'---- FRANCIS.'
I perused the letter, I had received, again and again; it awakened atrain of interesting reflections, and my spirits became tranquillized.
CHAPTER XVI
Early one fine morning, Ann tapped gently at the door of my chamber; Ihad already risen, and invited her to enter.
'Would I accompany her to breakfast, with a widow lady, who resided in avillage about two miles from Morton Park, an occasional visitant in thefamily, a lady with whom, she was certain, I should be charmed.'
I smiled at her ardour, thanked her for her kindness, and readily agreedto her proposal. We strolled together through an adjacent wood, which,by a shady and winding path, conducted us towards the residence of thisvaunted favourite of my little companion.
On our way, she entertained me with a slight sketch of the history ofMrs Harley and her family. She was the widow of a merchant, who wassupposed to possess great property; but, practising occasionally as anunderwriter, a considerable capture by the enemy (during war time) ofsome rich ships, reduced his fortune; and, by the consequent anxiety,completely destroyed a before debilitated constitution. He died in a fewweeks after the confirmation of his loss, and, having neglected to makea will, a freehold estate of some value, which was all that remained ofhis effects, devolved of course to his eldest son; his two younger sonsand three daughters being left wholly unprovided for. Augustus Harley,the heir, immediately sold the estate, and divided the produce, in equalshares, between each individual of the family. His brothers had beeneducated for commerce, and were enabled, through the generous kindnessof Augustus, to carry on, with advantage and reputation, theirrespective occupations; the sisters were, soon after, eligibly married.Augustus, who had been educated for the law, disgusted with itschicanery, relinquished the profession, content to restrain his expenceswithin the limits of a narrow income. This income had since received anincrease, by the bequest of a distant relation, a man of a whimsicalcharacter, who had married, early in life, a beautiful woman, for love;but his wife having eloped from him with an officer, and, in the courseof the intrigue, practised a variety of deceptions, he had retireddisgusted from society, cherishing a misanthropical spirit: and, on hisdecease, bequeathed an annual sum of four hundred pounds to AugustusHarley (to whom in his childhood he had been particularly attached) oncondition of his remaining unmarried. On his marriage, or death, thislegacy passed into another branch of the family. On this acquisitionAugustus determined on making the tour of Europe; and, after travellingon the continent for three years, on his return to his native country,alternately resided, either in the village of----, with his mother, orin the metropolis, where he divided his time, between liberal studies,and rational recreation. His visits to the country had, of late,been shorter and less frequent: he was the idol of his mother, anduniversally respected by his acquaintance, for his noble and generousconduct.--'Ah!' (added the lively narrator) 'could you but see AugustusHarley, you would, infallibly, lose your heart--so frank, so pleasant,so ingenuous are his manners, so intrepid, and yet so humane! Montagueis a fine gentleman, but Augustus Harley is more--_he is a man!_'
She began to grow eloquent on this, apparently, exhaustless theme, nordid she cease her panegyric till we came in view of Mrs Harley'smansion.
'You will love the mother as well as the son,' continued this agreeableprattler, 'when you come to know her; she is very good and verysensible.'
Drawing near the house, she tripped from me, to enquire if its mistresshad yet risen.
A small white tenement, half obscured in shrubbery, on a verdant lawn,of dimensions equally modest, situated on the side of a hill, andcommanding an extensive and variegated prospect, was too interestingand picturesque an object, not to engage for some moments my attention.The image of Augustus, also, which my lively companion had pourtrayedwith more than her usual vivacity, played in my fancy--my heart paidinvoluntary homage to virtue, and I entered the mansion of Mrs Harleywith a swelling emotion, made up of complicated feelings--halfrespectful, half tender--sentiments, too mingled to be distinctlytraced. I was introduced into a room that overlooked a pleasant garden,and which the servant called a library. It was hung with green paper,the carpet the same colour, green venetian blinds to the windows, asopha and chairs covered with white dimity; some drawings and engravingshung on the walls, arranged with exact symmetry; on one side of the roomstood a grand piano-forte, opposite to which, was a handsome book-case,filled with books, elegantly bound; in the middle of the apartment wasplaced a table, covered with a green cloth, on which was a reading desk,some books and pamphlets, with implements for writing and drawing.Nothing seemed costly, yet neatness, order, and taste, appeared throughthe whole apartment, bespeaking the elegant and cultivated mind of theowner.
