“I wish it were, (said De Montagny drily); but if, when the time is past, you can inform me that you really felt, as you now believe you shall then feel, I may then proclaim my friend the most extraordinary man of his age in the three kingdoms of his master.”
“I verily believe I shall claim you eulogium, De Montagny, and I here promise honestly to relate to you what passes in my heart at that time.....Ah! (added he, with a deep-drawn sigh), you have no conception, my dear Chevalier, of the hold that such an attachment, as mine, to a lovely woman, who is now no more, has on the heart. — I say, you can have no idea of it, because, designed from your early youth for the Order of Malta, you never allowed yourself to form such attachments as were at all serious; but I feel it to be impossible ever to love another, and all my hopes of felicity are buried in the grave of my Leonora.”
“All that is very well. I am sure you now think what you say; but — we have read, and even seen, certain events, that dispose me to believe much in the influence of time and despair, as remedies for these violent passions...........In short - - - - - - - - -”
“In short! (interrupted Walsingham); you don’t believe the passion can exist when the object is no more?”
“I believe it is transferable, my friend, if not curable: I have seen — oh! I know not how many instances of it.......You have read perhaps, or, perhaps, you have seen a little after-piece, on the French stage, called Le Veus?”
“Oh! ( exclaimed Walsingham impatiently), if we were to give up every sentiment as ridiculous, that your writers, or your dramatists, attempt to render so, there would not be left, in the human heart, one virtue to reconcile us to the misery of existence.”
De Montagny, who meant not to hurt his friend, seeing that he took the matter more seriously than was intended, let the conversation drop, and Walsingham, whose spirits were much agitated, went upon deck, where the stars reflected in the clear expanse of a sea so perfectly calm, that the vessel did not perceptibly move; the stillness of the night, scarcely disturbed by its prow, and the mildness of the air, restored him to a more tranquil state. He bade the steersman and a boy, who was on the first watch, begin the evening hymn sung by the Maltese sailors. He sat down on the gunwale, and bore a part; the tumult of his spirits entirely subsided, and he began to wonder how they had been so disturbed!— “But it provokes me, (said he, as he reflected on the matter) — it provokes me, that a man of such good sense, and so excellent a heart, should adopt prejudices so entirely the result of the manners of his country, and his own particular mode of education....How can he, with sentiments so generally honourable, believe that I could suffer myself to feel, for this charming woman, any other degree of tenderness than might be inspired by an amiable sister? — No! — to suppose me capable of other views, is to destroy the pleasure I take in protecting and serving her; and why would he rob me of the only happiness I am now capable of tasting? — In love with Mrs. Montalbert, or in danger of becoming so! — Good God! how can he think so? — When I see her, I am calm and contented; when my heart throbs with recollected anguish, I hear her voice, and forget that I am miserable. She speaks of her husband, and I weep with her; she caresses her child, and I weep still more! If I loved her, the name of this husband would be hateful to me, and I should be jealous even of her maternal affection....Alas! I know I have severely learnt what love is, and I am sure the sensations I now feel have nothing to do with it.”
As if, however, Walsingham, convinced of this himself, was conscious of the propriety there was in Rosalie’s knowing it too, he now took every occasion when they were alone, and still more particularly when the Chevalier de Montagny was with them, to speak in stronger terms than ever of his widowed affections; and that he considered himself as wedded to the memory of his adored Leonora. — Rosalie seemed to hear him with mingled emotions of compassion and regard; she pitied the anguish he felt, and respected the constancy of his affection. He repeated one of the tenderest sonnets of Petrarch, and then an imitation of it, which he had written; and Rosalie, notwithstanding the advantage the Italian language gives to this species of composition, preferred Walsingham’s imitation. De Montagny, an unprejudiced spectator of these scenes, saw that Rosalie’s heart was at present secure; but he every day fancied he had more reason to tremble for that of his friend.
At length, after being twice the time they had calculated on their passage, they landed at Marseilles. Walsingham secured a lodging for Rosalie in the most retired part of the town, where he hired a female servant to attend her, and he went himself to an hotel. Her heart thanked him for this delicacy; nor was she less sensible of the kindness of the Chevalier de Montagny, who, purely from motives of friendship to Walsingham, and of compassion to her, had taken a voyage of some length, and attended to her the whole time with as much good-nature and humanity as if he had been her nearest relation. It was, therefore, with infinite regret that she bade him farewell, when, three days after her ar rival at Marseilles, he waited on her, with Walsingham, and told her his ship was then taking up its anchors, and that, in the evening, he should go on board, and get under weigh for Malta.
CHAPTER 29
THE port of Marseilles was crowded with English vessels, for, after a war, trade suddenly revives. Walsingham, therefore, had his choice of conveyances by sea; but he doubted whether he ought not to propose to Rosalie making the journey by land to Calais. Long accustomed to travel, the method of going from place to place was indifferent to him, and his choice was usually determined by the opportunities offered of seeing some object worth notice that had not before fallen within his observation. As he had passed three times from the south of France to England, and every time by a different route, he had no curiosity to gratify, even if his attention to Rosalie had allowed him, in the present instance, to think of any other object in his way.
