Complete Poetical Works of Charlotte Smith

by Charlotte Smith

  Montalbert listened silently to this natural and sensible vindication of conduct, which appeared to him more extraordinary and less accountable than it did to Rosalie. He thought it, indeed, almost impossible that Mr. Vyvian should be so ignorant of his wife’s former attachment as he seemed to be; and he was sure that her father had known, if not all, yet so much of the truth, as had induced him to act in concert with Ormsby’s family, or at least to compel them so to act with him as to have saved his daughter’s honour at the expence of her happiness.

  The conversation on this subject was frequently renewed during the progress of their journey, and the tears of Rosalie as often flowed from the recollection of the sad state of spirits and health in which she had left her mother. So great were Mrs. Vyvian’s apprehensions of accident, that might discover the secret so long cherished like a serpent in her bosom, that she had desired Rosalie and Montalbert not to write to her on the way, thus depriving herself of what she owned would be one great alleviation of the restraint and misery under which she was condemned to repine. The moments of reflection, therefore, on the uneasy hours of this beloved parent, were the only moments that passed without pleasure, amounting sometimes to rapture, when, as they approached the Alps, the most sublime and magnificent views of nature were opened to her astonished view.

  Accustomed of late to the flat, monotonous, and uninteresting views round London, she had frequently sighed for the more animating landscapes of her native country, and had no ideas of beauty superior to that which is formed by those green and undulating hills, in some places fringed half-way up by beech woods, in others, rearing their turfy mounds, covered with sheep on one side above the once impenetrable forests of the weald, on the other gradually declining towards the apparently boundless ocean that forms the English channel.

  But when she saw the rich and luxurious country, which nature, “with all her great works about her,” spreads before the astonished traveller, between Lyons and Civita Vechia, the port from whence Montalbert determined to embark for Sicily, in order to avoid both Rome and Naples, her mind was exalted by scenes so much superior to any she had ever formed an idea of either from the efforts of the pen or the pencil, she seemed transported to a world of higher rank in the universe than that she had inhabited while she was in England; and she was of an age and dispositon to forget, or at least be indifferent to those circumstances which can hardly fail to remind English travellers, that, though other countries may have more bold and attractive scenery, their own is that where life is enjoyed with the greatest comfort.

  Arrived at Civita Vechia, after an abscence of ten weeks, from England, Montalbert felt some degree of uneasiness when he knew he must hear from his friend, the Count d’Alozzi, what had passed during his absence. From this he was relieved by finding a servant of the Count’s waiting for him with a small vessel hired to convey him and Rosalie to Messina, where the Count waited his arrival, that, after Rosalie was fixed at the habitation he had prepared for her, they might return together to Naples.

  Montalbert, who now saw himself freed from the painful solicitudes that had so long perplexed him, would not, however, listen to Rosalie’s entreaties to embark immediately; but, fearful of exposing her too soon to sea-sickness after the fatigue of so long a journey by land, he remained a few days at the port, while Rosalie, who had no terror so great as that of meeting the mother of Montalbert, and no idea how far she was from her, concealed herself at the inn where she lodged, and could not, without alarm, suffer Montalbert to quit her for a moment.

  Montalbert, however, knew that this was not a place where it was likely he should be known, remained with great tranquility for three days. All seemed to favour their voyage, which he cosidered, not without some pain, must be twice as long as if he had sailed from the Bay of Naples. The weather, however, was mild, and the wind favourable; and a voyage begun thus propitiously was as happily concluded, though not till they had been eight days at sea. On the evening of the last, they entered, by as bright a moon that ever enlightened the swelling of the Mediterranean, the port of Messina. Never did the magnificent spectacle it afforded give more delight than Rosalie felt, as, sitting upon deck, Montalbert pointed out to her the beauty of the scene: the inconveniences and tediousness of the voyage were no longer remembered. As the vessel slowly approached the shore, every object, in the beautiful bay, was distinctly visible; the bright light of the moon fell on the long line of magnificent buildings that overlook the sea:, above which rose the mountains, whose outline was boldly marked in the deep blue æther, while Etna, no otherwise distinguished than by its towering grandeur, rose sublimely above the rest. The sea, calm as the Esculean above it, scarce broke in trembling lines as it approached the shore, but seemed to be with all nature in deep repose. At the distance of two or three miles were seen floating lights of the fishermen employed in taking the pisca spada, or sword-fish, which gave to the gently undulating tide the appearance of being enchanted, and of bearing fairy lights on its bosom.

