by Mary Hays
CHAPTER XXIII
My health being considerably injured, I had taken a young woman into myhouse, to assist me in the nursery, and in other domestic offices. Shewas in her eighteenth year--simple, modest, and innocent. This girl hadresided with me for some months. I had been kind to her, and sheseemed attached to me. One morning, going suddenly into Mr Montague'sdressing-room, I surprised Rachel sitting on a sopha with her master:--heheld her hand in his, while his arm was thrown round her waist; and theyappeared to be engaged in earnest conversation. They both started, on myentrance:--Unwilling to encrease their confusion, I quitted the room.
Montague, on our meeting at dinner, affected an air of unconcern; butthere was an apparent constraint in his behaviour. I preserved towardshim my accustomed manner, till the servants had withdrawn. I then mildlyexpostulated with him on the impropriety of his behaviour. His replieswere not more unkind than ungenerous--they pierced my heart.
'It is well, sir, I am inured to suffering; but it is not of _myself_that I would speak. I have not deserved to lose your confidence--thisis my consolation;--yet, I submit to it:--but I cannot see you act in amanner, that will probably involve you in vexation, and intail upon youremorse, without warning you of your danger. Should you corrupt theinnocence of this girl, she is emphatically _ruined_. It is the strongmind only, that, firmly resting on its own powers, can sustain andrecover itself amidst the world's scorn and injustice. The morality ofan uncultivated understanding, is that of _custom_, not of reason: breakdown the feeble barrier, and there is nothing to supply its place--youopen the flood-gates of infamy and wretchedness. Who can say where theevil may stop?'
'You are at liberty to discharge your servant, when you please, madam.'
'I think it my duty to do so, Mr Montague--not on my own, but on _her_,account. If I have no claim upon your affection and principles, I woulddisdain to watch your conduct. But I feel myself attached to this youngwoman, and would wish to preserve her from destruction!'
'You are very generous, but as you thought fit to bestow on me your_hand_, when your _heart_ was devoted to another--'
'It is enough, sir!--To your justice, only, in your cooler moments,would I appeal!'
I procured for Rachel a reputable place, in a distant part of thecounty.--Before she quitted me, I seriously, and affectionately,remonstrated with her on the consequences of her behaviour. She answeredme only with tears and blushes.
In vain I tried to rectify the principles, and subdue the cruelprejudices, of my husband. I endeavoured to shew him every mark ofaffection and confidence. I frequently expostulated with him, uponhis conduct, with tears--urged him to respect himself and me--stroveto convince him of the false principles upon which he acted--of thesenseless and barbarous manner in which he was sacrificing my peace, andhis own, to a romantic chimera. Sometimes he would appear, for a moment,melted with my tender and fervent entreaties.
'Would to God!' he would say, with emotion, 'the last six months of mylife could be obliterated for ever from my remembrance!'
He was no longer active, and chearful: he would sit, for hours, involvedin deep and gloomy silence. When I brought the little Emma, to soften,by her engaging caresses, the anxieties by which his spirits appearedto be overwhelmed, he would gaze wildly upon her--snatch her to hisbreast--and then, suddenly throwing her from him, rush out of the house;and, inattentive to the duties of his profession, absent himself fordays and nights together:--his temper grew, every hour, more furious andunequal.
He by accident, one evening, met the little Augustus, as his nurse wascarrying him from my apartment; and, breaking rudely into the room,overwhelmed me with a torrent of abuse and reproaches. I submittedto his injustice with silent grief--my spirits were utterly broken.At times, he would seem to be sensible of the impropriety of hisconduct--would execrate himself and entreat my forgiveness;--butquickly relapsed into his accustomed paroxysms, which, from havingbeen indulged, were now become habitual, and uncontroulable. Theseagitations seemed daily to encrease--all my efforts to regain hisconfidence--my patient, unremitted, attentions--were fruitless. Heshunned me--he appeared, even, to regard me with horror. I wept insilence. The hours which I passed with my children afforded me my onlyconsolation--they became painfully dear to me. Attending to their littlesports, and innocent gambols, I forgot, for a moment, my griefs.