After amusing myself for a short time, in this charming retirement, Iwas summoned by Ann to the breakfast room, where Mrs Harley awaitedme. I was interested, at the first glance, in favour of this amiablewoman--she appeared to be near fifty, her person agreeable, hercountenance animated, her address engaging, and her manners polished.Mutually pleased with each other, the hours passed rapidly; and, tillreminded by a significant look from my little friend, I was unconscious,that I had made my visit of an unreasonable length.
Mrs Harley spoke much of her son, he was the darling and the pride ofher heart; she lamented the distance that separated them, and wished,that her health, and his tenderness, would allow of her residence withhim in London. When conversing on this favourite topic, a glow enlivenedher countenance, and her eyes sparkled with a humid brightness. Iwas affected by her maternal love--tender remembrances, and painfulcomparisons, crouded into my mind--a tear fell, that would not betwinkled away--she observed it, and seemed to feel its meaning; she heldout her hand to me, I took it and pressed it to my lips. At parting,she entreated me speedily to renew my visit, to come often withoutceremony--I should cheer her solitude--my sympathy, for she perceived Ihad a feeling heart, would help to console her in the absence of herAugustus.
CHAPTER XVII
On our way home, Ann was in high spirits, congratulating herself uponher sagacity.
'Mrs Harley,' (said she, archly leering in my face) 'will console youfor the departure of Mr Francis.'
I smiled without replying. At dinner our visit of the morning wascanvassed (Ann had wished me to conceal it, but this I positivelyrefused). Mr Morton spoke of Mrs Harley and her son with great respect,Mrs Morton with a sarcastic sneer, accompanied with a reprimand to herdaughter, for the improper liberty she had taken.
I quitted the table, immediately after the desert, to stifle my disgust,and, taking a book, wandered into the pleasure grounds, but incapable offixing my attention, I presently shut my book, and, sauntering slowlyon, indulged in a reverie. My melancholy reflections again returned--Howcould I remain in a house, where I was every day marked out for insultby its mistress--and where was I to dispose of myself? My fortune wasinsufficient to allow of my boarding in a respectable family. Mrs Harleycame across my mind--Amiable woman!--Would she, indeed, accept of mysociety, and allow me to soften her solitude!--But her income was littleless limited than my own--it must not be thought of. I reflected on theinequalities of society, the source of every misery and of every vice,and on the peculiar disadvantages of my sex. I sighed bitterly; and,clasping my hands together, exclaimed, unconsciously--
'Whither can I go--and where shall I find an asylum?'
'Allow me to propose one,' said a voice, in a soft accent, suddenly,behind me.
I started, turned, and beheld Mr Montague. After some expressions ofsympathy for the distress which he had witnessed, apologies for hisintrusion, and incoherent expressions of respect and regard, he somewhatabruptly offered his hand and heart to my acceptance, with the impetuositywhich accompanied all his sentiments and actions; yet, he expressedhimself with the air of a man who believes he is conferring an obligation.I thanked him for his generous proposal--
But, as my heart spake
not in his favour--'I must be allowed to declineit.'
'That heart,' said he, rudely, 'is already bestowed upon another.'
'Certainly not, Mr Montague; if it were, I would frankly tell you.'
He pronounced the name of Mr Francis--
'Mr Francis is a man for whom I feel a sincere respect and veneration--aman whom I should be proud to call my friend; but a thought beyond that,I dare venture to say, has never occurred to either of us.'
He knew not how to conceive--that a woman in my situation, unprepossessed,could reject so advantageous an establishment!
This, I told him, was indelicate, both to me and to himself. Were mysituation yet more desolate, I would not marry any man, merely for an_establishment_, for whom I did not feel an affection.
Would I please to describe to him the model of perfection which I shouldrequire in a husband?
It was unnecessary; as I saw no probability of the portrait bearing anyresemblance to himself.
