1912
ARTES
SCIENTIA
VERITAS
LIBRARY
OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN ||
TUEBOR
SI QUE RIS-PENINSULAM-AMCENAM
CIRCUMSPICE
AUROJ
A 511688

DO
.
TA
ил
новка
{
Continental Adventures.
1
Eaton, ders. Chartete Anne (Waldie)
CONTINENTAL
Adventures.
A NOVEL.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
Adeste sultis, præda erit præsentium,
Logos ridiculos vendo.
PLAUTUS.
VOLUME III.
BOSTON:
WELLS AND LILLY......COURT-STREET.
1826.
English
Friedman
4-8-46
55038
groue, a
CHAPTER XXXVII.
THE VALAIS.
O’er Gallia's sunny bounds,
O'er the cloud piercing Alps-beyond
The Vale of Arno purpled with the vine,
Beyond the Umbrian and Etruscan hills
To Latium's wide domain, forlorn and waste,
Where yellow 'Tiber his neglected wave
Mournfully rolls.
Dyer's Ruins of Rome.
The course of our history must now return to
the progress of Colonel and Mrs. Cleveland, and
Miss St. Clair ; and in conformity to our natural
and habitual modesty, we shall insert that young
lady's account in preference to our own, of her
life, travels, and notable adventures.
LETTER XXXVI.
CAROLINE ST. CLAIR TO MRS. BALCARRIS.
Back to Martigny-for the third, and, as I
fervently hope, the last time, did we retrace our
weary way. From thence, instead of scaling as
before, the mountain path on the right, to the
convent of the Great St. Bernardor on the
1
VOL. III.
2
THE VALAIS.
left, over the Col de Balme or Tête Noire, to
the romantic Vale of Chamouni, we pursued the
way straight before us up the Valais-so called,
par excellence, from being the longest, broadest,
and most consequential,-or, as a Frenchman
this morning assured me, the most respectable of
all the valleys of Switzerland the valley of its
greatest river, the Rhone.-- Though only about
,
-
seventy English miles from Martigny to Brieg,
which is at the head of the Valais and the foot
of the Simplon, it takes two days to accomplish
this journey; so leisurely do people travel, even
in the low vallies and highways, in this quiet
country
It would be easy to make a flourishing des-
cription of the beautiful-the romantic--the
grand—and the sublime--scenery of the Valais;
-of the majestic Rhone, rolling down his broad
rapid tide, between two lofty chains of the
mighty Alps, through a valley of the most en-
chanting verdure; with rejoicing vineyards,
smiling villages, laughing harvests, and pictu-
resque cottages--intermingled with romantic
towers, and convents, and hermitages, &c. &c.
&c. perched on the jutting rocks--far above
where the swallow wings her summer flight.
Nay, hundreds of such descriptions have actual-
ly been written ;-the only objection that can
be made to them is, that they are particularly
tiresome, and not exactly true. Literally, per-
haps, all these objects may be found, but there
is far less of the beautiful, the sublime, or even
of the pleasing, in the scenery of the Valais,
than could be expected from the fine objects of
which it is composed. The most grand and ro-
mantic scenes in nature consist only of rocks,
1
THE VALAIS.
3
and rivers, and woods, and precipices, and wa-
terfalls, and mountains, and vallies, and caves,
and cottages,--and all these are to be found in
the Valais
: yet the general effect produced af-
ter all, is that of monotony, and of an indescrib-
able dreariness, which seems to pervade every
object. Even the sunshine of the Valais is sad.
Beating on the naked rocks and parched soil on
the sides of the hills, and exhaling unwholesome
vapours and malaria from the marshy bottom
which wears the dull rank hue of an intisible
green, --I longed for clouds to break the still
sameness of the hateful glare, and looked in vain
for the refreshing sight of trees, or shrubs, or
shade, or shelter. The air of poverty, and neg-
lect, and depopulation,--the multitude of cre-
tins and goitres—the diseased and heartless look
of the people—the dirt of their wretched habita-
tions, and the miserable cultivation of the coun-
try,--no doubt, are moral causes, more powerful
than any physical ones, of the melancholy im-
pression made by the Valais. But the scene
itself I felt to be dreary. The Rhone, though a
large, is not a beautiful river, and sometimes its
bed oozed through a marsh--sometimes spread-
ing far and wide, it left vast heaps and islands of
bare slimy whitened shingle. It is true that it
flows down its valley between two ranges of the
high Alps, which seem as if drawn up in long
files to guard and grace the progress of this
princely stream ;--but unlike "Chamouni and
many other of the Swiss vales, where these
mighty mountains rise directly from the vale,
and are seen down to their very base --lower
and most dismal-looking heights immediately
fank the Valais, above which the heads only of
THE VALAIS.
these giants of earth,' tantalize the longing
view. I do suppose, however, I should have
admired the Valais very much, had it not been
the last--and least admirable--part of Switzer-
land that I had seen; and seen too, under
pecu-
liar disadvantages.
We passed beneath some very remarkable
rocks, called the Diablerets, near a place called
St. Pierre, and through several villages, but saw
nothing very remarkable till we reached Sion-
a very curious old place, and extremely pictu-
resque. Its antiquity is high; for, not satisfied
with having been, under the name of Sedunum-
a principal station and strong hold of the Romans,
from their first conquest of Helvetia,—which
is indisputable ;--it aspires to have been a great
city long before their day. In this our day, how-
ever, it is a very little city indeed, -as I obsery-
ed to an old Jesuit whom we met on the height
of the castle, when he told us some incredible
stories of its anti-Roman grandeur. In all pos-
sibility it was a village or sort of little town be-
fore the Romans made it their high fortress of
command; but that a populous or splendid city
---such as the old Jesuit described, ever existed
among an uncivilized people, in a wild Alpine
valley, it requires the faith of a Jesuit to credit.
Sion, built upon a lofty height, is backed by
still loftier mountains. It has three castles, one
higher than another, which, with the antique
walls and gates, and towers, and cathedral, and
churches, have a very striking and venerable
appearance; though they seem ridiculously out of
proportion to the importance of the place. These
gloomy Chateaux have more of the imposing ef-
fect of a Feudal Castle than any I have seen,
а
THE VALAIS.
5
>
The old Bishop of Séon still maintains here his
ancient, and now peaceable seat; but alas! no
chivalrous Knights or armed Barons, now grace
his deserted court. His feudal reign is at an
end; and his kingdom is certainly now not of
this world. I cast a wistful look towards the
picturesque and most inviting ruins of the Castle
of Sion, standing upon a high rock, from the top
of which, in days of old, the ruthless Baron hurl-
ed his unfortunate uncle, for no other crime
than the wish to set bounds to his tyranny. As-
suredly if the sun had not been sinking fast, I
should have set off to have visited them; an ad-
venturous and break-neck excursion at noon-
day, they say,--and not to be attempted in the
dark, even by me.
I equally longed to climb up to a most extraor-
dinary looking, and seemingly inaccessible chapel
and hermitage--inhabited too by a real live
Hermit-cut in the solid rock, on the opposite
side of the valley, and looking exactly as if it
was plaistered against the precipice. Having an
unlucky idea imbibed, I dare say in common
with all the world, from Le Sage,-that a her-
mit must of necessity be a rogue, I asked the
fat hooded capuchin who was relating to us
the pious and marvellous—but somewhat long-
winded history of this hermit and hermitage,-
whether this said hermit, who now occupied it,
resembled in his life and conversation the fa-
mous hermit of Gil Blas? The good old soul,
conceiving, I suppose, that Gil Blas must be
one of the Fathers of the Church, and that he
ought to know him, said with great zeal, that
this hermit was really deserving of the same
1*
a
6
VOL. III.
6
THE VALAIS.
renown, and perfectly resembled that remarka-
ble man !
We were shewn, just as it was getting too
dark to decypher any thing—a Roman inscrip-
tion, supposed to be of the time of Augustus ;
and my friend the Jesuit; notwithstanding my
want of politeness in laughing at his stories
about the ante-Roman magnificence of Sion-
introduced us to a collection of medals and
other antiques, dug up here, some of which
were, and some of which were not, worth look-
ing at. Further into the Valais than Sion, the
Romans never permanently penetrated. It was
their last station ; for they found it expedient
-like the fox and the grapes—to discover that
the barbarians beyond it were not worth con-
quering. To guard their own conquests against
these same despised barbarians, they drew a
strong wall of demarcation across the valley,
near Brieg, at the foot of the Simplon, just as
they were obliged to do across both Northum-
berland and Scotland, to keep out our bold
countrymen of old. Nothing amused me more
than the still monotony of this little old town,
which looked as if all the people in it had been
doing exactly the same thing from morning till
night, for the last hundred years at least. Be-
low Sion, the Valais is called Le Bas Valais-
and above it, Le Haut Valais. Now Le Haut
Valais is much superior to Le Bas Valais-and
as we left it behind us, its miserable French
Patois, its dirt, its poverty, its knavery, and its
population of Goitres and Cretins, gradually
disappeared, and clean honest looking faces and
old German speeches, saluted our eyes and our
ears.
THE VALAIS.
2
Difference of language generally marks a
difference of people, and the · Haut Valaisians
certainly seem a very different race to the
· Bas;' nearly as ignorant and superstitious,
perhaps, but very superior in moral qualities.
They are reputed honest, and have proved
themselves brave. Never should the heroic re-
sistance be forgotten, which they made against
the tyranny of the French ;* who, by the aid
of the Austrians, at last crushed their desperate
efforts, and laid waste the whole country with
fire and sword ; burning their houses and har-
vests, murdering their wives and children, and
hundreds of inoffensive Cretins, in cold blood,
and leaving the houseless wretched survivors
without food or shelter, to perish by famine un-
der the storms of winter.
The peasants all seem kindly disposed be-
ings. Not one of them passed us without doff-
ing his hat and saluting us with his rustic bow
and smile. But such a set of fat flabby faces
and waddling ungainly figures, as both men
and women exhibit in the Valais, did I never
behold! Yet these are the people about whose
beauty and native grace Rousseau makes such
a phrase! To be sure, from one end of the
Valais to the other, they are about the ugliest
race I ever beheld ; though in the Haut Valais
they are not so hideous as in the Bas Valais,
where we scarcely passed a woman without that.
most disgusting of human deformities, an enor-
mous goitre-which was always carefully dis-
played as if it were the most prized mark of
Valaisian beauty; and at almost every door we
* In 1798 and 1799.
8
THE VALAIS.
beheld one or two. Cretins, leering at us with
the hideous grimace or vacant stare of hopeless
idiocy. That Goitres and Cretinism are entire-
ly independent of the use of snow-water, is un-
questionably proved, by the fact that, in many
parts of Switzerland, upon mountains covered
with eternal snow, and at such an elevation
from the sea that snow-water alone is to be
had, these scourges of the Alps are wholly un-
known ; and also that they exist in many parts
both of the old and new world, where there is
no snow. They are now universally supposed
to arise from the stagnated air and marshy efflu-
via of deep narrow Alpine vallies ; and conse-
quently in many of the lateral glens which open
from the Valais into the mountains, , they are
said to be even more universal than in the Va-
lais itself.
Did you never, in passing along a road, long
to strike up the tempting looking bye-paths
that diverged from it, especially if they led up
amongst woodlands or forest scenery-where
the busy fancy peoples the unseen walk with
all its witchery? Just so I longed to explore
every glen which opening its deep defile from
the Valais, and winding up into the heart of the
Alps, gave us a tantalizing glance of its wild
romantic aspect as we drove along. But above
all did I long to wander up that terrific gorge
on the left, that leads to the Gemmi, the round
snowy head of which, nearly thirteen thousand
feet in height, we beheld far above the nearer
mountains. In a few hours we should have
been at the Lake of Thun, which, by any other
road, is five long Swiss days journeys ! The ex-
taordinary ascent and descent of this moun-
THE VALAIS.
9
tain, by means of steps cut in the solid rock,
in zig zag traverses on the bare face of the pre-
cipice, is said to require a true Swiss head to
accomplish. You would not expect to find a
fashionable watering-place up such a savage
gorge as this ?-And yet here are the baths of
Leuk, where I am told ladies and gentlemen
are so sociable as to sit together in the same
bath, attired in flannel caps and gowns, with
little tables between them, on which float their
coffee and cribbage. To me, who have seen
a great deal of what we should call prudish re-
serve and restraint in the manners of the Swiss
women to the men--this seems perfectly incom-
prehensible-yet so it is.
At the village of Visp, we caught a view on
the right down the valley of Saassenthal, of the
stupendous summit of Monte Rosa, nearly four-
teen thousand feet in height. So altered is the
climate in these higher regions, that while
even thirty miles down the Valais, the stubble
fields were bare, and the vineyards gay with
ripening clusters ----here even the corn
green, and the hay still standing out on the
cold looking fielding in the month of October.
All the cloaks and muffs the carriage produced,
were insufficient to protect us from the pierc-
ing air. Yesterday we were walking beneath
the oppressive sun-beams, as if it had been
July; to-day we were shuddering in the wintry
wind, as if it were Christmas. The hills, which
rose immediately on either side of us, were
now composed of dark rocks, and overgrown
with the barberry, the juniper, and plants that
love a northern sky. Forests of gigantic pine-
trees clothed their sides, through which the
was
10
THE VALAIS.
