CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.
Fare thee well; and if for ever, Still for ever fare thee well: E'en though unforgiving, never 'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel. BYRON.
I was so stunned with this _contretemps_, that I fell senseless to theground; and it was long before the kind attentions and assiduity ofEugenia could restore me. When she had succeeded, my first act was oneof base ingratitude, cruelty, and injustice: I spurned her from me, andupbraided her as the cause of my unfortunate situation. She onlyreplied with tears. I quitted her and the child without bidding themadieu, little thinking I should never see them again. I ran to the inn,where I had left my horse, mounted, and rode back to --- Hall.
Mr Somerville and his daughter had just arrived, and Emily was liftedoff her horse, and obliged to be carried up to her room.
Clara and Talbot came to inquire what had happened. I could give noaccount of it; but earnestly requested to see Emily. The answerreturned was, that Miss Somerville declined seeing me. In the course ofthis day, which, in point of mental suffering, exceeded all I have everendured in the utmost severity of professional hardship, an explanationhad taken place between myself, my father, and Mr Somerville. I haddone that by the impulse of dire necessity, which I ought to have doneat first of my own free will. I was caught at last in my own snare."The trains of the devil are long," said I to myself, "but they are sureto blow up at last."
The consequence of the explanation was my final dismissal, and a returnof all the presents which my father and myself had given to Emily. Myconduct, though blameable, was not viewed in that heinous light, eitherby my father or Mr Somerville; and both of them did all that could bedone to restore harmony. Clara and Talbot interposed their kindoffices, but with no better success. The maiden pride of the inexorableEmily had been alarmed by a beautiful rival, with a young family, in thenext village. The impression had taken hold of her spotless mind, andcould not be removed. I was false, fickle, and deceitful, and was givento understand that Miss Somerville did not intend to quit her room untilshe was assured by her father that I was no longer a guest in the house.
Under these painful circumstances, our remaining any longer at the hallwas both useless and irksome--a source of misery to all.
My father ordered his horses the next morning, and I was carried back toLondon, more dead than alive. A burning fever raged in my blood; andthe moment I reached my father's house, I was put to bed, and placedunder the care of a physician, with nurses to watch me night and day.For three weeks I was in a state of delirium; and when I regained mysenses, it was only to renew the anguish which had caused my disorder,and I felt any sentiment except gratitude for my recovery.
My dear Clara had never quitted me during my confinement. I had takenno medicine but from her hand. I asked her to give me some account ofwhat had happened. She told me that Talbot was gone; that my father hadseen Mr Somerville, who had informed him that Emily had received a longletter from Eugenia, narrating every circumstance, exculpating me, andaccusing herself. Emily had wept over it, but still remained firm inher resolution never to see me more. "And I am afraid, my dearbrother," said Clara, "that her resolution will not be very easilyaltered. You know her character, and you should know something aboutour sex: but sailors, they say, go round the world without going intoit. This is the only shadow of an excuse I can form for you, much as Ilove and esteem you. You have hurt Emily in the nicest point, that inwhich we are all the most susceptible of injury. You have wounded herpride, which our sex rarely if ever forgive. At the very moment shesupposed you were devoted to her; that you were rapt up in theanticipation of calling her your own, and counting the minutes withimpatience until the happy day arrived; with all this persuasion on hermind, she comes upon you, as the traveller out of the wood suddenlycomes across the poisonous snake in his path, and cannot avoid it. Shefound you locked hand-in-hand with another, a fortnight before marriage,and with the fruits of unlawful love in your arms. What woman couldforgive this? I would not, I assure you. If Tal---, I mean if any manwere to serve me so, I would tear him from my heart, even if thedissolution of the whole frame was to be the certain consequence. Iconsider it a kindness to tell you, Frank, that you have no hope. Muchas you have and will suffer, she, poor girl, will suffer more; andalthough she will never accept you, she will not let your place besupplied by another, but sink broken-hearted into her grave. You, likeall other men, will forget this; but what a warning ought it to be toyou, that sooner or later, guilt will be productive of misery. This youhave fully proved; your licentious conduct with this woman has ruinedher peace for ever, and Divine vengeance has dashed from your lips thecup which contained as much happiness as this world could afford. Norhas the penalty fallen on you alone: the innocent, who had no share inthe crime, are partakers in the punishment; we are all as miserable asyourself. But God's will be done," continued she, as she kissed myaching forehead, and her tears fell on my face.