He reddened, and turned pale, alternately; bit his lips, and muttered tohimself.--'Damned romantic affectation!'
I assumed a firmer tone--methought he insulted me.--'I beg you willleave me, Sir--I chuse to be alone--By what right do you intrude upon myretirements?'
My determined accent abashed him:--he tried, but with an ill grace, tobe humble; and entreated me to take time for consideration.
'There is no need of it. It is a principle with me, not to inflict amoment's suspence on any human being, when my own mind is decided.'
'Then you absolutely refuse me, and prefer the being exposed to the meanand envious insults of the vulgar mistress of this mansion!'
'Of the two evils, I consider it as the least, because it involves nopermanent obligation.'
His countenance was convulsed with passion. His love, he told me, wasconverted into vengeance by my scorn: he was not to be contemned withimpunity; and he warned me to beware.
I smiled, I believe, a little too contemptuously. 'You love me not, Sir;I am glad, for your own sake, that you never loved me.'
'My hatred may be more terrible!'
'You cannot intimidate me--I am little accustomed to fear.'
I turned from him somewhat disdainfully: but, instantly recollectingmyself, I stepped back, and apologized for the harsh manner into which Ihad been betrayed by his abrupt address, vehement expostulation, and theprevious irritated state of my mind.
'I acknowledge,' said I, 'the disinterestedness of your proposal, andthe _distinction_ which it implies. Will you allow my own woundedfeelings to be an excuse for the too little consideration with which Ihave treated _your's_? Can you forgive me?' added I, in a conciliatingtone, holding out my hand.
The strong emotions, which rapidly succeeded each other in his mind,were painted in his countenance. After a moment's hesitation, hesnatched the hand I offered him, pressed it to his lips, and, murmuringa few incoherent words, burst into tears. My spirits were alreadydepressed--affected by these marks of his sensibility, and still moredistressed by the recollection of the pain I had occasioned him by myinconsiderate behaviour, I wept with him for some minutes in silence.
'Let us no more,' resumed I, making an effort to recover myself, 'renewthese impressions. I thank you sincerely for the sympathy you havemanifested for my situation. I am sensible that I have yielded to weakand wayward feelings.--I have youth, health, and activity--I oughtnot--neither do I despair.--The mortifications I have experienced, sincemy residence here, will afford me a useful lesson for the future--theyhave already taught me, what I before merely conjectured, _the value ofindependence_!'
'Why, then,' interrupted he with quickness, 'do you reject an opportunityof placing yourself out of the reach of insult?'
'Stop, my good friend,' replied I, smilingly looking in his face; 'thereis a possibility of exchanging evils. You are yet too young, and toounstable, maturely to have weighed the importance of the scheme youpropose. Remember, likewise, that you are, yourself, in a great measure,dependent on the will of your father; and that much reflection isrequisite before we fetter ourselves with engagements, that, onceentered into, are not easily dissolved.'
'You allow me, then, to hope!'
'Indeed I meant not to imply any such thing. I wish to soften what Ihave already expressed--but, there are a variety of reasons which obligeme to assure you, that I see no probability of changing my sentiments onthe subject.'
'Why, then, this cruel ostentation? I would either love or hate, blessor curse you.'
'You shall do neither, if I can prevent it. If my esteem is of any valueto you, you must learn to respect both me and yourself.'
'Esteem!--Is that to be my frigid reward!'
'If _mine_ be worthless, propose to yourself _your own_ as arecompense.'
'I have already forfeited it, by seeking to move a heart, that triumphsin its cold inflexibility.'
'Is this just--is it kind? Is it, indeed, _my welfare_ you seek, whileyou can thus add to the vexations and embarrassment, which were beforesufficiently oppressive? I would preserve you from an act of precipitationand imprudence;--in return, you load me with unmerited reproaches. Butit is time to put an end to a conversation, that can answer little otherpurpose than vain recrimination.'
He was about to speak--'Say no more--I feel myself, again, in dangerof losing my temper--my spirits are agitated--I would not give youpain--Allow me to retire, and be assured of my best wishes.'
