HISTORY OF LORD NEVIL.
[CHAPTER I.]
"I was educated in my paternal home, with a tenderness and virtue that I admire the more, the more I know of mankind. I have never loved any one more profoundly than I loved my father; yet I think, had I then known as I now do, how alone his character stood in the world, my affection would have been still more devoted. I remember a thousand traits in his life that seemed to me quite simple, because he found them so, and that melt me into tears now I can appreciate their worth. Self-reproach on our conduct to a dear object who is no more, gives an idea of what eternal torments would be, if Divine mercy deigned not to soothe our griefs. I was calmly happy with my father, but wished to travel ere I entered the army. There is, in my country, a noble career open for eloquence; but I am even yet so timid, that it would be painful for me to speak in public; therefore I preferred a military life, and certain danger, to possible disgust; my self-love is in all respects more susceptible than ambitious. Men become giants when they blame me, and pigmies when they praise. I wished to visit France, where the revolution had just begun, which, old as was the race of man, professed to recommence the history of the world. My father was somewhat prepossessed against Paris, which he had seen during the last years of Louis XV.; and could hardly conceive how coteries were to change into a nation, pretence into virtue, or vanity into enthusiasm. Yet he consented to my wishes, for he feared to exact anything, and felt embarrassed by his own authority, unless duty commanded him to exert it, lest it might impair the truth, the purity, of voluntary affection; and above all, he lived on being loved. In the beginning of 1791, when I had completed my twenty-first year, he gave me six months' leave of absence; and I departed to make acquaintance with the nation so near in neighborhood, so contrasted in habits, to my own. Methought I should never love it. I had all the prejudices of English pride and gravity. I feared the French raillery against all that is tender and serious. I detested that art of repelling impulse and disenchanting love. The foundation of this vaunted gayety appeared to me a sad one, for it wounded the sentiments I most cherished. I had not then met any really great Frenchmen, such as unite the noblest qualities with the most charming manners. I was astonished at the free simplicity which reigned in Parisian parties. The most important interests were discussed without either frivolity or pedantry, as if the highest thoughts had become the patrimony of conversation, and that the revolution of the whole world would but render the society of Paris more delightful. I found men of superior talents and education animated by the desire to please, even more than the wish to be useful; seeking the suffrages of the salon after those of the senate, and living in female society rather to be applauded than beloved.
"Everything in Paris is well combined with reference to external happiness. There is no restraint in the minutiæ of life; selfishness is at heart, but not in appearance; active interests occupy you every day, without much benefit, indeed, but certainly without the least tedium. A quickness of conception enables men to express and comprehend by a word what would elsewhere require a long explanation. An imitative spirit, which must, indeed, oppose all true independence, gives their intercourse an accordant complaisance, nowhere to be found besides; in short, an easy manner of diversifying life and warding off reflection, without discarding the charms of intellect. To all these means of turning the brain, I must add their spectacles, and you will have some idea of the most social city in the world. I almost start at breathing its name in this hermitage, in the midst of a desert, and under impressions the extreme reverse of those which active population create; but I owe you a description of that place, and the effect it took upon myself. Can you believe, Corinne, gloomy and discouraged as you have known me, that I permitted myself to be seduced by this spirited whirlpool? I was pleased at having not a moment of ennui; it would have been well if I could have deadened my power of suffering, capable as I was of love. If I may judge by myself, I should say that a thoughtful and sensitive being may weary of his own intensity; and that which woos him from himself awhile does him a service. It is by raising me above myself, that you, Corinne, have dissipated my natural melancholy; it was by depreciating my real value, that a woman of whom I shall have soon to speak benumbed my internal sadness. Yet though I was infected by Parisian tastes, they would not long have detained me, had I not conciliated the friendship of a man, the perfect model of French character in its old loyalty, of French mind in its new cultivation. I shall not, my love, tell you the real names of the persons I must mention; you will understand why, when you have heard me to the end. Count Raimond, then, was of the most illustrious birth; he inherited all the chivalrous pride of his ancestors, and his reason adopted more philosophic ideas whenever they commanded a personal sacrifice; he had not mixed actively in the revolution, but loved what was virtuous in either party. Courage and gratitude on one side, zeal for liberty on the other: whatever was disinterested pleased him; the cause of all the oppressed seemed just to him; and this generosity was heightened by his perfect negligence of his own life. Not that he was altogether unhappy, but his mind was so contrasted with general society, that the pain he had daily felt there detached him from it entirely. I was so fortunate as to interest him; he sought to vanquish my natural reserve; and, for this purpose, embellished our friendship by little artifices perfectly romantic: he knew of no obstacles to his doing a great service or a slight favor: he designed to settle for six months of the year in England, to be near me; and I could hardly prevent his sharing with me the whole of his possessions. 'I have but a sister,' he said, 'married richly, so I am free to do what I please with my fortune. Besides, this revolution will turn out ill, and I may be killed; let me then enjoy what I have in looking on it as yours,' Alas! the noble Raimond but too well foresaw his destiny.
