Charlotte Smith- Collected Poetical Works

by Charlotte Smith

  Such a state of constraint was insupportable. More passionately attached to Rosalie than before he became her husband, the idea of leaving her for weeks and months was become more terrible than that of death: he fancied it disgraceful to submit to divide himself from all he held dear, influenced merely by pecuniary considerations, and often resolved to acknowledge his marriage and brave the consequences; but then the fear of reducing to poverty the woman he adored — of exposing to the inconveniences of indigence her whom he thought worthy of a throne, checked his resolution of making this dangerous avowal; and again he determined to leave her in the hope of returning to claim her, and place her in a situation of life which she seemed born to fill.

  Rosalie seized every opportunity that now presented itself to press his going. — She urged his former promises, his own acknowledgements of the necessity of his departure: again he promised he would go, but again found it impossible to tear himself from her. But now her mother returned, and their meeting must become more rare and more difficult; and at length, but not till after he had received another letter from his mother, Montalbert determined to go. The last interview he could obtain with his wife was short and hazardous. Neither of them could say farwel; and when he was gone, and Rosalie knew she should see him no more, she felt so depressed, that, apprehensive of the remarks that might be made, she retired to her bed under pretence of a violent head-ach, though the pain she felt was in her heart.

  This pretence could not, however, be long continued, and Rosalie returned, though reluctantly, to the common business of life, while Montalbert, scarce knowing what he did, pursued his way to the sea coast from whence he was to embark for France, meaning to pass through that country to Italy; but the greater the distance became between him and the object of his love, the less supportable it became: a thousand times he was tempted to return, and rather hazard every future consequence than subject himself to the present misery of a separation so painful. Arrived on the borders of the sea, this distracting irresoulution redoubled. It was yet in his power to return to all he held dear on earth — a few leagues of land only were between them, but soon immense worlds of water would divide them, and he was conscious, that the single circumstance of its being out of his power to return when he would, must increase all the impatience he now felt; yet his reason told him, that his temporary absence ought to be undergone, since it might secure the repose hereafter of the woman he loved.

  As it was now a time when multitudes of English, who had long been prevented by the war from visiting the continent, were hastening to France, Montalbert was not many hours waiting for a wind, before he met some of his acquaintance, from whom it was impossible for him to escape. The gaiety and vivacity of these men, fatigued without amusing the mind of Montalbert; they were, however, of some use to him in calling off his attention from the subject, on which it was painful and useless for him to dwell. One of his friends rallied his supposed melancholy, another rattled away on past adventures and future projects of his own; and, amidst this variety of conversation, the wind becoming favourable, the whole party were summoned on board, and in a few hours Montalbert found himself in Calais.

  His friends, impatient to get to Paris, hastened on their way, while Montalbert was again left alone to indulge his uneasy reflections.

  The traveller, who quits England with anguish of mind, has often found a transient relief in the variety and novelty offered by his arrival in a country, which, though so near his own, offers scenes so unlike those he has been accustomed to. But this change had lost its power over the mind of Montalbert, haveing travelled so often between Italy and England through France, each country was equally well known to him; and relapsing into his former despondence, he wandered along the French coast, looking with aching eyes toward England, and again tempted to return to it. — At length, however, after two days indulgence of this weakness, for such he owned it was, he once more reasoned himself into a resolution to proceed, and though with an heart which became more heavy every league, he hastened towards Naples, making no stay in Paris, or any other town through which his route lay.

  While he was thus obeying the imperious dictates of duty, Rosalie, concealing the wretchedness of her heart, endeavoured to pass the time of this cruel absence in perfecting herself in those branches of knowledge most agreeable to him; but very unpleasant were the many hours she was obliged to pass among people who had no ideas in common with her, who were engaged in other pursuits, and who seemed to consider her, what indeed she really was, a being of quite another species, who, in being among them, was evidently displaced.