When, therefore, he bade adieu to his friend De Montagny, which lowered and depressed his spirits extremely, he walked to the lodgings of Rosalie, who had all day expected him, for De Montagny had taken leave of her the day before, and she imagined him gone. New alarms had possessed her, on the reasonableness of which she wished to have consulted Walsingham, but it was evening before he came, and then with so dejected an air, and a countenance so melancholy, that Rosalie fancied some new disaster, she knew not what, had overtaken them, and was afraid to ask. Walsingham, however, told her, that, believing it to be her wish to reach England as expeditiously as possible, he was come to hear her commands on that subject; the whole purpose of his present visit being to know how and when she would depart.
“Alas! Sir, (replied she, hurt, yet hardly conscious that she was so, at something in his manner which appeared unusual) —— Alas! Sir — I know so little of travelling, or of the advantages or disadvantages of different roads, or different conveyances, that I must refer myself entirely to you. I only know, that the method which would be the least troublesome to you, would, on that account, be the most agreeable to me - - - - - -.” Her voice faltered. “Yet there is one apprehension (added she) that I have to-day been taught to entertain, which has extremely alarmed me. I am told that the small-pox, of a malignant sort, is at Marseilles — if my child - - - - -.”
Walsingham immediately comprehended what she would say. “I intended (said he) to have mentioned to you, what, I find, some person has anticipated; it will undoubtedly be a reason for you to hasten from hence. I have, I believe, often told you, dear Madam, (added he, lowering and softening his voice), that I have no use for the fortune I possess, but that of assisting my friends.....Alone upon this earth, with no very near relations, nor any distant ones who want my assistance, there are no claims on my property, to me a great part of it is useless — you would give it value by using it. After such a declaration you will not suppose that the difference of expence, between a journey by sea or land, ought to be a consideration. There would even be an indelicacy in my naming the subject, had you not once or twice talked of expence. There is then only to consider, whether you prefer
going by sea to England, or travelling across France to Calais, or any other ports; consult your own ease and safety, and that of your dear little boy.”
Rosalie, still unable to decide, and still more unable to express what she felt of obligation to him, was silent for some moments, and then referred herself again to him. At length, having weighed the fatigue of a very long journey by land, against the possible delays by sea, for there was hardly any danger to be named at such a season of the year, it was agreed that Walsingham should engage their passage in the most commodious ship he could find; and though Rosalie, who dreaded nothing so much as being troublesome to her benefactor, expressed but little of the anxiety she suffered about her child, Walsingham understood her, and, without saying he should do so, he took care to hire a vessel in which there was a surgeon and a stock of medicines. It had lately been engaged to bring over an English nobleman for the recovery of his health, and the accommodations and medical attendant, which had been engaged for him, seemed most fortunately at hand for Rosalie. The price demanded Walsingham gave at once, with a farther sum on condition that the captain should immediately depart, without waiting for any other passengers. Money is so forcible an advocate, that the captain was convinced it was his interest to comply with this request, and every thing was soon ready.
In little more than a week from her landing at Marseilles, Rosalie embarked for England, having written from thence to Naples, and enclose her letter to Montalbert to the English Minister.
During a very prosperous voyage Walsingham behaved to her with the affection of a brother; but as they had now lost the society of the Chevalier de Montagny, who used, with great propriety, to break their too-frequent tête-à-têtes, Walsingham lived more in his own cabin than he had done when they were on board the Maltese vessel, and was, or affected to be, engaged in the study of Arabic, in which language he had purchased some curious manuscripts at Marseilles. When these studies happened to be the subject of his conversation with Rosalie, he said he was making himself acquainted with Arabic, because, having already visited almost every part of Europe, he thought his next voyage would be to Asia. He frequently repeated this before the captain and the doctor, as they called, a surgeon’s mate who was on board, and they, as well as the sailors, who heard the same thing from Walsingham’s servant, could not but wonder that such a young man, who was happy enough to have so very pretty a woman belong to him, should be of so restless a disposition. That Rosalie was his mistress they none of them at all doubted, notwithstanding his reserved and respectful behaviour towards her; but he was too rich and too generous for them to make such remarks, as they would certainly have indulged themselves in, had their passengers been of inferior fortune.
Though to see England had been the first wish of Rosalie’s heart ever since the miserable day that drove her from Sicily, though she knew all her friends she had on earth were to be found there, and though she had persuaded herself she should meet Montalbert there, yet, as she approached it, her anxiety became excessive; and when the man at the mast head cried Land! as they entered the Channel, her heart beat, as if, in a few moments, her destiny was to be decided. Now like clouds, doubtful and indistinct, the white cliffs rose above the horizon; and now they gradually become more visible, till, at length, from the deck were discerned those towering boundaries of the coast; which ——
“Conspicuous many a league, the mariner
“Bound homeward, and, in hope already there,
“Greets with three cheers exulting!!!”
COWPER.
Rosalie gazed at them with eyes filled with tears, and silently demanded— “Is Montalbert there? — Ah! do the friends — the few friends that love me, yet exist?” — While Walsingham, though from different motives, seemed to be affected in the same manner, he, alas! knew, that England held only the ashes of her whom he had loved; but though tempted to say ——
“Sento l’aura mia anlica; e i dolci colli
“Veggio apparir onde’l bel lume naeque
“Che tenne gli occhi miei, mentr’al ciel piaque
“Bramosi, e lieti; or Ii tien tristi, e molli
“O caduche speranze, or pensier folli!
“Vedove l’erbe, e torbido son l’acque: &c.”
PETRARCH.
Yet, amidst this natural and just regret, which he had hitherto been proved to nourish, he was conscious that, if when they went on shore, he was to take leave of Rosalie, he should feel a new deprivation, which would make all his wounds bleed afresh.
This sentiment, however, he ventured not to communicate to her, nor had he ever yet found courage to ask her what were her intentions, or how she meant to dispose of herself after they landed at Falmouth, where he had engaged the ship to put them ashore? — When within an hour’s sail, with trembling and hesitation, which he vainly endeavoured to conquer, he at last inquired to what part of England she meant to go?
Rosalie, though she had considered this before, had never steadily thought on what would be her best plan to pursue. Since, however, as it was now necessary to determine on something, she said she would wait wherever she landed, or in the nearest convenient town, till she could receive letters from Mrs. Vyvian, to whom she meant immediately to write, under cover to Mrs. Lessington, the only means by which she could be sure of a letter reaching her. The heart of Rosalie sunk when she recollected the state of health in which she had left her mother, and when her mind ran back to the many months of her absence, she trembled to reflect on what might, in such an interval, have been the consequence of that injured health, and of, perhaps, increasing anxiety. All her hopes were centered in her mother; from her only she could receive protection and comfort — from her only obtain information of Montalbert; till, therefore, she could hear of Mrs. Vyvian, she could herself form no settled plan.
She related as much to Walsingham as appeared necessary to account for her remaining in whatever part of England she landed, till she had answers to the letters she should write immediately on her arrival. He observed to her, that it would then be much better for her to be at an easier distance from London, and proposed that, instead of landing at Falmouth, he should engage the captain to go on to Portsmouth, for which the wind was extremely favourable. Rosalie readily assented; since she should in that country be very near the place which she once considered as her home. One of those, whom she had believed her sister, was an inhabitant of Chichester, another resided not far from thence; and though she felt no inclination to appear before these her relations, while her situation was liable to misinterpretations, yet there was something consoling in the reflection that she should be within reach of some persons she knew, and who could have no reason, when they were informed she was the wife of Mr. Montalbert, to be otherwise than proud of the connection.
The same fears that had disturbed Rosalie at Marseilles, for the health of her infant boy, assailed her when she landed with him at Portsmouth. There was no source for that evening but an inn; this and many other considerations induced her to wish to quit the town as soon as possible; and now she thought with confusion and anguish of mind, which had been less felt while they were both citizens of the world, that she was entirely dependent for subsistence on the friendship of Walsingham, to whom she was already but too much obliged. How could she reconcile this to pride, or to propriety? Yet there was no remedy; for till she could receive answers from Mrs. Vyvian, what resource had she? — The conduct of Mr. Walsingham had been delicate and generous; the more she was unavoidably in his power, the more reserved he became. But though she knew her own innocence, and was assured of his honour, she could not recollect, without apprehension, that she was now in her native country; that she had quitted it without daring to avow her marriage, and had since been lost to all her former connections; that she now must appear in a very equivocal character, and that few would listen to, and fewer still believe, an account of the extraordinary circumstances that had brought her into her present situation. Circumscribed, as was her knowledge of the world, she
had seen enough of it to know that a very moderate share of beauty excited the envy of every woman who has less, and that there are crowds of gossipping people, to whom such a story, as her’s appeared to be, would afford the highest gratification, and from whom it might excite the most cruel remarks.
To hide herself, therefore, from the eyes of curiosity and malevolence, till she could appear properly acknowledged and protected, ought certainly to be her determination; but whither should she go, and by whom should she be guided? — It was not possible for her to communicate to Walsingham the painful sensations these reflections brought with them; but he saw them in her eyes, in her manner, and he heard them in the tremulous accents of her voice — yet he knew almost as little as she did how to begin a conversation which every moment rendered more necessary. He sat looking at her, as she was writing to Mrs. Vyvian and Mrs. Lessington, considering what he ought to say, when, having finished her letters, Rosalie laid down the pen, and said, in a half-whisper, “And whither shall I tell my friends to direct their answers?” —— This, though rather a soliloquy than an address to Walsingham, gave him occasion to say, “You will determine, dear Madam, whither you like to go......You will recollect, I hope, that I have only to obey you, and - - - - - - - -;” he hesitated — Rosalie, speaking faintly, interrupted him.
“If I knew (said she) any village near this place - - - - - - - -.”
“I mean not to dictate, (cried Walsingham, recovering himself). If you have no particular reasons for wishing to be near Portsmouth, I think any, indeed almost every, situation equally within reach of London, and of a daily post from thence, would be preferable. I have heard you speak of having once lived in the neighbourhood of Chichester; it is at an easy distance from hence, and - - - - - -.”
Complete Poetical Works of Charlotte Smith Page 236