"When man is capable of self-knowledge, he is rarely deceived as to his own fate; and presentiment is oft but judgment in disguise. Sincere even to imprudence, Raimond 'wore his heart upon his sleeve:' such a character was new to me; in England, the treasures of the mind are not thus exposed; we have even a habit of doubting those who display them; but the expansive bounty of my friend afforded me enjoyments at once ready and secure. I had no suspicion of his qualities, even though I knew them all at our first meeting. I felt no timidity with him; nay, what was better, he put me at ease with myself. Such was the amiable Frenchman for whom I felt the friendship of a brother in arms, which we experience but in youth, ere we acquire one sentiment of rivalry—ere the unreturning wheels of time have furrowed the partitions betwixt the present and the future.
"One day Count Raimond said to me: 'My sister is a widow. I confess, I am not sorry for it. I never liked the match. She accepted the hand of a dying old man, when we were both of us poor; for what I have has but lately been bequeathed to me. Yet, at the time, I opposed this union as much as possible. I would have no mercenary calculations prompt our acts, least of all the most important one of life; still, she has behaved in an exemplary manner to the husband she never loved: that is nothing in the eyes of the world. Now that she is free, she will return to my abode. You will see her: she is very pleasing in the main, and you English like to make discoveries; for my part, I love to read all in the face at once. Yet your manner, dear Oswald, never vexes me; but from that of my sister I feel a slight restraint.'
"Madame d'Arbigny arrived; I was presented to her. In features she resembled her brother, and even in voice; but in both there was a more retiring caution: her countenance was very agreeable, her figure all grace and faultless elegance. She said not a word that was unbecoming; failed in no species of attention; and, without exaggerated politeness, flattered self-love by an address which showed with what she was pleased, but never committed her. She expressed herself, on tender subjects, as if seeking to hide the feelings of her heart. This so reminded me of my own countrywomen, that I was attracted by it; methought, indeed, that she too often betrayed what she pretended to conceal, and that chance did not afford so many occasions for melting moments as she passed off for involuntary. This reflection, however, flitted but lightly over my mind; for what I felt beside her was both novel and delightful. I had never been flattered by any one. In England, we feel both love and friendship deeply; yet the art of insinuating ourselves into favor by bribing the vanity of others is little known. Madame d'Arbigny hung on my every word I do not think that she guessed all I might become; but she revealed me to myself by a thousand minute observations, the discernment of which amazed me. Sometimes I thought her voice and language too studiously sweet; but her resemblance to the frankest of men banished these notions, and bound me to confide in her. One day I mentioned to him the effect this likeness had on me. He thanked me; then, after a moment's pause, said: 'Yet our characters are not congenial.' He was silent; but these words, and many other circumstances, have since convinced me that he did not wish to see his sister my wife: that she designed to be so, I detected not for awhile. My days glided on without a care: she was always of my opinion. If I began a subject, she agreed with it, ere explained; yet, with all this meekness, her power over my actions was most despotic: she had a way of saying, 'Surely, you intend to do so and so;' or, 'You certainly cannot think of such a step as that.' I feared that I should lose her esteem by disappointing her expectations. Yet, Corinne, believe me—for I thought so ere I met you—it was not love I felt. I had never told her that I loved her, and was not sure whether such a daughter-in-law would suit my father; he had not anticipated my marrying a Frenchwoman, and I could do nothing without his consent. My silence, I believe, displeased the lady; for she had now and then fits of ill-temper—she called them low spirits, and attributed them to very affecting causes, though her countenance, if for a moment off her guard, wore a most irritated aspect. I fancied that these little inequalities might arise from our intercourse, with which I was not satisfied myself; for it does one more harm to love by halves than to love with all one's heart.
