Charlotte Smith- Collected Poetical Works

by Charlotte Smith

  ‘Mr. Montalbert, it is probable I have but a few hours to live: — hear me, I conjure you, when I declare upon the honour of a dying man, that your wife is as innocent as an angel; that I have ever treated her as a beloved sister; and that you will be guilty of the most cruel injustice in throwing her from you. I have not breath to tell you what strange circumstance it happened that I was the instrument to release her from the power of your mother, who had her confined at Formiscusa. I feel very faint. — They tell me you have taken her child from her, and that she is reduced to the brink of the grave by sorrow.....Restore her child — restore to her you affections, and try to make her happy — she deserves all your tenderness; and — if it should happen, as I am persuaded it will, that you are convinced you have been too rash — let not any remorse for what has happened disturb your tranquility. — I am a being, who have long been weary of life — and for me Death has no horrors. — You may for many years constitute and share in the happiness of an amiable woman; and it is some satisfaction to me, to think you will one day know that I was incapable of injuring you.’

  “He spoke slowly and with difficulty — I was incapable of answering! — but again he earnestly urged me to save myself by flight. — I incoherently told him, I hoped his wound was not mortal.— ‘I hope not, (said he) — but if it should, I intreat you, for the sake of Mrs. Montalbert, to take care of yourself.’ — By this time my servant was come up with a surgeon; before he could decide whether the wound was likely to be fatal, or how he could attempt moving poor Walsingham, Sommers Walsingham, Wilmot, and Vyvian, arrived together with a chair, which they had the precaution to bring with them.

  “I cannot relate what now passed. — Before the wounded man would consent to being moved, he insisted that the persons present should listen to the solemn declaration he made, that I had used him honourably, and was in no way to blame. I own this magnanimity, from a man whom I have perhaps injured, has deeply affected me. He bade my friends insist on my leaving the place, and Vyvian, I hardly knew how, forced me into a post chaise as soon as he had seen Walsingham’s wound probed; for, till he had brought me some intelligence of him, I would not stir. — The surgeon had not yet attempted to extract the ball; nor could they pronounce with any certainty, but they entertained great fears for his life. Sommers Walsingham went off to London express, to bring down some very eminent man of the profession; and at the repeated intreaties of Walsingham I came hither, without, however, meaning to withdraw myself from any inquiry that may be made — if he dies! - - - - - -

  ‘You will, I fear, have too much reason to reproach yourself, (interrupted Lessington). —— You never received then a letter, which, from her journal, I see our poor Rosalie sent to you from Marseilles, under cover to the English Ambassador at Naples?’

  ‘Never! (replied Montalbert). — But has my wife then kept a journal — and may I not see it?’

  ‘If you will be calm, (said Lessington), I will put it into your hands.’ —— Montalbert, subdued as he was, was beginning to be conscious of his own rashness, promised all that was asked of him; and in this perusal passed the rest of the night; Lessington continually going to the door of Rosalie’s chamber, where he found her much more quiet than he had ventured to expect.

  At a very early hour of the morning, two post chaises stopped near the house. From one of them came Vyvian, with the little Montalbert and his maid; from the other, the physician who had attended Rosalie......Poor Montalbert saw them enter without having the power to speak. He questioned by looks the countenance of Vyvian, but found nothing that encouraged him to ask after Walsingham. — Vyvian, however, understood him, and said, “Walsingham is alive, and his case not desperate, though certainly dangerous.”

  “Thank God! (exclaimed Montalbert), I may yet then taste of satisfaction!” — — “Be not too sanguine, (answered Vyvian); but I am all impatience to know the state of our poor Rosalie!” —— Overcome by sensations so acute and various, Montalbert sat in breathless anxiety; his tears fell on the face of his child as he pressed him to his heart, and he cast an earnest look towards the door, as he heard the steps of the physician descending from Rosalie’s room.

  He gave, however, a better account of her than they had dared to promise themselves; and, as he had heard from Vyvian a sketch of her story in consequence of his attendance on Walsingham, he ventured to advise that Rosalie might, as soon as possible, have her child restored to her, and be told that her husband was returned.

  “Mrs. Montalbert’s illness, (said he), is so evidently occasioned by uneasiness and fear, that my art can do nothing while those causes exist; remove them, and she will soon, I believe, be restored to health.”

  Montalbert then ventured to say— “But, Sir, if this unfortunate Mr. Walsingham should die?”

  “I hope, though I cannot say he will not!” answered Dr. F —— .

  “But at all events, (interrupted Ormsby, who having just heard what had passed, now joined them) — at all events let my daughter see her little boy; and you, Sir, (continued he, turning to Montalbert) — you, I hope, will now do her justice — you will.”