  The only time she passed with any degree of satisfaction, was that when she was admitted to sit with Mrs. Vyvian, and to converse with the Abbé Hayward. — Miss Vyvian was now married and gone, accompanied by her father and her sister, to the seat of her husband’s family in great parade. Her mother, of whom she had taken cold leave, sunk into deeper dejection than ever: not that she felt as a misfortune this more certain separation from a daughter, who had long ceased to return her maternal tenderness; but it seemed as if her form could no longer resist the sorrow inflicted upon her by the absence of a son she adored, aggravated by the ingratitude of his sisters.

  Rosalie appeared to be more dear to her than ever, and there was now no impediment to their being often together; but Mrs. Vyvian, whose health visibly declined, was not always well enough to leave her bed, or to be amused with Rosalie’s endeavours to relieve her long hours of solitude by reading or music. When she was able, however, to sit up, the duties of her religion, which she fulfilled with the most scrupulous exactness, alone detained her from the society of Rosalie. Whatever might be the dejection of Mrs. Vyvian’s mind, her penetration was not blunted, and she saw that something unusual pressed upon the spirits of her young friend: again then she spoke to her of what she apprehended— “You are certainly not well, Rosalie, (said Mrs. Vyvian, as they were sitting alone together), or you are unhappy?”— “I am well, indeed, my dear Madam, (she replied); as to being unhappy, I am not particularly so — I own to you, that the continual round of company in which my mother is engaged is far from adding to the pleasantness of my life; and sometimes I languish for an abode in my native country, as solitary as our parsonage under the southern hills.”

  “There is more in it than that, dear girl,” said Mrs. Vyvian, with a look that expressed her incredulity.

  “You would not surely wonder if there were, (answered Rosalie). I have often wondered at my own inconsequence in not being more depressed, when I recollect that, whenever I lose my mother, I shall become a friendless and destitute orphan.”

  “Not, if I live, (said Mrs. Vyvian — then, pausing a moment, she added in a slow and solemn voice) — for, as I think, my early indulgence to my daughters, or rather to myself, in having you so much at Holmwood during your infancy, has perhaps been the means of estranging you from your family, I consider it as my duty to make you what little amends I can — much, alas! is not in my power, for the unintentional injury I have done you.”

  The tears rose in the eyes of Rosalie as Mrs. Vyvian concluded this sentence. “O no, dearest Madam, (answered she) — your kindness to me, never, never, injured me — so far otherwise, that I think I should, but for that kindness, have been the most unhappy creature in the world. At least I know that the only moments for which I would wish to live are those when you permit me to be with you.”

  “And therefore it is, my love, that I think I have injured you. Your mother, your sisters are happy among acquaintance and parties of their own, from which you fly with disgust: nor is this all — I am sensible that you have refused a very advantageous match from the same prepossession.”

  “I assure you, my dear Mrs. Vyvian, that, as far as I am able to judge, I should have refused Mr. Hughson, though I had never enjoyed the advantages of being admitted to Holmwood. Indeed, had I been in the most humble condition of life, I am sure I should have preferred remaining in it, and even embracing the hardest labour, to g
iving my person to a man from whom my heart recoiled.”

  A deep and long-drawn sigh, as if some painful recollections had arisen at that moment, half interrupted the answer of Mrs. Vyvian, who said, “You are certainly right in the sentiment, Rosalie — but it is sometimes not in the power of young women to resist parental authority. However, admitting that a man, less disagreeable than you represent this Hughson to have been, should now present himself; tell me, Rosalie — answer me ingenuously — would he not be equally rejected?”

  The eyes of Mrs. Vyvian, which, though generally soft and languid, were very expressive, were fixed steadily on the countenance of Rosalie as she asked this question. Rosalie, who affected to be steadily at work, looked up, and met these penetrating eyes: a deep blush suffused her cheeks; she was conscious of it, and became more confused. Yet, making an effort to recollect herself, and to speak with composure, she said, “O nothing is so — so very unlikely, as that any man should have a preference for me! — I never thought whether I should refuse any other offer or no — because it is so improbable, that it is hardly worth while to suppose about it.”