"Raimond and I never spoke of his sister: it was the first constraint that subsisted between us: but Madame d'Arbigny had conjured me not to make her the theme of my conversations with her brother; and, seeing me astonished at this request, added: 'I know not if you think with me, but I can endure no third person, not even an intimate friend, to interfere with my regard for another. I love the secrecy of affection.' The explanation pleased me, and I obeyed. At this time a letter arrived from my father, recalling me to Scotland. The half year had rolled by; France was everyday more disturbed; and he deemed it unsafe for a foreigner to remain there. This pained me much, though I felt its justice. I longed to see him again, yet could not tear myself from the Count and Madame d'Arbigny without regret. I sought her instantly, showed her the letter, and, while she read it, was too absorbed by sadness to mark the impression it made. I was merely sensible that she said something to secure my delay; bade me write word that I was ill, and so tack away from my father's commands. I remember that was the phrase she used. I was about to reply that my departure was fixed for the morrow, when Raimond entered the room, and, hearing the state of the case, declared, with the utmost promptitude, that I ought to obey my parent without hesitation. I was struck by this rapid decision, expecting to have been pressed to stay. I would have resisted my own reluctance, but I did not like to have my purposed triumph talked of as a matter of course. For a moment I misinterpreted my friend: he perceived it, and took my hand, saying: 'In three months I shall visit England; why, then, should I keep you here? I have my reasons,' he added, in a whisper; but his sister heard him, and said, hastily, that he was right, that no Englishman ought to be involved in the dangers of the revolution. I now know it was not to such peril that the Count alluded; but he neither contradicted nor confirmed her explanation. I was going, and he did not think it necessary to tell more. 'If I could be useful to my native land, I should stay here,' he said; 'but you see it is no longer France; the principles for which I loved it are destroyed. I may regret this soil, but shall regain my country when I breathe the same air with you.'
"How was I moved by this touching assurance of true friendship! How far above his sister ranked Count Raimond at that moment in my heart. She guessed it; and the same evening appeared in quite a new character. Some guests arrived; she did the honors admirably; spoke of my departure as if it were in her eyes the most uninteresting occurrence. I had previously remarked, that she set a price on her preference, which prevented her ever letting others witness the favor she accorded me: but now this was too much. I was so hurt by her indifference, that I resolved to take leave before the party, and not remain alone with her one instant. She heard me ask her brother to let me see him in the morning, ere I started; and, coming to us, told me aloud that she must charge me with a letter for a friend of hers in England; then added, hastily, and in a low voice, 'You regret—you speak but to my brother: would you break my heart, by flying thus?' In an instant she stepped back, and reseated herself among her visitants. I was agitated by her words, and should have stayed as she desired, but that Raimond, taking my arm, led me to his own room. When the company had dispersed, we suddenly heard strange sounds from Madame d'Arbigny's apartment: he took no notice of them; but I forced him to ascertain their cause. We were told that she was very ill. I would have flown to her: but the Count obstinately forbade. 'Let us have no scene!' he said; 'in these affairs, women are best left to themselves.' I could not comprehend this want of feeling for a sister, so contrasted with his invariable kindness to me; and I left him in an embarassment which somewhat chilled my farewell. Ah! had I known the delicacy which would fain have baffled the captivations of a woman he did not believe formed to make me happy, could I have foreseen the events which were to separate us forever, my adieu would have better satisfied his soul and mine own."