CHAPTER IX. A SOUL WITHOUT HOPE.
When Mr. Fielden returned home, Lucretia had quitted the house. She lefta line for him in her usual bold, clear handwriting, referring him tohis wife for explanation of the reasons that forbade a further residencebeneath his roof. She had removed to an hotel until she had leisure toarrange her plans for the future. In a few months she should be of age;and in the meanwhile, who now living claimed authority over her? For therest, she added, "I repeat what I told Mr. Mainwaring: all engagementbetween us is at an end; he will not insult me either by letter or byvisit. It is natural that I should at present shrink from seeing SusanMivers. Hereafter, if permitted, I will visit Mrs. Mainwaring."
Though all had chanced as Mr. Fielden had desired (if, as he once halfmeditated, he had spoken to Lucretia herself); though a marriage thatcould have brought happiness to none, and would have made the misery oftwo, was at an end,--he yet felt a bitter pang, almost of remorse, whenhe learned what had occurred. And Lucretia, before secretly disliked(if any one he could dislike), became dear to him at once, by sorrowand compassion. Forgetting every other person, he hurried to the hotelLucretia had chosen; but her coldness deceived and her pride repelledhim. She listened dryly to all he said, and merely replied: "I feel onlygratitude at my escape. Let this subject now close forever."
Mr. Fielden left her presence with less anxious and commiseratingfeelings,--perhaps all had chanced for the best. And on returning home,his whole mind became absorbed in alarm for Susan. She was delirious,and in great danger; it was many weeks before she recovered. Meanwhile,Lucretia had removed into private apartments, of which she withheld theaddress. During this time, therefore, they lost sight of her.
If amidst the punishments with which the sombre imagination of poets hasdiversified the Realm of the tortured Shadows, it had depicted some soulcondemned to look evermore down into an abyss, all change to its gazeforbidden, chasm upon chasm yawning deeper and deeper, darker anddarker, endless and infinite, so that, eternally gazing, the soulbecame, as it were, a part of the abyss,--such an image would symbolforth the state of Lucretia's mind.
It was not the mere desolation of one whom love has abandoned andbetrayed. In the abyss were mingled inextricably together the gloom ofthe past and of the future,--there, the broken fortunes, the crushedambition, the ruin of the worldly expectations long inseparable from herschemes; and amidst them, the angry shade of the more than father, whoseheart she had wrung, and whose old age she had speeded to the grave.These sacrifices to love, while love was left to her, might have hauntedher at moments; but a smile, a word, a glance, banished the regret andthe remorse. Now, love being razed out of life, the ruins of all elseloomed dismal amidst the darkness; and a voice rose up, whispering: "Lo,fool, what thou hast lost because thou didst believe and love!" And thisthought grasped together the two worlds of being,--the what has been,and the what shall be. All hope seemed stricken from the future, asa man strikes from the calculations of his income the returns from aproperty irrevocably lost. At her age but few of her sex have partedwith religion; but even such mechanical faith as the lessons of herchildhood, and the constrained conformities with Christian ceremonies,had instilled, had long since melted away in the hard scholasticscepticism of her fatal tutor,--a scepticism which had won, with littleeffort, a reason delighting in the maze of doubt, and easily narrowedinto the cramped and iron logic of disbelief by an intellect thatscorned to submit where it failed to comprehend. Nor had faith givenplace to those large moral truths from which philosophy has sought torestore the proud statue of Pagan Virtue as a substitute for the meeksymbol of the Christian cross. By temperament unsocial, nor readilymoved to the genial and benevolent, that absolute egotism in whichOlivier Dalibard centred his dreary ethics seemed sanctioned to Lucretiaby her studies into the motives of man and the history of the world. Shehad read the chronicles of States and the memoirs of statesmen, andseen how craft carries on the movements of an age. Those Viscontis,Castruccios, and Medici; those Richelieus and Mazarins and De Retzs;those Loyolas and Mohammeds and Cromwells; those Monks and Godolphins;those Markboroughs and Walpoles; those founders of history anddynasties and sects; those leaders and dupers of men, greater or lesser,corrupters or corrupt, all standing out prominent and renowned fromthe guiltless and laurelless obscure,--seemed to win, by the homage ofposterity, the rewards that attend the deceivers of their time. By asuperb arrogance of generalization, she transferred into private life,and the rule of commonplace actions, the policy that, to the abasementof honour, has so often triumphed in the guidance of States. Therefore,betimes, the whole frame of society was changed to her eye, from thecalm aspect it wears to those who live united with their kind; sheviewed all seemings with suspicion; and before she had entered theworld, prepared to live in it as a conspirator in a city convulsed,spying and espied, schemed against and scheming,--here the crown for thecrafty, there the axe for the outwitted.
