A pause, however, at last gave D’Alonville leave to ask after his friends on the other side of the heath, though he felt himself change countenance as he made the enquiry. “Oh!” cried Madame de Touranges; “I have half quarrelled with my friend, and shall quarrel with her quite, if she continues so unaccountable.” D’Alonville dreaded to ask; but it required no great patience to attend for an explanation to Madame de Touranges, who was a quick and decisive talker. “You know,” said she, “that prettiesh girl — that you Chevalier admired — the third of Madame Denzil’s daughters — well; since you have been gone, a man of fortune, vastly beyond what she could expect — for you know my good friend has a thousand children, and they are never likely to get any part of the little fortune they are entitled to. — This young man, I say, took a fancy to Mademoiselle Angeline, and a day or two afterwards (for it has all passed within a week), he made proposals. My friend, Madame Denzil, who does not want sense, certainly has suffered the simple girl to refuse him.”
“To refuse him!” repeated D’Alonville.”
“You may well be surprised,” resumed the lady. “But Angeline, who was here this morning but a few moments before you came, assured me, with all the simplicity in the world, that she, last night, by her mother’s permission, gave her rich lover his final dismission — and for so ridiculous a reason!”
“What reason?” said D’Alonville, in a voice hardly articulate.
“Oh! you would not guess it, Chevalier, in a thousand years; for in France, if girls were ever consulted in the disposal of themselves, such a reason would not be listened to a moment — it was because she did not like the man.”
“And has he taken this answer?” asked D’Alonville, trembling— “And is he gone?”
“I find he is very angry,” replied the lady, “and of course, sufficiently mortified to be refused by a little country girl; but he is still in this neighbourhood at the house of a friend; and if he is a man of any perseverance, he will not be so easily repulsed, but will try his fortune again.” The heart of D’Alonville, which had for a moment been elated with hope, now sunk again into despair; and his countenance so plainly expressed the emotions he felt, that Gabrielle, who had observed him attentively during the whole conversation, had no doubt of his attachment. The impossibility of its ever being successful, made her look at him with peculiar concern; and she wished to have an opportunity of speaking to him alone, for her awe of Madame de Touranges was such, that she hardly ever ventured in her presence to express her real sentiments. This opportunity, however, did not offer; and D’Alonville returned to Caverly’s as anxious as he had set out, though he now flattered himself, that his fate was not yet decided. While the woman, to whom alone he had ever been conscious of a wish to dedicate his whole life, remained unmarried, he believed, that the idea of one day being authorized to address her, would sustain him in whatever trials it might be in the mean time his fate to experience; but should that distant hope disappear, life would have nothing to induce him to take the trouble of living amidst national disgrace, and the loss of his property, and his friends. During his conversation with the ladies De Touranges, he could not obtain any information when he was likely to see any of the Denzil family; and the keen and penetrating eye of the marquise were too constantly fixed on inquisitorial questions, for him to venture to make it, left his countenance should betray that he took more interest in whatever related to them, than she would approve. For he fancied it visible that Madame de Touranges saw his partiality, though affecting not to see it; because she thought any pretensions he could form too wild and romantic to be a moment attended to; and he was very sure she would be his enemy, though he was also sure she would not be so from disinterested motives.
CHAPTER III.
O gran contrasto in giovenil pensiero
Desire di laude, ed impeto d’amore
Nè chi piu vaglia ancor si trova
Chi resta or questa, or quel superiore.
ARIOSTO.
WHEN D’Alonville arrived at the house of Captain Caverly, he had the satisfaction of finding Edward Ellesmere; who had left Eddisbury two or three days before he had originally intended. He had taken a final leave, he said, of every body at home; and D’Alonville could not forbear enquiring how he could so soon disengage himself from a family, who must undoubtedly feel distressed at his departure. Ellesmere answered, “You should recollect, my good friend, that my father has his politician to console him; and then little Master, who is so fond of English tunes; circumstances that, of course, abate his regret at parting with a younger son who is no politician at all.”
“But your mother, said D’Alonville, “she certainly must be made extremely unhappy, thus to part with you; and to see you enter a profession, attended with so much danger.” “My mother!” answered Ellesmere. “Oh, yes! poor dear woman, she wept a little, and gave me a great many blessings, and some good advice; but as to ideas of danger, she has none. She has not a mind capable of figuring what she never saw. Imagination never oppresses her with its visionary terrors; or if it did, the most terrific drawing would soon be erased by the home scenes around her; and she would think more of what had happened at the next market town. Such is the effect of living always in a narrow circle, without any change of ideas.” In this instance, however, it is happy, my friend. Your sisters, were undoubtedly greatly hurt to part with you.” Ellesmere smiled. “My eldest sister,” said he, “is in love, you know, which is a wonderful defence against any collateral distresses. A young lady, Sir, thus circumstanced, sees no object in the universe but the dear youth. As to Mary, she is too happy about herself just now, to make it reasonable for me to expect her to feel much concern for me. This revolution in the politics of the elder branch of my family, has made a revolution in their economy. Mary is going to London with Lady Sophia. She expects to come down with a lover of immense fortune, if not with a title. In such cases, a brother more or less makes no difference. As to my poor little Theodora, who is not yet allowed to come out of the nursery, she is as sorry as if she had lost any other of her play-fellows, but she thinks no farther. However, I have prevailed on my mother, I hope, to consider Theodora no longer as a child; Heaven knows, my dear Chevalier, whether I shall ever have an opportunity of making her another request.” Ellesmere seemed affected for a moment by the thought of having taken, perhaps, a last leave of his whole family; though their partiality for a brother who had nothing to recommend him, but the circumstance of having been born a few years sooner, had left him, in quitting the paternal seat of his ancestors, much less to regret than he would have had under other circumstances. But immediately regaining his usual gaiety, he turned the discourse to other subjects.
