"I was now enraged too much, (continued Walter,) to have longer any command over my passion. – I drew my sword, and vowed to sacrifice any one who should dare to prevent my leaving the infamous house into which I had been so artfully and basely trepanned.
The women now clung about me, while their bully endeavoured, but in vain, to wrest my sword from me. He then commanded the priest to do his office, and I know not, at that moment, what act of desperation I might not have committed, had not you, my guardian friend and preserver, luckily burst into the room, and prevented my ending that life in a brothel which you protected so many years in a dungeon."
Albert embraced his young lord with tears of gratified affection.
"Long, very long, (cried he,) may your life be guarded from every danger, and never experience a fate so disgraceful! I will inform the Baron of what has passed: he will very soon bring these wretches to the shame and punishment they so justly deserve."
"Not for worlds, my good Albert, would I have the story transpire! (said Walter.) – I already know enough of human nature to be satisfied that the recital of it would not only bring my father's displeasure upon me, but likewise the ridicule of the world. Be assured of this, I will never again run the risk of being drawn into danger by forming an acquaintance with people, however specious their appearance, without their being well known to my father or yourself. All I beg of you is, to join with me in interceding with the Baron for permission to return to Bungay-castle. I will there wait his pleasure, without murmur or complaint, for the accomplishment of all my wishes. With Roseline de Morney I cannot be unhappy; – without her my soul can know no peace."
Albert promised to do what he could with the Baron, but requested his young lord not to be too sanguine in his hopes of prevailing on him to consent to his leaving London, till the time was expired that he had fixed for his stay, and on his promising not to offend him by disputing his will as to the length of his continuance in town, he agreed to conceal this unpleasant adventure from the Baron, strongly recommending him to be more guarded in future, and never to let his own unsuspecting nature lead him to conclude that the people he mixed with were as good and as artless as himself.
CHAP. IX
From the time Walter became more and more dissatisfied with his situation. He no longer contended with the Baron respecting the length of his stay, or refused to accompany him whenever he was requested to any public amusement or private party. But he became so restless and internally wretched, that it became impossible to conceal entirely how much he was distressed. – He wrote many letters to Roseline. The following is a copy of that which he sent a few days after his being so fortunately saved by Albert from the diabolical plan laid to render him miserable during life, and at the same time would have made the innocent Roseline as unhappy as himself.
My ever dear and charming Roseline,
I cannot live much longer in this detestable place, where the women are artful, the men base and designing. I am pointed at as being a fit dupe for vice to ensnare: my ignorance often leads me into error, and my own unsuspecting disposition exposes me to ridicule. If I must learn to be like the people with whom I often associate here, I shall grow in a little time so weary of existence, that I shall only wish it preserved on your account.
The immense distance between this place and the castle you inhabit renders it doubly detestable. It is a scene of bustle, confusion, and design; its amusements are all frivolous and trifling; its pleasures are joyless, unsocial, and unsatisfactory, and I a mere cypher, dull and alone, amidst a crowd of beings, for whom I feel neither respect nor friendship. In fact, I am never more alone than when I am surrounded by hundreds of people, not one of whom cares for my happiness. I had rather be with you in one of the gloomiest dungeons of Bungay-castle than in the palace of our king, unless you were by my side.
I have seen a great many young ladies that are called beauties; but I think none of them half so beautiful as my gentle Roseline; neither do they appear so good humoured, nor is their dress so becoming, though they wear as many diamonds as you did on the fortunate morning you went to be married to my father. And would you think it? – one of them actually endeavoured to draw me to marry her; though I repeatedly told her I could love no woman but you.
I have neither spirits nor appetite; I can neither laugh nor sing, and, if the Baron have a mind to make me polite, – if he wish me to acquire knowledge, – if he de desirous I should become what he calls an useful member of society, he must no longer keep us separate. It is your company only that could give a charm to that of other people, and, if I could see you, I should love the world for your sake. I shall die, dear Roseline, unless they permit me to come to you.
Madeline, though she wept, was happy, and looked handsomer than ever; and Edwin, – ah! how I envied your brother Edwin! He may be thankful he was not the son of a Baron, compelled like me to go through the tiresome drudgery of unmeaning ceremonies, and all the disgusting and nonsensical forms which they tell me belong to a rank. – I am sure rank would be more valuable and happier without them, and dignity far more pleasant to its possessors, if they could divest themselves of pride.
