CHAPTER viii.
A TALE.
A week passed, during which Cecilia, however sad, spent her time asusual with the family, denying to herself all voluntary indulgence ofgrief, and forbearing to seek consolation from solitude, or relief fromtears. She never named Delvile, she begged Mrs Charlton never to mentionhim; she called to her aid the account she had received from Dr Lysterof his firmness, and endeavoured, by an emulous ambition, to fortify hermind from the weakness of depression and regret.
This week, a week of struggle with all her feelings, was just elapsed,when she received by the post the following letter from Mrs Delvile.
_To Miss Beverley_.
BRISTOL, _Oct_. 21.
My sweet young friend will not, I hope, be sorry to hear of my safearrival at this place: to me every account of her health and welfare,will ever be the intelligence I shall most covet to receive. Yet I meannot to ask for it in return; to chance I will trust for information, andI only write now to say I shall write no more.
Too much for thanks is what I owe you, and what I think of you is beyondall power of expression. Do not, then, wish me ill, ill as I have seemedto merit of you, for my own heart is almost broken by the tyranny I havebeen compelled to practise upon yours. And now let me bid a long adieuto you, my admirable Cecilia; you shall not be tormented with a uselesscorrespondence, which can only awaken painful recollections, or giverise to yet more painful new anxieties. Fervently will I pray forthe restoration of your happiness, to which nothing can so greatlycontribute as that wise, that uniform command, so feminine, yet sodignified, you maintain over your passions; which often I have admired,though never so feelingly as at this conscious moment! when my ownhealth is the sacrifice of emotions most fatally unrestrained.
Send to me no answer, even if you have the sweetness to wish it; everynew proof of the generosity of your nature is to me but a new wound.Forget us, therefore, wholly,--alas! you have only known us for sorrow!forget us, dear and invaluable Cecilia! though, ever, as you havenobly deserved, must you be fondly and gratefully remembered by AUGUSTADELVILE.
The attempted philosophy, and laboured resignation of Cecilia, thisletter destroyed: the struggle was over, the apathy was at an end, andshe burst into an agony of tears, which finding the vent they hadlong sought, now flowed unchecked down her cheeks, sad monitors of theweakness of reason opposed to the anguish of sorrow!
A letter at once so caressing, yet so absolute, forced its way to herheart, in spite of the fortitude she had flattered herself was itsguard. In giving up Delvile she was satisfied of the propriety of seeinghim no more, and convinced that even to talk of him would be follyand imprudence; but to be told that for the future they must remainstrangers to the existence of each other--there seemed in this ahardship, a rigour, that was insupportable.
"Oh what," cried she, "is human nature! in its best state how imperfect!that a woman such as this, so noble in character, so elevated insentiment, with heroism to sacrifice to her sense of duty the happinessof a son, whom with joy she would die to serve, can herself be thusgoverned by prejudice, thus enslaved, thus subdued by opinion!" Yetnever, even when miserable, unjust or irrational; her grief was unmixedwith anger, and her tears streamed not from resentment, but affliction.The situation of Mrs Delvile, however different, she considered to beas wretched as her own. She read, therefore, with sadness, but notbitterness, her farewell, and received not with disdain, but withgratitude, her sympathy. Yet though her indignation was not irritated,her sufferings were doubled, by a farewell so kind, yet so despotic, asympathy so affectionate, yet so hopeless.
In this first indulgence of grief which she had granted to herdisappointment, she was soon interrupted by a summons down stairs to agentleman.
Unfit and unwilling to be seen, she begged that he might leave his name,and appoint a time for calling again.
Her maid brought for answer, that he believed his name was unknown toher, and desired to see her now, unless she was employed in some matterof moment. She then put up her letter, and went into the parlour; andthere, to her infinite amazement, beheld Mr Albany.
"How little, Sir," she cried, "did I expect this pleasure."
"This pleasure," repeated he, "do you call it?--what strange abuse ofwords! what causeless trifling with honesty! is language of no purposebut to wound the ear with untruths? is the gift of speech only grantedus to pervert the use of understanding? I can give you no pleasure,I have no power to give it any one; you can give none to me-the wholeworld could not invest you with the means!"
