At night, when they were retiring to rest, and Caroline and Rosamond were in their mother’s room, Rosamond, unable longer to keep her prudent silence, gave vent to her indignation against Count Altenberg in general reflections upon the fickleness of man. Even men of the best understanding were, she said, but children of a larger growth — pleased with change — preferring always the newest to the fairest, or the best. Caroline did not accede to these accusations.
Rosamond, astonished and provoked, exclaimed, “Is it possible that you are so blind as not to see that Count Altenberg—” Rosamond stopped short, for she saw Caroline’s colour change. She stood beside her mother motionless, and with her eyes fixed on the ground. Rosamond moved a chair towards her.
“Sit down, my dear love,” said her mother, tenderly taking Caroline’s hand—”sit down and compose yourself.”
“My dear mother, you required one, and but one promise from me — I gave it you, firmly intending to keep it; and yet I fear that you will think I have broken it. I promised to tell you whenever I felt the first symptom of preference for any person. I did not know my own mind till this day. Indeed I thought I felt nothing but what every body else expressed, esteem and admiration.”
“In common minds,” replied Mrs. Percy, “esteem and admiration may be very safely distant from love; but in such a mind as yours, Caroline, the step from perfect esteem to love is dangerously near — scarcely perceptible.”
“Why dangerously?” cried Rosamond: “why should not perfect love follow perfect esteem? that is the very thing I desire for Caroline. I am sure he is attached to her, and he is all we could wish for her, and—”
“Stop!” cried Caroline. “Oh! my dear sister! as you wish me to be good and happy, name him to me no more — for it cannot be.”
“Why?” exclaimed Rosamond, with a look of dismay: “Why cannot it be? It can, it must — it shall be.”
Caroline sighed, and turning from her sister, as if she dreaded to listen to her, she repeated, “No; — I will not flatter myself — I see that it cannot be — I have observed the change in his manner. The pain it gave me first awakened me to the state of my own affections. I have given you some proof of sincerity by speaking thus immediately of the impression made on my mind. You will acknowledge the effort was difficult. — Mother, will you answer me one question — which I am afraid to ask — did you, or do you think that any body else perceived my sentiments by my manner?” Caroline paused, and her mother and sister set her heart at ease on that point.
“After all,” said Rosamond, addressing herself to her mother, “I may be mistaken in what I hinted about Count Altenberg. I own I thought the change in his manner arose from Lady Florence Pembroke — I am sorry I said any thing of it — I dare say when he sees more of her — she is very pretty, very pleasing, very elegant, and amiable, no doubt; but surely, in comparison with Caroline — but I am not certain that there is any rivalship in the case.”
“I am certain that there shall be none,” said Caroline. “How extraordinary it is that the best, the noblest, the most delightful feelings of the heart, may lead to the meanest, the most odious! I have, within a few hours, felt enough to be aware of this. I will leave nothing to chance. A woman should never expose herself to any hazard. I will preserve my peace of mind, my own esteem. I will preserve my dear and excellent friends; and that I may preserve some of them, I am sensible that I must now quit them.”
Mrs. Percy was going to speak, but Rosamond interposed.
“Oh! what have I done!” exclaimed she: “imprudent creature that I was, why did I speak? why did I open your eyes, Caroline? I had resolved not to say a single word of the change I perceived in the Count.”
“And did you think I should not perceive it?” said Caroline. “Oh, you little know how quickly — the first look — the first tone of his voice — But of that I will think no more. Only let me assure you, that you, my dear Rosamond, did no harm — it was not what any body said that alarmed me: before you pointed it out, I had felt that change in his manner, for which I cannot account.”
“You cannot account? — Can you doubt that Lady Florence is the cause?” said Rosamond.
“Yes, I have great doubts,” said Caroline.
“So have I,” said Mrs. Percy.
“I cannot believe,” said Caroline, “that a man of his sense and character would be so suddenly captivated: I do not mean to detract from Lady Florence’s merits, but before they could make the impression you suspect on Count Altenberg, there must have been time for them to be known and appreciated. Shall I go on, and tell you all that has passed in my mind? Yes, my mother and sister should see me as I am — perhaps under the delusion of vanity — or self-love — or — But if I am wrong, you will set me right — you will help me to set myself right: it has never been declared in words, therefore perhaps I am vain and presumptuous to believe or to imagine — yet I do feel persuaded that I am preferred — that I am—”
“Loved! Oh, yes!” said Rosamond, “a thousand times I have thought so, I have felt certain, that Count Altenberg loved you; but now I am convinced, alas! of my mistake — convinced at least that his love is of that light, changeable sort, which is not worth having — not worth your having.”
“That last,” cried Caroline, “I can never believe.” She stopped, and blushed deeply. “What does my mother say?” added she, in a timid voice.
“My mother, I am sure, thought once that he loved Caroline — did not you, mother?” said Rosamond.
“Yes, my dear,” answered Mrs. Percy, “I have thought so, and I am not yet convinced that we were mistaken; but I entirely agree with Caroline that this is a subject upon which we ought not to let our thoughts dwell.”
“Oh! so I have thought, so I have said on former occasions, how often, how sincerely!” said Caroline. “But this is the first time I ever felt it difficult to practise what I know to be wise and right. Mother, I beg it as a favour that you will take me away from this place — this place, where but yesterday I thought myself so happy!”
“But why, Caroline — why, mother, should she do this?” expostulated Rosamond. “If she thinks, if you think that he loves her, if you do not believe that he has changed, if you do not believe that he is struck with a new face, why should Caroline go? For Heaven’s sake do not take her away till you are sure that it is necessary.”
“I will be guided by her opinion,” said Mrs. Percy; “I can depend entirely on her own prudence.”
“Indeed, I think it will be most prudent that I should not indulge myself in staying longer,” said Caroline. “From what I have seen of Count Altenberg, we have reason to think that he acts in general from wise and good motives. We should therefore believe that in the present instance his motives are good and adequate — I cannot suspect that he acts from caprice: what the nature of the obstacle may be, I can only guess; but I am inclined to think that some opposing duty—”
“His duty,” said Rosamond, “I suppose he must have known before to-day. What new duty can he have discovered? No, no; men are not so very apt in love matters to think of opposing duties as women do: much more likely that he has heard something to your disadvantage, Caroline, from the Falconers. I can tell you that Lady Frances Arlington gave me a hint that strange things had been said, and great pains taken to misrepresent you to the count.”
“If injurious representations have been made of me to him,” replied Caroline, “he will in time discover the falsehood of such report; or, if he believe them without examination, he is not what I imagine him to be. No; I am convinced he has too noble a mind, too just an understanding, to be misled by calumny.”
Mrs. Percy declared she was decidedly of this opinion. “The obstacle, whatever it may be, my dear mother,” continued Caroline, with the earnest tone and expression of countenance of a person of strong mind, at once feeling and thinking deeply, “the difficulty, whatever it is, must be either such as time will obviate or increase; the obstacle must be either conquerable or unc
onquerable: if he love me, as I thought he did, if he have the energy of character I think he possesses, he will conquer it, if it can be conquered; if it be unconquerable, what misery, what madness, to suffer my affections to be irrevocably engaged! or what base vanity to wish, if it were in my power, to inspire him with an unhappy passion! Then, in every point of view, mother, surely it is best that I should leave this — dangerous place,” said Caroline, smiling. “Yet you are both so happy here, I am sorry to be the cause.”
“My love,” said her mother, “to us all things are trifles, compared with what it is right and becoming that you should do. I entirely approve and applaud your prudence and resolution: what you desire shall be done as soon as possible. We will go home to-morrow morning.”
“But, my dear ma’am! so suddenly! consider,” cried Rosamond, “how very strange this will appear to Mrs. Hungerford, and to every body!”
“My dear Rosamond, these are some of the small difficulties, the false delicacies, which so often prevent people from doing what is right, or what is essentially necessary for the security of the peace and happiness of their whole lives,” said Mrs. Percy.
“That is true,” replied Rosamond; “and I do not object to doing the thing, but I only wish we had some good, decent excuse for running away: you don’t expect that Mrs. Hungerford will part with you without remonstrance, without struggle, without even inquiring, why you must run away? I am sure I hope she will not ask me, for I am not prepared with an answer, and my face would never do, and would give way at the first glance of her penetrating eye — what will you say to Mrs. Hungerford?”
“The truth,” replied Caroline. “Mrs. Hungerford has ever treated me with so much kindness, has shown me so much affection and esteem, feels such a warm interest in all that concerns me, and is herself of so noble a character, that she commands my entire confidence — and she shall have it without reserve. Since my mother agrees with me in thinking that Lady Florence has not been in any degree the cause of the change of manner we have observed, there can be no impropriety on that account in our speaking of the subject to Mrs. Hungerford. It may be painful, humiliating — but what is meant by confidence, by openness towards our friends? — We are all of us ready enough to confess our virtues,” said she, smiling; “but our weaknesses, what humbles our pride to acknowledge, we are apt to find some delicate reason for keeping secret. Mother, if you do not disapprove of it, I wish you to tell Mrs. Hungerford the whole truth.”
Mrs. Percy entirely approved of Caroline’s placing confidence in this excellent friend. She observed, that this was very different from the girlish gossiping sort of confidences, which are made often from one young lady to another, merely from the want of something to say, or the pleasure of prattling about love, or the hope of being encouraged by some weak young friend, to indulge some foolish passion.
