CHAPTER XVII. LETTER FROM TREVYLYAN TO -----.
COBLENTZ.
I AM obliged to you, my dear friend, for your letter; which, indeed, Ihave not, in the course of our rapid journey, had the leisure, perhapsthe heart, to answer before. But we are staying in this town for somedays, and I write now in the early morning, ere any one else in ourhotel is awake. Do not tell me of adventure, of politics, of intrigues;my nature is altered. I threw down your letter, animated and brilliantas it was, with a sick and revolted heart. But I am now in somewhat lessdejected spirits. Gertrude is better,--yes, really better; there is aphysician here who gives me hope; my care is perpetually to amuse,and never to fatigue her,--never to permit her thoughts to rest uponherself. For I have imagined that illness cannot, at least in theunexhausted vigour of our years, fasten upon us irremediably unless wefeed it with our own belief in its existence. You see men of themost delicate frames engaged in active and professional pursuits, wholiterally have no time for illness. Let them become idle, let them takecare of themselves, let them think of their health--and they die! Therust rots the steel which use preserves; and, thank Heaven, althoughGertrude, once during our voyage, seemed roused, by an inexcusableimprudence of emotion on my part, into some suspicion of her state,yet it passed away; for she thinks rarely of herself,--I am ever in herthoughts and seldom from her side, and you know, too, the sanguine andcredulous nature of her disease. But, indeed, I now hope more than Ihave done since I knew her.
When, after an excited and adventurous life which had comprised somany changes in so few years, I found myself at rest in the bosom of aretired and remote part of the country, and Gertrude and her father weremy only neighbours, I was in that state of mind in which the passions,recruited by solitude, are accessible to the purer and more divineemotions. I was struck by Gertrude's beauty, I was charmed byher simplicity. Worn in the usages and fashions of the world, theinexperience, the trustfulness, the exceeding youth of her mind, charmedand touched me; but when I saw the stamp of our national disease inher bright eye and transparent cheek, I felt my love chilled while myinterest was increased. I fancied myself safe, and I went daily into thedanger; I imagined so pure a light could not burn, and I was consumed.Not till my anxiety grew into pain, my interest into terror, did I knowthe secret of my own heart; and at the moment that I discovered thissecret, I discovered also that Gertrude loved me! What a destiny wasmine! what happiness, yet what misery! Gertrude was my own--but for whatperiod? I might touch that soft hand, I might listen to the tenderestconfession from that silver voice; but all the while my heart spoke ofpassion, my reason whispered of death. You know that I am consideredof a cold and almost callous nature, that I am not easily moved intoaffection; but my very pride bowed me here into weakness. There was sosoft a demand upon my protection, so constant an appeal to my anxiety.You know that my father's quick temper burns within me, that I am hot,and stern, and exacting; but one hasty word, one thought of myself,here were inexcusable. So brief a time might be left for her earthlyhappiness,--could I embitter one moment? All that feeling of uncertaintywhich should in prudence have prevented my love, increased it almost toa preternatural excess. That which it is said mothers feel for an onlychild in sickness, I feel for Gertrude. _My_ existence is not!--I existin her!
Her illness increased upon her at home; they have recommended travel.She chose the course we were to pursue, and, fortunately, it was sofamiliar to me, that I have been enabled to brighten the way. I am everon the watch that she shall not know a weary hour; you would almostsmile to see how I have roused myself from my habitual silence, and tofind me--me, the scheming and worldly actor of real life--plunged backinto the early romance of my boyhood, and charming the childish delightof Gertrude with the invention of fables and the traditions of theRhine.
But I believe that I have succeeded in my object; if not, what is leftto me? _Gertrude is better!_--In that sentence what visions of hope dawnupon me! I wish you could have seen Gertrude before we left England; youmight then have understood my love for her. Not that we have not, inthe gay capitals of Europe, paid our brief vows to forms more richlybeautiful; not that we have not been charmed by a more brilliant genius,by a more tutored grace. But there is that in Gertrude which I neversaw before,--the union of the childish and the intellectual, an etherealsimplicity, a temper that is never dimmed, a tenderness--O God! let menot speak of her virtues, for they only tell me how little she is suitedto the earth.
You will direct to me at Mayence, whither our course now leads us, andyour friendship will find indulgence for a letter that is so little areply to yours.
Your sincere friend,
A. G. TREVYLYAN.
The Pilgrims of the Rhine Page 44
