CHAPTER II.
Mais que fait-je Grand Dieu! Corbé sous la tristess,
Est-ce a moi de nommer les plaisirs l’allegresse?
Eh! sous la griffe de vautour
Voit-on la tendre tourterelle
Et la plaintive Philmele
Chanter et respirer l’amour?
(LE ROI DE PRUSSE.)
IT was in this friendly conference that the two young men canvassed their future projects. Ellesmere, whose ingenuous and sensible heart swelled with indignation when he believed D’Alonville insulted on account of his country; still more, when his unhappy situation seemed to call forth the sneering arrogance of unfeeling prosperity; was prompted to conceal from him as far as he could, what he flattered himself he might not perceive. D’Alonville, too tremblingly alive to be deceived, was perfectly aware of the supercilious flights which the elder Mr. Ellesmere evidently designed for him; but he saw too, that such circumstances gave great pain to his friend, and therefore he determined not to appear to perceive them. Edward Ellesmere now, for the first time, acquainted him that his appointment was fixed; and that he meant to go to Captain Caverly’s in the next day but one, and to return home only a few hours to take leave of his family before he went to London, from whence he should immediately return to the Continent. D’Alonville knew that every consideration of propriety and duty urged him to adopt at the same time his original plan, and to return to France; but to leave, and probably for ever the only woman to whom his heart had been truly attached, could not thought of but with exquisite pain. He sat silent for some time, till Ellesmere who had been arranging some papers which lay before him, suddenly said, “And there will be some degree of kindness, my dear Chevalier, in your going before our poor friend becomes more ridiculous; — she is already very far gone.”
“What are you talking of, my friend?” enquired D’Alonville. “Don’t affect to be blind,” answered Edward, “because it is quite impossible for you not to be conscious that the fair , the young, the gentle, the accomplished Milsington is more than half in love with you. But, however, to humble you a little, and lest you should be too vain upon it, know, my friend, that to love, is necessary to the amiable Jemima. I do not see much of her, but I have heard at least ten persons who have been the objects of her fond attachments; most of them men of high rank, whom she thought had hearts tender enough to consider how sad it was, that a creature so accomplished should languish in vain; and could be urged by the knowledge of her being in love with them, to remove her from the inconveniences of a very narrow fortune, to affluence and rank. Hitherto, however, she has not succeeded in this plan of attack, though she has by no means relinquished it; but as its success may yet be remote, she has no objection, ehimin faisant , to the gentle attentions of any handsome young fellow who maybe disposed to coquet with her.” “Oh! n’en parlons pas,” answered D’Alonville, “Don’t let us talk of her. Heavens! that you should chuse such a subject of discourse, when my thoughts are busied with one so different.” They then renewed their conversation on the family at Besthorpe; and Ellesmere agreed that D’Alonville who was impatient to renew his visits there, should go the next day to Captain Caverly’s, who would be happy to see him, and that Edward Ellesmere should follow him as soon as he could; taking leave at once of his family instead of returning to do so, as he had proposed at the beginning of their conversation.
“Yes,” cried he, after having talked it over, “it will be better to go at once, I think — not that there will be much pain felt at my departure. You see how my father is absorbed in considerations for the aggrandisement of his eldest son; and fancies, poor good man, that in doing so, he is consulting the prosperity of all the rest of us. For he believes Mr. Ellesmere has such political capabilities about him, that if once he gets into the right line, he will rapidly attain an eminence of power that will enable him to provide for all his family. It may be so. I only know that I should not greatly venerate a group of statesmen, in which such an understanding as my honoured brother’s would have any weight. He was the most formal specious dunce in a great school. A hundred times I have tried to get him into scrapes, but if ever his prudence slept, its succadaneum, cunning, was always awake; and he contrived to vindicate himself, and leave us poor impolitic wights in the lurch. His character is now exactly what it was then.”