The next morning, before Mrs. Hungerford had left her apartment, Mrs. Percy went to her, and explained the reasons which induced Caroline to refuse herself the pleasure of prolonging her visit at Hungerford Castle.
Mrs. Hungerford was touched by the confidence which Caroline placed in her. “Believe me,” said she, “it is not misplaced — I feel all its value. And must I lose her? I never parted with her without regret, and that regret increases the more I see of her. I almost forget that she is not my own, till I am called upon to relinquish her: but much as I value her, much as I enjoy her society, I cannot be so selfish as to wish to detain her when her peace of mind is at stake. How few, how very few are there, of all the various young women I know, who would have the good sense and resolution, I will say it, the integrity of mind, to act as she does! There is usually some sentimental casuistry, some cowardly fear, or lingering hope, that prevents young people in these circumstances from doing the plain right thing — any thing but the plain right thing they are ready to do — and there is always some delicate reason for not telling the truth, especially to their friends; but our daughters, Mrs. Percy, are above these things.” With respect to Count Altenberg, Mrs. Hungerford said, that, from many observations she had made, she felt no doubt of his being strongly attached to Caroline. “Their characters, their understandings, are suited to each other; they have the same high views, the same magnanimity. With one exception — you must allow a mother’s partiality to make an exception in favour of her own son — with one exception Count Altenberg is the man of all others to whom I could wish to see Caroline united. I never till yesterday doubted that it would be; but I was as much struck with the change in his manner as you have been. I agree with Caroline, that some obstacle, probably of duty, has arisen, and I hope — but no, I will imitate her example, and as you tell me she forbids herself to hope, so will I — if possible. At all events she raises herself, high as she was in my esteem, still higher by her present conduct. Tell her so, my dear Mrs. Percy — you, her mother, may give this praise, without hurting her delicacy; and tell her that, old as I am, I have not forgotten so completely the feelings of my youth, as not to be aware that suspense in some situations is the worst of evils. She may be assured that my attention shall be as much awake as even her mother’s could be — and when any thing that I think important or decisive occurs, she shall hear from me immediately, or see me, unless I should lose the use of my limbs, or my faculties.”
A messenger came to summon Mrs. Hungerford to breakfast — soon afterwards a ride was proposed by Mrs. Mortimer. Count Altenberg was to be one of this party, and he looked for a moment surprised and disappointed, when he found that Caroline was not going with them; but he forebore to ask why she did not ride, and endeavoured to occupy himself solely in helping Mrs. Mortimer to mount her horse — Rosamond was glad to perceive that he did not well know what he was doing.
Before they returned from their ride, the Percys were on their way to the Hills. Till this moment the sight of home, even after a short absence, had, on returning to it, always been delightful to Caroline; but now, for the first time in her life, every object seemed to have lost its brightness. In the stillness of retirement, which she used to love, she felt something sad and lifeless. The favourite glade, which formerly she thought the very spot so beautifully described by Dryden, as the scene of his “Flower and the Leaf,” even this she found had lost its charm. New to love, Caroline was not till now aware, that it throws a radiance upon every object, which, when passed away, seems to leave all nature changed.
To banish recollections which she knew that she ought not to indulge, she employed herself unremittingly. But her mind did not turn with its wonted energy to her occupations, nor was it acted upon by those small motives of ordinary life, by which it had formerly been excited. When reading, her thoughts would wander even from her favourite authors: every subject they discussed would remind her of some conversation that had passed at Hungerford Castle; some coincidence or difference of opinion would lead her to digress; some observation more just or more striking; some better expression, or some expression which pleased her better than the author’s, would occur, and the book was laid down. These digressions of fancy were yet more frequent when she was endeavouring to fix her attention to drawing, needle-work, or to any other sedentary employment. Exercise she found useful. She spent more time than usual in planting and in gardening — a simple remedy; but practical philosophy frequently finds those simple remedies the best which Providence has put within the reach of all.
One morning, soon after her return home, when she was alone and busy in her garden, she heard voices at a distance; as they approached nearer, she thought she distinguished Mrs. Hungerford’s. She listened, and looked towards the path whence the voices had come. All was silent — but a minute afterwards, she saw Mrs. Hungerford coming through the narrow path in the thicket: Caroline at first sprang forward to meet her, then stopped short, her heart beating violently — she thought that, perhaps, Mrs. Hungerford was accompanied by Count Altenberg; but she was alone. Ashamed of the hope which had glanced across her mind, and of the sudden stop which had betrayed her
thoughts, Caroline now went forward, blushing.
Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth Page 141