CHAPTER XXIV
Some months thus passed away, with little variation in my situation.Returning home one morning, early, from the nurse's, where I had left myEmma with Augustus (whom I never, now, permitted to be brought to my ownhouse) as I entered, Mr Montague shot suddenly by me, and rushed upstairs towards his apartment. I saw him but transiently, as he passed;but his haggard countenance, and furious gestures, filled me withdismay. He had been from home the preceding night; but to these absencesI had lately been too much accustomed to regard them as any thingextraordinary. I hesitated a few moments, whether I should follow him.I feared, lest I might exasperate him by so doing; yet, the unusualdisorder of his appearance gave me a thousand terrible and namelessapprehensions. I crept toward the door of his apartment--listenedattentively, and heard him walking up and down the room, with hastysteps--sometimes he appeared to stop, and groaned heavily:--once Iheard him throw up the sash, and shut it again with violence.
I attempted to open the door, but, finding it locked, my terrorincreased.--I knocked gently, but could not attract his attention. Atlength I recollected another door, that led to this apartment, throughmy own chamber, which was fastened on the outside, and seldom opened.With trembling steps I hurried round, and, on entering the room,beheld him sitting at a table, a pen in his hand, and paper beforehim. On the table lay his pistols--his hair was dishevelled--hisdress disordered--his features distorted with emotion--while in hiscountenance was painted the extreme of horror and despair.
I uttered a faint shriek, and sunk into a chair. He started from hisseat, and, advancing towards me with hurried and tremulous steps,sternly demanded, Why I intruded on his retirement? I threw myselfat his feet,--I folded my arms round him--I wept--I deprecated hisanger--I entreated to be heard--I said all that humanity, all that themost tender and lively sympathy could suggest, to inspire him withconfidence--to induce him to relieve, by communication, the burthenwhich oppressed his heart.--He struggled to free himself from me--myapprehensions gave me strength--I held him with a strenuous grasp--heraved--he stamped--he tore his hair--his passion became frenzy! Atlength, forcibly bursting from him, I fell on the floor, and the bloodgushed from my nose and lips. He shuddered convulsively--stood a fewmoments, as if irresolute--and, then, throwing himself beside me, raisedme from the ground; and, clasping me to his heart, which throbbedtumultuously, burst into a flood of tears.
'I will not be thy _murderer_, Emma!' said he, in a voice of agony,interrupted by heart-rending sobs--'I have had enough of blood!'
I tried to sooth him--I assured him I was not hurt--I besought him toconfide his sorrows to the faithful bosom of his wife! He appearedsoftened--his tears flowed without controul.
'Unhappy woman!--you know not what you ask! To be ingenuous, belongsto purity like yours!--Guilt, black as hell!--conscious, aggravated,damnable, guilt!--_Your fatal attachment_--my accursed jealousy!--Ah!Emma! I have injured you--but you are, indeed, revenged!'
Every feature seemed to work--seemed pregnant with dreadful meaning--hewas relapsing into frenzy.
'Be calm, my friend--be not unjust to yourself--you can have committedno injury that I shall not willingly forgive--you are incapable ofpersisting in guilt. The ingenuous mind, that avows, has already madehalf the reparation. Suffer me to learn the source of your inquietude! Imay find much to extenuate--I may be able to convince you, that you aretoo severe to yourself.'
'Never, never, never!--nothing can extenuate--_the expiation must bemade_!--Excellent, admirable, woman!--Remember, without hating, thewretch who has been unworthy of you--who could not conceive, who knewnot how to estimate, your virtues!--Oh!--do not--do not'--straining meto his
bosom--'curse my memory!'
He started from the ground, and, in a moment, was out of sight.
I raised myself with difficulty--faint, tottering, gasping for breath, Iattempted to descend the stairs. I had scarcely reached the landing-place,when a violent knocking at the door shook my whole frame. I stood still,clinging to the balustrade, unable to proceed. I heard a chaise drawup--a servant opening the door--a plain-looking countryman alighted, anddesired instantly to speak to the lady of the house--his business was,he said, of life and death! I advanced towards him, pale and trembling!