  “It is not yet time, dear Mr. Ormsby, (said Lessington), to discuss many points, which, I hope, we shall amicably talk over hereafter.....Mr. Montalbert allows that the conduct of my sister has been unexceptionable, and that of Mr. Walsingham most generous.”

  “It is I only, (said Montalbert, in a mournful and somewhat stern voice) — it is I alone who have been to blame.”

  Lessington, fearful of what might follow, cried hastily— “We can none of us think that. — Alas! which of us, situated as you were, might not have acted as you did!”

  Dr. F —— now departed, promising to send a messenger from Brighthelmstone, with the opinion of the surgeons, as soon as the gentleman (Sommers Walsingham) expected was arrived; and Lessington went up to prepare Rosalie for the sight of her child.

  She had no sooner in her arms this darling of affection, than she seemed to have obtained a new existence. Lessington thought he might then venture to tell her, at least part, of what had passed, concealing, however, the sad effects of Montalbert’s passionate suspicions.

  When he told her, her husband was in the house, she declared herself able to see him — for the slight view she had of him before seemed like a dream. She no sooner beheld him, than she attempted but vainly, to speak, while he, far from yielding to those transports of joy which he would have felt had not Walsingham been in danger, was wretched, though apparently restored to the bosom of happiness; and shuddered, as he thought, that Rosalie was perhaps embracing the murderer of her generous preserver, and one who might soon be an exile from her and from his country!

  This painful suspence continued some days, for the situation of Walsingham was long doubtful after the arrival of his surgeon from London. Rosalie, though she did not yet leave her room, for she continued extremely weak, could not fail to remark the gloom that hung over her friends, and particularly Montalbert, who often fell into deep and melancholy reveries; then, suddenly starting, listened to any noise in the house, watched every one entering at the door, and seemed frequently so uneasy, that Rosalie, however, willing to impute his inquietude to the situation he was in with regard to his mother, which he had told her of, could not but discover that something of more immediate import pressed on his mind; she had never ventured since their reconciliation to name Walsingham. — Too well aware from the slight and half-stifled narrative she had received from her brother and her father, that Montalbert’s jealousy had been the cause of the step he had taken as to her child, she feared to awaken it anew by naming him, while Montalbert, observing her caution, felt hurt that she did not speak to him openly and candidly — and these concealed sensations on both sides occasioned a sort of restraint that rendered them far from happy.

  As Rosalie every day became better, and thought herself well enough to leave a place which reminded her of many days of suspence and uneasiness, she felt some surprise that neither her fa
ther nor Montalbert proposed her removal, for they had concealed from her their debates on this subject, which had not passed without some asperity on Montalbert’s part. Conscious of high birth, and of his right to an ample property, he did not reflect, without bitterness of heart, on his reserve of fortune. — Instead of raising his wife to high affluence, he found himself and his son now almost entirely dependent on Mr. Ormsby, who, though related to him by blood, the notions he had acquired among foreign nobility taught him to consider as a merchant and an adventurer for gain. Ormsby, on the other hand, had been so long used to the most perfect obedience to his will from every body about him, that he was hurt at the little submission which Montalbert showed to his wishes, when he expressed an intention of making a considerable purchase, and placing Rosalie as mistress of his house and fortune. Montalbert fancied that Ormsby would not be sorry if the fatal termination of Walsingham’s accident compelled him to go abroad; but secretly determined, if it did, that no considerations of interest should induce him to leave his wife and child in England. — Ormsby was not only conscious that he should have been happier to have found his daughter single, but fancied the sentiment justified by the pride and violence which he thought natural to Montalbert’s character.

  These heart-burnings between two persons, on whom the happiness of Rosalie so entirely depended, gave extreme concern to Lessington, and kept him from returning home, notwithstanding the repeated letters he received from his wife. Vyvian saw with equal concern that there was no cordiality between them; but the situation of Walsingham, whom he had twice visited, and whose character had impressed him with the highest esteem, was a source of still deeper regret.

  How strange is the disposition of human events! Rosalie, who but a very few days back suffered every possible calamity, now saw her husband returned, her child restored, her father in safety, and master of an ample fortune (circumstances which even in her most sanguine moments she never ventured to flatter herself with); yet, with all these blessings united, Rosalie was not happy; and had she known the situation of Walsingham, would have been extremely miserable.

  Convinced, however, that something very serious occasioned the restlessness and anxiety which seemed to increase on every face that approached her, from some unguarded expressions, as well as from the extreme solicitude with which they had been explained away, Rosalie caught some vague suspicions of the truth, she contrived to question Claudine so narrowly, that the poor girl, who had long been sadly overweighed with secret, burst into tears, and disclosed all she knew.