Some of the family appearing in sight, as if advancing towards us,favoured my retreat. I quitted the place with precipitation, and retiredto my chamber, where I sought, by employing myself, to calm theperturbation of my heart.
CHAPTER XVIII
In a few days I renewed my visit to Mrs Harley:--a strong sympathyunited us, and we became almost inseparable. Every day I discovered inthis admirable woman a new and indissoluble tie, that bound me toher. Her cultivated understanding afforded an inexhaustible fund ofinstruction and entertainment; and her affectionate heart spread a charmover her most indifferent actions. We read, we walked, we conversedtogether; but, with whatever subjects these conversations commenced,some associated idea always led them to terminate in an eulogium on thevirtues and talents, or an expression of regret, for the absence ofAugustus. There was a portrait of him (drawn by a celebrated artist,which he had lately sent from town as a present to his mother) hung upin the library. I accustomed myself to gaze on this resemblance of aman, in whose character I felt so lively an interest, till, I fancied,I read in the features all the qualities imputed to the original by atender and partial parent.
Cut off from the society of mankind, and unable to expound mysensations, all the strong affections of my soul seemed concentrated toa single point. Without being conscious of it, my grateful love for MrsHarley had, already, by a transition easy to be traced by a philosophicmind, transferred itself to her son. He was the St Preux, the Emilius ofmy sleeping and waking reveries. I now spent almost my whole time in thecottage of my friend, returning to Morton Park late in the evening, andquitting it early in the morning, and sometimes being wholly absent forweeks together.
Six months thus passed away in tranquillity, with but little variation.Mr Montague, during this period, had several times left Mr Morton's, andreturned again abruptly: his manners became sullen, and even, at times,ferocious. I carefully avoided encountering him, fearful of exasperatinga spirit, that appeared every moment on the verge of excess.
Hastening one evening to my friend, after a longer separation thancommon, (having been prevailed on by Mr Morton and his daughters toaccompany them on a distant visit, where business of Mr Morton'sdetained us for some days) I ran into the library, as usual, and threwmyself into the arms of Mrs Harley, that opened spontaneously to receiveme.
'Ah! you little truant,' said she, in a voice of kindness, 'where haveyou been so long? My son has visited me in your absence; he passedthrough this part of the country, in his way to the seat of a friend.He staid with me two days, during which I sent half a dozen messages toMorton Park,
but you were flown away, it seems, nor could I learn anytidings of you. Augustus,' continued she, without observing the emotionsshe excited, 'had scarcely quitted the house an hour when you arrived.'
I made no reply; an unaccountable sensation seized, and oppressed, myheart--sinking on the sopha, I burst into a convulsive flood of tears.
My friend was struck: all the indiscretion of her conduct (as shehas since told me) flashed suddenly into her mind; she felt that, inindulging her own maternal sensations, she had, perhaps, done me anirreparable injury, and she shuddered at the probable consequences. Itwas some moments before either of us recovered;--our conversation wasthat evening, for the first time, constrained, reserved, and painful;and we retired at an early hour to our respective apartments.
I spent the night in self-examination. I was compelled to acknowledge,to myself, that solitude, the absence of other impressions, the previouscircumstances that had operated on my character, my friendship for MrsHarley, and her eloquent, affectionate, reiterated, praises of her son,had combined to awaken all the exquisite, though dormant, sensibilitiesof my nature; and, however romantic it might appear to others, and didappear even to myself, I felt, that I loved an ideal object (for suchwas Augustus Harley to me) with a tender and fervent excess; an excess,perhaps, involving all my future usefulness and welfare. 'People, ingeneral,' says Rousseau, 'do not sufficiently consider the influencewhich the first attachments, between man and woman, have over theremainder of their lives; they do not perceive, that an impression sostrong, and so lively, as that of love, is productive of a long chain ofeffects, which pass unobserved in a course of years, yet, nevertheless,continue to operate till the day of their deaths.' It was in vain Iattempted to combat this illusion; my reason was but an auxiliary tomy passion, it persuaded me, that I was only doing justice to highand uncommon worth; imagination lent her aid, and an importunatesensibility, panting after good unalloyed, completed the seduction.