Commend be cordially to your parents. – Tell your sisters I love them as a brother, and make my respects to De Clavering, De Willows, and the honest Cambrian, to whom I hope one day to be of service.
Sweet Roseline, think of me, dream of me, and love no one but me. My father is very kind, very indulgent, and Albert very good, for he will hear me talk of you for hours together; but neither the Baron nor Albert can guess at the sufferings they inflict on me by this tedious absence from you, to whom I am indebted for life, hope, and happiness.
Your's forever,
WALTER FITZOSBOURNE
When the above mentioned letter reached the hands of the dejected Roseline, it alarmed and distressed her. It was however accompanied by one from the Baron to Sir Philip had no longer any fears but his friend would succeed in procuring a pardon for the fugitives. Again the family of De Morney were restored to their accustomed cheerfulness, and their friends admitted as usual; and, though Roseline shed some tears over the fond impassioned letter of Walter, they were tears of grateful tenderness, and she took care that her sighs and unceasing regret for the absence of her lover should be concealed from those to whom they would have given pain. Edeliza too was no longer under the unpleasant necessity of concealing her love for the worthy De Willows. The heart of Sir Philip was softened by the trials he had encountered, and all the parent was awakened in his soul. He therefore consented to the union of his second daughter taking place as soon as her lover could command an income sufficient to maintain a wife and family; and, as he had many friends in power, every one cherished hopes of his soon obtaining some distinguished preferment.
Audrey, who was still a great favourite with her young lady, was now solely retained to attend her person, and wholly at her command. She considered herself therefore of some consequence, and gave herself airs accordingly. She did not choose to mix with the common class of servants, – truly a lady's maid's place was a place of too much extinction to permit any familiarity with infeerors. – No sooner did Audrey see the family restored to their usual good humour, than she herself became more lively and chatty than ever, and all her fears of ghosts and hobgoblins were lost in her own self-importance and newly-acquired dignity. She afforded high entertainment not only to her fellow-servants, but to all the rest of the family, and, to make her character appear more ridiculous, her dress was as absurd as her sentiments.
Whenever chance threw Mrs. Audrey in their way, it was become a matter of course to enter into conversation with her, and the vain Abigail was too proud of this flattering distinction not to make the most of it.
De Clavering, who was fond of the humorous, laughed at the absurdities of Audrey, and took every opportunity of shewing her off. One day, while he was sitting with Roseline in the apartment to which Walter had been removed, when released from his dungeon, Audrey came abruptly into the room, bringing in her arms the little dog frequently mentioned in the foregoing pages. She laid him on the lap of his fond mistress, and exclaimed, "There, madam, take the little wandering rascal. I have been in a fine quandrary about him, and have had a blessed rambulation to find him, and drag him from his low-bred wulger companions. To my thinks, he is as great a rake as the king himself, God bless his majesty; but the young Baron ought to have given him a better eddication than to keep company with his infeerors."
"I am sure, Audrey, (said De Clavering,) you are much indebted to the young rascal, as you call him; for the rambulation you complain of has given so fine a glow to your complexion, so much animation to each expressive feature, that may I die if I did not take you at first for a painted lady, and, had I met you in the passage, am afraid I should have been tempted to see whether those roses so fascinating and so blooming were borrowed or natural."
"Don't talk to me of hannimation or fansenation, (cried Audrey, indignantly drawing herself up several inches higher;) I can assure you, Mr. Doctor, I don't choose to be consulted. I neither buys, borrows, nor covets, roses; I neither wants to tempt or be tempted by any one; but if I was by chance to captify a sweetheart, I dares to say I should soon become pale enough; for I thinks love is as bad as a 'potticary's shop."
"I hope I have not offended you, Mrs. Audrey, (said De Clavering, laughing,) I only meant to be civil, and pay the tribute due to the bloom I observed upon your countenance."
"Fended or not, (replied Audrey,) it little matters. Servants, some folks thinks, must not look like other people, and their blooms must be suspected truly. However, as father Anselm often says, God made up all. – You might as well have been silent as to the matter of my looks. I don't want or wish gentlemen 'poticarys to ax me questions, or trouble their heads about me."
"You would not have been half so angry with Camelford, (said De Clavering,) had he said ten times as much to you as I have done, or had he he kissed you as often as I once saw him, when you ran to him under the mulberry tree."