How heavenly is the love of a sister towards a brother! Clara was noweverything to me. Having said thus much to me on the subject of myfault (and it must be confessed that she had not been niggardly in thearticle of words), she never named the subject again, but sought byevery means in her power to amuse and to comfort me. She listened to myexculpation; she admitted that our meeting at Bordeaux was asunpremeditated as it was unfortunate; she condemned the imprudence ofour travelling together, and still more the choice of a residence forEugenia and her son.
Clara's affectionate attention and kind efforts were unavailing. I toldher so, and that all hopes of happiness for me in this world were gonefor ever.
"My dear, dear brother," said the affectionate girl, "answer me onequestion. Did you ever pray?"
My answer will pretty well explain to the reader the sort of religionmine was:--
"Why, Clara," said I, "to tell you the truth, though I may not exactlypray, as you call it, yet words are nothing. I feel grateful to theAlmighty for his favours when he bestows them on me; and I believe agrateful heart is all he requires."
"Then, brother, how do you feel when he afflicts you?"
"That I have nothing to thank him for," answered I.
"Then, my dear Frank, that is not religion."
"May be so," said I; "but I am in no humour to feel otherwise atpresent; so pray drop the subject."
She burst into tears. "This," said she, "is worse than all. Shall wereceive good from the hand of the Lord, and shall we not receive evil?"
But, seeing that I was in that sullen and untameable state of mind, shedid not venture to renew the subject.
As soon as I was able to quit my room, I had a long conversation with myfather, who, though deeply concerned for my happiness, said he was quitecertain that any attempt at reconciliation would be useless. Hetherefore proposed two plans, and I might adopt whichever was the mostlikely to divert my mind from my heavy affliction. The first was, toask his friends at the Admiralty to give me the command of a sloop ofwar; the second, that I should go upon the Continent, and, having passeda year there, return to England, when there was no knowing what changeof sentiment time and absence might not produce in my favour. "For,"said he, "there is one very remarkable difference in the heart of a manand of a woman. In the first, absence is very often a cure for love; inthe other, it more frequently cements and consolidates it. In yourabsence, Emily will dwell on the bright parts of your character, andforget its blemishes. The experiment is worth making, and it is theonly way which offers a chance of success."
I agreed to this. "But," said I, "as the war with France is now over,and that with America will be terminated no doubt very shortly, I haveno wish to put you to the expense, or myself to the trouble, of fittingout a sloop of war in time of peace, to be a pleasure-yacht for greatlords and ladies, and myself to be neither more nor less than a _maitred'hotel_: and, after having spent your money and mine, and exhausted allmy civilities, to receive no thanks, and hear that I am esteemed atAlmack's only `a tolerable sea-brute enou
gh.' A ship, therefore,"continued I, "I will not have; and as I think the Continent holds outsome novelty at least, I will, with your consent, set off."
This point being settled, I told Clara of it. The poor girl's grief wasimmoderate. "My dearest brother, I shall lose you, and be left alone inthe world. Your impetuous and unruly heart is not in a state to betrusted among the gay and frivolous French. You will be at sea withoutyour compass--you have thrown religion overboard--and what is to guideyou in the hour of trial?"
"Fear not, dear Clara," said I; "my own energies will always extricateme from the dangers you apprehend."
"Alas! it is these very energies which I dread," said Clara; "but Itrust that all will be for the best. Accept," said she, "of this littlebook from poor broken-hearted Clara; and, if you love her, look at itsometimes."