In this conversation, all that D’Alonville had heard since his departure from Eddisbury, in regard to the family at Besthorpe, was of course mentioned. Ellesmere learned with wonder, that his old acquaintance, Melton, was the man whose offers had been refused; not that he thought the refusal wonderful, but he had not imagined Melton to be a man who would think of marrying a young woman that was without fortune, and whose family was in some measure in obscurity, for a sort of minor ambition. A desire to be thought of consequence in his county, and to have his name forward on all occasions, had been one of the most leading features, that, in their short acquaintance, he had remarked. Melton had a high opinion of his own country; of the particular province of the country which he himself inhabited; and his own set of friends; and last, not least, of himself, whom he loved with the tenderest solicitude. — An affection which so much engrossed him, that he seldom thought it worth while to consult the pleasure or opinion of others. That nothing could have induced him to do a generous action Ellesmere was so well convinced, that his disinterested impartiality for the unportioned, unknown Angelina, amazed him, till he recollected that he sought her only to gratify himself. Still it appeared a matter of some wonder that he should prefer beauty, to fortune and interest; or that he did not unite these objects, by chusing some one wh
ose alliance could add brilliancy to his family, and whose rank might give her precedence, which his denied.
After some conversation on this matter, Ellesmere asked D’Alonville, if his attachment to Angelina was such as he himself believed would be permanent. “Tell me, my friend,” said he, “if you really believe, that this passion for my fair countrywoman, is of a nature to resist absence, and what may be much more fatal, the vivacity, and the various attractions of the women of France?”
D’Alonville protested that he believed, nay he was persuaded, it was so firmly established, that nothing could remove it. “And if you were restored,” said Ellesmere, “to your country, to your prospects, — Is it an Englishwoman, a woman of another religion, without fortune, and though of a gentleman’s family, educated in a remote village; is it such a woman you would prefer?” “Upon my honour,” answered D’Alonville, very solemnly, “I should prefer Angelina Denzil to every other woman; to every advantage that alliance or fortune could bring me.” “If those,” said Ellesmere, “are you sentiments, what hinders your availing yourself of the partiality she has certainly shewn in your favour; and though it may not be prudent, on her account, to marry immediately, why should you not endeavour to brighten your future days by securing the person whom your heart has elected?” This kind of conversation and much more to the same purpose, was too flattering to D’Alonville not to be eagerly listened to — we are easily induced to believe what we wish — and Ellesmere succeeded without much difficulty in persuading D’Alonville, that he had less reason to fear a repulse, than he had himself imagined, considering all the disadvantages he was under.
From circumstances which are not immediately necessary to the story, this was really found to be the case. Whether romantic or reasonable (for it might be thought either, according to the different disposition of those who sit in judgement on this part of her conduct), Mrs. Denzil was certainly singular enough, not to oppose her daughter’s giving herself to a native of another country; to a man professing another religion; and to one of those who, as emigrants, have been spoken of by some persons in England with contempt, for adhering to their king, and by others blamed for having quitted him; (though it is evident by what has happened since, that their remaining would only have hastened the catastrophe they deplore, without its holding out any hope of future redress, as far as redress in such cafe is possible). The few days that D’Alonville and Ellesmere remained in the neighbourhood, were passed almost entirely at the house of Mrs. Denzil. The evening before the day fixed for their departure, they were surprized there by the entrance of a lady in the neighbourhood, a distant relation of Melton’s, who very seldom condescended to visit the Denzil family, but who had now taken the pains to avail herself of the moon to come five miles, to pay her compliments at an house, where, if one might have judged from the countenances of those she favoured with her company, the honour would have been most willingly dispensed with. The good old gentlewoman, whose name was Risby, was one of those very sensible persons, who assume a right to dictate to all their acquaintance, and to satirise most unmercifully, as well those who listened to their decisive opinions as those who dared to have opinions of their own. Though the younger part of her life had not been celebrated for peculiar discretion, she had so much profited since, either from experience or observation, that she seemed to believe herself qualified for the dictatorship of the universe. She stalked very majestically into the parlour of Mrs. Denzil — looked around her; and, paying a cold compliment to Ellesmere, with whom she was slightly acquainted, she cast her eyes towards D’Alonville, with a look which said, “Humph, it is true then what I have heard!” the conversation was cold and languid, for Mrs. Denzil seemed very little inclined to support her share of it. Mrs. Risby blamed four or five of their mutual acquaintance for some faults they had committed, of which Mrs. Denzil had never heard before — ridiculed half a dozen others for some personal or acquired defects; and, having nearly exhausted her provision of malignity for the evening, she begged to speak with Mrs. Denzil alone, and they went together into another room. It was there, that snorking and drawing herself up, she made a slight apology to Mrs. Denzil for what she was going to say, and then asked if what she heard was really possible; that one of the young ladies, for all of whom she professed herself much interested, could have refused a man of Mr. Melton’s fortune, with a design to give herself to a foreigner, an emigrant. She was going on to distinguish D’Alonville by very appellation that she thought contemptuous and despicable; when Mrs. Denzil stopped her, by saying “I really do not know, Madam, how I and my family have deserved that you should interfere in our affairs. However, if it be any satisfaction to you to gratify your curiosity in a matter so little worth your enquirey, I have the honor of assuring you that my daughter has refused Mr. Melton; with my approbation refused him. What may happen as to any other person I do not consider myself at liberty to explain, as any event of that sort must be remote and uncertain — I believe it is unnecessary to detain you longer.” Mrs. Denzil then led the way back to the apartment they had left, which Mrs. Risby entered with a greater elevation of head than she had when she quitted it. She rang almost immediately for her carriage, and hardly noticing the persons for whom she pretended to be so interested, and passing Ellesmere and D’Alonville with a contemptuous toss of her head, she retired. In a moment it was forgotten that her visit had been made, for very different contemplations occupied the party she had left.