  “Not so improbable as you affect to imagine, Rosalie — but you are not sincere. I do not wish, my dear, to distress you, and we will drop the discourse at this time; but another day, perhaps, I may talk to you further, for I have something very serious to say to you, and I think, Rosalie, you will not deceive me, since it may be very material to us both.”

  More and more confused, and not doubting but that by some means or other Mrs. Vyvian had discovered her marriage, she was too much agitated to allow herself to consider, whether, if this were really the case, it was likely Mrs. Vyvian should speak as she had ever done; but trembling and breathless she hastened to put her work into the work-basket, and, affecting to understand what her friend had last said as an hint to depart, she smiled, and replying that she was always happy to answer any questions from her, and that she hoped always to be ingenuous with so good a friend, she hastened away, which Mrs. Vyvian did not oppose.

  CHAPTER 12

  THE night that followed this conversation was the most uneasy Rosalie had ever yet known. From what had passed she could not doubt but that Mrs. Vyvian knew of her marriage; yet it was incomprehensible if she did, that she should have expressed so little anger or diaprobation: yet what else but her knowing of the mutual attachment between her nephew and her protegee could have urged her to speak as she did?

  The various conjectures that agitated the mind of Rosalie, allowed her not to sleep. She had never till now tasted, in its full bitterness, the pain that is inflicted on an ingenuous mind by concealment and dissimulation. Conscious that she merited the loss of Mrs. Vyvan’s good opinion, and that the longer this mystery was continued on her part the more unpardonable it would appear, she endeavoured to reason herself into a resolution of unbosoming herself to Mrs. Vyvian, and rather enduring her reproaches for precipitancy and indiscretion, than suffer the misery of living in continual dread of being detected in a falsehood. The most probable conjecture she could form was, that Mrs. Vyvian knew the truth, and had held the conversation she had heard the preceding evening to give Rosalie an opportunity of declaring what was already known. This supposition strengthened her wavering resolves, and she arose in the morning, believing she had force of mind enough to disclose the secret that weighed upon her mind; but when a note came from Mrs. Vyvian requesting to see her as soon as she had breakfasted, her courage at once forsook her, and hardly could she find the strength to obey the summons.

  On her arrival, however, at the house of Mrs. Vyvian, she found nothing remarkable in the manner or looks of her friend, who seemed as to her health to suffer less than usual. Rosalie inquired, as she had been acustomed to do, if she should fetch a book — Mrs. Vyvian answered no; and bid her take her work.

  For some time the conversation ran on indifferent topics; at length contriving to bring it without abruptness to the point she wished, Mrs. Vyvian renewed the subject on which she had touched the day before. Rosalie, whose heart was beating so violently that she could hardly breathe, listened to her in silence.

  “I spoke to you yesterday, my love, (said she), with a desire to hear your sentiments on a matter very important to you. You say that you sometimes accuse yourself of not having sufficient prevoyance — of looking forward with too little solicitude to a fortune, which certainly promises but little prosperity. — What, if a way was to offer of escaping from these fears? — If an establishment in most respects unexceptionable were to be found?”

  “I am not my own mistress, you know, my dear Madam,” said Rosalie, speaking this equivocation, for it could not be called a falsehood, in so low a voice as hardly to be heard.

  “That is true, (answered Mrs. Vyvian); but I think, indeed I am sure, your friends would not disapprve the proposal in question — indeed there can be one objection to it, which I think would not have much weight; the gentleman is a Catholic.”

  “A Catholic!” repeated Rosalie faintly.

  “You are surprised, I see; but you know, Rosalie, there are considerations that may influence persons to overlook this difference of opinion. Tell me now ingenuously: should a man of that religion offer, whose circumstances, whose character, are such as would preclude all those fears that you, or those who love you, might have as to your future fate? — Tell me, if you should hesitate to accept of his hand? — Remember I expect you to be candid —— Would you receive such a man as your husband?”

