Charlotte Smith- Collected Poetical Works

by Charlotte Smith

  This ascertained, beyond a doubt, that it was my wife who accompanied Alozzi, I now endeavoured to trace her farther, with an eagerness which those only can imagine, who, amidst the darkest despair, are suddenly dazzled with a ray of hope. I inquired of every body — I offered money for the slightest information, and sometimes paid it for accounts which I knew to be false. At length a man was brought to me, who assured me that he had conversed with Zulietta, the Neapolitan girl, whom he exactly described, and who had told him that her mistress and Count Alozzi were gone to Naples, and she was only by accident left behind. He named the time when, and place where, he had seen Zulietta: I bade him lead me thither, but learned that this young woman was gone to Catanca, with a person who had promised to find a passage for her to her home. To Cantanca I followed her; she had left it a few days before with a family, who had taken her into their service, and was gone to Italy, but whether to Naples or not I could not learn. To Naples, however, I resolved to go, in order to pursue the clue, which I hoped would lead me to the recovery of all I held most dear upon earth.

  “I had, however, lost above five weeks in Sicily, and on the voyage, which proved unusually tedious. At length I reached Naples, and, concealing myself with every possible precaution from all who were likely to know me, I hastened to the house of Alozzi.

  “The porter knew and admitted me. He told me that the Count had escaped from Sicily, and had even remained a month afterwards at Naples, which he had left but a few days since at a moment’s notice, and without saying whither he was gone, or when he should return. As this was not unusual with him, there appeared nothing extraordinary in it to the servant, who, when I questioned him as to any lady who had with her a child, and who accompanied his master, he assured me he knew of none, with such an air of simplicity, that I could not but believe he at least knew nothing of the arrival of my wife and his master. A thousand fears, and of various sorts, now assailed me. I trembled at once for my Rosalie’s safety, and even for her fidelity, if she lived........All the symptoms which I thought I had formerly remarked of Alozzi’s admiration, if not attachment, recurred to me: he had not brought her to his own house publicly as the wife of his friend, whom he had assisted to escape from destruction. This indeed might be accounted for my situation in regard to my mother; but why was she so carefully concealed from old and confidential servants? I closely questioned them all, and could not discover that one of them had the least knowledge of the Count’s having rescued my wife and child. They all declared themselves equally ignorant whither he was gone; he had taken only his valet with him. On farther minute inquiry, however, I discovered that, for two or three days before his departure, he had appeared very uneasy and restless; was frequently shut up with his own man for a considerable time after he had been running about on business, which, though it was a profound secret, seemed by his manner to be of great importance. I passed a whole day in these examinations, and, in attempting to trace the road Alozzi had taken, determined to follow and overtake him. I found that he was gone towards Florence, and thither I impatiently hastened.

  “I arrived at the house, whither I with difficulty had followed his track, the very moment he was stepping into his carriage, about which his baggage announced his being on a journey; when I advanced and spoke to him — he changed colour, hesitated, and trembled; I begged of him to go back with me for a moment, and, without farther preface, asked him what was become of my wife?

  ‘What is become of her, Montalbert! (said he, still more agitated); — do you know nothing of her?’

  ‘I know (said I) that she left Sicily with you — that you have since concealed her somewhere.’

  ‘I hope (added he, in a hasty and faltering voice) that you also know, then, for which of your English friends she chose to quit such protection as I was able to offer her, and in which she might undoubtedly have remained safe till your return.’ - - - - - - - -

  ‘My English friends! (cried I) — what English friend? — How could she meet them? — and - - - - - - - -’

  “But I should never conclude what I have to relate to you, Mr. Lessington, were I to repeat the long discourse that passed. Alozzi told me a very plausible story of his sudden return to Messina; of his having sought and saved Rosalie and her child; and of his having afterwards placed her in a retired lodging, where, after a stay of near a month, during which he had done every thing in his power to tranquillize and sooth her with the hopes of my return, she became extremely discontented; insisted on his trying to interest for her some Englishmen at Naples, with whom she might return to her own country; and, on my refusing to do so, (said Alozzi), she attempted, as I found afterwards, to bribe the servants I had placed about her, to deliver letters for her to any English gentlemen they could hear of. These people have protested to me, that they resisted every attempt she made to engage them in this research: — nor could I ever discover by what means Mrs. Montalbert contrived to find the person with whom she concerted her measures so well, as to escape during the night, and to leave no trace by which I have since been able to discover wither she is gone; though I have hardly slept since, my dear friend, so anxious have I been to recover, if possible, this lovely misguided wanderer, and to restore her to you, as a precious deposit of which I was not an unworthy guardian!’