One great objection to novels is the frequent recurrences of love scenes; which readers of so many descriptions turn from as unnatural, or pass over as fulsome; while, to those who alone perhaps read them with avidity, they are said to be of dangerous tendency. The conversations then which decided that D’Alonville was an accepted lover, by the woman he adored, and the parting of persons thus mutually attached, when on e was going to a country from whence there were so many chances that he might never return, shall be passed over, as well as less material occurrences, till Ellesmere and his emigrant friend arrived in London, where the former entered immediately on the business of preparations for his departure; and the latter, though he could not divert his thoughts a moment from the object he had left, was glad to engage in giving such assistance as he could to his friend, to call off his mind as much as possible from its sad reflections. He had also commissions to execute for the ladies De Touranges; and persons of his own country to visit, to whom they had given him letters; and he had letters of his own to write to France. By incessant occupation he endeavoured to appease the regret and anguish that preyed upon his mind, and to conquer in the sever struggle which while he remained on English ground, he knew must continue between his inclination and his duty.
Ellesmere alone was witness to what it cost him to determine on following the dictates of that duty; and with the most generous attention he endeavoured to soothe the pain of his friend’s mind, though his own was far from being at ease.
Every thing was settled for their setting out the next day on their journey to Ostend, where they were to part. Ellesmere had made all his purchases, and D’Alonville obtained such information as could be had in London, as to the measures he should take in the perilous adventure he was about to encounter.
D’Alonville, during his former short stay in London, had refused to go into any public place; but now, at the earnest entreaty of Ellesmere, he agreed to go to a play with him to see a celebrated actress; and, as he believed himself by this time able to understand the declamation of the English stage, he felt as much curiosity about this performer as any object could now excite. Partial as he was to the very different style of French acting, he could not but attend with pleasure to the great dramatic powers of the actress in question! and his attention insensibly attracted, was rivetted to the scene, when a person entered the same box whom D’Alonville at first did not observe. Ellesmere was gone to another part of the house, and in his seat the stranger put himself.
At the end of the act, D’Alonville turned to see who had tak
en the place which he expected his friend every moment to return to; and, after a moment’s recollection as to where he had before seen the face that now presented itself, he recognised that of Mr. Melton.
D’Alonville saw by the air with which he was surveyed, that Mr. Melton recollected him, for arrogantly and contemptuously he eyed him — looks which D’Alonville, whose pride was now roused, returned with interest. The man who had aspired to the hand of Angelina could not but be an unwelcome object to D’Alonville. Melton, though he had quitted the pursuit very indignantly, had heard that a preference to this foreigner had been the cause of the mortifying refusal he had experienced; and, as he could not, in the insolence of prosperity, bear the idea of a rival, whom he considered as every way his inferior, he felt an unconquerable inclination to shew his displeasure by insulting D’Alonville. While he meditated how to do this, which he thought the situation of D’Alonville authorised him to do with impunity, the last act of the play began, and D’Alonville though no more about him, but again applied himself wholly to the stage. In a few minutes Ellesmere entered, and seeing a gentleman in his place was about to speak to him, when he recognised his travelling acquaintance — to whom he addressed himself with civility; and, as a seat behind D’Alonville became vacant by a gentleman’s going out, Ellesmere, without asking for his own, placed himself in it. The play ended, and Ellesmere was preparing to quit the theatre, having an appointment for the rest of the evening, when Melton entered into conversation with him, by looking with a contemptuous smile at his hat: “So,” said he, “I see you are become one of our brave defenders; pray how is that reconcileable with your principles, and your connections?”
Charlotte Smith- Collected Poetical Works Page 182