But her love--for love is trust--had led her half way forth from thismaze of the intellect. That fair youth of inexperience and candour whichseemed to bloom out in the face of her betrothed; his very shrinkingfrom the schemes so natural to her that to her they seemed eveninnocent; his apparent reliance on mere masculine ability, with theplain aids of perseverance and honesty,--all had an attraction thatplucked her back from herself. If she clung to him firmly, blindly,credulously, it was not as the lover alone. In the lover she beheld thegood angel. Had he only died to her, still the angel smile would havesurvived and warned. But the man had not died; the angel itself haddeceived; the wings could uphold her no more,--they had touched themire, and were sullied with the soil; with the stain, was forfeited thestrength. All was deceit and hollowness and treachery. Lone again in theuniverse rose the eternal I. So down into the abyss she looked, depthupon depth, and the darkness had no relief, and the deep had no end.
Olivier Dalibard alone, of all she knew, was admitted to her seclusion.He played his part as might be expected from the singular patience andpenetration which belonged to the genius of his character. He forborethe most distant allusion to his attachment or his hopes. He evincedsympathy rather by imitating her silence, than attempts to console. Whenhe spoke, he sought to interest her mind more than to heal directly thedeep wounds of her heart. There is always, to the afflicted, a certaincharm in the depth and bitterness of eloquent misanthropy. And Dalibard,who professed not to be a man-hater, but a world-scorner, had powers oflanguage and of reasoning commensurate with his astute intellect and hisprofound research. His society became not only a relief, it grew almosta want, to that stern sorrower. But whether alarmed or not by theinfluence she felt him gradually acquiring, or whether, through somehaughty desire to rise once more aloft from the state of her rival andher lover, she made one sudden effort to grasp at the rank from whichshe had been hurled. The only living person whose connection couldre-open to her the great world, with its splendours and its scope toambition, was Charles Vernon. She scarcely admitted to her own mindthe idea that she would now accept, if offered, the suit she had beforedespised; she did not even contemplate the renewal of that suit,--thoughthere was something in the gallant and disinterested character ofVernon which should have made her believe he would regard theiraltered fortunes rather as a claim on his honour than a release to hisengagements. But hitherto no communication had passed between them;and this was strange if he retained the same intentions which hehad announced at Laughton. Putting aside, we say, however, all suchconsiderations, Vernon had sought her friendship, called her "cousin,"enforced the distant relationship between them. Not as lover, but askinsman,--the only kinsman of her own rank she possessed,--his positionin the world, his connections, his brilliant range of acquaintance, madehis counsel for her future plans, his aid in the re-establishment of herconsequence (if not--as wealthy, still as well-born), and her admissionamongst her equals, of price and value. It was worth sounding the depthof the friendship he had offered, even if his love had passed away withthe fortune on which doubtless it had been based.
She took a bold step,--she wrote to Vernon: not even to allude to whathad passed between them; her pride forbade such unwomanly vulgarity.The baseness that was in her took at least a more delicate exterior. Shewrote to him simply and distantly, to state that there were some booksand trifles of hers left at Laughton, which she prized beyond theirtrivial value, and to request, as she believed him to be absent fromthe Hall, permission to call at her old home, in her way to a visit ina neighbouring county, and point out to whomsoever he might appoint tomeet her, the effects she deemed herself privileged to claim. The letterwas one merely of business, but it was a sufficient test of the friendlyfeelings of her former suitor.
She sent this letter to Vernon's house in London, and the next day camethe answer.
Vernon, we must own, entirely sympathized with Sir Miles in the solemninjunctions the old man had bequeathed. Immediately after the death ofone to whom we owe gratitude and love, all his desires take a sanctityirresistible and ineffable; we adopt his affection, his dislikes,his obligations, and his wrongs. And after he had read the copy ofLucretia's letter, inclosed to him by Sir Miles, the conquest the poorbaronet had made over resentment and vindictive emotion, the evidenteffort at passionless justice with which he had provided becominglyfor his niece, while he cancelled her claims as his heiress, had filledVernon with a reverence for his wishes and decisions that silenced allthose inclinations to over-generosity which an unexpected inheritanceis apt to create towards the less fortunate expectants. Nevertheless,Lucretia's direct application, her formal appeal to his common courtesyas host and kinsman, perplexed greatly a man ever accustomed to acertain chivalry towards the sex; the usual frankness of his dispositionsuggested, however, plain dealing as the best escape from his dilemma,and therefore he answered thus:--
MADAM,--Under other circumstances it would have given me no commonpleasure to place the house that you so long inhabited again at yourdisposal; and I feel so painfully the position which my refusal ofyour request inflicts upon me, that rather than resort to excuses andpretexts, which, while conveying an impression of my sincerity, wouldseem almost like an insult to yourself, I venture frankly to inform youthat it was the dying wish of my lamented kinsman, in consequence ofa letter which came under his eye, that the welcome you had hithertoreceived at Laughton should be withdrawn. Pardon me, Madam, if I expressmyself thus bluntly; it is somewhat necessary to the vindication of mycharacter in your eyes, both as regards the honour of your requestand my tacit resignation of hopes fervently but too presumptuouslyentertained. In this most painful candour, Heaven forbid that Ishould add wantonly to your self-reproaches for the fault of youth andinexperience, which I should be the last person to judge rigidly, andwhich, had Sir Miles's life been spared, you would doubtless have amplyrepaired. The feelings which actuated Sir Miles in his latter days mighthave changed; but the injunction those feelings prompted I am bound torespect.