Rhone rushes down with immense rapidity.
Still, however, the land was often marshy, the
road in many parts bad, and we sometimes rode
nearly up to the hind wheels in water, which
we observed was filled with innumerable black
leeches,
Beyond Visp, we passed the vestiges of the
ancient Roman wall, called Murus Viberius,
built to restrain the inroads of the Viberi-
then the unconquered inhabitants of the head
of the wild and wide Valais, and of the neigh-
bouring Alps. We saw considerably more
striking remains of it afterwards, in our last
Swiss walk which we took from Brieg, to visit
the hot springs and baths of Naters, on the
opposite side of the Rhone. The accomoda-
TI
tions for the unlucky bathers to undergo their
dip are abundantly wretched, and there are no
lodging-houses or hotels for their residence.
Though expressly for the use of the lame and
infirm, patients are obliged, perforce, to be trans-
ported backwards and forwards from Brieg,
through Alpine air and roads, after coming out
of the hot water! They manage these matters
better in England. Another thing, unlike Eng-
land, is, that Brieg, where the Simplon travel-
lers sleep, is a quarter of a league from the high
road, and at Glis, the village upon the road at
the foot of the mountain, there is no decent inn
-only a sort of Cabaret.
In our lonely ramble, we came upon the ruins
of an ancient castle, which we learnt was called
the Chateau de Flue, once the residence of the
powerful family of Vonder Flue—the rivals, and
at last the victims of the Bishops of Sion. The
tomb of the last proud Chieftain of that race,
THE VALAIS.
11
and his twenty-three children, all of whom, we
were told, fell in the same battle against the
warlike prelate, is still to be seen in the church
of the neighbouring little village of Glis.
In the Valais, both near Brieg and at Sierre,
where we had stopped to breakfast, we went in-
to many of the cottages, and were universally
received by the kind peasants with the utmost
cordiality and rustic courtesy.
But the abo-
minable dirt and wretched poverty of these
abodes, in which Rousseau has represented St.
Preux as enjoying scenes of such overflowing
plenty, and perfect domestic bliss, formed a tru-
ly ridiculous contrast with his elegant descrip-
tions. In fact, if Rousseau had imagined that a
great high road, traversed by all Europe, would
ever have passed through the Haut Valais, he
would never have made it the scene of his affect-
ed sentimentality. But as it was, at that time,
a spot of complete seclusion, and as Frenchmen
then never travelled, except when and where
they were obliged to take 6 une voyage,'—an ope-
ration which is to this day with them consider-
ed as replete with difficulty, hardship, labour,
and vast importance, even on the most beaten
track -- he thought he might, very safely, say
what he pleased of it; assured that the good
people of Paris, for whose admiration he com-
posed this Arcadian picture, would no more set
out on a journey to 'Le Haut Valais'--than to
the moon.
Certainly the French are the worst travellers
in the world. Far from making it their aim to
observe accurately, and describe correctly, what
they actually see and hear, their grand object is
to produce effect, to be frappant-no matter
6
6
6
12
THE VALAIS.
how they falsify real facts. They distort every
occurrence with their fictitious sentiment, and
dress up every scene with their flowery descrip-
tions ;--and the consequence is, that their tra-
vels present any thing rather than a correct pic-
ture of the countries they describe, and are
characterised by excessive exaggeration and af-
fectation ;-and a total absence of truth and na-
ture. *
In the pocket of our carriage lies a tour by
some Frenchman up the Valais, which has
thrown us into fits of laughter all the way, at its
affected sentiment, overcharged descriptions,
and multiplied absurdities. Truly risible also is
his terrific account of the horrors' and dan-
gers' he encountered in crossing the Simplon,
which he performed, comfortably seated all the
while in a snug corner of the Diligence de Mi-
lan, and from which he could only occasionally
have obtained even a peep of the horrors,' by
bringing forward his night-capped head to the
little side window of the ponderous vehicle. In
fact, the poor little Frenchman may say what he
will; but not only the horrors,' and dangers,
and “terrors,' but all the romance and adventure,
and interest, of passing the Alps, are totally de-
stroyed by the high road over the Simplon. In
* It would seem, indeed, that the glory of having
been where others have not, and seen what may make
the untravelled stare---rather than the real objects of
travel, is the surest spur even to their Scavans---for M.
le Compte de Forbin tells us, in his travels in Egypt,
that he was so annoyed and discomposed at seeing an
English lady’s-maid, with a green parasol and silk spen-
cer walking about at Old Cairo, that he thought it was
no kind of use going any further---as she was going
on into Nubia! M. le Comte therefore turned back.
6
9
6
THE SIMPLON.
13
3
6
former times, when, instead of this grande
route'-nothing but a simple mule road crossed
this Alp, its passage might have been something
of an exploit; but now it is quite as smooth and
easy an affair, as going up Highgate Hill ;--and
horrors' are quite as misplaced in one case
as in the other. I do not say this in the least in
lamentation ; on the contrary, I think, as Buona-
parte said about demolishing Rousseau's rocks
at Meillierie, that the route vaut bien les sou-
venirs —and that a capital high road is a much
more valuable thing than horrors.' But cer-
tainly those who wish to see the Alps in their
'horrors,' must ascend the pass of the Grimsel,
or cross the Furca in a storm ;--and not take a
morning's drive over Mount Cenis or the Simp-
lon. The same horses actually conducted us
the whole way, travelling ten hours from Brieg
to Duomo d'Ossola, over the Alps, with only one
rest at the village of Simplon, on the top of the
pass, where we dined. We reached Duomo
d'Ossola by six o'clock. Three people, who
were travelling after us in a four-wheeled car-
riage,-a calèche-were actually drawn by a
single pair of horses, in about the same time,
without once getting out of their carriage.
Few things have ever given me more delight
than crossing the Simplon. Seated with Colo-
nel Cleveland on the high barouche box, we en-
joyed, in perfect safety, a commanding view of
the sublime scenery of the pass. Of course
you know, that like all the other passages of
the Alps, the road is not carried up the face of
the mountain, but through one of the numerous
deep precipitous ravines, or Cols, as they are
called, generally formed by the course of a tor-
2
>
VOL. III.
14
THE SIMPLON.
rent, which, like cracks in their sides, intersect
them in every part; and that when you reach
the top of the pass, you are not at the top of
the Alps ; but on the contrary, on either side
still surrounded by far higher and probably in-
accessible mountains. Another torrent, which
from the height of the pass or col, rushes down
the other side of the Alp, conducts you down
into Italy. The torrent on the Swiss side of the
Simplon is called the Saltine; that on the Ita-
lian side, the Dovedro. So broad and excellent
is the road, and so gentle its ascent, as it winds
round the jutting sides of the rocks, that al-
though from our elevated position we seemed to
be hanging in air over the immensity of the
dark precipice below, we felt not the smallest
sensation of fear or giddiness. On every side, tre-
mendous torrents bursting from the mountains,
whose snowy summits are lost in the stormy
clouds, foam down the precipices, and fall into
the deep ravine beneath, at whose bottom the
thunder of the river is heard, though from
its immense depth, the eye vainly seeks to
trace it;—and from the summit of the cliffs
by the road side, immediately above our head,
descend raging cataracts, which are conduct-
ed below the road, again issue forth, and
tumble headlong with deafening roar down
the dark fir clad sides of the precipice into
the gulph beneath ;-their track marked with
devastation; trunks of ancient trees and vast
fragments of rock, lie strewed beside their
furious course. Once we passed through an
avalanche higher than the carriage, and still
unmelted, which had fallen in April last,--and
through which the road was cut.. On this side
of the Simplon, avalanches in spring, and even
THE SIMPLON.
15
in summer, are frequent and dangerous-and it
is chiefly to shelter and receive the traveller de-
layed by them, that seven houses of refuge are
built on the ascent, each at an hour's journey
from the other, which are inhabited by the peo-
ple who survey and repair the road. They are
furnished with fuel, beds, and provisions. "Tra-
vellers early in spring, are sometimes stopped
nine or ten days in these abodes. There are
only three houses of refuge on the Italian side,
where avalanches of snow rarely occur; though
avalanches of rock-if I may use such an expres-
sion-frequently render the road impassable on
that side. But I am sure you have often heard
enough and too much of the road over the Sim-
plon;
of its ten houses of refuge, and ten galle-
ries cut through the solid rock, and twenty-two
bridges, and all its marvels--so that I will spare
you any further description of them.
Admirable as the road is, however, there is
perhaps nothing so good but what might have
been better. We noticed that the water, which
falls and drips constantly from the precipice on
the mountain side of the road, had no proper
channel to carry it off, so that it overspreads the
road, which must be a source of constant dilapi-
dation. The descent of the road being so rapid,
nothing more seemed requisite than making a
deep channel along the base of the precipice,
and keeping it clear of the stones which might
fall, to allow the water to drain off. An engi-
neer whom we saw employed in directing the
repairs of the road, also told us, that from the
extreme rapidity with which it was ordered by
Napoleon to be completed, the foundation had
been imperfectly laid, and was too slight ;-
ومت
16
THE SIMPLON.
defect which, if real, must prove equally irreme-
diable and destructive. He told us that the an-
nual repairs of the road would average at least
one hundred thousand livres.
The views, as we turned our eyes behind us
in ascending, were extremely striking and vari-
ed--the mighty Alps of Switzerland, which we
had left, rising in higher and higher majesty ;
and the Valais growing smaller and smaller,-
till at last it looked so ridiculously little, that
we could have fancied it was a tiny coloured
map, drawn to please a child; and it looked,
though at an immense depth, so immediately
below us, that we almost fancied, if we took a
jump, we should alight in its little square green
fields. Near the summit, we passed six gla-
ciers, with their blue pyramids of ice, and soon
left the precipices hung with dark pine, and
even the pensile birch, for regions of utter deso-
lation. The Old Hospice, a small humble
building that for ages has sheltered the poor
wandering traveller, is a branch of that of St.
Bernard, and is kept up to this day by the ac-
tive charity of these good brethren ;-for the
neighbouring proud ambitious erection, design-
ed by Napoleon, is still, and probably ever will
continue, unfinished.
At Simpeln, or Simplon, near the summit of
the pass, and said to be the highest situated vil-
lage in the Old World, we found a very com-
fortable inn, got an excellent dinner, and made
a blazing wood fire.
I was extremely disappointed at the summit
of the pass, to find that I could not look down
into Italy, as Hannibal did of old--and many
other modern travellers say they have done, and
as I fully expected to do. But no such thing is
THE SIMPLON.
'17
а
to be done-no Italy appears. From the wind-
ing nature of the ravine, or valley of descent,
the intervening mountain heights exclude it
from view. The road, in descending, lies very
near the bed of the wild and romantic Dovedro
-and the scenery, the whole way on the Italian
descent, is incomparably finer than on the Swiss
side of the mountain. I could not have con-
ceived the possibility of such a union of the sub-
lime and the beautiful, as it displays. Much
did we regret the rapidity with which we de-
scended through it. But who can describe the
effect of our arrival at Duomo D'Ossola-of the
luxuriant richness and beauty of the country,
teeming with wine, and oil, and corn, and fruits,
and Howers ;-resounding with the joy of the
vintage; overflowing with population; covered
with villas, and villages, and poderes, and espe-
cially with churches; every living thing beam-
ing beneath the bright blue sky, sporting in the
soft summer air, and melting beneath the fervid
sun-beams? Who can describe the effect of the
changed appearance of every object-of the
whole face of nature and the human face divine ?
Who can describe the effect of the first
view of Italy? It is like a new existence-
another world! Yes! Italy—Italy is before us!
We are standing on its rich and glorious plains !
Three hours have sufficed to transport us from
the regions of eternal ice and snow, and the
wild deserts of a polar region, to the climes of
the sun, the garden of the world, the land of
beauty and luxuriance, and seduction ;--of clas-
sic remembrance, of taste, of imagination, and
of song ;-of all that can captivate the senses,
or charm the soul !
2*
VOL. III.
18
ITALY.
But I must be reasonable--and this letter is
wholly unreasonable-like most of my epistles.
--So adieu.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
ITALY.
In lieto aspetto il bel giardin’ s'aperse
Acque stagnanti, mobili, cristalli
Fior'vari, e varie piante, herbe diverse,
Apriche collinette, ombrose valle',
Selve, espelunche in una vista offerse,
Tusso, Canlo 16, Stanza 2.
LETTER XXXVII.
CAROLINE ST. CLAIR TO MRS. BALCAPRIS.
I awoke in Italy! It seems like a dream-the
--
dream of my fond fancy and longing hopes re-
alised! Can it indeed be! Am I really in Ita-
ly,—that Queen of the Earth, that favoured
daughter of nature, adorned with her choicest
gifts, crowned with the spoils of all ages and na-
tions--to whom the arts, the sciences, and the
graces, offered their earliest trophies and their
latest fruits ;--beneath whose favouring smile
sculpture, painting, poetry, and music, in an-
cient times, reached their full maturity; and
having slumbered in their chrysalis state through
the winter of the dark ages, again burst forth in
ITALY.