  “I then inquired of Alozzi, if he had come to Florence on any hope of finding her there. He told me he had, but that all his inquiries being baffled, he was departing for Rome, still on the same search. This was not enough for me; I insisted on his particularizing the reasons he had to believe my wife had gone to Florence; this he appeared ready to do, and I thought them so plausible, that I resolved to go among my countrymen, who were then numerous at Florence, in hopes of learning something of my poor fugitive. This inquiry, which detained me a great while, and which it was extremely painful to make on so delicate a subject, ended only in convincing me that she was not at Florence; and though, from repeated conversations with Alozzi, I was far from being satisfied that Rosalie had not very different reasons for withdrawing herself from his protection, that those he had given, yet her impatience to be in England, or among persons of her own country, if not a paritality to some individual of it, made me only waver between doubt and despair, and happiness seemed certainly fled for ever.”

  Montalbert appeared so exhausted, that Lessington intreated him to take some refreshment; after which, all remaining quiet in the house, he thus continued his narrative.

  CHAPTER 38

  “WHITHER was I now to go in search of Rosalie? mistrusting as I did Alozzi, and doubting when he affected to be most busy in the pursuit, whether he had not himself concealed her. I determined, however, not to part with him — if his intentions were honest, he might assist me in my search; if not, I should at least have the chance of detecting him, by his endeavours to evade me, or by some of those oversights by which the most artful men often betray themselves.

  “I therefore accompanied Alozzi to Rome, where we made acquaintance with every Englishman, and endeavoured to discover from them the names of their countrymen who had within a few weeks left Rome for England, or any part of Italy; and in short made such enquiries as might lead to the object of our painful research. We gained, however, no satisfaction till at the end of a fortnight, when Alozzi came to tell me, he had met a valet de place, who had been accustomed to live much with the English at Rome; Alozzi said, the man was remarkably intelligent; that he had entered into discourse with him, and found that about three weeks before he had served (though for a few days) an Englishman of the name of Walsingham, who came from Naples, attended by a young lady with whom this man believed he had eloped; for that his conduct while at Rome seemed calculated to baffle pursuit and enquiry, and that after a short time they departed very mysteriously, but he had good reasons to believe they went to Genoa, there to embark for England. Alozzi brought the man to me; I questioned him, and from his description I soon thought that Rosalie was the lady whom he had seen with Mr. Walsingham. I heard with
anguish not to be expressed that she was gay in spirits, and accompanied this Walsingham evidently by her own consent. She had no child with her; but if she had so far forgotten the father, as to follow another, she would have found no difficulty in abandoning her child. — The longer I talked with this man, the more clearly the fatal conviction flashed upon me. — The time answered exactly to that on which Rosalie had left the house where Alozzi had placed her: the character of Walsingham was that of a man of boundless expence, and unrestrained libertinism; all served to persuade my senses that he had stolen from me the person and the affections of Rosalie. — Indignation and rage now animated a pursuit which had before been prompted by tenderness and hope. With whatever resentment I thought of the infidelity of my wife, my heart turned with fondness towards my child, thus abandoned, as I imagined, to the mercy of strangers, yet I knew not where to seek him; and the desire of vengeance was even stronger than parental affection. After some consultation with Alozzi, it was agreed that he should return to Naples, where, by offering rewards, he had no doubt but he should discover my son, of whom he protested he would take a father’s care, and send him to me by some trusty person, whithersoever I should direct. Alozzi departed, and I made the best of my way to Genoa; thither I traced persons resembling those I pursued, and on searching the registers kept at the Dogana, of people departing from that port, I found that about a fortnight before my arrival, Mr. Walsingham, an Englishman, with his lady and two servants, had embarked for England.

  “I had now no doubt remaining — Rosalie passed for the wife of Walsingham, and as such was proceeding to her native country.