“And precisely the character,” said D’Alonville, “I suppose to make as much progress as your father imagines; at least such a man would have made his way infinitely faster than a man of lively imagination, and brilliant talents; and I belive believe it to be true, that all courts are alike. If I were in a habit of laying wages, a l’Anglais, I would hazard something considerable, that you will see your brother high in place, and by his means become a Colonel.” D’Alonville then fell into a reverie on the different fate which probably awaited himself; till he was roused by a long letter from the Abbé de St. Remi. The servant who was usually sent for letters to the neighbouring post-town having been detained by accident, and that moment only returned.
D’Alonville eagerly opened it. It was dated from Merol in Britanny, where the Abbé had the courage to return in disguise, and to rejoin his unhappy pupil; who, in the habit of an inferior tradesman, had contrived to remain for some time in that town, and to have collected a party which every day became more formidable from the numbers who were disgusted by the wickedness and folly of the Convention, and wearied by the alarms, the want, and the tyranny, they were every day exposed to. The Abbé who wrote all this under another name, and in terms which rendered it difficult to be understood by any but the person to whom it was addressed, added, that they had established a correspondence with the count de Magnivillers, and that all at present had a favourable appearance. He described the nightly rendezvous at an estate of De Tourange’s, at the extremity of the province, about three leagues from the town, a part of the country which D’Alonville was not acquainted with, though his father had a small property there, and concluded with expressing the most sanguine hopes of their final success; his greatest doubts of it arose from the disposition of De Touranges. “Though he has hitherto,” said the Abbé, “had so much command over himself, as to act a part so very difficult, he undertook it at first in the flattering expectation of learning in his native country, some news of his wife and mother, who after long enquiries, he fancied he traced thither. Disappointed in this, he has since submitted to continue the difficult dissimulation, because he sees no other means revenging the evils he has sustained. The long, long misery of being separated from all he holds dear; and, as he now believes, separated for ever, for he thinks his mother, his wife, and his child, have perished; and the agonies, amounting almost to alienations of mind, which the sad retrospect of this loss inflicts upon him, make me fear, left , in some of the paroxisms of despair, he should betray himself” The Abbé, without directly expressing a wish that D’Alonville would join them, let it be clearly understood: for he told him, it was know that the dependents and peasantry on the property of the late viscount his father, were disgusted with Monsieur du Bosse, whom they considered as an apostate, and that they were much more disposed than they dared avow themselves, to return to the original form of government, and to vindicate the honor of their ancient lords, the last of whom had been so much their benefactor that his name was particularly dear to them” Tears arose in the eyes of D’Alonville as he read this. “I must go,” sighed he to himself, “the sacred shade of my father calls me. — Yes! — I ought to go, though certain that death awaited me there, and that in England I might be the happiest of men — the husband of Angelina.” Ellesmere wished to know as much of the purport of the Abbé’s letter as D’Alonville chose to communicate. D’Alonville put the letter into his hand, and his friend could not but allow the propriety of the resolution he had formed. “Yet I will tell you very honestly,” said he, “my dear Chevalier, that I wish you could take this Angelina with you.” “Heaven forbid,” replied D’Alonville, “take her to share such dangers, or
even to see such scenes as I shall probably see! No; rather than expose her to the slightest hazard, I would tear myself from her forever, and entreat her to forget me.” “All that is very well,” answered Ellesmere, “and I believe you would do as you say — perhaps ought to do it; yet I have made up such a romance for you in my head, that I shall be very sorry not to see it realised. Happiness is so rare, that when once it presents itself, it should never be suffered to escape, left it disappear for ever.” “Oh, seducing epicurean;” cried D’Alonville, “do not inculcate doctrines to which I am but too wiling to listen. I must fly from them, my dear Edouard; indeed I must; and whatever it may cost me, take shelter under the religious stoicism of the Abbé.”