19
the second spring of morn, in renewed and
youthful existence.
I am wild with delight--but I must restrain
some of my transports--and all my descrip-
tions; for although at your particular desire-
(of which, perchance, you did many times re-
pent)-I gave you a most full and minute ac-
count of my travels in Switzerland, because it
was a country little known to you ;-yet as you
have read hundreds of tours in Italy, and will
read hundreds more, I will spare you any detail
of mine; except of what you will find in no
book, though it will be infinitely more interest-
ing to you than all books—my own little adven-
tures and sage remarks.
The first impression of the people is not very
prepossessing. In person, indeed, their forms
and features are fine, and their dark eyes have
a power of expression which would command
your high interest and admiration, if their coun-
tenances were betier. But the expression of
immorality and uncontroulled passions written
there, and the disgusting dirt and contempt of
decency their persons exhibit, are antidotes to
their personal charms. Their indolence and in-
activity, to an English eye, are also peculiarly
striking. The Dolce far niente seems the grand
enjoyment of all ranks, from the prince to the
beggar. Your life is made miserable with beg-
gars wherever you go. You are beset with
troops of them, covered with filth, and clad in
the most wretched rags, who whine out continu-
ally-Carità, Signora, per l'amore di Dio,'-
and if you do not comply—too often change
their blessings into curses. A labourer at his
work will throw down his spade to ask you for
20
ITALY.
money. Dig they won't ;—to beg they certain-
ly are not ashamed. Our communion with the
people, generally, so far, has not been very
agreeable. Without any of the winning polite-
ness of the French, or honest boorishness of the
Swiss, their manners are harsh and uncourteous
-and even have a sort of defiance about them
-and an ill will, which is peculiarly grating.
They inspire no confidence. You cannot help
feeling-not one of these people would stretch
out their hand to save your life. Even the ser-
vants, and peasantry, and innkeepers, and pos-
tillions, and boatmen, whom we have met with
to-day, and whose object it must naturally be to
conciliate,-either have a cringing servility, or
a surly compulsory mode of extortion, which is
wholly unbearable. The difficulty of satisfying
their demands, their abusive violence when un-
satisfied, and their determined system of gross
imposition, are peculiarly provoking. If this
were to last throughout our journey, I should be
tempted to say of the whole country what the
Italians say of its most beautiful part-that 'Ita-
ly is a paradise inhabited by demons. But we
must hope that the demons only inhabit its ex-
tremities—the foot of the Alps and the shores of
Naples. We shall find angels in the middle of it,
I make no doubt—and paradise is every where.
There is a luxuriance of life in Italy, which
breathes and floats around you, and inspires a
feeling wholly unimaginable, if you have not
experienced it. You seem placed in the very
garden of nature, amidst inexhaustible redun-
dance and unsatiating pleasures.
Earth and
air, and heaven itself, seem dressed in smiles.
Every thing breathes of joy, and laughs in
1
ITALI
21
your veins.
beauty. You cannot speak the transport that
swells in your own bosom, and dances through
It is worth while to come to Italy
to feel the delicious sensations with which the
mere consciousness of existence and the sight
of nature, fill the heart.
We journeyed along by the beautiful shores
of the Lago Maggiore, admiring the variety of
new productions that met our astonished sight;
—the fields of ripened maize, the vines twining
their luxuriant branches loaded with rich clus-
ters, round the supporting poplar,—the spread-
ing fig-tree, covered with its bursting fruit,-
the lofty chesnuts, dropping their large kernels,
-nay, even the rich pomegranate, flourishing
in the open air. From the woody hills and jut-
ting promontories which rose from the calm wa-
ters of the lake, we turned our eyes back to the
long line of mighty Alps, rising from the rich
platform of the plains of Lombardy, and tower-
ing into the blue heavens with unspeakable
majesty ;-and such was the splendour and the
novelty of the scene—that we really could not
find words to speak to each other our delight
and admiration.
With anticipations raised to the highest pitch,
we embarked on the lake, and rowed to the
far-famed Isola Bella, which we expected was
to prove a paradise of natural beauty ; but
alas !--there is nothing natural in it-nor any
beauty, that we could discover. This mis-nam-
ed Isola Bella' is a little formally shaped spot,
entirely composed of terraces built one above
another, like steps, at regular distances, till you
arrive at the house on the top, which forms its
apex. It is exactly like a pyramid of pastry in
-
22
ITALY
參
​on
6
an old fashioned second course, dished
up
the water instead of a table-cloth.
It is one hundred and fifty years, they told
us, since this island was built-a very proper
expression; for it is to the mason that it owes its
form and appearance-not to nature. It looked
ugly as we approached it, and
ten-fold more ug-
ly when we landed upon it. The house is ugly,
the grounds and gardens ugly, the statues ugly,
the stone walls ugly, the regular steps of ter-
races ugly, and every thing, except the flowers,
ugly. It is marvellous to me, in this land of
taste, to see such a monument of bad taste.
We went through the house, which is most
comfortless. The furniture old,—as usual, all
pinned against the wall, and utterly useless.
There was no chair that you could move, no
sofa
you could rest upon, no table you could
employ yourself upon, no books that you could
,
read, no instrument that you could play upon;
and, in short, nothing in the world that you
could find to do. There is not even a billiard
table, nor a chess-board-nor any little inno-
cent game to break the tedium of existence. If
sent there for life, you must perforce be doomed
to look at yourself from morning till night, in
the old fashioned looking glasses, or gape out
of the window. Yet the noble family to whom
it belongs have been residing here, and have
only recently left it. I could not resist asking
the old servant who shewed it to us What
the ladies did with themselves when they were
here?
He marvelled at the question. "What did
they do?' he repeated. "Ladies have nothing to
do--they do nothing. They eat and they drink,
6
ITALY.
23
2
6
and they make their toilette, and they talk to
the company, and they look out at the · Bella
Veduta,' and sometimes'—(how laborious !)---
- they take a stroll in the garden.'
Times are changed since the three noble sis-
ters of the house of Borromeo inhabited this
villa. Clelia, one of the first scholars and
brightest minds of her age, founded an acade-
my. Teresa was a celebrated poetess; and the
.
youngest wrote several works in Latin. Now,
there is not only no library but no book, and no
place in which you could put a book. Mrs.
Plait, who heard us talk about the want of
books, observed to Colonel Cleveland's valet-
• Them ladies is not so littery as us, Mr. Hop-
kins.'
We saw the laurel tree upon which Buona-
parte inscribed the word "Battaglia,'--it is said
in a fit of absence. But I think this impossible.
A man may easily scrawl on paper in a fit of
absence, but when he begins to carve letters
upon the bark of a hard intractable tree, a de-
gree of manual labour is requisite to accomplish
the operation, which must recall his mind to
what he is about. For absence, therefore, read
idleness.
From the Isola Bella' we rowed to the · Isola
Madre'--the mother of ugliness, and uglier still
than her daughter. She is in her old age of ug-
liness. Three high walls, one above another,
encircle it, against which trees are trained ; and
upon the platform stands a most hideous house
---where the Borromeo family occasionally lived,
(even St. Charles himself), before the Isola Bel-
la was built--but where neither saint nor sinner
would surely ever wish to live again.
6
6
ITALY
The little Isola de' Pescatori looked far more
attractive than its dull proud neighbours. It is
a little populous speck on the crystal waters
entirely inhabited by fishermen, whose cottages,
and dresses, and children, and boats, and fishing
tackle, looked picturesque and natural, though
somewhat dirty.
The first specimen we saw of the sanctity of
Italy, was the statue of a saint, sixty feet high
-St. Carlo Borromeo himself, in bronze; upon
a hill near Arona, on the Lago Maggiore, his
birth-place. He is a prodigious saint. I believe
one can get into his nose; but I did not try.
It was curious enough that the first piece of
antiquity we saw in Italy was a tree-
-a cypress
tree which stands in a garden beside the road,
in a little village near Sesto, called Sorna, and
has stood there, we were credibly informed, for
two thousand years. It is consequently an ante-
christian tree, being much older than Jesus
Christ; and it is a Roman Republican tree, for
it was a goodly plant even before the birth of
Julius Cæsar. Indeed, it is a fine tree still---
for it flourishes entire and undecayed; and, ha-
ving lived to see Cæsar and Buonaparte pass be-
low its branches, who can say what it may live
to see next?
While we staid waiting for the boat on the
top of the bank above the ferry, at Sesto, where
the noble Ticino flows out of the foot of the La-
go Maggiore, we contemplated one of the most
beautiful prospects that the fancy can conceive.
We looked back from the immediate banks of
the river, covered with sloping green meadows,
woody heights, villages, and domes of churches
---over the far expanded bosom of the lake, and
MILAN AMUSEMENTS.
25
the scenes of beauty which decked its shores-to
the majestic line of the Alps, rising into heaven,
and bounding these plains of luxuriant fertility with
its mighty ramparts.
Late at night we drove into Milan, and took up
our abode at the Albergo Reale.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
MILAN AMUSEMENTS.
Les gens de qualité savent tout sans avoir appris rien.
MOLIERE
LETTER XXXVIII.
CAROLINE ST. CLAIR TO MRS. BALCARRIS.
Milan, October 20th.
We have been here nearly a week--and I have,
as I promised, refrained from giving you any ac-
count of all the wonders we have seen; the church-
es, and palaces, and academies, and libraries, and
cabinets, and exhibitions, and promenades—Buo-
naparte's unfinished arch of triumph, and his fool-
ish amphitheatre—the sixteen magnificent Corin-
thian columns of marble--remains of the ancient
Roman baths of Mediolanum now christened the
columns of St. Lorenzo : nay, even the marble ca-
VOL. III.
3
26
MILAN AMUSEMENTS.
6
thedral of Milan itself, though volumes might be
written about it;--all these do I refrain from de-
scribing. Nay more, I forbear giving you a single
sample of the irresistible love letters of the Cardi-
nal 'Bembo and Lucretia Borgia, which precious
documents are preserved, with a lock of the fair
Lucretia's hair, amongst the treasures of the Am-
brosian Library. I even ungratefully repress all
mention of the delight I received from the Repu-
dio d'Agar,' that masterpiece of Guercino. Day
after day have I returned to the Brera, to gaze up-
on it, and never can the soul-touching image of
Hagar leading Ishmael in her hand, and expelled
from her home to perish with her helpless child in
the deserts, be effaced from my heart. Laud my
moderation in not saying a single word of that in-
estimable shadow of a shade, the Last Supper of
Leonardo da Vinci, in the abandoned Dominican
Convent, nor of all the Goths who have contribut-
ed to destroy it—from the Monks, who made a
door through it to their buttery to feed them-
selves :-to the French, who set stalls against it, to
feed their horses. Give me due thanks for leaving
undescribed the copy in Mosaic, of that master-
piece, now destined for Austria, but executed by
French command, and with characteristic French
bad taste. For it is copied from a vile, glaring,
modern copy, in a city where the faded original
itself, and several fine ancient copies, still exist.
Observe with gratitude that I am silent respecting
the admirable frescos of Bernardo Luini, in the
Ambrosian Library,-dumb even about the cabinet
of the Chevalier Bossi, though it contains original
designs and studies of Leonardo da Vinci and Raf-
faello,—and not to be moved to speak, even by the
manifold temptations which assailed me in the Am-
9
MILAN AMUSEMENTS.
27
-
brosian library itself. In short, of the sights we
have seen, and the amusements of our mornings,
you shall hear nothing—though they have been most
interesting ;-but of the people we have seen, and
the diversions of our evenings, I must tell you
something, though they have been—what we should
call in England rather dull.
Know then that we have been to an Accademia.
You will figure to yourself an assembly of grim
Sçavans--with black robes, long speeches, and wise
looks, and ask how it could be otherwise than
dull ?-No such thing! It was an Accademia of
dancing-in plain English, a ball. It was given by
a very great person, in a very great palace. Yet
withal it was somewhat heavy. It wanted spirit.
The only brilliancy that struck me about it, was the
extraordinary display of fine diamonds by the Ita-
lian ladies. In this alone they shone--for they
were neither remarkable for beauty, elegance, nor
vivacity. Indeed there was a lamentable dearth of
young ladies, which give, to our English balls,
such a display of beauty and so much real en-
joyment.
Almost all the ladies - I think with
scarcely one exception--were married, and the
majority, un peu passets. I a
am quite sure that in
a London ball-room they would have been called a
remarkable, inelegant--and- I am afraid to
say it absolutely a vulgar collection of women.
The very tone of their voice offends
Yet they
were all nobility. As to the men--all of whom
were noble-I cannot describe to you what an igno-
ble race they seemed,--and what an impression of ef-
feminacy, dissipation, ignorance, idleness, frivolity,
and utter worthlessness, is produced by the gene-
rality of Italian noblemen. It is in vain that you
struggle with this feeling, and reproach yourself
you.
28
MILAN AMUSEMENTS.
with it as an illiberal prejudice. You cannot over-
come it. No doubt there are noble and brilliant
exceptions--there are men among them of distin-
guished talent and virtue—but they are rare.
We have been to another Accademia also, an
Accademia of music-a private concert-with
which I was much pleased.