I took the book, and, embracing her affectionately, assured her that forher sake I would read it.
When I had completed my arrangements for my foreign tour, I determinedto take one last look at --- Hall before I left England. I set offunknown to my family, and contrived to be near the boundaries of thepark by dusk. I desired the post-boy to stop half a mile from thehouse, and to wait my return. I cleared the paling; and, avoiding thedirect road, came up to the house. The room usually occupied by thefamily was on the ground-floor, and I cautiously approached the window.Mr Somerville and Emily were both there. He was reading aloud; she satat a table with a book before her: but her thoughts, it was evident,were not there; she had inserted her taper fingers into the ringlets ofher hair, until the palms of her hand reached her forehead; then,bending her head towards the table, she leaned on her elbows, and seemedabsorbed in the most melancholy reflections.
"This, too, is my work," said I; "this fair flower is blighted, andwithering by the contagious touch of my baneful hand! Good Heaven! whata wretch am I! whoever loves me is rewarded by misery. And what have Igained by this wide waste and devastation which my wickedness has spreadaround me? Happiness? No, no--that I have lost for ever. Would that_my_ loss were all! would that comfort might visit the soul of this faircreature and another. But I dare not--I cannot pray; I am at enmitywith God and man. Yet I will make an effort in favour of this victim ofmy baseness. O God," continued I, "if the prayers of an outcast like mecan find acceptance, not for myself, but for her, I ask that peace whichthe world cannot give; shower down Thy blessings upon her, alleviate hersorrows, and erase from her memory the existence of such a being asmyself. Let not my hateful image hang as a blight upon her beauteousframe."
Emily resumed her book when her father had ceased reading aloud; and Isaw her wipe a tear from her cheek.
The excitement occasioned by this scene, added to my previous illness,from the effects of which I had not sufficiently recovered, caused afaintness; I sat down under the window, in hopes that it would pass off.It did not, however; for I fell, and lay on the turf in a state ofinsensibility, which must have lasted nearly half an hour. I afterwardslearned from Clara that Emily had opened the window, it being a Frenchone, to walk out and recover herself. By the bright moonlight, sheperceived me lying on the ground. Her first idea was, that I hadcommitted suicide; and, with this impression, she shut the window, andtottering to the back part of the room, fainted. Her father ran to herassistance, and she fell into his arms. She was taken up to her room,and consigned to the care of her woman, who put her to bed; but she wasunable to give any account of herself, or the cause of her disorder,until the following day.
For my own part, I gradually came to my senses, and with difficultyregained my chaise, the driver of which told me I had been gone about anhour. I drove off to town, wholly unaware that I had been observed byanyone, much less by Emily. When she related to her father what she hadseen, he either disbelieved or effected to disbelieve it, and treated itas the effect of a distempered mind--the phantom of a disorderedimagination; and she at length began to coincide with him.
I started for the Continent a few days afterwards. Talbot, who had seenlittle of Clara since my rejection by Emily, and subsequent illness,offered my father to accompany me; and Clara was anxious that he shouldgo, as she was determined not to listen to anything he could say duringmy affliction; she could not, she said, be happy while I was miserable,and gave him no opportunity of conversing with her on the subject oftheir union.
We arrived at Paris; but so abstracted was I in thought that I neithersaw nor heard anything. Every attention of Talbot was lost upon me. Icontinued in my sullen stupor, and forgot to read the little book whichdear Clara had given, and which, for her sake I had promised to read. Iwrote to Eugenia on my arrival; and disburthened my mind in somemeasure, by acknowledging my shameful treatment of her. I implored herpardon, and, by return of post received it. Her answer was affectionateand consoling; but she stated that her spirits, of course, were low, andher health but indifferent.