"I don't think she would, (said Roseline, smiling,) for I know our friend Hugh is a great favourite with every female in the family."
"Wery vell, miss, (replied Audrey, blushing as red as scarlet at the story of the mulberry-tree,) you have a mind I see to join with the malicious doctor to dash and confound me; but I defy his satarical talons, and can ashure you, miss, though Mr. Camelfor is so cetious and merry, he never proffered to kiss me more than half a dozen times in his life."
"Take care how you reckon, Audrey, cried De Clavering, humourously,) remember I saw you under the mulberry-tree."
"Well, what if you did? – You might as well have said nothing about it, (replied Audrey.) – I was frightened almost into highsterricks by an ugly black cat jumping from a lylac bush, and I ran to Mr. Camelfor without knowing what I did, and he was so civil and perlite, God bless his good-humoured heart, one must have been a savage to quarrel with him for a civil kiss or two: he does not fleer or jeer people about their looks, or tells what he sees them doing."
Neither Roseline nor De Clavering could any longer refrain from laughing, and Camelford that moment entering the room, Audrey was so much displeased, and in so great a hurry to be gone, that, in running to the door, she almost beat down her favourite.
"Fat, in the name of Cot, (cried Hugh,) is the matter with the girl? She has as many freaks and fancies in her head as a mountain coat, and is as frolicksome too."
"You had better follow her, and make your inquiries, (said De Clavering;) I am satisfied the damsel would tell you what brought on her present disorder sooner than any body else."
"I am no toctor, (said Camelford,) therefore don't be playing tricks upon me, by sending me after the tamsel, and pringing little Pertha's anger upon me, which, may I tie in a titch, if I how how to bear."
"Oh! if you are enlisted under petticoat government, (replied De Clavering,) I give you up as incurable, – a deserter from the thorny paths of glory, and foresee the sword will be changed into a distaff or a ploughshare."
"Luf (cried Camelford) must not be apused; it is the best stimulus to crate and noble actions, the parent of pold atchievements; but of that same luf you know nothing: there is no heart in your pody, and you are mortified to think you cannot find a nostrum to cure the disease in others: you must therefore be caught in luf's snares, in order to learn the nature of those treadful tribulations it brings upon a man. May I go to the tevil in a high wind, if I had not as lief face a canon's mouth as meet the fire of Pertha's pright eyes, when they look indignantly upon me!"
"Don't talk so much of the devil, Hugh, (interrupted De Clavering,) but request him to do you the favour of kicking about your brains a little, till they return to a more useful station in your pericranium: in my opinion, you are in a fair way of becoming fist for the government under which you think yourself enlisted."
"May the vengeance of all womankind fall upon you! (cried Camelford:) – may you be tragged apout like a tancing pear, to make sport! – may you lead asses in the tark regions of Peelzebub, for your plasphemies against woman! and may – "
But all his farther denunciations and wishes for vengeance on De Clavering were now interrupted by a loud screaming. Soon the door was thrown open, and in bounced Audrey, her cap on one side, and her face as pale as ashes.
"I have seen him, (she exclaimed,) with my own dear eyes! – his ghost, or happorition!"
"Whose cost? (cried Camelford;) where is it? – I will teach a cost to frighten a pretty cirl, and trive her tistracted."
The manner and appearance of Audrey were such as served to confirm the suspicion in the mind of Roseline, and even De Clavering, till, offended by the supposition of her being insane, she called out in her usual peculiar stile, "Thank God! some folks are no more a lunatic than other folks. I have all my seven senses as perfect as ever I had in my life; – but, Christ Jasus, these are sad times, when one is not allowed to believe their own precious eyes. – Down dropped his horse, poor beast, all in a foam, and down tumbled the young Baron arter him, as dead as my my dear great grandmother."
"Who are you talking of? (cried Roseline, rising with the utmost emotion.) – Is the Baron? – is Walter? – is he dead?"
"He only died for a few minutes, (answered Audrey, and then he came to himself – "
She had time for no more. Roseline heard the well known step of her lover. – Walter rushed into the room, threw himself at her feet, and the next instant caught her in his arms.
"This moment (cried he) is that for which my heart has languished! this is a reward for all my fatigue, all my fears and anxieties! – Look up, smile upon me, and say, my sweet Roseline, that my return gives to you an almost equal pleasure as myself; but, first, let me inform you that I have left London without the knowledge and permission of my father."