"Well, Sir," said Cecilia, who had little spirit to defend herself, "Iwill not vindicate the expression, but of this I will unfeignedly assureyou, I am at least as glad to see you just now, as I should be to seeanybody."
"Your eyes," cried he, "are red, your voice is inarticulate;--young,rich, and attractive, the world at your feet; that world yet untried,and its falsehood unknown, how have you thus found means to anticipatemisery? which way have you uncovered the cauldron of human woes? Fataland early anticipation! that cover once removed, can never be replaced;those woes, those boiling woes, will pour out upon you continually,and only when your heart ceases to beat, will their ebullition cease totorture you!"
"Alas!" cried Cecilia, shuddering, "how cruel, yet how true!"
"Why went you," cried he, "to the cauldron? it came not to you. Miseryseeks not man, but man misery. He walks out in the sun, but stopsnot for a cloud; confident, he pursues his way, till the storm which,gathering, he might have avoided, bursts over his devoted head. Scaredand amazed, he repents his temerity; he calls, but it is then too late;he runs, but it is thunder which follows him! Such is the presumptionof man, such at once is the arrogance and shallowness of his nature! Andthou, simple and blind! hast thou, too, followed whither Fancy has ledthee, unheeding that thy career was too vehement for tranquility,nor missing that lovely companion of youth's early innocence, till,adventurous and unthinking, thou hast lost her for ever!"
In the present weak state of Cecilia's spirits, this attack was too muchfor her; and the tears she had just, and with difficulty restrained,again forced their way down her cheeks, as she answered, "It is but tootrue,--I have lost her for ever!"
"Poor thing," said he, while the rigour of his countenance wassoftened into the gentlest commiseration, "so young!--looking, too, soinnocent--'tis hard!--And is nothing left thee? no small remaining hope,to cheat, humanely cheat thy yet not wholly extinguished credulity?"
Cecilia wept without answering.
"Let me not," said he, "waste my compassion upon nothing; compassion iswith me no effusion of affectation; tell me, then, if thou deservest it,or if thy misfortunes are imaginary, and thy grief is factitious?"
"Factitious," repeated she, "Good heaven!"
"Answer me, then, these questions, in which I shall comprise the onlycalamities for which sorrow has no controul, or none from human motives.Tell me, then, have you lost by death the friend of your bosom?"
"No!"
"Is your fortune dissipated by extravagance, and your power of relievingthe distressed at an end?"
"No; the power and the will are I hope equally undiminished."
"O then, unhappy girl! have you been guilty of some vice, and hangsremorse thus heavy on your conscience?"
"No, no; thank heaven, to that misery, at least, I am a stranger!"
His countenance now again resumed its severity, and, in the sternestmanner, "Whence then," he said, "these tears? and what is this capriceyou dignify with the name of sorrow?--strange wantonness of indolenceand luxury! perverse repining of ungrateful plenitude!--oh hadst thouknown what _I_ have suffered!"--
"Could I lessen what you have suffered," said Cecilia, "I shouldsincerely rejoice; but heavy indeed must be your affliction, if mine inits comparison deserves to be styled caprice!"
"Caprice!" repeated he, "'tis joy! 'tis extacy compared with mine!--Thouhast not in licentiousness wasted thy inheritance! thou hast not byremorse barred each avenue to enjoyment! nor yet h
as the cold graveseized the beloved of thy soul!"
"Neither," said Cecilia, "I hope, are the evils you have yourselfsustained so irremediable?"
"Yes, I have borne them all!--_have_ borne? I bear them still; I shallbear them while I breathe! I may rue them, perhaps, yet longer."
"Good God!" cried Cecilia, shrinking, "what a world is this! how full ofwoe and wickedness!"
"Yet thou, too, canst complain," cried he, "though happy in life's onlyblessing, Innocence! thou, too, canst murmur, though stranger to death'sonly terror, Sin! Oh yet if thy sorrow is unpolluted with guilt, beregardless of all else, and rejoice in thy destiny!"
"But who," cried she, deeply sighing, "shall teach me such a lesson ofjoy, when all within rises to oppose it?"