For the mere matter of business on which you have done me the honourto address me, I have only to say that any orders you may give to thesteward, or transmit through any person you may send to the Hall,with regard to the effects you so naturally desire to claim, shall beimplicitly obeyed.
And believe me, Madam (though I do not presume to add those expressionswhich might rather heighten the offence I fear this letter will giveyou), that the assurance of your happiness in the choice you have made,and which now no obstacle can oppose, will considerably--lightenthe pain with which I shall long recall my ungracious reply to yourcommunication.
I have the honour to be, etc., C. VERNON ST. JOHN.
BROOK STREET, Dec. 28, 18--.
The receipt of such a letter could hardly add to the profounder griefwhich preyed in the innermost core of Lucretia's heart; but in repellingthe effort she had made to distract that grief by ambition, it blackenedthe sullen despondency with which she regarded the future. As the insectin the hollow snare of the ant-lion, she felt that there was no footingup the sides of the cave into which she had fallen; the sand gave way tothe step. But despondency in her brought no meekness; the cloud did notdescend in rain; resting over the horizon, its darkness was tinged withthe fires which it fed. The heart, already so embittered, was stung andmortified into intolerable shame and wrath. From the home that shouldhave been hers, in which, as acknowledged heiress, she had smiled downon the ruined Vernon, she was banished by him who had supplanted her,as one worthless and polluted. Though, from motives of obvious delicacy,Vernon had not said expressly that he had seen the letter to Mainwaring,the unfamiliar and formal tone which he assumed indirectly declaredit, and betrayed the impression it had made, in spite of his reserve.A living man then was in possession of a secret which justified hisdisdain, and that man was master of Laughton! The suppressed ragewhich embraced the lost lover extended darkly over this witness tothat baffled and miserable love. But what availed rage against either?Abandoned and despoiled, she was powerless to avenge. It was at thistime, when her prospects seemed most dark, her pride was most crushed,and her despair of the future at its height, that she turned to Dalibardas the only friend left to her under the sun. Even the vices sheperceived in him became merits, for they forbade him to despise her. Andnow, this man rose suddenly into another and higher aspect of character.Of late, though equally deferential to her, there had been somethingmore lofty in his mien, more assured on his brow; gleams of a secretsatisfaction, even of a joy, that he appeared anxious to suppress, asill in harmony with her causes for dejection, broke out in his looksand words. At length, one day, after some preparatory hesitation, heinformed her that he was free to return to France; that even withoutthe peace between England and France, which (known under the name ofthe Peace of Amiens) had been just concluded, he should have crossed theChannel. The advocacy and interest of friends whom he had left at Parishad already brought him under the special notice of the wonderful manwho then governed France, and who sought to unite in its service everydescription and variety of intellect. He should return to France, andthen--why, then, the ladder was on the walls of Fortune and the footplanted on the step! As he spoke, confidently and sanguinely, with theverve and assurance of an able man who sees clear the path to his goal,as he sketched with rapid precision the nature of his prospects and hishopes, all that subtle wisdom which had before often seemed but vagueand general, took practical shape and interest, thus applied to theactual circumstances of men; the spirit of intrigue, which seemed meanwhen employed on mean things, swelled into statesmanship and masterlygenius to the listener when she saw it linked with the large objects ofmasculine ambition. Insensibly, therefore, her attention became earnest,her mind aroused. The vision of a field, afar from the scenes ofher humiliation and despair,--a field for energy, stratagem, andcontest,--invited her restless intelligence. As Dalibard had profoundlycalculated, there was no new channel for her affections,--the source wasdried up, and the parched sands heaped over it; but while the heart laydormant, the mind rose sleepless, chafed, and perturbed. Through themind, he indirectly addressed and subtly wooed her.
"Such," he said, as he rose to take leave, "such is the career to whichI could depart with joy if I did not depart alone!"
"Alone!" that word, more than once that day, Lucretia repeated toherself--"alone!" And what career was left to her?--she, too, alone!
In certain stages of great grief our natures yearn for excitement. Thishas made some men gamblers; it has made even women drunkards,--it hadeffect over the serene calm and would-be divinity of the poet-sage. Whenhis son dies, Goethe does not mourn, he plunges into the absorption ofa study uncultivated before. But in the great contest of life, inthe whirlpool of actual affairs, the stricken heart finds all,--thegambling, the inebriation, and the study.
We pause here. We have pursued long enough that patient analysis, withall the food for reflection that it possibly affords, to which we wereinsensibly led on by an interest, dark and fascinating, that grew moreand more upon us as we proceeded in our research into the early historyof a person fated to pervert no ordinary p
owers into no commonplaceguilt.
The charm is concluded, the circle closed round; the self-guided seekerafter knowledge has gained the fiend for the familiar.