'What is the matter, my friend--whence came you?'
'I cannot stop, lady, to explain myself--you must come with me--I willtell you more as we go along.'
'Do you come,' enquired I, in a voice scarcely articulate, 'from myhusband?'
'No--no--I come from a person who is dying, who has somewhat ofconsequence to impart to you--Hasten, lady--there is no time to lose!'
'Lead, then, I follow you.'
He helped me into the chaise, and we drove off with the rapidity oflightning.
CHAPTER XXV
I asked no more questions on the road, but attempted to fortify my mindfor the scenes which, I foreboded, were approaching. After about anhour's ride, we stopped at a small, neat, cottage, embosomed in trees,standing alone, at a considerable distance from the high-road. Adecent-looking, elderly, woman, came to the door, at the sound of thecarriage, and assisted me to alight. In her countenance were evidentmarks of perturbation and horror. I asked for a glass of water; and,having drank it, followed the woman, at her request, up stairs. Sheseemed inclined to talk, but I gave her no encouragement--I knew notwhat awaited me, nor what exertions might be requisite--I determined notto exhaust my spirits unnecessarily.
On entering a small chamber, I observed a bed, with the curtains closelydrawn. I advanced towards it, and, unfolding them, beheld the unhappyRachel lying in a state of apparent insensibility.
'She is dying,' whispered the woman, 'she has been in strongconvulsions; but she could not die in peace without seeing MadamMontague, and obtaining her forgiveness.'
I approached the unfortunate girl, and took her lifeless hand.--Afeeble pulse still trembled--I gazed upon her, for some moments, insilence.--She heaved a deep sigh--her lips moved, inarticulately. She,at length, opened her eyes, and, fixing them upon me, the blood seemedto rush through her languid frame--reanimating it. She sprung up in thebed, and, clasping her hands together, uttered a few incoherent words.
'Be pacified, my dear--I am not angry with you--I feel only pity.'
She looked wildly. 'Ah! my dear lady, I am a wicked girl--but not--Oh,no!--_not a murderer!_ I did not--indeed, I did not--murder my child!'
A cold tremor seized me--I turned heart-sick--a sensation of horrorthrilled through my veins!
'My dear, my kind mistress,' resumed the wretched girl, 'can you forgiveme?--Oh! that cruel, barbarous, man!--It was _he_ who did it--indeed, itwas _he_ who did it!' Distraction glared in her eyes.
'I do forgive you,' said I, in broken accents. 'I will take care ofyou--but you must be calm.'
'I will--I will'--replied she, in a rapid tone of voice--'but do notsend me to prison--_I did not murder it!_--Oh! my child, my child!'continued she, in a screaming tone of frantic violence, and was againseized with strong convulsions.
We administered all the assistance in our power. I endeavoured, withsuccess, to stifle my emotions in the active duties of humanity. Rachelonce more revived. After earnestly commending her to the care of thegood woman of the house, and promising to send medicines and nourishmentproper for her situation, and to reward their attentions--desiringthat she might be kept perfectly still, and not be suffered to talk onsubjects that agitated her--I quitted the place, presaging but too much,and not having, at that time, the courage to make further enquiries.
CHAPTER XXVI
On entering my own house my heart misgave me. I enquired, withtrepidation, for my husband, and was informed--'That he had returnedsoon after my departure, and had shut himself in his apartment; that, onbeing followed by Mr Lucas, he had turned fiercely upon him, commandinghim, in an imperious tone, instantly to leave him; adding, he had affairsof importance to transact; and should any one dare to intrude on him,it would be at the peril of their lives.' All the family appeared inconsternation, but no one had presumed to disobey the orders of theirmaster.--They expressed their satisfaction at my return--Alas! I wasimpotent to relieve the apprehensions which, I too plainly perceived,had taken possession of their minds.