"I," cried he, "will teach it thee, for I will tell thee my own sadstory. Then wilt thou find how much happier is thy lot, then wilt thouraise thy head in thankful triumph."
"O no! triumph comes not so lightly! yet if you will venture to trustme with some account of yourself, I shall be glad to hear it, and muchobliged by the communication."
"I will," he answered, "whatever I may suffer: to awaken thee from thisdream of fancied sorrow, I will open all my wounds, and thou shalt probethem with fresh shame."
"No, indeed," cried Cecilia with quickness, "I will not hear you, if therelation will be so painful."
"Upon _me_ this humanity is lost," said he, "since punishment andpenitence alone give me comfort. I will tell thee, therefore, my crimes,that thou mayst know thy own felicity, lest, ignorant it means nothingbut innocence, thou shouldst lose it, unconscious of its value. Listenthen to me, and learn what Misery is! Guilt is alone the basis oflasting unhappiness;--Guilt is the basis of mine, and therefore I am awretch for ever!"
Cecilia would again have declined hearing him, but he refused to bespared: and as her curiosity had long been excited to know something ofhis history, and the motives of his extraordinary conduct, she was gladto have it satisfied, and gave him the utmost attention.
"I will not speak to you of my family," said he; "historical accuracywould little answer to either of us. I am a native of the West Indies,and I was early sent hither to be educated. While I was yet at theUniversity, I saw, I adored, and I pursued the fairest flower that everput forth its sweet buds, the softest heart that ever was broken byill-usage! She was poor and unprotected, the daughter of a villager;she was untaught and unpretending, the child of simplicity! But fifteensummers had she bloomed, and her heart was an easy conquest; yet, oncemade mine, it resisted all allurement to infidelity. My fellow studentsattacked her; she was assaulted by all the arts of seduction; flattery,bribery, supplication, all were employed, yet all failed; she was whollymy own; and with sincerity so attractive, I determined to marry her indefiance of all worldly objections.
"The sudden death of my father called me hastily to Jamaica; I fearedleaving this treasure unguarded, yet in decency could neither marry nortake her directly; I pledged my faith, therefore, to return to her,as soon as I had settled my affairs, and I left to a bosom friend theinspection of her conduct in my absence.
"To leave her was madness,--to trust in man was madness,--Oh hatefulrace! how has the world been abhorrent to me since that time! I haveloathed the light of the sun, I have shrunk from the commerce of myfellow creatures; the voice of man I have detested, his sight I haveabominated!--but oh, more than all should I be abominated myself!
"When I came to my fortune, intoxicated with sudden power, I forgot thisfair blossom, I revelled in licentiousness and vice, and left it exposedand forlorn. Riot succeeded riot, till a fever, incurred by my ownintemperance, first gave me time to think. Then was she revenged, forthen first remorse was my portion: her image was brought back to my mindwith frantic fondness, and bitterest contrition. The moment I recovered,I returned to England; I flew to claim her,--but she was lost! no oneknew whither she was gone; the wretch I had trusted pretended to knowleast of all; yet, after a furious search, I traced her to a cottage,where he had concealed her himself!
"When she saw me, she screamed and would have flown; I stopt her, andtold her I came faithfully and honourably to make her my wife:--herown faith and honour, though sullied, were not extinguished, for sheinstantly acknowledged the fatal tale of her undoing!
"Did I recompense this ingenuousness? this unexampled, this beautifulsacrifice to intuitive integrity? Yes! with my curses!--I loaded herwith execrations, I reviled her in language the most opprobrious, Iinsulted her even for her confession! I invoked all evil upon herfrom the bottom of my heart--She knelt at my feet, she imploredmy forgiveness and compassion, she wept with the bitterness ofdespair,--and yet I spurned her from me!--Spurned?--let me not hidemy shame! I barbarously struck her!--nor single was the blow!--it wasdoubled, it was reiterated!--Oh wretch, unyielding and unpitying!where shall hereafter be clemency for thee!--So fair a form! so young aculprit! so infamously seduced! so humbly penitent!