  Arrived at the lodging provided for him by the active friendship of his friend, the Count d’Alozzi, Montalbert saw his beloved Rosalie in safety, and all his cares were for the present suspended; but this could not, he knew, last long. He had many acquaintances at Messina, and many people were there occasionally who knew his mother; it would, therefore, be unsafe for him to appear publicly with his wife, and, after one day of repose at his lodings, they removed in a carriage, with which they were accomodated by the Count, to the villa he had lent them, at the distance of hardly three miles from Messina, where they found every thing that could contribute to their convenience; and were, in a few days, as much settled as if they had already inhabited this enchanted spot for for many years.

  CHAPTER 20

  WHILE Montalbert felt himself highly gratified and obligated by the care his friend had taken to provide every thing in their new abode that could render it convenient and agreeable to Rosalie, she was never weary with contemplating the beauty of the scenery around her. A garden, which even the false Italian taste could not spoil, arose behind the house, and its orange trees fringed the foot of a hill, which would in England have been called a mountain. Even the verdure of England was in some measure enjoyed here amid the glowing suns of Italy; for the higher lands are refreshed by dews, which prevent their being parched like the plains. Beyond the enclosure, shrubs, which are carefully cultivated in Engalnd, grew spontaneously, and formed a natural wilderness of the gayest colours and lightest foliage. From hence the most glorious view presented itself that imagination could picture: the sea, and the opposite coast of Calabria; the Lipari islands; Strombolo, marked by a black wreath of curling smoke staining the mild and clear sky; innumerable vessels scattered about the blue expanse of water; and the faro of Messina giving to the whole a new and singular feature, connecting the varieties of an extensive sea view with a port, seemed almost to unite the island to the opposite continent.

  Divested of every care that related to the past, save only her solicitude for Mrs. Vyvian, Rosalie would have fancied herself in Paradise, had not Montalbert been reminded by the Count of the necessity of their immediately departing together for Naples.

  This zealous friend had forborne to visit them till some days after their being settled in their new habitation. He appeared to feel for Rosalie all that respecful admiration which beauty and sweetness, like hers, naturally inspired. Her manner of speaking Italian was particularly interesting to the Count, who seemed to be delighted to instruct her: he lamented to her the cruel but necessary representations that he thought himself obliged to make to Montalbert, that he must either determine to go back to Naples, or give up the plan of concealment which had already cost him so much trouble. Rosalie, in her ingenuous and interesting manner, confessed their obligations to him, but sighed, and with difficulty restrained from tears; while acknowledging the truth of his observation, she trembled at the necessity of yielding to them.

  Montalbert, with whom reason and love were at variance
with each other, became every day more gloomy, pensive, and uneasy. Sometimes he determined to hazard every thing rather than leave her. “After all, (said he, as he entered into these arguments with himself) — after all, what is it that I am contending for? — for what is it that I am sacrificing those hours that will return no more? — for money which I may never enjoy — for high prosperity which is not, that I know of, conducive to real happiness. Is it not true, that a day, an hour, at this season of my life, is worth half an age toward its close? — yet I am throwing away these precious hours of youth and health, in hopes of being a very rich man hereafter.”

  These arguments, however, whatever might be their solidity, if tried by the maxims of Epicurean Philosophy, sometimes yielded to other considerations. — He was not devoid of amibition; but could he wholly divest himself of that sort of attachment toward his mother, which, though it had more of fear than of love in it, had become a sort of principal from habit.

  His frequent fits of silence, his melacholy looks, and long solitary walks by the sea side, the evident irresolution and deep depression he laboured under gave to Rosalie the most poignant uneasiness. She sometimes was afraid of increasing these symptoms of a mind, ill at ease by appearing to notice them; at other times she ventured gently to remonstrate with him. At length, after a conference of some hours with Alozzi, he suddenly took a resolution to depart the next day; Alozzi was returning to Naples, and they were to embark together.

  This resolution he seemed to have adopted in consequence of having reflected, that, if he did not soon go, he might not return time enough for the hour so dreaded, yet so desired, when Rosalie might give birth to another being only less dear to him than herself. This was to be expected now within two months. To be absent at such a time was infinitely more formidable to his imagination than leaving her now; and, as if this had never occured to him before, he now resolutely determined to tear himself away.

  Rosalie saw him depart with anguish of heart, which she endeavoured to stifle, that what he felt might not be increased; but when Alozzi had carried him off, almost by force, so dreadful did it seem to him to say adieu! — she was so much affected, that she could not remain at the window till they were out of sight; but, shutting herself in her own apartment, she gave herself up to tears.