  The first attempt Rosalie made to answer this question failed, she was unable to articulate a syllable; collecting, however, all her resolution, she at last found courage to say, “I am very sensible, Madam, that I ought to feel extremely grateful for the notice of any man of whom you have a good opinion; — but — my dear, dear benefactress, (added she in a voice that her agitation rendered indistinct, and rising from her seat), I cannot longer conceal the truth from you — I am already married.”

  “Already married! (exclaimed Mrs. Vyvian with a tone and look of amazement); —— Already married! — Merciful Heaven! and to whom?”

  “Can I hope, dearest and best of women, to be forgiven, when I tell you — O no! — I dare not — you will reproach me, perhaps detest me, and cast me off for ever.”

  “Speak, (said Mrs. Vyvian, trembling as much as the unhappy girl) — speak”....she had her salts in her hands, and her eyes were eagerly fixed on the face of Rosalie, who was compelled to support herself by holding the table.

  “Since you have just said, Madam, that a Catholic might, in your opinion, make such an alliance.” —— —

  “A Catholic!” cried Mrs. Vyvian, still more faintly.

  “I might hope, perhaps, (continued Rosalie), to be forgiven for every thing, but the presumption of becoming part of you family — of marrying a very near relation of your own.”

  Rosalie might have continued her confession without interruption another hour, Mrs. Vyvian heard no more, but sunk back in her chair to all appearance lifeless.

  In an agony of terror, to which no words can do justice, Rosalie flew towards her, then to the bell, which she rang with violence, and when her servants came, she assisted in carrying Mrs. Vyvian to her room, though she was herself in a situation but little better......”I am undone, (said she) — I shall never be forgiven.......No, I see that my more than mother cannot, will not, forgive me. — O Montalbert! why are you not here to plead with me for pardon? — What will become of your unhappy Rosalie, if her first, her best friend abandons and abhors her, while you are far far off, and unable to protect her from the insults of the rest of the world?”

  While Rosalie was making this mournful monologue on one side of the bed, the applications used by Mrs. Vyvian’s woman were so successful, that she opened her eyes; but, turning them on Rosalie, she seemed shocked by the sight of her, and, without speaking, waved her hand that she might leave her.

  This was too much. Rosalie, regardless of the presence of the servant, threw herself upon her
knees by the bed side, and attempted to take Mrs. Vyvian’s hand — she snatched it from her with abhorrence, and, speaking with great difficulty, said, “Wretched, most wretched girl — if you would not see me die before your face — go — I conjure you go.”

  “Hear me but for one moment; let Hallam leave the room while I speak to you for the last time, if it must be so.”

  The maid, who understood nothing of all this, and who felt no curiosity to know what it meant, restrained by some degree of terror, retired without being bid; and Rosalie again most earnestly imploring for pity and pardon, Mrs. Vyvian, in a voice at once shrill and plaintive, said ——

  “It is now I feel, in all its severity, the punishment I have deserved: long has the dread of it pursued me — long had it embittered every moment of my wretched existence — but at length it overtakes, it crushes, it destroys me......Miserable girl! — the unfortunate young man, to whom you believe yourself married — is — gracious God! — do I live to tell it — is your brother!”

  “My brother! — (cried Rosalie) —— Heaven defend me! — My dear Madam — Mrs. Vyvian! — —” Nothing occurred to her at that moment, but that the senses of her friend were gone.

  “You are my daughter, (said Mrs. Vyvian), the unhappy child of an unfortunate man, whose very name I never suffer to escape my lips.”

  This confirmed Rosalie in the apprehensions that her mind was deranged; but, heart struck with horror, she could not speak. Mrs. Vyvian, after a short pause, proceeded ——

  “Destined from your birth to be an outcast — to appear a stranger even to your mother — I guiltily indulged myself with a sight of you, till Vyvian, my son, vicitim of my crimes —— —”