That Roseline rejoiced to see her lover her eyes informed him, but for a few minutes surprise and agitation kept her silent. Sir Philip, Lady de Morney, and the whole family, were soon assembled in the apartment to which Walter had been directed by Audrey.
The young Baron, it may be supposed, found a cordial reception, and it is not to be doubted but that he met with from the fair object of his affection was such as amply repaid him for his fatigue, and in his own mind even, for the risk he had hazarded of disobliging his father. This step, however, was owing to a hint dropped by the Baron, that it would be agreeable and convenient, to himself, and necessary for many reasons to his son, that they should prolong their stay in town for some weeks beyond what had been proposed, or intended on their departure from the castle.
On this plan being opposed by Walter, the Baron not only appeared displeased, but resolute to carry his point. A circumstance so distressing to his son rendered him equally determined not to submit to such arbitrary, and, in his opinion, cruel authority; therefore, early the next morning he sat off, without being attended by a servant, or informing any one to what part of the globe he meant to go, and the next day reached Bungay-castle in the manner before described.
Sir Philip de Morney, on learning these alarming circumstances from his daughter, immediately sent off an express to inform the Baron of his son's unexpected arrival, and of his apprehensions that the step he had so unguardedly taken would bring his displeasure upon himself and family, whom he seriously assured him knew nothing of his intention.
Walter, in his conversations with Roseline, told her, he found himself so disgusted with the customs and manners of the world, and met with so few people in it to whom he could attach himself, or for whom he felt either respect or affection, that he determined no longer to be detained from her in whose care his happiness was intrusted, and with whom alone he was satisfied it could rest secure.
"And, as you condescended, (he continued,) to love and attend to me when immured in a dungeon, – kindly smiled on me, and endeavoured to instruct me when enveloped in ignorance, and was my friend when I appeared to have no claims, – a solitary outcast from society, I thought you would not be very much displeased if I forsook the world for you, who gave up more, much more, for me, and quitted its gayest and most cheerful scenes for the solitary gloom of a prison.
"Whatever I may still want of polish, address, and what fashionable people stile politeness, love and my gentle Roseline can easily teach me. From a world that I neither like nor approve, I could learn but little, while the chosen mistress of my heart may at her pleasure make me any thing she wishes. With her, and for her amusement, I may be sometimes tempted to live in a crowd; without her, the world itself is only a wide extended dungeon."
Roseline, at hearing this impassioned language from lips which, she was satisfied, knew no guile, was too much gratified to express all she felt. She smiled on him through her tears, and, in the softest language affection could dictate, gently chid him for being so impetuous as to run the risk of disobliging his father on her account, expressing a few timid apprehensions that the Baron might be offended with her as being the innocent cause of his son's proving refractory to his wishes; yet she could not help secretly rejoicing in the strength of his attachment, on which all her happiness depended.
Every thing was done by the family to give this amiable and singular lover a reception not only suitable to his elevated rank, but satisfactory to his feelings, – such an one as the sincerity of his regard for Roseline demanded and deserved, while the joy which appeared upon the animated countenances of the lovers convinced every one who saw them, that they had fixed their hopes of felicity on a basis which the hand of death only could shake from its foundations.
Walter, in his moments of unreserve, expressed his surprise, dislike, and contempt, of many things, persons, and customs, which he met with in the high circles to which he had been introduced, and concluded with wishing that the Baron could be prevailed upon to excuse his farther attendance, adding, it was his determined plan, so far as it met the approbation of his beloved Roseline, to spend as much of his time as the nature of his situation would permit in the placid bosom of retirement, in which he hoped to make himself as useful and worthy a member of the commonwealth as he should be if engaged in more bustling and busy scenes.
"One would think (said De Clavering, who happened to be present when this conversation occurred) that the young Baron had been educated by some of our wise and ancient philosophers, and, taught by their precepts, was convinced by them that happiness was too timid and modest to be found in the confines of a court, or the splendors of a ball-room. It reminds me of Enthymenes, who, speaking of the pleasures of solitude to a man of the world, makes the following observations.
"You are compelled to a continual restraint in your dress, demeanour, actions, and words: – your festivals are so magnificent, and our's so mirthful! – your pleasures so superficial and so transient, and our's so real and so constant! Have you ever in your rich apartments breathed an air so fresh as that which we respire in the verdant arbour? – or can your entertainments, sometimes so sumptuous, compare with the bowls of milk which we have just drawn, or those delicious fruits we have gathered with our hands?