The Opera, in the theatre of La Scala, which is
by far the finest building of the kind I ever beheld,
I should have enjoyed extremely if I could have
heard it, for the orchestra was excellent, and the
singers first-rate ;-but in consequence of the sun-
dry letters of introduction with which we came arm-
ed to Milan, we were transported every night to
the Marchesa de Chichesia's box; and such was the
confusion and distraction occasioned by the contin-
ued entrance and exit of the Marchesa's cari amichi,
or rather flutterers and flatterers, and the incessant
talking they kept up, that no voices could be heard
excepting their own. During the two principal
songs, they did indeed listen, or at least they talked
sotto voct --but to the rest of the piece they paid no
more attention than if none had been representing.
The same Opera is repeated here night after night,
without any variety; and as the fashionable world
of Milan never fail to attend, I suppose they be-
come tired of it. Of the ballêt, however, they
seemed never likely to tire, so enthusiastically was
it applauded. It was---what do you think?-Cori-
olanus ! Coriolanus himself was set a dancing, and
gained immortal honour in a pirouette! The
charms of their conversation in the box, did not
quite compensate to me, for the loss of the music ;
for nothing could well be more frivolous and insipid.
The talk of the gentlemen was especially made up
of direct, and I thought, extremely gross flattery of
MILAN AMUSEMENTS.
29
6
6
the Marchesa's looks, dress, features and complex-
ion, seasoned with severe strictures upon the ap-
pearance of some other ladies--who from the aspe-
rity of the remarks the fair Marchesa herself level-
led at them, seemed by no means high in her favour.
The intelligence and intellectual cultivation of
the party, did not seem great. Of this I observed
several notable instances, but one will probably
suffice. Mrs. Cleveland happened to ask, “who
was Pylades ?' merely meaning what performer
played the part; but the Marchesa thinking her
question referred to the character of Pylades in the
piece, in reply asked the Count Orsini, her favour-
ite cavalier, if he could tell who Pylades was, and
if there ever was such a man?
• No, never!' said the Count with great sang froid,
taking a pinch of snuff.
“I thought there had been,-in France,' rejoined
the Marchesa—surely I have heard the name
somewhere, long ago.'
'I beg your pardon, Count,' rejoined a little man.
· The Marchesa is right, only he was not a French-
man. Pylades was a famous old Roman.'
Was he not a Grecian?' said Mrs. Cleveland,
with laudable innocence and gravity.
• Perdona, Signora,' said the little Marquis — He
was not a Greek, but he had something to do with
the Greeks.'
• But there was once á famous Greek called Pila-
cles'-(Who?' interrupted I.) “Pilacles,' he re-
peated very distinctly-(probably Pericles might
be running in his head)— and the Signora has pos-
sibly confounded Pilacles with Pylades.'
So then Pylades was a Roman?' said I.
He was,' replied the little Marquis. He was
a great Roman Philosopher---that Pylades was, in
G
>
6
VOL. II.
3*
30
.
MILAN AMUSEMENTS.
6
-
6
6
6
reality ; but they have made a great fool of him in
the Opera, with his nonsense about Orestes. They
should study history more.'
• Did you say we should study history more?' I
asked maliciously.
O no-Signora--no--these ignorant poets and
opera people.
People who attend the Opera ?' I persisted.
No, Signora, these ignorant people who write
the Operas, I meant.'
• Why they seem to understand history well
enough for the generality of people who attend
Operas. For instance, I am sure I never knew till
to-night that Pylades was a great Roman Philoso-
pher.'
The little Marquis bowed with a self-satisfied air,
and expressed his happiness that he could afford
me any information.*
Yet notwithstanding these specimens of Italian
fashionables, there are men—and noblemen too, at
Milan, of very superior talent, information, and sci-
ence,--but they certainly were not in the Marche-
sa's box.
We went to the theatre to see a play—a more
unfashionable proceeding, if possible, in Milan,
even than in London. The performance was much
below mediocrity, and so were the dresses, decora-
tions, scenes, and company-both on and off the
stage.
The theatre of the Burattini, or Marionettes,
afforded us infinitely more amusement. These
jointed performers were well dressed puppets, who
walked in and walked out, and went through all the
* This conversation is not fictitious,
MILAN AMUSEMENTS.
31
>
a
>
gestures and motions of living persons, while their
parts were mimicked behind the scenes—but so in-
geniously, that it was at first difficult to believe these
Burattini were not little men and women talking ;
and the pieces they represented were extremely
laughable. Certainly the best actors we saw at
Milan were these wooden ones.
None of these elegant amusements, however,
prevented us from going every evening to the Casi-
no of the nobles, which consists of a very handsome
suite of rooms, fitted up for company, cards, con-
versation, flirtation, and occasionally music and
dancing. It is regularly frequented nightly by the
Milan Nobility, both of the old and new class--be-
tween which there seems to exist all those amiable
feelings of spite, disdain, jealousy, 'envy, hatred,
and all uncharitableness,' which such distinctions,
with such characters, might naturally be expected
to engender.
Of the few ladies of the high nobility whom we
knew here, it is not, perhaps, fair to speak at all,
since it is impossible to speak very favourably ;-
but such is their passion for dress, for admiration,
gallantry, shew, expense, dissipation, and too often
gambling--that I can only hope the rest who are
away, may be better specimens of the fair Italians.
One of the great pleasures of their lives is to drive
up and down the Corso, after dinner, before the
Opera, for an hour before sun-set; and they very
often appear in their open carriages with their
necks and arms completely exposed, as if sitting
dressed at an evening party. To an English eye it
has a most unpleasant air of boldness and immo-
desty, thus to exhibit their persons to the public
gaze, in the open street. They generally wear
bonnets, like the French women, both at the opera
>
32
MILAN AMUSEMENTS.
and at dinner; and in the early morning their hair
is in papillotes, and their dress and appearance
completely in dishabille—not elegant, and rarely
clean. The rage for English horses, English car-
riages, English dandyism, English jockeyship, and
every thing English,-is so great here at present,
that I wish they would imitate English habits of
neatness and propriety in dress.
Thus, though they spend incredible sums of
money upon their dress, they are not, after all, fit
to be seen during one half of the day. They carry
their passion for finery to the most extravagant
height—and even mothers with grown-up families,
nay grandmothers, vie with each other in this ruin-
ous contest, and think it a disgrace to appear at a
gala twice in the same dress. I know instances of
women here, who have run into debts which they
cannot pay, ruined their husbands and families, and
even, if report say true, sacrificed their honour to
indulge this infatuated vanity.
Certainly no traces now remain of that extraor-
dinary piety, which, in an earlier age, prompted the
Milanese ladies to contribute their jewels, and costly
ornaments, and fine clothes, to build a church to
the virgin. But the virgins themselves- I mean the
images in the churches--are dressed as fine as
hands can make them; like dolls-in stiff brocade
1
gowns and coloured glass jewels.
I have been much edified with my pilgrimage of
the churches. First we saw, at the church of St.
Ambrose, the very identical gates which St. Ambrose
himself shut in the face of Theodosius the Great,
and refused him admittance, until he had expiated,
by a public penance, the murder of the Thessalo
nians; nor was he admitted within them, till, pros-
trate in the dust, the humbled Monarch, at the fect
2
MILAN AMUSEMENTS.
33
6
of the proud priest, before the assembled multitude,
implored the pardon and absolution of his sins.
Miraculous to relate, these gates were carved in
wood in the ninth century, and the saint lived in
the fourth. “But,' as the little man who shewed
them to us said, “nothing is impossible.'
Then I made a most marvellous discovery for
myself, in the old church of St. Eustorgio, (the
most ancient of Milan), of the tomb of the three
Magi ;-which I maintain was my own discovery,
because I never heard of it before, and have been
able to find no account of it, in any of the copious
books of travels with which we are oppressed.
And yet, such was my genius, that upon a huge
urn of marble in that venerable church, I spied the
inscription · Sepulchrum Trium Magorum; which,
on inquiry among the literati, I find is well known
among them as the tomb of the three kings--though
the literati knew nothing more about them. But
by industriously grubbing in the dust of antiquity, I
have satisfactorily ascertained that the bodies of the
three Kings were brought by St. Eustorgio himself
out of Germany—(how they got to Germany the
Saint alone knows, --for even the antiquarians
don't), in a car drawn by four oxen. But a tiger
one night in the Black Forest, eat up che of the
oxen for his supper, and then, penitent for what he
had done, put himself into harness instead of it-(I
think the tiger should have been canonized.) He pa-
tiently helped the oxen and the saint to draw the
three (dead) kings the whole way to this spot, when
they suddenly grew refractory--and not one foot fur-
ther could the tiger, the saint or the oxen, make
these obstinate three kings go,-50 a church was
built over them. But, after all, the defunct Magi
capriciously betook themselves to rambling again
with an old Archbishop of Cologne, who carried
34
MILAN AMUSEMENTS.
them off to Cologne without so much as a single
beast to help him.
But my discovery, sinner that I am! was nothing
to the discovery made by St. Ambrose, of the Holy
Curb, or Bit, which he saw one day lying amongst
a heap of old iron, upon the stall of an old iron
merchant in the streets of Rome; and he knew it
immediately, from the celestial light which shone
upon it-though it had lain unsuspected for ages!
This precious article is mounted in gold, enshrined
in a box of rock crystal, and suspended amidst
gilded angels and seraphims, above the tribune of
the High Altar of the Cathedral; so far beyond
vulgar gaze that you cannot see it, except once a
year, on the third of May, when two Canons are
sent up for it in a sort of car, raised by pullies, in
the same style as the heathen gods and goddesses
are hoisted up and down at the Opera house-and
it is then carried in procession about the streets, in
memory of St. Carlo Borromeo's pilgrimage through
the city, barefooted and barenecked, with a halter
about his neck, and this holy bit in his hand, to
stop the plague, --which it did.
While we were admiring the gloomy splendour
of the tomb of St. Carlo Borromeo, which rivals
the oriental magnificence of the Arabian tales--an
Italian who was with us, and who was abusing the
dissolute life of an acquaintance of ours, who he
said was a Mauvais Sujet'-as the comble of his
invectives against him, declared --Egli ha da fare
peggio che la Guglielmina.' 'He would even do
worse things than Wilhelmina ;' and on inquiring
who this Guglielmina was-who was the acme of
all wickedness--he told us the saying had become
proverbial at Milan, from a scandalous story of the
13th century. Wilhelmina- the Johanna South-
>
6
MILAN AMUSEMENTS.
35
a
cote of Milan--was a fair Bohemian, who, in that
age, came to this city, professing great sanctity;
but she secretly gave herself out to be the Holy
Ghost incarnate, born on the day of Pentecost, and
commissioned to make the unholy holy. She made
many disciples; all of whom used to assemble by
night in a subterranean chamber, beneath the
church of St. Marco, at Milan, under pretence of
prayer and penance; but when a few forms of
mummery were gone through, the lights were ex-
tinguished, and their horrible nocturnal orgies
ended in promiscuous and indiscriminate adultery.
Wilhelmina died-in all the odour of sanctity,
and was buried ; and still the same horrible assem-
blies and crimes, which she had instituted, were
continued. The jealousy of a husband, whose wife
was one of her wicked proselytes, discovered the
truth; and her disciples having made confession of
Wilhelmina's pretensions to be the Holy Ghost in-
carnate, and their belief of her divinity; the bones
of the quandom Saint were dragged out of their
marble cearments, cast forth with ignominy, and
many of her determined proselytes burnt by the
Inquisition ; -- not, however, for their horrible crimes,
but for their obstinate heresies. Those who re-
canted their errors of belief, were suffered to live;
--their sins 'unwhipped of justice.'
But I must leave those musty old stories, to dress
for the fashionable world and the Opera. Thin,
however, are now the ranks of fashion at Milan. It
is the season of the Villeggiatura, and all the world
are in the country ; and more especially on the
lake of Como, where we go to-morrow, and where,
as our few forlorn Italian acquaintance here as-
sure us, every villa is overflowing with company,
gaiety, and dissipation.
6
36
MILAN AMUSEMENTS.
a
Thursday Evening.
O Georgiana! I have been thrown into such a
state of agitation, that I can scarcely hold my pen;
yet I trust in heaven the alarm will prove ground-
less. Just as I had finished dressing for dinner, a
carriage and four drove into the Court of the Al-
bergo Reale, which, at the first glance, I knew
to be Mr. Lindsay's, and not doubting he was in it,
I hastily retreated from the window—trembling
with emotion at the thoughts of meeting him
again after all that had passed- lest in alighting
he should look up and see me.
In a few minutes
Colonel Cleveland entered the room, with a coun-
tenance of consternation, and said, that Mr. Lind-
say's carriage had arrived, but without himself,
and that he had just seen Watkins,' his own man,
who was in dreadful alarm about his master, and
from whom he learnt that a few days ago, an ex-
press had arrived at Geneva from Mr. Lindsay,
from some village in the heart of the mountains of
the Grisons-ordering him to come on with the
carriage to this inn at Milan, where he said he
himself should be before it could arrive. But here
he has not been heard of, nor is there any letter
from him.