  The remonstrances, however, of her Italian woman, who was already much attached to her, and the care which under such circumstances she owed to her own health, even for his sake, whose absence she lamented, roused her at length from this indulgence of useless regret. She now sought to amuse her mind by contemplating anew the scenes around her; but their charms were in a great measure lost. Montalbert was no loger with her to point out the beauties that every where surrounded their abode, or to enjoy them with her. There was an aweful sublimity in the great outline of Etna; its deep forest, and magnificent features, which afforded a kind of melacholy pleasure. Not in a situation to explore the scenes it offered more minutely, yet feeling infinite curiosity, she endeavoured to amuse her mind with the prospect of future days, Montalbert would return to her; she should be blessed in beholding his tenderness for his child; she should again listen to his animated description of a country replete with wonders, or be able, perhaps, to visit it with him. In the mean time she determined to pass the heavy, heavy hours in cultivating the talents he loved. She took up her pencils, and, strolling into the garden, placed herself on the seat where, as they often sat together, he had pointed out to her some points of view which were particularly favourable to the painter; she would have sketched them, but her efforts were faint and uncertain. In spite of all her exertions, dark presentiments of future evil hung upon her spirits. Their depression she imputed to her personal sufferings; the period, to which it was so natural for her to look forward with dread, was now near. She had heard, indeed, that in the climate of Sicily infinitely less was to be apprehended than in England; but this she only knew from the report of persons who might say it to appease her fears and reassure her spirits. Perhaps it was her destiny to be snatched from Montalbert, to realease him from his embarrassment, and to make room for the Roman lady, to whom his mother was so desirous of uniting him. — While these thoughts passed through her mind, in gloomy succession, she repeated, from the little, simple ballad of Gay ——

  “Thou’lt meet an happier maiden,

  “But none that loves thee so!”

  At length, however slowly, the tedious hours wore away. Montalbert returned; he returned apparently more enamoured than before this absence of nine weeks, and Rosalie forgot that she had ever been unhappy.

  When, the first joy of their meeting being a little subdued, Rosalie spoke to her husband of his mother, she fancied that though he declined conversation on the subject, that he was in reality less anxious about the future consequences of his marriage than she had ever yet seen him. When he could not wholly evade speaking on the subject, he affected an indifference, which made Rosalie believe he was himself at ease; for, little skilled herself in dissimulation, she did not for a moment imagine that this tranquility was artificial.

  At length the hour arrived when real joy succeeded to this external calm. Rosalie brought into the world a lovely boy, and her own health was so soon re-established, that, in a very few weeks, her beauty appeared more brilliant than before her confinement. More attached to her than ever, Montalbert could hardly bear to have her a moment out of his sight; yet the time was come, when, if he followed the dictate of that prudence to which he had already made so many sacrifices, he must return to Naples.

  Alozzi, whose friendship for him appeared to be undiminished, failed not to remind Montalbert of the necessity of this return; but his remonstrances, however reasonable and gentle, were always received with uneasiness, and sometimes with impatience and ill-humour. The visits of Alozzi had not been more frequent than formerly; on the contrary, he had been more rarely their visitor than during his former stay at Messina; though he returned thither before Montalbert, he never appeared at the residence of Rosalie till his friend arrived there. Notwithstanding these precautions, however, the fault of Montalbert’s temper found food to nourish itself in the looks of Alozzi, whom he fancied regarded Rosalie with too much admiration, and sometimes fixed on her eyes in which passion and hope were too evidently expressed. This idea having once seized the imagination of Montalbert, became a source of inexpressible torment, and when he reflected, that he must soon leave his wife in the house of this friend, who was, he persuaded himself, in love with her, neither her virtues, nor her attachment to him, neither the honour of his friend, nor the confidence he ought to have had in Rosalie, were sufficient to quiet his apprehensions, though he felt them to be alike injurious to his own peace, and to that of those whom he most loved.

  Sometimes he gazed on Rosalie as she sat with his boy sleeping in her arms, and tried to persuade himself, that if once his mother could see these interesting creatures, she would not only pardon him, but receive them to her protection and tenderness. Then, recollecting what had passed during his last visit to this violent and impracticable parent, he felt that all such hopes were delusive: he became ashamed of what often appeared to him an unpardonable meanness, and resolved, at whatever pecuniary risk, to throw off a yoke which degraded him in his own eyes; to produce his wife and his child, and abide the consequences of his mother’s displeasure.

  While Montablert was thus deliberating, and every hour forming and abandoning projects for the future, a letter he received from Naples, compelled him to adopt the measure of immediately going thither. It was from a female relation, who usually resided with his mother; and who now informed him, that she was extremely ill, and it was absolutely necessary for him to see her as immediately as possible.