"In this miserable condition, helpless and deplorable, mangled by thesesavage hands, and reviled by this inhuman tongue, I left her, in searchof the villain who had destroyed her: but, cowardly as treacherous,he had absconded. Repenting my fury, I hastened to her again; thefierceness of my cruelty shamed me when I grew calmer, the softness ofher sorrow melted me upon recollection: I returned, therefore, to sootheher,--but again she was gone! terrified with expectation of insult, shehid herself from all my enquiries. I wandered in search of her two longyears to no purpose, regardless of my affairs, and of all things butthat pursuit. At length, I thought I saw her--in London, alone, andwalking in the streets at midnight,--I fearfully followed her,--andfollowed her into an house of infamy!
"The wretches by whom she was surrounded were noisy and drinking, theyheeded me little,--but she saw and knew me at once! She did not speak,nor did I,--but in two moments she fainted and fell.
"Yet did I not help her; the people took their own measures to recoverher, and when she was again able to stand, would have removed her toanother apartment.
"I then went forward, and forcing them away from her with all thestrength of desperation, I turned to the unhappy sinner, who to chanceonly seemed to leave what became of her, and cried, From this scene ofvice and horror let me yet rescue you! you look still unfit for suchsociety, trust yourself, therefore, to me. I seized her hand, I drew,I almost dragged her away. She trembled, she could scarce totter, butneither consented nor refused, neither shed a tear, nor spoke a word,and her countenance presented a picture of affright, amazement, andhorror.
"I took her to a house in the country, each of us silent the whole way.I gave her an apartment and a female attendant, and ordered for herevery convenience I could suggest. I stayed myself in the same house,but distracted with remorse for the guilt and ruin into which I hadterrified her, I could not bear her sight.
"In a few days her maid assured me the life she led must destroy her;that she would taste nothing but bread and water, never spoke, and neverslept.
"Alarmed by this account, I flew into her apartment; pride andresentment gave way to pity and fondness, and I besought her to takecomfort. I spoke, however, to a statue, she replied not, nor seemed tohear me. I then humbled myself to her as in the days of her innocenceand first power, supplicating her notice, entreating even hercommiseration! all was to no purpose; she neither received nor repulsedme, and was alike inattentive to exhortation and to prayer.
"Whole hours did I spend at her feet, vowing never to arise till shespoke to me,--all, all, in vain! she seemed deaf, mute, insensible; herface unmoved, a settled despair fixed in her eyes,--those eyes that hadnever looked at me but with dove-like softness and compliance!--She satconstantly in one chair, she never changed her dress, no persuasionscould prevail with her to lie down, and at meals she just swallowed somuch dry bread as might save her from dying for want of food.
"What was the distraction of my soul, to find her bent upon this courseto her last hour!--quick came that hour, but never will it be forgotten!rapidly it was gone, but etern
ally it will be remembered!
"When she felt herself expiring, she acknowledged she had made avow, upon entering the house, to live speechless and motionless, as apennance for her offences!
"I kept her loved corpse till my own senses failed me,--it was then onlytorn from me,--and I have lost all recollection of three years of myexistence!"
Cecilia shuddered at this hint, yet was not surprised by it; Mr Gosporthad acquainted her he had been formerly confined; and his flightiness,wildness, florid language, and extraordinary way of life, bad long ledher to suspect his reason had been impaired.
"The scene to which my memory first leads me back," he continued, "isvisiting her grave; solemnly upon it I returned her vow, though not byone of equal severity. To her poor remains did I pledge myself, thatthe day should never pass in which I would receive nourishment, nor thenight come in which I would take rest, till I had done, or zealouslyattempted to do, some service to a fellow-creature.
"For this purpose have I wandered from city to city, from the town tothe country, and from the rich to the poor. I go into every house whereI can gain admittance, I admonish all who will hear me, I shame eventhose who will not. I seek the distressed where ever they are hid,I follow the prosperous to beg a mite to serve them. I look for theDissipated in public, where, amidst their licentiousness, I check them;I pursue the Unhappy in private, where I counsel and endeavour toassist them. My own power is small; my relations, during my sufferings,limiting me to an annuity; but there is no one I scruple to solicit, andby zeal I supply ability.