But the same express brought a most alarming
account respecting him, authenticated by the vil-
lage magistrate. It appeared, that though order-
ed to set off immediately--as it was late in the
day, this worthy messenger chose to defer his de-
parture till day-break--and in the meantime Mr.
Lindsay, who it seems had previously fallen into
the hands of banditti, and been rescued by the
peasantry, had again voluntarily gone back alone
to the haunt of these robbers among the moun-
tains, and had altogether disappeared.
Search
MILAN AMUSEMENTS.
37
had been made for him in vain in all quarters, be-
fore the express set off. Watkins dispatched Mr.
Lindsay's courier from Geneva back to the place
with the returning express, to search for him, and
offer an immense reward for his discovery. He
also wrote to his friends in England, with an ac-
count of his mysterious disappearance; and Co-
lonel Cleveland is at this moment writing to Mr.
Heathcote, with a confirmation of these strange
and evil tidings. Yet I cannot but believe that he
is alive. It is incredible that, having once escap-
ed from a band of robbers, he should again volun-
tarily throw himself into their power. Besides,
had he been murdered, his body would have been
found. His assassins would scarcely have encum-
bered themselves with a corpse, in their flight.
It is more probable, either that he is a captive,
for whose release they will speedily demand an
exorbitant ransom ---a practice which, of late, has
become very common with the bands of robbers
which infest the mountain frontiers of Italy,--or
that, instead of having fallen into the hands of
banditti, he has gone upon some of those adven-
turous pedestrian enterprises among the most
perilous regions of the Alps,-in which it is mar-
vellous to me he has not already broken his neck.
In the meantime, it is impossible not to feel the
most acute anxiety respecting his fate; yet I trust
and believe he will return in safety; more espe-
cially as his absences and disappearances have, of
late, been continual. His servant had previously
been under the most serious uneasiness respecting
his safety, never having heard from him since the
time of his appearance at Grindelwald ; nor has
Mr. Lindsay received a single letter during that
period, having left no direction for any to be for-
4
VOL. III.
58
MILAN AMUSEMENTS.
me.
warded to him ; so that the letters of Lady Hun-
locke and Mr. Breadalbane are, at this moment, in
Watkins's possession, with an immense budget be-
sides. Mr. Lindsay, therefore, still thinks of me-
if he thinks of me at all—as one of the most deprav-
ed and abandoned of my sex.
O Georgiana ! you cannot know the agony this
conviction causes me. Do not fancy, however,
that it arises from any peculiar partiality to Mr.
Lindsay. Mr. Lindsay is, and can be nothing to
It arises solely from regard to my own
character. And surely there is no misfortune, to
a young woman, equal to feeling that any imputa-
tion has been thrown upon her conduct and repu-
tation. Yes, one misery indeed would be still
greater--that of feeling such an imputation to be
merited; but that, I trust, I shall never experi-
Much as I value the esteem of others, I
value my own still more.
We
e go to-morrow to spend a few days on the
Lake of Como. Watkins has promised to send an
express to Colonel Cleveland the moment he re-
ceives any tidings of his master. God grant he
may soon be heard of!
ence.
CHAPTER XL.
A JEST.
A jest a serious end may bring,
A serious thing may end in jest;
Wherefore I hold a jest a thing
That's grave betimes and bad at best.
ANONYMOUS.
LETTER XXXIX.
CAROLINE ST. CLAIR TO MRS. BALCARRIS.
Behold us on the delightful Lake of Como,
enjoying at once, by a whimsical coincidence, the
most romantic scenery, and the most extravagant
dissipation For this being the
season of the
Villeggiatura, when the vintage attracts the noble
Italians for one month to the country, to look after
their interests in the division of the wine with
their tenants-rent being generally paid in pro-
duce here the villas with which the banks of the
Lake of Como are covered, and which, during the
delicious months of spring and summer stand
empty and deserted, now present an increasing
succession of company, fêtes, and amusements;
and, in consequence of our letters of introduction,
we have the honour of being invited to all these
festivities,
10
JEST
A
The villa of the Conte Montini, the leader of
fashion and pleasure, which is crowded with com-
pany,
is on the other side of the Lake, nearly op-
posite to this delightfully situated inn, where we
have fixed our head quarters. Every day, fêtes
and parties of pleasure on the water, or in his
beautiful grounds, allure us to this temple of dis-
sipation.
We were, of course, obliged to leave our car-
riage at Como, at the foot of the Lake, as there
is no carriage road upon any part of its banks,
excepting, indeed, a private one just finished by
the Princess of Wales, leading from her own villa
to the town of Como. Although a distance of only
four miles, the expense of making it has been
enormous. The exterior of her Royal Highness's
villa is peculiarly ugly; but, as all English are
expressly excluded from seeing it, of its interior I
can give you no account.
Every other house on the lake the English may
visit, excepting that inhabited by their own Prin-
The reasons for this prohibition are explain-
ed and commented upon with great severity by the
Milanese nobility, who have given up all inter-
course with her Royal Highness; not that their
own lives are models of the strictest virtue, and
none of them would object to the Princess having
one---or even one dozen of handsome favourites, if
she liked ; but then they think it indispensable
that these Cavalieri Serventi should belong to the
class of Carolieri, and not of Serrenti; and they
will not submit to have a courier brought to sit
down at their own tables, who very recently
waited behind their chairs. I must, however, ob-
serve, that I do not mean to join in the criminal
interpretation which these censorious Italian ac-
cess.
À JEST.
41
quaintance of ours pass upon the Princess's con-
duct. She may be—she probably is-innocent of
actual crime, though criminal in appearance. But
she is certainly utterly forgetful of the dignity of
her st ion and character. Conduct and associates
that would disgrace any private gentlewoman,
must be peculiarly unbecoming in the Queen of
England. High rank, far from conferring respec-
tability of itself, only increases degradation, when
the qualities which should accompany it are want-
ing. This affords another proof, that 'propriety is
to a woman what action is to an orator,
the first,
the second, and the third requisite.'
Passing by this interdicted royal villa--we saw
Pliny's villa and intermittent fountain, and all the
villas, and gardens, and views, and waterfalls, and
rocks, and grottos,--and every thing, in short, that
could be seen, whether it was worth seeing or not,
in our delightful sail of seven hours, from Como to
Cadenabbia. Yet still we are only about half-
way to the head of the Lake.
I forbear to give you any detail of all the boat-
ings, ramblings, dinings, dancings, music makings
and merry makings, both al fresco and en Salon,
which have occupied the two dissipated days
of our stay here. To-morrow-more dissipated
still-we are to have a masquerade and a fancy
dress gala, in the gardens of the Villa Montini, and
a · Dejeuner à la fourchette,'—which I suppose will
last, like most of such breakfasts, till midnight.
All the Lake of Como, and I believe one half of
the city of Milan are expected. But how to get
dresses here, upon this lake, where there are nei-
ther masquerade warehouses, nor theatrical ward-
robes, nor milliners,-nor materials to supply their
want. Woefully has this affair of a dress puzzled
4*
6
VOL. III.
42
A JEST.
my poor brains. No time is there for sending to
Milan, and masks are all that the little town of
Como furnishes. Colonel Cleveland has his uni-
form, and I have given Mrs. Cleveland my Costûme
Bernoise, which I cannot bear to think of ever
wearing again, and in which she looks very pretty.
For myself, I have patched up a most splendid
Sultana's dress, composed of divers heterogenous
and strangely
metamorphosed articles of my ward-
robe. With Plait's assistance I was hard at work
upon these robes this evening, when the Count
Landi a little dandy of a man, who has selected
me as a fit object of his desperate and devoted
adoration of two entire days standing), crossed
the lake from Villa Montini, like another Leander,
(only in a boat,) and gallantly jumped in at the
open window, which is close upon the water, mean-
ing to steady himself against the work table in
front of it. But the shock of the Count overset
the old ricketty table—the table overset poor Plait,
who was standing with her back to it, shaking out
the Sultana's fine finished petticoat from its threads
and shreds-and lastly, the little Count was
,
overset himself, on the top of all, in an attitude so
risible, with his hands on the ground, his body
stuck on the top of the legs of the overturned ta-
ble, and his feet sprawling and kicking in air-that
to have seen him would have overturned the gravi-
ty of a stoic.
Mrs. Cleveland and I were seized
with a fit of such inextinguishable laughter, that
we could do nothing towards setting the little man
on his legs, nor yet in assisting to drag forth the
unfortunate Plait, who was lying sprawling on the
floor, with both the table and the Count on her
back, screaming and kicking with all her might-
while every struggle she made so shook the little
>
A JEST.
43
9
Count's body, awkwardly poised as it was on the
legs of the inverted table, that he echoed her cries
at every rude jolt he sustained.
The noise soon brought in Colonel Cleveland,
who, at the spectacle before him, went into con-
vulsions of laughter; and in vain did the little
Count cry out for help, until a great stout woman,
belonging to the inn, attracted by the uproar, en-
tered the room, seized him by the waist, and forth-
with set him on his legs in the middle of the floor,
as if he had been a child. After shaking himself
thoroughly, he at last ascertained, to his entire
satisfaction, that he was no worse, saving and ex-
cepting the loss of his wig, which had tumbled off
in the scuffle-an accident which grievously dis-
composed him, while it made him look unspeaka-
bly ridiculous. Plait, too, escaped with her skin
being a little, and her temper very much ruffled.
The skin she smoothed with court plaister, and
the temper with no very courtly phrases of wrath
against the little meddlesome' Count.
After this fracas was over, and the scattered
pearls and glittering ornaments which had been
strewed on the floor, were collected, -as my dress
could not be delayed, we continued our labours.
upon it, informing the Count that it was destined
for Mrs. Cleveland, while the Swiss costume was
shewn him as mine. In our work we were assist-
ed, to our inexpressible amazement, by the little
Count, who, with the utmost gravity began to
string beads and stitch on trimmings with extraor-
dinary industry, and seemed to pique himself much
upon his dexterity.* He proved himself, indeed,
an excellent work woman-man I mean.- -I
6
* A fact.
44
À JEST.
a
thought Colonel Cleveland would have died with
laughing, at the sight of the little Count sewing ;
he was obliged to pretend he was laughing at the
tricks of the poodle dog ; and the Count, wholly
unsuspicious of the cause of his mirth, kept gravely
exclaiming— I think my little dog is very amusing
- '
to you, to night, M. Le Colonel.'
It was near eleven when we finished, but the
little Count having implored, as the price of his
services, that he might see me in the Swiss costume
to-night, I readily consented-upon his agreeing
to put on this superb Sultana's dress, which Mrs.
Cleveland pretended she was not able to try on in
consequence of a head-ache. I ran into my room,
and attired myself à la Suisse, in a few minutes;
and the little Count having laid aside his coat,
Mrs. Cleveland, Plait, and I proceeded to deck
him out in the Sultana's robes; and to complete
his transformation, we tied a false front of curls
about his face, put the jewelled turban on his
head, concealed his neckcloth, &c. with a rich
handkerchief and shawl, and made him look so
completely like a woman, that Colonel Cleveland,
in convulsions of laughter, exclaimed—Why
Count you should always wear petticoats. You
look exquisite in them. The ladies would die
with envy at the sight of you.'
To every one of these compliments the little
Count, forgetting his petticoats, bowed profoundly;
and in fact the little man looked so supremely ridi-
culous, and his glittering dress of azure, silver,
jewels, and feathers, presented such an absurd con-
trast to his sallow, wrinkled skinny visage, that no
human gravity could withstand the sight of him.
Perceiving Mrs. Cleveland had disappeared, I sent
Plait to disrobe the Count, who went with Colonel
6
A JEST,
45
-
Cleveland into his dressing-room, for the express
purpose of looking at himself in the glass,-and I
retired to my own room.
The moon was shedding a long bright path of
silver light upon the calm expanse of the lake, and
as I stood at the window to enjoy the beauty of the
scene, I observed a boat in the shade below the
house, floating idly on the lake, with some men in
it, waiting, as I supposed, for the Count. While
gazing out, I heard my room door open, but sup-
posing it to be Plait, I did not turn round till I sud-
denly felt myself scized and closely held in a man's
embrace, who covered my face and neck with
kisses. I soon released myself from his arms, and
the culprit instantly attempted to fly. I saw the
back of the Count; but before my amazement and
indignation could find words, a smothered laugh,
which broke forth as the ravisher was trying to
open the door, betrayed the truth ;-and flying af-
ter him, and seizing him by the coat skirts, I
brought him back to the lights on the table, and
discovered—as I expected-Mrs. Cleveland. I
was so transported at seeing it was really her, that
I kissed her again and again, and embraced her
with all my heart, laughing and talking all the
time with the utmost gaiety.
At this moment a startling exclamation from the
water, silenced us. We flew to the window, and
beheld rapidly rowing away in the bright moon-
light, the boat I had before seen lying below the
house, and in which we now distinctly saw the tall
figure of a gentleman, wrapped in a long dark mili-
tary cloak. It was not the Count-for a hue and
cry were now raised after his coat and hat, which
Mrs. Cleveland had stolen from the chair on which
they were lying, while he was in the Sultana's
1
46
À JEST.
robes, and had dressed herself up in them, and in
Colonel Cleveland's clothes, in order to have a fro-
lic, and frighten me by passing herself off as the
Count. Whoever the stranger was, he must have
had a perfect view of us; for the lights in the room,
and the window down to the ground, must have
made us perfectly conspicuous from the lake below.