  “Stung even to temporary madness, I adopted the sudden resolution of writing to my mother, reproaching her with the misery she had been the cause of, by compelling me to take measures which had torn me from the woman I adored, and with her all the happiness of my life; I told her that to make me any amends was impossible; that I should never see her more; but that if she were not totally lost to every feeling of humanity, I implored her to receive and protect my child, whom, by a letter written at the same time to Alozzi, I desired him to send to her. I hoped that even her bitter and inveterate prejudies might give way to pity and concern, when I could no long offend her, and when she saw in a lovely and innocent infant the representative of a son whom she had driven to despair.

  “Having done this, I gave myself up wholly to that thirst of vengeance which devoured me, and took my passage to England in the first ship I could meet with, but for which I had the mortification of waiting a considerable time.

  “Every perverse accident, to which a traveller by sea is subject, conspired to retard my passage. The ship was old, and a bad sailer; the captain had not enough men to work it, and of the few he had, two were confined to their hammocks by an infectious fever. We were continually beaten back by contrary winds, and the mortality increased in our little crew so much, that when we came into the Strait, I insisted upon being put on shore at Gibraltar, where, having taken the fever, I became extremely ill, and, after a confinement of near a month, narrowly escaped with my life. This cruel delay over, I once more embarked in a sloop of war, and was at length landed at Plymouth. In London I could not fail to hear of Mr. Walsingham, for there a man of his fortune must be known. I obtained a direction to his house in Grosvenor Street, where I heard that he was just gone to Brighthelmstone. I could not longer entertain a single doubt of my being right as to the person, for on enquiry of his servants I heard, that he was, a few weeks since, returned from a tour to Italy.

  “I hastened, therefore, to Brighthelmstone, and to a house taken for the season by this Mr. Walsingham; I heard he was gone on a sailing party to Portsmouth and the Isle of Wight, but was expected back in a few days: his character answered to all I had heard of him abroad. Afraid of missing if I attempted to follow him, I resolved to await his return; but sleep forsook my pillow, and I wandered about from the dawn of the day, till the latest hour of night, without any other purpose than to wear away the tedious time that prevented my doing myself justice. It happened that I was sitting at a very early hour of the morning in one of the public libraries, where two of those bon vivans were also sitting, who regularly make tours during the summer months round the coast, to repair the excesses of their winter. I sat pensively silent, thinking on subjects, how different; when these two good cits began a discourse on the various advantages or disadvantages of different bathing places: one related to the other, that he had lately left Eastbourne; where, said he, ‘I got poultry pretty reasonable, and the wheat-ears were beginning to flock. There was not, indeed, much company; but then there were people that cared not what they gave for any thing; there was the famous Lady Llancarrick, and a Miss Something, one of your book-making ladies, with her. To be sure I thought it a little oddish to see her Ladyship quite hand and glove not only with that Miss What-d’y-call’um, but with another young creature, who goes, you must know, by the name of Sheffield, but as the people there say, is the mistress of one Mr. Walsingham, a man of great fortune, who brought her from abroad. — My son Jack, who came down to me from Friday to Tuesday, and is a mighty chap for a pretty face, fell downright in love with this fine madam — though, to do her justice, she looks very modest for one of that sort; and egad, Sir, it was as much as I could do to keep him from making up to her — Why, Jack, (says I), don’t you see she is countenanced by Lady Llancarrick. He laughed, and said, the lady herself was no better than she should be, and he’d make love to them all three.’

  “Imagine, Mr. Lessington, what I felt at hearing this conversation. — I knew not what I said to the man, but he told me, with many bows, and some gasping grimaces, all he knew; among other particulars, that the lady had a child with her; and then they both walked away, probably much amazed at my inquisitiveness and violence; while listening to nothing but my rage and indignation, I ordered a post-chaise, and taking a lawyer with me, and a person to attend on the child, I sat out for Eastbourne: as you have heard Rosalie’s account, you know that I saw her but a for a moment: I could not indeed bear to look upon her — she was walking with the two women I had heard described: — I fled from her, and directing my son to be brought to me, I hastened back in a state of distraction, weeping over the innocent unhappy boy, now accusing his mother of cruelty, and now protesting I would never think of her more.

  “I believe nothing saved me from attempting my own life, but my determined resolution to obtain satisfaction of Walsingham. — I waited a few days longer, and when he was returned, I sent to him a military friend, whom I met by accident, and who told me he was slightly acquainted with Walsingham. I stated my complaint, and this friend, Captain Wilmot, carried him a challenge from me, to meet at any hour he appointed the next day.