"Oh life of hardship and pennance! laborious, toilsome, and restless!but I have merited no better, and I will not repine at it; I have vowedthat I will endure it, and I will not be forsworn.
"One indulgence alone from time to time I allow myself,--'tis Music!which has power to delight me even to rapture! it quiets all anxiety, itcarries me out of myself, I forget through it every calamity, even thebitterest anguish.
"Now then, that thou hast heard me, tell me, hast _thou_ cause ofsorrow?"
"Alas," cried Cecilia, "this indeed is a Picture of Misery to make _my_lot seem all happiness!"
"Art thou thus open to conviction?" cried he, mildly; "and dost thou notfly the voice of truth! for truth and reproof are one."
"No, I would rather seek it; I feel myself wretched, however inadequatemay be the cause; I wish to be more resigned, and if you can instruct mehow, I shall thankfully attend to you."
"Oh yet uncorrupted creature!" cried he, "with joy will I be thymonitor,--joy long untasted! Many have I wished to serve, all, hitherto,have rejected my offices; too honest to flatter them, they had not thefortitude to listen to me; too low to advance them, they had not thevirtue to bear with me. You alone have I yet found pure enough not tofear inspection, and good enough to wish to be better. Yet words alonewill not content me; I must also have deeds. Nor will your purse,however readily opened, suffice, you must give to me also your timeand your thoughts; for money sent by others, to others only will affordrelief; to enlighten your own cares, you must distribute it yourself."
"You shall find me," said she, "a docile pupil, and most glad to beinstructed how my existence may be useful."
"Happy then," cried he, "was the hour that brought me to this country;yet not in search of you did I come, but of the mutable and ill-fatedBelfield. Erring, yet ingenious young man! what a lesson to the vanityof talents, to the gaiety, the brilliancy of wit, is the sight of thatgreen fallen plant! not sapless by age, nor withered by disease,but destroyed by want of pruning, and bending, breaking by its ownluxuriance!"
"And where, Sir, is he now?
"Labouring wilfully in the field, with those who labour compulsatorily;such are we all by nature, discontented, perverse, and changeable;though all have not courage to appear so, and few, like Belfield, areworth watching when they do. He told me he was happy; I knew it couldnot be: but his employment was inoffensive, and I left him withoutreproach. In this neighbourhood I heard of you, and found your name wascoupled with praise. I came to see if you deserved it; I have seen, andam satisfied."
"You are not, then, very difficult, for I have yet done nothing. How arewe to begin these operations you propose? You have awakened me by themto an expectation of pleasure, which nothing else, I believe, could justnow have given me."
"We will work," cried he, "together, till not a woe shall remain uponyour mind. The blessings of the fatherless, the prayers of littlechildren, shall heal all your wounds with balm of sweetest fragrance.When sad, they shall cheer, when complaining, they shall soothe you. Wewill go to their roofless houses, and see them repaired; we will excludefrom their dwellings the inclemency of the weather; we will clothe themfrom cold, we will rescue them from hunger. The cries of distress shallbe changed to notes of joy: your heart shall be enraptured, mine, too,shall revive--oh whither am I wandering? I am painting an Elysium!and while I idly speak, some fainting object dies for want of succour!Farewell; I will fly to the abodes of wretchedness, and come to youto-morrow to render them the abodes of happiness."
He then went away.
This singular visit was for Cecilia most fortunately timed: it almostsurprised her out of her peculiar grief, by the view which it openedto her of general calamity; wild, flighty, and imaginative as werehis language and his counsels, their morality was striking, and theirbenevolence was affecting. Taught by him to compare her state with thatof at least half her species, she began more candidly to weigh what wasleft with what was withdrawn, and found the balance in her favour.The plan he had presented to her of good works was consonant to hercharacter and inclinations; and the active charity in which he proposedto engage her, re-animated her fallen hopes, though to far differentsubjects from those which had depressed them. Any scheme of worldlyhappiness would have sickened and disgusted her; but her mind was justin the situation to be impressed with elevated piety, and to adopt anydesign in which virtue humoured melancholy.