyafter Delvile, and tell him you have recovered your senses."
"I would long since have sent,--I wanted not a representation such asthis,--but I know not how to direct to him, nor whither he is gone."
"All art and baseness to prevent your recantation!"
"No, Sir, no," cried she, with quickness; "whatever may be the truth ofyour painting in general, all that concerns--"
Ashamed of the vindication she intended, which yet in her own mind wasfirm and animated, she stopt, and left the sentence unfinished.
"In what place were you to meet?" said Mr Monckton; "you can at leastsend to him there."
"We were only to have met," answered she, in much confusion, "at thelast moment,--and that would be too late--it would be too--I could not,without some previous notice, break a promise which I gave without anyrestriction."
"Is this your only objection?"
"It is; but it is one which I cannot conquer."
"Then you would give up this ill-boding connection, but from notions ofdelicacy with regard to the time?"
"Indeed I meant it, before you came."
"I, then, will obviate this objection; give me but the commission,either verbally or in writing, and I will undertake to find him out, anddeliver it before night."
Cecilia, little expecting this offer, turned extremely pale, and afterpausing some moments, said in a faultering voice, "What, then, Sir, isyour advice, in what manner--"
"I will say to him all that is necessary; trust the matter with me."
"No,--he deserves, at least, an apology from myself,--though how to makeit--"
She stopt, she hesitated, she went out of the room for pen and
ink,she returned without them, and the agitation of her mind every instantencreasing, she begged him, in a faint voice, to excuse her while sheconsulted with Mrs Charlton, and promising to wait upon him again, washurrying away.
Mr Monckton, however, saw too great danger in so much emotion to trusther out of his sight; he told her, therefore, that she would onlyencrease her perplexity, without reaping any advantage, by anapplication to Mrs Charlton, and that if she was really sincere inwishing to recede, there was not a moment to be lost, and Delvile shouldimmediately be pursued.
Cecilia, sensible of the truth of this speech, and once morerecollecting the unaffected earnestness with which but an hour ortwo before, she had herself desired to renounce this engagement, nowsummoned her utmost courage to her aid, and, after a short, but painfulstruggle, determined to act consistently with her professions and hercharacter, and, by one great and final effort, to conclude all herdoubts, and try to silence even her regret, by completing the triumph offortitude over inclination.
She called, therefore, for pen and ink, and without venturing herselffrom the room, wrote the following letter.
To Mortimer Delvile, Esq.
Accuse me not of caprice, and pardon my irresolution, when you find meshrinking with terror from the promise I have made, and no longer eitherable or willing to perform it. The reproaches of your family I shouldvery ill endure; but the reproaches of my own heart for an action I canneither approve nor defend, would be still more oppressive. With sucha weight upon the mind length of life would be burthensome; with asensation of guilt early death would be terrific! These being my notionsof the engagement into which we have entered, you cannot wonder, and youhave still less reason to repine, that I dare not fulfil it. Alas!where would be your chance of happiness with one who in the very act ofbecoming yours would forfeit her own!
I blush at this tardy recantation, and I grieve at the disappointmentit may occasion you; but I have yielded to the exhortations of aninward monitor, who is never to be neglected with impunity. Consulthim yourself, and I shall need no other advocate. Adieu, and may allfelicity attend you! if to hear of the almost total privation of mine,will mitigate the resentment with which you will probably read thisletter, it may be mitigated but too easily! Yet my consent to aclandestine action shall never be repeated; and though I confess toyou I am not happy, I solemnly declare my resolution is unalterable.A little reflection will tell you I am right, though a great deal oflenity may scarce suffice to make you pardon my being right no sooner.C. B.
This letter, which with trembling haste, resulting from a fear ofher own steadiness, she folded and sealed, Mr Monckton, from the sameapprehension yet more eagerly received, and scarce waiting to bid hergood morning, mounted his horse, and pursued his way to London.
Cecilia returned to Mrs Charlton to acquaint her with what had passed;and notwithstanding the sorrow she felt in apparently injuring the manwhom, in the whole world she most wished to oblige, she yet found asatisfaction in the sacrifice she had made, that recompensed her formuch of her sufferings, and soothed her into something like tranquility;the true power of virtue she had scarce experienced before, for shefound it a resource against the cruellest dejection, and a supporter inthe bitterest disappointment.