by Walter Scott
CHAPTER XVII Heaven first, in its mercy, taught mortals their letters, For ladies in limbo, and lovers in fetters, Or some author, who, placing his persons before ye, Ungallantly leaves them to write their own story.
POPE, imitated.
When Mannering returned to England, his first object had been to placehis daughter in a seminary for female education, of establishedcharacter. Not, however, finding her progress in the accomplishmentswhich he wished her to acquire so rapid as his impatience expected, hehad withdrawn Miss Mannering from the school at the end of the firstquarter. So she had only time to form an eternal friendship with MissMatilda Marchmont, a young lady about her own age, which was nearlyeighteen. To her faithful eye were addressed those formidable quireswhich issued forth from Mervyn Hall on the wings of the post while MissMannering was a guest there. The perusal of a few short extracts fromthese may be necessary to render our story intelligible.
FIRST EXTRACT
'Alas! my dearest Matilda, what a tale is mine to tell! Misfortune fromthe cradle has set her seal upon your unhappy friend. That we should besevered for so slight a cause--an ungrammatical phrase in my Italianexercise, and three false notes in one of Paisiello's sonatas! But it isa part of my father's character, of whom it is impossible to say whetherI love, admire, or fear him the most. His success in life and in war, hishabit of making every obstacle yield before the energy of his exertions,even where they seemed insurmountable--all these have given a hasty andperemptory cast to his character, which can neither endure contradictionnor make allowance for deficiencies. Then he is himself so veryaccomplished. Do you know, there was a murmur, half confirmed too by somemysterious words which dropped from my poor mother, that he possessesother sciences, now lost to the world, which enable the possessor tosummon up before him the dark and shadowy forms of future events! Doesnot the very idea of such a power, or even of the high talent andcommanding intellect which the world may mistake for it,--does it not,dear Matilda, throw a mysterious grandeur about its possessor? You willcall this romantic; but consider I was born in the land of talisman andspell, and my childhood lulled by tales which you can only enjoy throughthe gauzy frippery of a French translation. O, Matilda, I wish you couldhave seen the dusky visages of my Indian attendants, bending in earnestdevotion round the magic narrative, that flowed, half poetry, half prose,from the lips of the tale-teller! No wonder that European fiction soundscold and meagre, after the wonderful effects which I have seen theromances of the East produce upon their hearers.'
SECOND EXTRACT
'You are possessed, my dear Matilda, of my bosom-secret, in thosesentiments with which I regard Brown. I will not say his memory; I amconvinced he lives, and is faithful. His addresses to me werecountenanced by my deceased parent, imprudently countenanced perhaps,considering the prejudices of my father in favour of birth and rank. ButI, then almost a girl, could not be expected surely to be wiser than herunder whose charge nature had placed me. My father, constantly engaged inmilitary duty, I saw but at rare intervals, and was taught to look up tohim with more awe than confidence. Would to Heaven it had been otherwise!It might have been better for us all at this day!'
THIRD EXTRACT
'You ask me why I do not make known to my father that Brown yet lives, atleast that he survived the wound he received in that unhappy duel, andhad written to my mother expressing his entire convalescence, and hishope of speedily escaping from captivity. A soldier, that "in the tradeof war has oft slain men," feels probably no uneasiness at reflectingupon the supposed catastrophe which almost turned me into stone. Andshould I show him that letter, does it not follow that Brown, alive andmaintaining with pertinacity the pretensions to the affections of yourpoor friend for which my father formerly sought his life, would be a moreformidable disturber of Colonel Mannering's peace of mind than in hissupposed grave? If he escapes from the hands of these marauders, I amconvinced he will soon be in England, and it will be then time toconsider how his existence is to be disclosed to my father. But if, alas!my earnest and confident hope should betray me, what would it avail totear open a mystery fraught with so many painful recollections? My dearmother had such dread of its being known, that I think she even sufferedmy father to suspect that Brown's attentions were directed towardsherself, rather than permit him to discover their real object; and O,Matilda, whatever respect I owe to the memory of a deceased parent, letme do justice to a living one. I cannot but condemn the dubious policywhich she adopted, as unjust to my father, and highly perilous to herselfand me. But peace be with her ashes! her actions were guided by the heartrather than the head; and shall her daughter, who inherits all herweakness, be the first to withdraw the veil from her defects?'
FOURTH EXTRACT 'MERVYN HALL.
'If India be the land of magic, this, my dearest Matilda, is the countryof romance. The scenery is such as nature brings together in hersublimest moods-sounding cataracts--hills which rear their scathed headsto the sky--lakes that, winding up the shadowy valleys, lead at everyturn to yet more romantic recesses--rocks which catch the clouds ofheaven. All the wildness of Salvator here, and there the fairy scenes ofClaude. I am happy too in finding at least one object upon which myfather can share my enthusiasm. An admirer of nature, both as an artistand a poet, I have experienced the utmost pleasure from the observationsby which he explains the character and the effect of these brilliantspecimens of her power. I wish he would settle in this enchanting land.But his views lie still farther north, and he is at present absent on atour in Scotland, looking, I believe, for some purchase of land which maysuit him as a residence. He is partial, from early recollections, to thatcountry. So, my dearest Matilda, I must be yet farther removed from youbefore I am established in a home. And O how delighted shall I be when Ican say, Come, Matilda, and be the guest of your faithful Julia!