The Count's boat was safely moored, and his boat-
men carousing in the inn kitchen. No one could
give us any account of the boat with the stranger,
excepting that it had been seen lying there for
nearly an hour, and the people of the inn conclud-
ed it was waiting for some one who had
gone
ashore. We could only suppose that in rowing
past the open window, curiosity had induced some
passenger to stop and look in at our strange pro-
ceedings; possibly at the frolic of dressing up the
little Count in the Sultana's robes, or the amusing
spectacle he presented when attired in them. But
it struck me as extraordinary, that when the Count
went to Colonel Cleveland's dressing-room--when
Mrs. Cleveland was in her room, both of which look
the other way, and when nothing was going on to
amuse him, and nobody was left in the front of the
house excepting myself, at my bed-room window-
this
spy should still remain below. He must have
distinctly seen the whole of the kissing scene, and
he could not know that the male figure who kissed
and embraced me—and whom I pursued and
brought back, and kissed and embraced in return
However I think it is quite im-
possible he should recognise my person, disguised
as it was in the Swiss costume ; and Mrs. Cleve-
land has been consoling me with the reflection that
if
, by any chance, this spy of to-night should be at
the fête of to-morrow, as she is to wear the dress
was a woman.
THE GARDEN MASQUERADE.
47
which I had on to-night-- she will be the suspected
person, not myself;—which gives me, I own, no
small satisfaction.
CHAPTER XLI.
THE GARDEN MASQUERADE.
Erano in corte tutti i paladini
Perché la festa fosse piu fornita
Eran venuti i lontani ed i vicini.
ARIOSTO.
A rout of people there assembled were,
Of every sort and nation under sky.
.
SPENSER
Omnia transformant sese in miracula rerum.
Virgil, Georg, IT.
LETTER XL.
CAROLINE ST. CLAIR TO MRS. BALCARRIS.
Wednesday Morning.
• Les lendemains des plus belles fêtes sont tou-
jours tristes,' said one, who had tried the giddy
round of pleasure, and could say with the sacred
poet, 'all is vanity.'
But a truce to moralizing. Assured that those
sapient reflections spring from disappointment, not
6
48
THE GARDEN MASQUERADE.
was
one
wisdom and tend rather to make mankind discon-
tented and unhappy, than wiser and better,—and
quite aware that I myself, even while making them,
would willingly agree to go to another similar
brilliant fête to-morrow,--let me detail the real
follies of the past day, rather than the fancied wis-
dom of the present.
We
e were rather late ; and when we arrived at
the Villa Montini, the gardens were already
thronged with gay groups of masks, of all whim-
sical characters and descriptions“Arlecchini and
Policinelli—(Harlequins and Punch)-Pagliatac-
cio, a simpleton, with other fools in abundance ;
-Gelsomini, or ridiculous Italian dandies (admi-
rably dressed)-Clowns, Spaniards, Turks, Jews,
Quack doctors, Armenians, and Chinese, without
end. There
Emperor, two English
jockies, represented by the Counts Coravalle and
Corsini-(the two Milanese noblemen whom you
must remember in London); a French courtier
of the old Regime, a group of banditti, divers
gods and goddesses, peasants, mariners, boatmen,
fishermen, shepherds and shepherdesses, flower-
girls, one Sultana, one improvisatore, one mad-
man, one demon, -- besides the devil himself,
one wandering minstrel, several itinerant musicians,
and some female opera dancers-(men of course)
-besides crowds of fantastic figures, and fine fan-
cy dresses, without any attempt at character,-of
which indeed the great majority of the company
were composed. As the dresses were, in general,
extremely rich and splendid, and it had been signi-
fied that no dominos would be admitted-(al-
though a few had crept in)--the coup d'æil of the
brilliant and busy changing crowd, peopling these
extensive gardens, gay with shrubs and flowers,
THE GARDEN MASQUERADE.
49
man.
а
and winding walks and velvet lawns, which lay
along the blue margin of the beautiful lake, had a
most striking effect. It resembled a fairy scene,
and the figures looked exactly as if conjured up by
enchantment, like so many people bewitched-so
that one could scarcely believe them real natural
men and women.
The first figure we saw on landing, was Diogenes,
walking about with his tub upon his head, and his
lighted lanthorn in his hand, looking for an honest
He addressed us with most cynical asperity,
levelling the most pointed sarcasms at poor Mrs.
Cleveland, as if he chose her as the representative
of her whole sex-reproaching her with levity,
frailty, falsehood, and artifice; and pouring forth
against her a flood of quotations from the Greek
and Latin classics in abuse of women which luck-
ily for her she did not understand, though the tone
in which they were uttered made their general ten-
our sufficiently intelligible.
I should have told you that, wishing to enjoy a
little amusement incognita, and especially desirous
to secure myself from the persecutions of the lit-
tle Count, who I feared might recognise me in my
Sultana's dress -in the trimming and trying on of
which he had taken so important a part,- I had
thrown over it the long dark flowing robes of a
sorcerer, with a huge cap--put together in the
morning—which went easily over my Sultana's
turban; and in this masculine equipment, with a
wand in my hand, I looked so tall and terrible, that
even you would not have known me.
While Diogenes was thundering forth his classi-
cal philippics against women, I discovered, from his
pronunciation of Latin, that he was an English-
man. He speedily changed his battery, however,
5
VOL III.
50
THE GARDEN MASQUERADE.
-
and relinquishing his attack upon Mrs. Cleveland,
turned his running Greek fire, and Latin volleys,
entirely against me.
Every word he addressed to me was in the learn -
ed languages, but being myself a conjurer, I
thought it was incumbent upon me to seem as wise
as my neighbours ;--so in return I spouted, in a
feigned solemn voice, divers Latin quotations-ap-
posite or not ;– for to the shame of all the old clas-
sics-it must be entirely their fault), I could
scarcely recall a single word any one of them had
ever written in praise of women ;--and I was actu-
ally forced to parody these crusty old cynics, in
order to defend my sex; wholly careless what ut-
ter dereliction of sense and grammar I made of
their verses, so as I could twist them to my pur-
pose. Diogenes, I dare say, had conned over
ready, all the hackneyed and unhackneyed sar-
casms that have ever been invented against our un-
lucky sex--while I had to creuser la tête' for what
I could muster up to say in our favour-which,
truth to say, was but small; for, like the lion in the
fable, we might say to man— You paint us thus---
because you, not we, are the painters.'
Pudet hæc opprobrium nobis,
Et dici potuisse, et non potuisse repelli.
But I have neither time nor patience to repeat
the provoking things he uttered. However, as
words are seldom wanting to our half of creation,
I bestowed plenty of them upon him in return. To
the hackneyed Latin quotation, that women have
humanized the world, and that men would be
brutes without them,' he scornfully replied that
As for women, like Martial's epigrams-
6
9
Sunt quædam mediocria, sunt mala plura,'
THE GARDEN MASQUERADE.
51
To which I immediately retorted-
Sunt buna, sulit quæfia m mediocria, sunt mala nulla;
Upon this he burst out into an overpowering ora,
tion upon the greatness and dignity of man, and
the weakness and perfidy of woman ;-to which I
;
sulkily replied,–
Dat veniam corvis, vexat censura Columbas.
2
6
But I had better have let it alone; for pouncing
upon “Columbas,' he pulled us to pieces under
that name, without mercy, and sarcastically won-
dered how such gentle · Columbæ'could utter the
bitter taunts that issued from the lips of women ?
Castigatæ remordent;' I replied.
But vainly should I attempt to repeat the torrent
of Greek and Latin eloquence which he poured
out upon me, between every little word that I con-
trived to edge in. At last, provoked at some of
his intolerably abusive assertions, I flatly contra-
dicted him, telling him he was,-than Parthis
mendacior.'
• Do you give me the lie?" he exclaimed, firing
up.
6
Cedite Romania scriptores! cedite Graii !
6
>
I exclaimed, laughing. • What! Diogenes the phi-
losopher in a passion; and talking plain English!
Frailty! thy name is woman,' he exclaimed, ad-
dressing me in a tone which made my blood freeze.
O woman, woman, woman! False, perjured, de-
ceitful woman! I know thee-I know thee at
last !--too late for peace, for happiness--if not for
honour !
6
32
THE GARDEN MASQUERADE.
I was silent, for. it struck me at that moment,
from the words and manner, that the mask was Mr.
Lindsay. Yet this, alas ! was impossible, for Colo-
nel Cleveland had received a letter from Watkins
that very morning ; saying that the courier had re-
turned-to Milan from the Grisons, and that neither
the researches of the police, nor the immense re-
ward offered, had elicited any tidings of his mas-
ter, who had not been heard of. Besides the figure
of this mask was much more slender, and the tone
of his voice totally different. Convinced of my
error, therefore, I rallied my spirits, and as he now
carried forward his vituperation against our poor
sex, much more commodiously for me, in plain
English,-I parried it with long quotations on the
inexhaustible theme of woman's praise. ---Amongst
the rest I repeated some of the lines written by Mr.
Lindsay at St. Bernard. I thought at first the
mask betrayed some emotion at hearing them ;
however it seemed only an emotion of scorn and
anger; for he indignantly interrupted me by ex-
claiming, -- What fools write, fools only believe, '
and he again broke out into such a string of elo-
quent and cutting sarcasms against our unfortunate
sex, that I could not but admire his talent, while
provoked at his severity.
And yet,' I said, “such is woman, that;
When you approach
Jler loveliness, so absolute she seems,
And in hesself complete,
that what she wills to do or say,
Seems wisest, virtuest, discreetest, best;
All' higher knowledge in her presence falls
Degraded ; wisdom in discourse with her
Loses discountenanc'd, and like folly shews ;
Authority and reason on her wail.
And to consummate all,
Greatness of mind, and nobleness, their sca!
Build in her loveliest, and create an awe
About her, as a guard angelic plac'd.?
THE GARDEN MASQUERADE.
53
6
ܪ ܐ
Women do seem little deities,' he said, 'that's
certain ; and, in sober sadness, they are pretty crea-
tures ;-excellent actresses too! They put on all
the virtues as they put on their dresses, and throw
them off again like their cast clothes. They are
like painted sepulchres ;-fair without, but within
all deceit and corruption. O woman! woman!
how fair a creature thou can’st seem!'
* Seems ! she passeth seems!' I replied.
But he interrupted me, by exclaiming
Out on thy seeming!
You seem'd to me like Dian in her crb,
As chaste as is the bud ere it be blown ;
But you are more intemperate in your blood
Than Venus, or those pamper'd animals
That rage in savage sensuality-
Though fairer far than these.
•
• Yes, she is fair ;' I replied, but
Neither her outside form’d so fair, nor aught
So much delights me as those graceful acts,
Those thousand decencies that daily flow,
Froin all her words and actions.
I once knew one,' said Diogenes with a sigh,
• whose loveliness seemed indeed to emanate from
the mind. One who was
Fairer far
Than the chaste blushing morn, or that fair star
That guides the wandering seaman through the deep.
One-whose every glance was purity—whose every
thought breathed virtue—who seemed the connect-
ing link between women and angels :* on whose
* Said of the late Mrs. Sheridan.
VOL. III.
5*
54
THE GARDEN MASQUERADE.
enchanting face you could not look, without
thinking you were looking in the face of a celestial
being-a
creature in whom excelled
Whatever can to thought or sight be form’d,
Holy, divine, good, amiable or sweet.
How art thou lost!
O what a woman hadst thou been,
If half thy outward graees had been placed
About the thoughts and counsels of thy heart!
But fare thee well, most foul ! most fair!
Thou pure impiety and impious purity,
For thee I'll lock up all the gates of love,
And on my eye lids shall conjecture hang,
To turn all beauty into thoughts of horror!'
me.
6
And with these words he was turning away from
But I said in emotion I could not conquer--
• Yet you might be deceived. You might be mis-
taken. False appearances might mislead you. Ap-
parent proofs of guilt, if investigated, might be
found innocent--nay laudable actions. O condemn
not unheard ! Doubt not rashly the truth and
honour of one whom you have once esteemed.
For you are a man. You cannot divine the depths
of woman's purity. No thought of evil can find a
place in her breast. It would be easier to turn
. •
the sun from its course, than a virtuous woman
from the path of honour.'
Diogenes shook his head.
Deceitful syren!
He who listens to that deluding voice, like Ulysses,
should be bound to the mast. Even to look on
thee is to be lost. 'For--
in thy youth
There is a prone and speechless rialect
Such as moves men; besides thou hast a prosperous art
When thou wilt play with reason, and discourse,
And well thou canst persuade.
THE GARDEN MASQUERADE.
55
Say no more--say no more! You will drive me
mad !
Great wits to madness, all are near allied,' I
said ;—'or, as a somewhat greater philosopher than
you, most sage Diogenes ! said long ago ;---
Nullum magnum ingenium sine mixtura dementiæ. *
That's not the reason you're so crazy, however,
I'll answer for it friend !'' he said. • But extremes
meet, and the lack of sense may have cracked your
brains, as well as overplus of sense those of wiser
men.'