Such were the generous resolutions of D’Alonville, when, after taking a formal leave of the family at Eddisbury-hall, he set out the next morning for Fernyhurst. As to the family at the Hall, Sir Maynard received his acknowledgments for the hospitality he had received, with great politeness and great indifference: Lady Ellesmere, with still more coldness, and less habitual civility. Lady Sophia just got off her seat as he made his bow; and the three young ladies wished him a good journey with much formality; but Miss Milsington was not disposed to part so easily with the only person whose presence promised to make a fortnight’s stay at such a place as Eddisbury tolerable. She felt herself extremely mortified that after all the advances she had made, he should prefer going to old Caverly’s, to remaining where he was, so evidently making a rapid progress in her good graces; and some very unequivocal signs of her sentiments. Though the lady was very little to his taste, D’Alonville might, at any other time, have shewn greater sensibility; but he could now think of nothing but the interesting object that he hoped to see the next day, and the misery to which he must, in a very short time afterwards, condemn himself, that of bidding her a long adieu!
But more severe trials awaited him than he was yet aware of.
Captain Caverly received him with as much as good humour and hospitality as formerly, and expressed great delight that his nephew Edward was at length decidedly a soldier; “though I heartily wish,” said he, “the commission had been procured for him by any other means than by that formal consequential fellow his brother, whose pride, always insufferable enough, will now be more offensive than ever. Luckily I seldom see him; for, when I do, we hardly agree ten minutes. He expects from me the same homage he receives from the rest of his family, which I never pay him, but venture to contradict him when he parades with a long string of solemn nothings, which my poor brother, Sir Maynard thinks the very quintessence of all wisdom. So Mr. Ellesmere and I hate one another heartily; and that insipid little flimsy puppet of high blood, his wife, has nothing attractive about her, to counteract the repellent qualities of my decisive nephew.” D’Alonville then asked after the two ladies De Touranges; “Oh,” answered he, “we do not meet so often now as we did while you and Ned were here; but they are well, and the young one is quite an angel. I rode over to look in upon them two days since, and I found the Marquise, I mean the mother, quite delighted with the good fortune that she had that morning heard was likely to befall her friend’s Mrs. Denzil’s family.”
“Good fortune!” repeated D’Alonville in a tremulous voice, “I am very glad—”
He hesitated — and the Captain in his blunt way proceeded:
“Yes: it is what is called good fortune you know, to get off a daughter, without any fortune, to a man of six or seven thousand pounds a year.” “One of the mademoiselle Denzil’s then is going to be married,” said D’Alonville, changing colour, and not having the courage to ask which. “Why so ’tis understood, I think; but, bless my soul, Chevalier! why I ought not to have told you this so abruptly, for I remember you seemed to be over head and ears in love yourself with Miss Angelina.”
“It is Mademoiselle Angelina, then?” said D’Alonville faintly.
“Even so, I am afraid, my young friend; therefore I hope the wound is not very deep. By the bye I think you and Ned know the man. Did not you tell me that you came part of the way through Germany with a Mr. Melton of Gloucestershire?”
D’Alonville answered, “Yes!”
“Well, then, that is the lover. There was a ball at the house of one of our neighbours about ten miles on the other side the country — the Denzil’s were asked, and there this Melton, who is a relation of Mr. Jennings’, and at whose house they were, saw and fell violently in love with your pretty Angelina. He contrived to see her again a day or two afterwards, and, in short, after the third interview, he made his proposals to the mother.”
“Which are accepted?” said D’Alonville very dejectedly.
“Of course,” answered Caverly, “we don’t, in our country, my dear Sir, reject a man with five or six thousand a year, even though he had all the plagues of Pandora about him, and his form should be that of Caliban. However, I find this Mr. Melton is a young man, about seven or eight and twenty, and with a very good person.”