I retired to my chamber, and, with a trembling hand, traced, andaddressed to my husband, a few incoherent lines--briefly hinting mysuspicions respecting the late transactions--exhorting him to providefor his safety, and offering to be the companion of his flight. Iadded--'Let us reap wisdom from these tragical consequences of _indulgedpassion_! It is not to atone for the past error, by cutting off theprospect of future usefulness--Repentance for what can never berecalled, is absurd and vain, but as it affords a lesson for the timeto come--do not let us wilfully forfeit the fruits of our dear-boughtexperience! I will never reproach you! Virtuous resolution, and time,may yet heal these aggravated wounds. Dear Montague, be no longerthe slave of error; inflict not on my tortured mind new, and moreinsupportable, terrors! I await your directions--let us fly--let ussummon our fortitude--let us, at length, bravely stem the tide ofpassion--let us beware of the criminal pusillanimity of despair!'
With faultering steps, I sought the apartment of my husband. I listeneda moment at the door--and hearing him in motion, while profound sighsburst every instant from his bosom, I slid my paper under the door,unfolded, that it might be the more likely to attract his attention.Presently, I had the satisfaction of hearing him take it up. After someminutes, a slip of paper was returned, by the same method which I hadadopted, in which was written, in characters blotted, and scarcelylegible, the following words--
'Leave me, one half hour, to my reflections: at the end of that period,be assured, I will see, or write, to you.'
I knew him to be incapable of falsehood--my heart palpitated with hope.I went to my chamber, and passed the interval in a thousand cruelreflections, and vague plans for our sudden departure. Near an hourhad elapsed, when the bell rang. I started, breathless, from my seat.A servant passed my door, to take his master's orders. He returnedinstantly, and, meeting me in the passage, delivered to me a letter.I heard Montague again lock the door.--Disappointed, I re-entered mychamber. In my haste to get at the contents of the paper, I almost toreit in pieces--the words swam before my sight. I held it for some momentsin my hand, incapable of decyphering the fatal characters. I breathedwith difficulty--all the powers of life seemed suspended--when thereport of a pistol roused me to a sense of confused horror.--Rushingforward, I burst, with preternatural strength, into the apartment of myhusband--What a spectacle!--Assistance was vain!--Montague--the impetuous,ill-fated, Montague--_was no more--was a mangled corpse_!--Rash,unfortunate, young, man!
But, why should I harrow up your susceptible mind, by dwelling onthese cruel scenes? _Ah! suffer me to spread a veil over this fearfulcatastrophe!_ Some time elapsed ere I had fortitude to examine the paperaddressed to me by my unfortunate husband. Its contents, which were asfollows, affected me with deep and mingled emotions.
TO MRS MONTAGUE.
'Amidst the reflections which press, by turns, upon my burning brain, an obscure consciousness of the prejudices upon which my character has been formed, is not the least torturing--because I feel the _inveterate force of habit_--I feel, that my convictions come too late!
'I have destroyed myself, and you, dearest, most generous, and most unfortunate, of women! I am a monster!--I have seduced innocence, and embrued my hands in blood!--Oh, God!--Oh, God!--_'Tis there distraction lies!_--I would, circumstantially, retrace my errors; but my disordered mind, and quivering hand, refuse the cruel task--yet, it is necessary that I should attemp
t a brief sketch.
'After the cruel accident, which destroyed our tranquillity, I nourished my senseless jealousies (the sources of which I need not, now, recapitulate), till I persuaded myself--injurious wretch that I was!--that I had been perfidiously and ungenerously treated. Stung by false pride, I tried to harden my heart, and foolishly thirsted for revenge. Your meekness, and magnanimity, disappointed me.--I would willingly have seen you, not only suffer the PANGS, but express the _rage_, of a slighted wife. The simple victim of my baseness, by the artless affection she expressed for me, gained an ascendency over my mind; and, when you removed her from your house, we still contrived, at times, to meet. The consequences of our intercourse could not long be concealed. It was, then, that I first began to open my eyes on my conduct, and to be seized with remorse!--Rachel, now, wept incessantly. Her father, she told me, was a stern and severe man; and should he hear of her misconduct, would, she was certain, be her destruction. I procured for her an obscure retreat, to which I removed the unhappy girl [Oh, how degrading is vice!], under false pretences. I exhorted her to conceal her situation--to pretend, that her health was in a declining state--and I visited her, from time to time, as in my profession.