• It looks as if I had a prodigious overplus of
sense, however, when I have wasted it upon you,'
I replied, turning away from him.
It has been indeed woefully wasted upon me.
Why did you not tell me it was sense sooner-
for I ignorantly took it for nonsense !
I could not help laughing:
• What! most potent conjurer! can thy imper-
turbable gravity actually be moved to such a shew
of rationality as laughter? Remember-
Risu ineptu res ineptior nulla est.
And now, Mr. Conjurer, I conjure thee,-conjure
thyself away.
*To thy tub! to thy tub, growling cynic! I re-
plied. I know thee. Thou art not what thou
would'st seem.'
And prithee friend, what dost thou know of
Diogenes?' asked the mask.
· Diogenes !' I replied, “think not that thou can'st
veil thyself from my eyes! I know thee for what
6
6
* Seneca, De Trin. Anim. Cap. XV.
56
THE GARDEN MASQUERADE.
1
6
thou art. Thou Diogenes !—No !-Diogenes was
a base money-coiner-Diogenes was a dissolute li-
bertine--Diogenes was a pityful hypocrite--Dio-
genes was a cowardly sycophant; but despicable
as Diogenes was, thou art not even the wretch thou
feignest thyself; for Diogenes was poor, thou art
rich-Diogenes was old, thou art young--Diogenes
was the slave of selfishness, thou, of passion---Dio-
genes was a Greek, thou art an Englishman.'
The mask for a few moments seemed confounded.
Then in a tone of emphatic bitterness he said---
And I know thee, ---too well, thou dissembler !
Thou whose consummate art has libelled nature,
and made man for ever distrust her fairest aspect !
Thou who, beneath the semblance of virtue that
might have imposed upon heaven, concealest hide-
ous vices that would deprave hell itself!
• You judge of others from yourself, I presume,
I
good Mr. Diogenes,' I replied. But you are no
•
conjurer, however---so I will trouble you not to
waste your abuse upon me, since you know me
not.'
* Know you not ! he replied--- I know you but
too well---would I had never known you! I know
your most secret actions. I have seen you listen-
ing to soft serenades at Interlachen---pouring forth
your syren song at the Giesbach--living with a
man at Grindelwald---lost in storms on the Alps---
and lost to honour, to respect, to decency---on the
Lake of Como.'
• What---where ?' I attempted to articulate.
• lost! lost! lost ! for ever lost !---to me, to
yourself, and to virtue! False ! deceitful! deluding
1
syren! Be content, for you have done me enough
of evil. Like Alexander, you have obscured to me
the sunshine of life---but not like him can you re-
6
6
THE GARDEN MASQUERADE.
57
6
>
6
store it. The clouds you have raised you cannot
dispel.'
For pity's sake,' I exclaimed, wholly forgetful
I was a conjurer, tell me who you are---what you
mean---what you know ?'
• This is not the first time, I fear, most potent
sorcerer ! that you have been forgetful of your
character,' he said, with sarcastic emphasis upon
the latter words; but since you, who by your
magic art should know all things, condescend to
ask knowledge even of me---as you are no conjurer,
I, perhaps, can tell you more of yourself than your
modesty may like to hear. For I know your deeds
of charity done in secret ;-I know how, sacrificing
every selfish consideration of delicacy, honour, and
reputation, you have generously loaded men with
unsolicited favours -how your magic spells have
enchained the infatuated victim whose name,
fortune and title, you destine to screen you from
dishonour,-how Proteus like-in your own, and
every changing form, assumed, to lure men to
their destruction, you have won their hearts, turn-
ed their heads, beguiled their senses, and pervert-
ed their reason ;-how their hearts still bleed with
the wounds you have inflicted, even when they
know your falsehood and snares :-finally, I know
you to be that most consumnjate of hypocrites, and
that most potent of sorcerers a woman'-
Transfixed with amazement, I stood for a mo-
ment speechless-when a noisy crowd approached,
and forcibly separated us of masks, pursuing two
nymphs--one of whom, extremely fat and short,
was attired as Pomona, with her gown trimmed
with real ripe fruit, grapes, and figs, little apples,
and pears, and chesnuts, which the malicious crowd
1
58
THE GARDEN MASQUERADE.
:
of masks were plucking without mercy*—so that
they left poor Pomona with nothing but dry
stalks :-while they kept telling her they only got
their desert after all. The other, tall and slender
as a thread-paper, was intended for Flora, and
covered with real flowers, most of which were fad-
ed and broken, and the few scattered bits of roses
and geraniums which remained, her followers were
industriously gathering, regardless of her angry ex-
postulations.
A fat old woman, intended to personate Ceres,
with a bundle of wheat on her head, and a paste-
board cornucopia in her hand, was panting after
poor Pomona and Flora, in a great rage, and rail-
ing at the masks in English --while the shouts and
laughter, and tricks of the motley throng, were re-
doubled at her wrath. One of the most active of
these tormenters was a monkey, who no sooner saw
our party, than he abandoned Ceres, Pomona, and
Flora, and flew to the Swiss Paysanne, to whom he
began jabbering nonsense. This was clearly the
little Countindeed, he was scarcely disguised;
for so like a monkey is he at all times, that his re-
semblance was scarcely increased by his studious-
ly aping one, -and he would afford an excellent
subject for the joke which was practised upon Vol-
taire, who, when following the King of Prussia, in
a Chaise de Poste, was described by the malicious
Courier to all the innkeepers, as a wicked old
French monkey his Majesty carried about with
him, which, if suffered to get loose, would do
unspeakable mischief;
-50 that poor Voltaire was
so
saluted with
raps of canes and sticks whenever he
popped his head out at the window, in the attempt
* A Fact.
THE GARDEN MASQUERADE.
59
to get out, while he stormed in vain; for being
wholly unable to speak or understand German,
the only language his tormentors knew, he had no
means of making his grievances understood, and
was actually kept shut up during the whole
journey.
But nothing at this moment could amuse me.
My only care was to find out Diogenes again, who
had disappeared in the crowd. I could know no
peace till I had an explanation with him-whoever
he was.—And who could he be ? Not Mr. Lind-
say-for besides the dissimilarity of figure and
voice, he certainly is not in this country, (if in-
deed he be in this world.) Not Mr. Breadal-
bane-for many of the circumstances which the
mask alluded to, he could not know. Not Mr.
Heathcote--for he is in England. It was, how-
ever, clear that this mysterious mask-whoever he
might be-was my midnight serenader at Interla-
"chen, the listener to my song in the woods at the
Giesbach, and the spy who watched my motions
last night from the boat. While I was perplexing
myself with vain conjectures about him, a cry was
suddenly raised of fire! fire ! he will be burnt to
death,' in English, French, and Italian, at once. In-
stantly Diogenes started up from an immense laurel
nearly close behind me, and filling his tub with
water from the lake, flew with astonishing rapidity,
towards an old hermit who was in a blaze, and
throwing it over him, nearly extinguished the
flames. But as his head-dress and mustachios
were still on fire, Diogenes seizing the hermit most
irreverently by the beard, pulled it off, then throw-
ing him on the ground, he rolled him down the
green bank like a barrel, into the lake, at the
bottom of which he fairly deposited him; and from
which he issued completely ducked and tolerably
60
THE GARDEN MASQUERADE.
6
well singed. But he would have been burnt to a
.
cinder, but for the interference of Diogenes—for
neither the old anchorite himself, nor any of the
screamers who surrounded him-(and who kept
calling out with all their might for help!' but
giving none,)- thought of this simple expe-
dient of saving him from the flames, by rolling
him into the lake. The long flowing beard of
this unlucky recluse, which was composed of flax,
had, it appeared, received a spark from some
squibs and crackers which an ill-advised juggler
had set up near him; and he now stood drenched,
and scorched, and frightened, and shivering,
beneath the conjoined effects of the opposite
elements of fire and water. That he was a well-
fed Englishman, was evident, both from his portly
roast beef figure, and from his appearing as a
hermit; --no disguise in the slightest degree con-
nected with religion, being permitted, or ever
used, abroad ;-but what was our amazement when
his mask, which had materially saved his face from
injury, was taken off, to see the visage of Lord
Lumbercourt ! Certainly his Lordship never made
such a blaze in the world, in his own character, as
in that of hermit, -and never did he look so rue-
ful;—not even when he issued from the classic
waters of the Sorgue. During the time this
quenching of Lord Lumbercourt's unaccustomed
fires was going on, we were insensibly drawn to-
wards the spot, and the monkey, who still closely
adhered to Mrs. Cleveland, seeing the empty tub,
thought it would be very witty to take possession
of it. Accordingly he got into it, and squatted
down. But Diogenes turning round and seeing
him, seized upon the tub, composedly set it upon
his head, with the monkey still in it; deliberately
THE GARDEN MASQUERADE.
61
>
6
marched to the water, and finally tossed the
screaming and supplicating monkey into the lake,
out of which he at last struggled and buffeted, and
crawled to land, thoroughly soused, amidst the
shouts and laughter, of the delighted spectators.
During the confusion, I succeeded in meeting
Diogenes, who evidently endeavoured to avoid me.
I earnestly entreated him to hear me, and answer
me one question.
• No ! no! he exclaimed, impatiently interrupt-
ing me— Speak to you I cannot-Hear you I will
not-Look on you I dare not-I must fly you—and
for ever.'
And he broke away from me, and with rapid
strides was lost in the crowd. I saw him no more.
Whether he left the gardens, or whether he as-
sumed another disguise, I know not-but when at
the signal call of a trumpet from the water, all the
company unmasked, I looked round at every man
-with more anxiety than I ever looked at man
beforebut I saw none who could have been Dio-
genes, and indeed no Englishman whom I knew.
I believe I should have forgotten to have thrown
aside the conjurer's garb, and revealed myself as
Sultana, had not Mrs. Cleveland reminded me
of it.
Immediately after the general unmasking, a
large party of men, masked and attired in splendid
Turkish dresses, as Corsairs, were seen dashing
towards the shore, in gay pleasure boats, round a
woody point, behind which they had embarked
unseen, and landing at the gardens, each seized
upon a lady and carried her off by force to the
boats. The screams and affected resistance of the
fair Italians, and even of some of my own coun.
trywomen, were supremely ridiculous, since it was
6
VOL. III.
62
THE GARDEN MASQUERADE.
6
clear this was a part of the fête, and that we were
only going to supper-breakfast I mean ;—so there-
fore, however silly, it was best to be passive. For
my part, when the chief of the Corsairs himself
seized upon memhaving a mortal antipathy to be
pulled about—I only quietly begged he would not
carry me off by force, assuring him I would go
with him with all my heart, at which the Corsair
laughed, and we walked away together most ami-
cably. But he was so much amused, that he told
every body of my offer to run away with him, and
continually repeated to me my words, Je vous
suivrai trés Volontiers, M. Le Turque ;--for I had
spoken in French, not knowing whether he was an
Italian or an Englishman, and resolved, at all
events, to be understood.*' fie proved to be the
Conte Montini himself; and as, in consequence of
this “ enlevement,' I sat next him at the collation,
and danced with him afterwards, I hear that I am
in danger of being poisoned by the Italian ladies,
who are all contending for the homage of this pa-
ragon of cavaliers. Observe he is married, but
çe ne fait rien —here. He is a man of the world,
and a perfect gentleman--elegant, accomplished,
and insinuating—but, I suspect, unprincipled and
a libertine. All persons, however, were the same
to me.
Of the two men I knew best, poor Lord
Lumbercourt was half burnt--and the poor little
Count half drowned ; consequently neither was
visible, and certainly neither was interesting. The
little Count however, at last appeared, differently
attired, but looking nearly as like a monkey as be-
fore.
I can tell you little more of the fête, which
really would have been delightful, but for this
mysterious and most unpleasant rencontre. We
6
THE GARDEN MASQUERADE.
63
had music and dancing, and infinite amusement of
every sort-if I could have enjoyed it; but I was
obliged to force smiles on my lips, when heaviness
oppressed my heart—and to dance when I could
have cried. You know I do not easily give way
to grief, but I never before felt so completely over-
come, and so thoroughly wretched. Any other
misfortune I think I could have borne better ; but
to a woman, there is no misfortune equal to the
loss of character. The faintest breath of suspicion
sullies the delicacy of female purity. But in the
eyes of one at least among mankind, perhaps ma-
ny, it is not suspicion which attaches to me, it
is imaginary certainty. It is by the evidence of
their senses that they pronounce me infamous; and
the certain loss of respect, of honour, of reputa-
tion,--the ignominious imputations which are heap-
ed upon me, without the power of disproving them,
overpower my spirits, poison my enjoyments, and
incessantly prey upon my heart.
But I will not yield even to this bitter trial.
--Conscious of innocence, I will struggle to be
happy.
-
CHAPTER XLII.
MORNING VISITS.
Tout lui plait, tout convient à son vaste génie
Les livres, les bijoux, les sciences, les pompons,
Les vers, les diamans, les brèbis, l'optique
L'algébre, les soupers, le Latin les jupons,
L'Opera, les procés, le bal and la physique.