  “When Wilmot came back, he assured me, that Walsingham was extremely willing to meet me, if I insisted on it; but that he protested he knew not for what, having never seen Mrs. Montalbert in his life, and being totally unconscious of having ever done me the least injury. This falsehood only irritated my impatience — But Wilmot advised me to recollect whether there might not be some mistake in all this? ‘I do not,’ said he, ‘know much of Sommers Walsingham, but I am sure his courage is not to be doubted; and as to an affair of gallantry, he is much more likely to boast of, than to deny it. I am persuaded, that had he eloped with Mrs. Montalbert, he would very readily have given you the satisfaction you demand.’ — More enraged than ever at what I could not but think a base and cowardly evasion, and almost ready to quarrel with Wilmot himself, I was determined to seek Walsingham instantly, and compel him to give an explanation — but Wilmot, who saw that some mischief must happen if I did, prevailed upon me to let him return once more to Walsingham. — He came back in about an hour, and declared to me that Walsingham had given him such a detail of the circumstances of his life for that last six months, that he was perfectly convinced he had never had the slightest acquaintance with Mrs. Montalbert.— ‘Good God!’ exclaimed I; ‘this is too much — did I
not trace him from Rome to Genoa; do I not know that the woman who accompanied him must have been my wife?’

  ‘My dear friend,’ said Wilmot, ‘Walsingham acknowledges that he had a lady with him, but declares it was not Mrs. Montalbert. — He has told me who it was, and, if you insist upon it, the lady who is not far from hence will satisfy you as to her identity. Can you suppose, Montalbert (added Wilmot, very gravely), that I have so little regard for you, or hold your honour of so little moment, that I would trifle with, or deceive you? If you insist of fighting, I am ready to attend you. — But I repeat, that in the grounds of this quarrel I do believe you are wrong.’ — I knew Wilmot to be a man of unblemished honour, and of undoubted courage; and though it yet seemed impossible that I could be deceived, I hesitated. At that moment Charles Vyvian came to me.

  ‘Not less rash, or less irritated than myself, for he had read Sommers Walsingham’s letter, Wilmot (who was even more acquainted with him than with me), had the greatest difficulty imaginable to persuade him to hear what he had to say. At length it was settled, that as he knew the person of my wife, he should go with Wilmot to the lady; and if he was convinced that she had accompanied Walsingham from Italy, which he thought he should easily discover, it was agreed that I could have no quarrel with him. — This lady was at a small town, about twenty miles from Brighthelmstone, on the London road; and thither my friends repaired, with the consent of Sommers Walsingham. Towards evening I expected their return; I went out alone upon the hills, where I was accosted by a gentleman, whom my servant had, at his own request, accompanied in search of me. He told me, with very little preface, that his name was Walsingham; that on hearing I was in search of him, and that some disagreeable circumstances were likely to happen by my having mistaken for him a relation of the same name, he had come from Eastbourne on purpose to give me the explanation I demanded. I will not repeat to you the manner in which I treated Mr. Walsingham; my trembling servant, who dared not disobey me, brought the loaded pistols I sent him for; I absolutely refused to hear what Walsingham would have said. — The words, ‘I came from Eastbourne;’ and ‘it WAS I — who accompanied Mrs. Montalbert from Italy,’ were enough for me. — When he found me deaf to his intended vindication, he took a pistol, and bade me fire mine. — I did so — with too good an air! the ball lodged in his side; he did not however fall: but firing his pistol in the air, he beckoned to my servant, whom I had driven with menaces to some distance; the poor fellow ran to him, and Walsingham, who had thrown away his pistol, leaning against him, said, ‘I am wounded — I believe mortally: lay me on the ground; go call some persons to be witness that your master has acted like a man of honour, and that I acquit him of my death.’ — I had in the mean time approached him; and guilty as I still believed him, I could not see the paleness of death on his face without anguish and remorse; he was lying on the ground, and seemed, amidst the pain which his countenance expressed, more solicitous for my safety than his own life. — Touched by his generosity, I bade my man fly for surgeons: and when he was gone, I knelt by the suffering Walsingham with sensations of mingled rage and regret, which cannot be described, while he thus spoke to me: