LETTER I
FROM CAROLINE ASHBURN
TO
SIBELLA VALMONT
I have not answered your letter, my dear Sibella, as soon as you perhaps may have expected, because I was willing to dwell on the circumstances it contained, till the minutest shade was present with me, and till I discovered exactly wherein to praise, or wherein to blame. The time I have taken to deliberate has not been thrown away, for it has excited ideas in my mind that may prove of infinite service to us both: and should I in future find aught to add or diminish from my sentiments, I shall offer it as frankly as I now do my present decision.
Sibella, well might you, even at the door of Clement's apartment, retreat from your enterprise: for then, at that moment, you wandered the first step from your rectitude; and had you, instead of sitting down to detail your reasons to me, enquired narrowly into the cause of your sensations, you must have discovered that error was creeping in upon you, and that your native frankness and stedfast sincerity were making a vigorous effort to repel secresy, that canker-worm of virtue.
Have you forgotten, my Sibella, when you said—'I am not weak enough to descend to artifice. Did I believe it right to go, I should go openly. Then might he try his opposing strength: but he would find that I could leap, swim or dive, and that walls or moats are feeble barriers to a determined will.'
This was noble; and I promised myself that, in you, I should find the one rare instance wherein no temptation could incline, or terror affright, into any species of concealment. I grant nothing could bring the temptation more strongly forward than the state into which Clement and you were forced: but still you should have resisted. Your every thought should still have flown to your lips. Your every intention should have been as public to those by whom you were surrounded as to yourself. No matter though it should dash aside a present project. Be openly firm in the resolution to do right, and, my life for it, the opposition of mistake and prejudice will bear no proportion in strength to your perseverance.
It is evident that this plain and necessary truth mixed itself with your ideas, although the tumults of hope and fear, and the crowd of images that were then rushing on your mind, dazzled your perception; for you saw it in part, when you resolved to declare to Mr. Valmont in the morning all that you had done. Would you had previously declared it! I know how useless it is to wish over the past: yet I must again say—would you had previously declared it!
You pause, Sibella—you are convinced: but you instantaneously quit the regret of that error for selfcongratulation. I can enter into all your feelings; and I find you now dwelling with pleasure on the supposition that I condemn only the concealment, that I look on the contract itself as an act of justice, and that I am about to applaud you for the fulfillment of a duty. And herein it is that I have doubted. To this one point have I called every present and remote circumstance; and it is from the combination of circumstances alone that I have been able to decide. The distinction becomes nice between praise and blame, for I have both to offer: yet, if I judge aright, some praise belongs to you—to the blame Mr. Valmont has an incontestible title.
With such an education as he has given you, unless you had been a mere block without ideas, it was impossible you should not become a romantic enthusiast in whatever species of passion first engaged your feelings: and Mr. Valmont took care to make that first passion Love. Whatever cause can have led him to his present inconsistency, it is as evident to me as light and sensation—that it was his settled plan to render love for each other the ruling feature of your's and Clement's character. The contrivance was worthless; but the performance was admirable. Thus you and Clement loved from habit.
Youth is always ardent and lively; it inclines to fondness; and you had none of the constraints which society lays on the first expansions of tenderness. You had no claimants, from kindred or family, on your affections: for the forbidding Mr. Valmont excited only fear; and you sought shelter in each other's arms, from the terrors of his frown. It was not more natural to breathe, than to love—it was not more natural to love, than to obey its dictates. Thus you and Clement, secluded from the world with your every pleasure arising only from mutual efforts to please, could not fail to love from habit. Had Clement and you been educated in the world, Clement would still have loved from habit: because I suspect he possesses more of softness than of strength. He would have loved often; and it would have been a trivial love: neither arising to any height, nor directed by any excellence.
You, Sibella, would have loved from reflection, from a more intimate knowledge of increasing virtues, from the intercourse of mind: then call it friendship, or call it love, it would indeed possess those predominant and absorbing qualities you describe, and which you now feel. But, Sibella, depend on it Clement had never been the object.
Pardon me, I do not mean to wound you. I know you will not shrink from truth; and I must therefore tell you, that the alteration in Clement which you ascribe wholly to Mr. Valmont's mysteries I ascribe to feebleness of character. Wherever your's rises to superiority his sinks. Had he been equal, and had there been no secresy in the case, I would have hailed your marriage. I well know, my friend, that you did not mean to separate duty and pleasure. Motives the most chaste and holy guided you. No forms or ceremonies could add an atom to your purity, or make your's in the sight of heaven more a marriage—yet do I wish, with all the fervency of my soul, this marriage had been deferred—that you had previously informed Mr. Valmont.
'Tis past: and repentance is only of value as it guides us in our future actions. We must endeavour to rouse Clement from his inactivity. I do believe he is not vicious, though your uncle's conduct respecting him has the worst of tendencies: my Sibella's excellence must have placed a talisman around him from which vice retires hopeless of influence. This is one great step: and, as I understand from Mr. Murden he is to be in London, I will seek his friendship; give a spur to every lurking talent; endeavour to preserve him free from taint; and if I had judged too hastily, if he is beyond what I expect, with what delight shall I contemplate the merits of him whose fate you have interwoven with your own!—Ah, how close is the texture—with what firmness can you think—to what excess can you love!
The dark season of the year is arrived. The fashionable world haste to the capital. We are never hindmost of the throng; yet this once have I urged forward our removal to London with all my influence; for I apprehend the succession of its gay diversions, and the multiplicity of varied engagements which must then occupy my mother, will remove from her mind any inclination towards a second marriage. Here, opportunity is always at hand for that despicable race of young men who are ever on the watch to sell their persons and liberty to the highest bidder; and, as Mrs. Ashburn's immensity of wealth is the general topic, her splendor the general gaze, and her vanity not a whit more concealed from observation, the fortune hunters crowd around her. At first the love of flattery appeared wholly to engage her and each was acceptable in his turn; till, at length, the elegant person of one youth became distinguished in a manner that alarmed me. Not but I should rejoice to see my mother yield herself to the guardianship of some good man, who had sense enough to advise, and resolution to restrain her lavish follies. Of such an union I have not any hope; and I must, if possible, prevent her being the dupe and victim of a misguided choice.
This young man possessed in a very emminent degree the advantages of person, air, and address; yet, when he directed his attentions wholly towards Mrs. Ashburn, there was such evident constraint in his manner, and his professions were so laboured, that almost any other woman would have condemned him. Mrs. Ashburn did not. She received, she encouraged him, she led him into every circle in open triumph, as her devoted lover: while his forced levity, at one time, and at another, his pale cheek, absence of mind, and half uttered sighs, told to every observer that he was a sacrifice but not a lover. I could not believe that the affair would ever be brought to so absurd a conclusion, till I found that the day of marriage was actually fixed on. I ought to have interfered before; for my interference has now saved them from the commission of such a folly.
I must, Sibella, reserve the history of this young man till another letter. I am called from the pleasing occupation of writing to you, by an engagement with a being more variable, more inexplicable, than any being within my knowledge, yet to me not less interesting than any. I mean Mr. Murden.
Never need I be wearied with the sameness of my thoughts, while I reside under one roof with Murden; for, let me turn them on the caprices of his conduct, and I shall find puzzling varieties without end.
Ever your's
CAROLINE ASHBURN