“Oh! what a cruel sacrifice,” thought D’Alonville, “the man is an absolute savage — and to such a man is Angelina to be sold!” He sunk into the deepest despondence, and could hardly speak, while Caverly, totally unconscious of the pain he had inflicted, continued to talk on indifferent matters. He had indeed observed, in D’Alonvill’s D’Alonville’s former visit, that he had been particularly attentive to Angelina Denzill Denzil , but that this impression was so deep as to occasion, to a volatile young man, any great degree of regret on hearing she was to be married to another, never occurred to the honest Captain. Nothing is perhaps more insupportable than to be under the necessity of appearing calm, when the heart is bursting with anguish; of being called upon to attend to the detail of common and uninteresting occurrences, when misery of our own usurps all our thoughts. D’Alonville answered yes, and no, he knew not what, to his host, who had many questions to ask about the family at Eddisbury - hall; at length the hour of repose came, and the unfortunate wanderer, with very different sensations from those with which he had last quitted it, retired to the same room that had been before allotted to him.
He there began to call himself to account for the folly he was guilty of having thus indulged a passions so little likely to be fortunate, and enquired of his reason how it could have slumbered so far as to have betrayed him into hopes so salacious.— “The moment such a young person is seen, it is impossible not to suppose that she must be admired, and the first man of fortune that proposes is accepted. Yet I thought there was something about the mother of this charming girl, that seemed to indicate a mind superior to those considerations that would urge her to sacrifice her daughter, and such a daughter! to a man whose only recommendation must surely be his wealth. — Perhaps, however, Angelina may like him. There was a time when in fortune I should have been his equal, in birth his superior; but now, an unknown exile of a country that is disgraced and held in abhorrence — how can I oppose my pretensions against those of this fortunate Englishman? I thought that both Angelina and her mother had given me encouragement, but this brilliant prospect had not then opened to them. Now I shall be repulsed, perhaps, with contempt. — I will not expose myself to it. It is better to quit the country without seeing he. — I will merely communicate to Mesdames de Touranges the account that interests them; inform them of my resolution to go into Britanny, and then waiting only to see my friend Ellesmere, take leave of England for ever.”
Many reasons suggested themselves during a restless night to confirm D’Alonville in this resolution. The morning found him in the same disposition. At breakfast he communicated to Captain Caverly his intention of seeing the French ladies. Caverly was engaged another way, and D’Alonville set out alone, and by choice, on foot.
When he arrived at the lodging of Madame de Touranges, his unexpected appearance, and his melancholy looks, alarmed both h her daughter, who, as is natural to the unhappy, fancied that every one who appeared dejected had evil to communicate to them. It was some time before D’Alonville was suffered to e
xplain himself. At length, as in such a case he did not think himself authorised to make use of any reserve, he gave the Abbé de St. Remi’s letter to the marquise, who, having gone over it herself, read it a second time to Gabrielle. Seizing with avidity on all that it promised, and willfully escaping from all that it threatened, Madame de Touranges appeared delighted with the contents, and highly elated with D’Alonville’s assurances that he intended immediately to set out, and at all hazards to attempt reaching Merol. In doing this, and Madame de Touranges would not suffer herself to suppose he could fail, he would put an end to the greatest cause she had for uneasiness, the impatient grief of the marquis on the supposed loss of his family. And so great did this object appear, that in contemplating its attainment, she wholly overlooked the dangers that were in the way for D’Alonville, and talked of his going to Merol, and what he was to say and do when he got thither, as if he could reach the place from England with as much ease as it might have been done seven years before. Gabrielle was less sanguine, though not less affected by the recent intelligence thus received of her husband; but younger, and less accustomed to believe that the world was made only for her accommodation, she did not so entirely forget that much must be undergone by the person on whose exertion the marquis’s hearing of her depended. Her mother, however, would not suffer an idea of this nature to be started; though it was long before D’Alonville could find an opportunity to introduce any other conversation. Madame de Touranges persisting in talking over his journey, as a think that was to take place immediately, and undoubtedly succeed.
Complete Poetical Works of Charlotte Smith Page 181