"Ah! if happiness be only the health of the soul, must it not be found in those places, where a just proportion ever reigns between our wants and our desires, where motion is constantly followed by rest, and where our affections are always *accompapanied by tranquillity, breathe a free air, and enjoy the splendor of heaven. – From these kind of comparisons we may judge which are the true riches that nature designed for men."
"Such were the opinions and sentiments of Enthymenes, and such I find are those of De Clavering, (replied Walter,) or he would not have retained and repeated them with so much facility and satisfaction. – Were my fate united with that of Miss de Morney, and had I two such friends as De Clavering and Albert, to direct my conduct and enlarge the small portion of knowledge I have yet been able to acquire, I should think myself the most fortunate as well as the happiest of mankind, having already experienced a long series of oppression from the baneful arts and stratagems of ambition, I have learned to despise it, and, in the gloomy and trying hour of adversity, have been taught, that fortitude, with humility and untainted honour, can harmonize, but can never degrade the most exalted stations, and, while they are the brightest jewels that could adorn a crown, they enrich and ennoble the lowest peasant."
In a few days, the Baron, accompanied by Albert, arrived at the castle. The frown which appeared upon his brow, at his first entrance, was instantly dispersed when the trembling Roseline sunk at his feet, and entreated him to pardon the eccentric flight of her lover, of which, as she was the cause, if his displeasure continued, it would inflict equal distress upon herself as upon his son.
To resist so fair a supplicant was not in the Baron's power. He tenderly raised her from the ground, and the next morning embraced her lover. The utmost harmony and a general cheerfulness soon prevailed, and, before the parties separated for the night, the Baron candidly and generously acknowledged, that, at the same age, and under the same circumstances as his son, he believed he should have acted as he had done. "And upon the whole, (said he,) I was not very sorry when the obstinate sighing boy took himself away; for I was grown weary of having to introduce, and make such frequent apologies for so absent, lifeless, and refractory a being."
What served to reconcile matters the sooner was, that Albert, after the sudden disappearance of his young lord, had informed his father of Mrs. C – 's infamous stratagem to draw him into a marriage with her artful and abandoned daughter. He was so much enraged at hearing the lengths to which these wretches had dared to go, that strict search was made after them, but without effect.
Walter, too, told Roseline of the designs which had been formed to entrap him, and, while she looked at him with increased delight, she secretly rejoiced that he had left a place which harboured a set of people who gloried to destroy the peace of their fellow-creatures.
To make the happiness of the friendly party more perfectly complete, the Baron informed Sir Philip and Lady de Morney that he hoped very soon to procure a pardon for Edwin and Madeline, and to be able to restore them to their protection.
Preparations for the marriage very soon began, the Baron humourously observing, that, till his son was again deprived of his freedom, there would be no knowing how to secure, or what to do with him, and declaring he should be very glad to delegate the care of him to one whom he had no doubt would supply his place much to the advantage of the charge he was ready and willing to give up.
Every appendage, that wealth could purchase, – rank require, – or youth and ambition wish to possess, – was liberally provided to grace the nuptials of Walter Fitzosbourne and the happy Roseline de Morney.
Ah! how different were the feelings, – how delightful the prospects of the intended bride, on this occasion, to what they had been on a former one, when she prepared with such agonizing terrors to give her hand to the Baron! – yet, though she could now think of approaching the altar without reluctance, she could not entirely divest herself of those timid fears which every gentle and virtuous female must experience when she recollects the number of new duties upon which she is going to enter, and that, from the moment she becomes a wife, her happiness, no longer dependent on herself or parents, rests only on the man to whom she has given her hand.
Walter seemed to tread on air; he was all vivacity and joy, and appeared to have assumed a new character. The world, and every thing belonging to it, wore a different aspect: – all, all was charming. He wondered how he could ever have felt disgust, or cherished discontent. To his father he was attentive and affectionate, – to his friends cordial and complacent, – to his Roseline all that an affectionate lover could or ought to be.
Albert was almost as happy and joyous as his master. The Baron, serene, grateful, and contented, while Sir Philip and Lady de Morney, who found their own consequence and comforts so much increased by this fortunate and splendid alliance, united in blessing the hour which sent their intended son-in-law a prisoner to Bungay-castle.