  Disqualified as Rosalie was to bear such a shock, the necessity of supporting it with calmness immediately occurred to her. Claudine, already terrified at what she had done, besought her to say nothing to Mr. Ormsby, whom she heard upon the stairs — but her countenance betrayed her too evidently what had passed: hardly, however, had she time to attempt evading her father’s questions, when Montalbert appeared, and the necessity of her artificial tranquility became more pressing. Vyvian and Lessington were walking; something like conversation was attempted between Ormsby and Montalbert, but it would have flagged, if Claudine, who dreaded their observations, had not opportunely brought the child, in whom the all took an equal interest. A packet, however, was brought into the room by the mistake of the servant, on which Montalbert had no sooner cast his eyes, then he changed countenance, and betrayed such violent emotion, that Rosalie, concluding Walsingham was dead, had only resolution enough left to avoid betraying, otherwise than by her features, the extreme pain this idea gave her. Montalbert, trembling with impatient dread, tore the letter half open: then recollecting himself, hastened out of the room, and Ormsby, who guessed that it brought some fatal intelligence, followed him.

  The letter, however, instead of bringing to Montalbert the cruel intelligence he expected, was to this effect:

  “DEAR SIR,:

  “I have insisted on being allowed to write this letter, to satisfy those fears which the people about me have, I know, given you. My friend Bernard permits me to tell you myself, that he believe I shall in a few days be well enough to remove by slow journies to London, whither his business calls him so pressingly, that he can no longer attend me here; and as we have been friends from our childhood, I find myself so much happier in his than in other hands, whatever may be their skill, that I am resolved to accompany him. You will conclude from this, that all the dangerous symptoms which have hung about me are removed; and I trust that the pain this affair has given you will no longer interrupt your present happiness. — For you must be happy, Montalbert, with so amiable a woman!

  “As soon as I am quite well I shall return to the Continent. — Consider whether I can do you any service with Signora Belcastro. It is not possible, that, from misrepresentations, her general prejudice may have been raised into particular dislike? — I own to you, that from Mrs. Montalbert’s account, as well as from other circumstances, I fear Alozzi has been less sincerely your friend than you have believed. Perhaps I may be the fortunate means of undeceiving your mother; and you will really oblige me, by giving me an opportunity of being useful to you, either in this or in any other way.

  “If Vyvian would come over to see me, before I go, it would give me pleasure. — I hope our friendship, however unpleasantly begun, will be permanent. — Permit me to offer to Mrs. Montalbert my most respectful good wishes; my dear little ward and fellow traveller, is not old enough to remember me, but I shall always recollect him with pleasure. Adieu, dear Sir, I have exceeded Bernard’s permission, and must hastily assure you, that I am your most faithful servant,

  “F. WALSINGHAM.”

  This letter, though evidently written in pain and languor, took from the heart of Montalbert such a weight, that he seemed suddenly restored to happiness and reason. He determined to go over himself with Vyvian to visit this generous man, who had suffered so much for his inestimable services, and unparalleled goodness, and, forgetting all his former precautions, he was hastening to show the letter to Rosalie, as soon as her father had read it, when the entrance of Lessington and Vyvian prevented him.

  Montalbert and Vyvian agreed to set out immediately, and Lessington undertook to relate to Rosalie the truths which had been so long concealed from her. — He found her already informed of all but the late relief from their apprehensions. She could not hear of the sufferings of her benefactor, and of his unexampled generosity, without great emotion: Lessington bade her indulge it, but still fearing lest Montalbert should again feel suspicious, which had already cost him so much, she tried to check her tears when Montalbert appeared — but it was impossible. And he, by a thousand tender apologies, intreated her to forgive his rashness and injustice, and encouraged her to indulge those tears, which a little relieved her oppressed heart.

  Montalbert, Lessington, and Vyvian, now set out on their visit, the two latter took leave of Rosalie: Lessington returning into Oxfordshire, and Vyvian having determined to accompany Walsingham to London.

  During the short absence of her husband, Ormsby talked over with his daughter their future plans of life. It was probable that Montalbert, however his pride might be hurt, would not now oppose the wishes of Ormsby, who seemed to place all his satisfaction in bestowing on his daughter a degree of affluence, which should set her even above the daughters of Vyvian, who had despised and contemned her: but Rosalie represented to her father, that, beyond a certain point, fortune contributed nothing to real happiness; that whatever attracted towards her the eyes of the world, would quicken the envy and malignity with which her story would be related, and could not fail to reflect on the beloved memory of her mother. To this argument Ormsby was compelled to yield, and he found himself under the necessity, however painful, of continuing to conceal from the world the relationship in which he stood to Rosalie, wishing it to remain as much as secret as a circumstance could do already known to so many persons, and which, during Rosalie’s illness, no pains had been taken to conceal.