'I am at present the inmate of Mr. and Mrs. Mervyn, old friends of myfather. The latter is precisely a good sort of woman, ladylike andhousewifely; but for accomplishments or fancy--good lack, my dearestMatilda, your friend might as well seek sympathy from Mrs. Teach'em;--yousee I have not forgot school nicknames. Mervyn is a different--quite adifferent being from my father, yet he amuses and endures me. He is fatand good-natured, gifted with strong shrewd sense and some powers ofhumour; but having been handsome, I suppose, in his youth, has still somepretension to be a beau garcon, as well as an enthusiastic agriculturist.I delight to make him scramble to the tops of eminences and to the footof waterfalls, and am obliged in turn to admire his turnips, his lucerne,and his timothy grass. He thinks me, I fancy, a simple romantic Miss,with some--the word will be out--beauty and some good-nature; and I holdthat the gentleman has good taste for the female outside, and do notexpect he should comprehend my sentiments farther. So he rallies, hands,and hobbles (for the dear creature has got the gout too), and tells oldstories of high life, of which he has seen a great deal; and I listen,and smile, and look as pretty, as pleasant, and as simple as I can, andwe do very well.
'But, alas! my dearest Matilda, how would time pass away, even in thisparadise of romance, tenanted as it is by a pair assorting so ill withthe scenes around them, were it not for your fidelity in replying to myuninteresting details? Pray do not fail to write three times a week atleast; you can be at no loss what to say.'
FIFTH EXTRACT
'How shall I communicate what I have now to tell! My hand and heart stillflutter so much, that the task of writing is almost impossible! Did I notsay that he lived? did I not say I would not despair? How could yousuggest, my dear Matilda, that my feelings, considering I had parted fromhim so young, rather arose from the warmth of my imagination than of myheart? O I was sure that they were genuine, deceitful as the dictates ofour bosom so frequently are. But to my tale--let it be, my friend, themost sacred, as it is the most sincere, pledge of our friendship.
'Our hours here are early--earlier than my heart, with its load of care,can compose itself to rest. I therefore usually take a book for an houror two after
retiring to my own room, which I think I have told you opensto a small balcony, looking down upon that beautiful lake of which Iattempted to give you a slight sketch. Mervyn Hall, being partly anancient building, and constructed with a view to defence, is situated onthe verge of the lake. A stone dropped from the projecting balconyplunges into water deep enough to float a skiff. I had left my windowpartly unbarred, that, before I went to bed, I might, according to mycustom, look out and see the moonlight shining upon the lake. I wasdeeply engaged with that beautiful scene in the "Merchant of Venice"where two lovers, describing the stillness of a summer night, enhance oneach other its charms, and was lost in the associations of story and offeeling which it awakens, when I heard upon the lake the sound of aflageolet. I have told you it was Brown's favourite instrument. Who couldtouch it in a night which, though still and serene, was too cold, and toolate in the year, to invite forth any wanderer for mere pleasure? I drewyet nearer the window, and hearkened with breathless attention; thesounds paused a space, were then resumed, paused again, and again reachedmy ear, ever coming nearer and nearer. At length I distinguished plainlythat little Hindu air which you called my favourite. I have told you bywhom it was taught me; the instrument, the tones, were his own! Was itearthly music, or notes passing on the wind, to warn me of his death?
'It was some time ere I could summon courage to step on the balcony;nothing could have emboldened me to do so but the strong conviction of mymind that he was still alive, and that we should again meet; but thatconviction did embolden me, and I ventured, though with a throbbingheart. There was a small skiff with a single person. O, Matilda, it washimself! I knew his appearance after so long an absence, and through theshadow of the night, as perfectly as if we had parted yesterday, and metagain in the broad sunshine! He guided his boat under the balcony, andspoke to me; I hardly knew what he said, or what I replied. Indeed, Icould scarcely speak for weeping, but they were joyful tears. We weredisturbed by the barking of a dog at some distance, and parted, but notbefore he had conjured me to prepare to meet him at the same place andhour this evening.
'But where and to what is all this tending? Can I answer this question? Icannot. Heaven, that saved him from death and delivered him fromcaptivity, that saved my father, too, from shedding the blood of one whowould not have blemished a hair of his head, that Heaven must guide meout of this labyrinth. Enough for me the firm resolution that Matildashall not blush for her friend, my father for his daughter, nor my loverfor her on whom he has fixed his affection.'