For many days my mind remained in a state of listless inanity; andTalbot applied, or suffered others to apply, the most perniciousstimulant that could be thought of to rouse me to action. Taking aquiet walk with him, we met some friends of his; and, at their request,we agreed to go to the saloons of the Palais Royal. This was adesperate remedy, and by a miracle only was I saved from utter andirretrievable ruin. How many of my countrymen have fallen victims tothe arts practised in that horrible school of vice, I dare not say!Happy should I be to think that the infection had not reached our ownshores, and found patrons among the great men of the land. They have,however, both felt the consequences and been forewarned of the danger._They_ have no excuse; _mine_ was, that I had been excluded from thesociety of those I loved. Always living by excitement, was itsurprising that, when a gaming-table displayed its hoards before me, Ishould have fallen at once into the snare?
For the first time since my illness, I became interested, and laid downmy money on those abhorred tables. My success was variable; but Icongratulated myself that at length I had found a stimulus, and Ianxiously awaited the return of the hour when the doors would again beopened, and the rooms lighted up for the reception of company. I wonconsiderably; and night after night found me at the table--for avariceis insatiable; but my good luck left me; and then the same motiveinduced me to return, with the hope of winning back what I had lost.
Still fortune was unpropitious, and I lost very considerable sums. Ibecame desperate, and drew largely on my father. He wrote to beg that Iwould be more moderate; as twice his income would not support such anexpenditure. He wrote also to Talbot, who informed him in what mannerthe money had been expended; and that he had in vain endeavoured todivert me from the fatal practice. Finding that no limits were likelyto be put to my folly, my father very properly refused to honour anymore of my bills.
Maddened with this intimation, for which I secretly blamed Talbot, Idrew upon Eugenia's banker, bill after bill, until the sum amounted tomore than what my father had paid. At length a letter came fromEugenia: it was but a few lines.
"I know too well, my dearest friend," said she, "what becomes of themoney you have received. If you want it all, I cannot refuse you; butremember that you are throwing away the property of your child."
This letter did more to rouse me to a sense of my infamous conduct thanthe advice of Talbot, or the admonitions of my father. I felt I wasacting like a scoundrel, and I resolved to leave off gaming. "One nightmore," said I, "and then, if I lose, there is an end of it; I go nomore." Talbot attended me: he felt he was in some measure the cause ofmy being first initiated in this pernicious amusement: and he watched mymotions with unceasing anxiety.
The game was _rouge-et-noir_. I threw a large sum on the red, I won,left the stake, doubled, and won again. The heap of gold had increasedto a large size, and still remained to abide the chance of the card.Again, again, and again, it was doubled. Seven times had the red cardbeen turned up, and seven times had my gold been doubled. Talbot, whostood behind me, implored and begged me earnestly to leave off.
"What may be the c
onsequence of one card against you? Trust no more tofortune; be content with what you have got."
"That," muttered I, "Talbot, is of no use; I must have more."
Again came up the red, to the astonishment of the bystanders; and totheir still greater astonishment, my gold, which had increased to anenormous heap, still remained on the table. Talbot again intreated menot to tempt fortune foolishly.
"Folly," said I, "Talbot, has already been committed; and one more cardwill do the business. It must be done."
The bankers knowing, after eight red cards had been turned up, how greatthe chance was of regaining all their losses by a double or quits,agreed to the ninth card. Talbot trembled like a leaf. The card wasturned; it came up red, and the bank was broken.
Here all play ceased for the night. The losers, of course, vented theirfeelings in the most blasphemous execrations; while I quietly collectedall my winnings, and returned home in a _fiacre_, with Talbot, who tookthe precaution of requesting the attendance of two _gendarmes_. Thesewere each rewarded with a Napoleon.
"Now, Talbot," said I, "I solemnly swear, as I hope to go to heaven,never to play again." And this promise I have most religiously kept.My good fortune was one instance in ten thousand, among those who havebeen ruined in that house. The next morning I refunded all I had drawnupon Eugenia, and all my father had supplied me with, and there stillremained a considerable residue.
Determined not to continue in this vortex of dissipation any longer,where my resolution was hourly put to the test, Talbot and myself agreedto travel down to Brest, an arsenal we were both desirous of seeing.
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