VOLTAIRE.
LETTER XLI.
CAROLINE ST. CLAIR TO MRS. BALCARRIS.
Wednesday Evening.
While Colonel Cleveland was gone to call upon
Lord Lumbercourt this morning, at his inn on the
lake a short distance from this, we had a visit from
the Ceres, Pomona, and Flora of the fête, who
proved to be a Lady Bellairs and her daughters-
acquaintances of Mrs. Cleveland's.
In the fair Flora-Miss Emily Harriet Theo-
dosia Bellairs I recognised a Blue of the very
deepest die, who dined with us at the Table d'
Hôte, at Meyringen, and made a desperate attack
upon the imperturbable Armenian. Much did she
now lament over the loss of her flowers; not cer-
tainly with their sweetness, but rather with the
MORNING VISITS.
65
6
>
sharpness of the thorns, which seemed still to
rankle in her gentle bosom. Old Lady Bellairs,
or Ceres, seemed only to bemoan herself, unlike
Ceres of old, not that Miss Emily's Aowers had
been gathered, but that she herself a fairer
flower, had not by some . gloomy Dis,' or other
'
rich man, been gathered' in the bloom of her
'
charms.
Miss Emily Harriet was most eloquently pathe-
tic upon the subject of her last night's intended
brilliancy, and we learnt that she had meditated
to have charmed and instructed the whole mas-
querade, with giving the scientific names and des-
criptions of the plants she wore, together with a
copious account of their history and physiology ;
and poetical quotations illustrative of their beau-
ty and characters. Nay, that she had learnt large
portions of Darwin's Loves of the Plants, and
the translation of Ovid's Metamorphoses, to repeat
upon the occasion-(some of them, by the way,
not very fit for female ears), various samples of
which she gratuitously treated us with—(what en-
tertaining conversation for a masquerade !) More-
over, this unconscionable Blue had meditated lay-
ing claim to all the honours of her sister Pomona,
by maintaining that she could not produce her
fruits, except from Flora's flowers.
" At least you must have left poor Pomona her
figs, Miss Bellairs,' I said. “You could make no
them."
And pray why?'
* Because you know the fig tree bears its fruit
without flowers.'
O dear no! What a vulgar error! I wonder
did not know that there can be no fruit with-
out flowers. Perhaps you were not aware that
6*
6
6
claim upon
6
you
VOL. III.
66
MORNING VISITS.
6
even oak trees, and ashes, and beeches have flow-
ers. The fig tree bears blossoms like every other
tree.'
• Indeed! what sort of blossoms ?'
What sort of blossoms? I really don't quite
understand it is not a very scientific mode of in-
quiry.'
• I mean of what colour and appearance are the
blossoms of the fig tree?'
• What colour? 0—they are generally white.'
0
• And have you seen fig trees bearing - white
flowers ?'
• dear yes!
I have often seen them ; but
there are several varieties of fig trees, and diffe-
rent species of flowers, all of which are known to
an observer of nature.'
I could scarcely help laughing. But they es-
•
cape the notice of common observers, continued
Miss Emily Theodosia, levelling at me a glance of
disdain.
They certainly do,' I replied, drily.
Young Bellairs, a most exquisite specimen of the
dandy, now lounged into the room; and apparent-
ly conceiving ill manners the height of fashion,
scarcely took any notice of any person or any
thing-dropped from his supercilious mouth a few
indolent words in answer to the questions put to
him ;--could scarcely remember having seen Mrs.
Cleveland before-did not stoop to pick up her
gloves, when she let them fall—and perfectly suc-
ceeded in looking only half alive.
Do come here, Bellairs,' said Miss Emily Theo-
dosia Harriet. "Do look at this enchanting view!
See the aerial tints upon the mountains—the depth
of azure in the calm bosom of the lake--the luxu-
riant olive crowning those steep rocks the tall
6
MORNING VISITS.
67
6
>
6
American aloe, spreading its broad leaves to the
sun—the wooded promontory of Belaggio'—He
yawned. “Nay you cannot see there.'
For it was
plain that the youth Bellairs, instead of looking
at the view, was contemplating his own person in
that pane of the window, which having the dark
green gelosia behind it, reflected his image back
like a mirror. • Come out to the lake side, Bel-
lairs.
• I should think the lake side a dangerous place
for him,' I observed sotto voce to Mrs. Cleveland,
while they were all out, lest he should experience
the fate of Narcissus.'
The ladies of the party who had all been really
gazing, not on the view of the lake, but on the
view on the lake of a pleasure boat, approaching
with two gentlemen ;– finding that they proved to
be Colonel Cleveland returning with Lord Lum-
bercourt, again took their chairs. Lord Lum-
bercourt, at first meeting us, looked extremely
awkward and embarrassed ; but on my shaking
hands with him, and speaking to him with ease and
cordiality as if nothing had ever passed between
us, he regained his self-possession, and seemed
perfectly happy. It was very plain that Miss Julia
Maria Bellairs, or Pomona, into whom it had been
inculcated that she was to be a Hebe, because she
was fat and silly, and who consequently did no-
thing but laugh and shew her teeth-was levelling
the whole artillery of her charms at his Lordship’s
heart. From being in the same inn with him,
they had become acquainted with him--and he
was reproached for not having breakfasted, and
expected to dine, and invited to return with them;
and so beset was he with plans for his comfort,
accommodation, and happiness, that the poor Peer
68
MORNING VISITS.
was driven to the very extremity of his complai-
sance.
We all sat down to luncheon together, and a
basket of figs unluckily appearing on the table,
Miss Emily Harriet said triumphantly- Do you
know, my Lord, that Miss St. Clair actually thought
that figs were produced without flowers !'
* And who the deuce ever thought otherwise ?
exclaimed Colonel Cleveland.
The young lady ridiculed the notion ;-he main-
tained the fact ;-she tittered, he reddened ;-- she
was contemptuous, he was hot ;-she thought the
thing too absurd to be named,' he offered to bet
her a thousand pounds—a hundred---fifty to one
any sum she chose—that no blossoms or flowers
of any sort or colour, were ever seen upon à fig
tree.'
She never bet.'
He then volunteered to give her the money, if
she would produce a fig tree in blossom.
• No! such was Miss Emily Harriet's modera-
tion, that she could not think of robbing him of his
money; but having made botany her peculiar
study, she could assure him, gratuitously, that he
was mistaken;' and she appealed to Lord Lumber-
court.
But Lord Lumbercourt and Mrs. Cleveland both
gave the point against her. Her brother, who was
sedulously engaged in preparing a peach in wine
for his own particuliar eating, protested that he
had no opinion about the matter.'
Opinion! why it's a matter of fact,' said Colonel
Cleveland.
The youth really did not know. Horticulture
was but little to his taste.'
6
8
MORNING VISITS.
69
6
6
Nor does vegetable physiology seem to be a
study much to the taste of Colonel Cleveland and
Miss St. Clair,' said Miss Emily Harriet.
Colonel Cleveland, provoked with her pertinaci-
ty, now made his wife go to the window, and ask
the boatmen below, whether the fig tree ever bore
blossoms ;—to which these merry mariners replied,
with a shout of laughter, and an old fellow, with
a truly comic face, called out, that The fig tree
that blossomed, would bear gold for fruit.'
But Miss Emily Harriet still tossed her head, and
asked what such ignorant beings could know?'
• Why they are not so very ignorant, but that
they can teach some of us learned people some-
thing, it appears,' said Colonel Cleveland.
Miss Emily Harriet tossed her head still higher,
and thought it well for those grovelling minds
who could be content with the knowledge such
beings could impart.'
Count Montini and a large party from his villa
now arrived, when the dispute was the hottest;
and Miss Emily Harriet became extremely angry,
because every body laughed at the very idea of a
fig tree in blossom-and because every body found
out that she, that miracle of knowledge, was igno-
rant of a fact so simple.
With looks of ire, more especially at me, the
three ladies left the room; and the young gentle
man, with a slight inclination of the head only,
such as a puppet makes when pulled by a string,
glided after them ;-his mother and sisters making
amends for his lack of motion, by that over exer-
tion of every limb, and joint, and feature, which
shews that the mind is disturbed within. Lord
Lumbercourt, too, was refractory, and would not
70
LAKE ADVENTURES.
return with them. The Count Montini had shewed
himself affectedly devoted to me from the moment
of his entrance--and the family of the Bellairs
finally retreated, in very ill humour with their visit
to Cadenabbia.
CHAPTER XLIII.
LAKE ADVENTURES.
Pleasures are few-still fewer we enjoy,
Pleasure, like quicksilver, is bright and coy ;
We strive to grasp it with our utmost skill,
Still it eludes us and it glitters still ;
If seiz'd at last-compute your mighty gains,
What is it--but rank poison in your veins ?
YOUNG.
LETTER XLII.
CAROLINE ST. CLAIR TO
MRS. BALCARRIS.
Cadenabbia, Saturday.
• MISFORTUNES, like sheep, are gregarious ;' says
a witty author, and mine have flocked together in
droves. But without anticipation I will now re-
commence the recital of my luckless adventures
where I left them off.
The morning following that on which I last
wrote to you, Count Montini made a party of his
own guests, with Lord Lumbercourt and ourselves,
LAKE ADVENTURES.
71
>
to sail up the lake and land upon all the most cele-
brated spots upon its shores. The morning was
beautiful and the sail most delightful. We visited
the ruins of the Castle of Musso, celebrated in his-
tory. We stopped at the village of Gravedona, at
the base of the snow-covered mountain of that
name, where we found, to our great surprise, all the
women dressed like Capuchins,-in consequence,
they told us, of some ancient vow made by their
ancestors. We saw several iron founderies, which
work the iron-ore from the mines in the mountains
which surround the lakes. We saw a silk mill,
and a paper mill; villas, and villages, and church-
es, and caverns innumerable. We then landed at
the Fiume Latte, where a furious torrent or cas-
cade of milky whiteness and icy coldness, falls in a
sheet of foam during the whole of summer, refresh-
ing the ear and the eye with its music and freshness,
during the fervid heạts of that season; and when
winter comes, its frigid torrent ceases, nor begins
again to flow, till the sun's rays once more renders
its cool waters delightful. I need scarcely tell you
that it arises from the melting of the snows on the
mountains, and that it is chained up by the power
of frost. From thence we went to the · Orrido di
Bellano'...a fall formed by the Pioverna, a river of
some magnitude, which descending from the moun-
tains of the valley of Sassina far above, roars down
a deep winding cleft in the solid rock, so narrow
that the precipices of terrific depth are scarcely six
feet asunder, in any part, and seem to have been
reft in twain by some tremendous convulsion of na-
ture. From a bridge, suspended by chains over
this horrid abyss, you cast your shuddering gaze on
either side, down into the dark deep chasm far be-
neath, and see the boiling pent up stream working
6
a
72
LAKE ADVENTURES.
6
its way through the narrow rocky channel, while its
thundering reverberation deafens your senses. From
the bottom of the fall, which is more than two hun-
dred feet in perpendicular height,—the foaming
torrent, the narrow chasm, the tremendous height
of the yawning precipices, the trees which shade it,
and the Alpine bridge hanging in air which crosses
it, have a most striking and awful effect. The long
winding perspective of trees and pendant shrubs
which overhang it—as if they too could not resist
the fascination of looking down into this horrid
chasm'-add powerfully to the character of this
singular scene.
The last visit we made, was to the point of Be-
laggio, nearly opposite to our inn at Cadenabbia,
and by far the finest feature of the lake. It stands
boldly forward where this beautiful sheet of water
separates into three noble branches -- or three lakes.
That which descends to Como forms one arm; that
parallel to it, which leads to Lecco, the other; and
the main branch, which we had partly ascended,
and down which we were now sailing, extends
nearly to Chiavenna, situated at the head of this
magnificent lake, far amidst the distant sinuosities
of the Alps.
As we approached Belaggio, we gazed with still
increasing admiration upon the peculiarly graceful
form of this beautiful promontory, stretching for-
ward amidst the waters; its steep verdant declivity
shaded with noble pines, and cypresses, and chest-
nut woods, and bathed on three sides by the calm
blue waters of the sunny lake; the half discovered
caverns in its rocks, once the haunt of banditti ;
the ruined fortress on the summit; and the singu-
lar perspective of the three lakes, shut in on every
LAKE ADVENTURES.
73
-
side by towering Alps, yet peopled with every
im-
age of peaceful life, and beauty, and happiness-
as if those majestic barriers of nature excluded
these happy shores from all the crimes and sorrows
of the world, yet sheltered all its pure and innocent
pleasures.
I had lingered near the mouldering walls of the
old castle on the height of the promontory, gazing
upon the magnificent scenery, which I might never
again behold-and Count Montini alone was by my
side, when he called my attention to some ladies
who were bowing to me from below. I looked and
beheld Lady Bellairs and her daughters, and with
them-Mr. Lindsay ! Yes! it was himself. Sur-
prise and emotion at seeing him, made me start and
utter an involuntary exclamation ; then confusion
at having betrayed feelings for which I could not
account, overwhelmed me; and he cast upon me
such 'a withering look,' that my blood seemed to
congeal in my veins-my limbs shook-and my
tongue refused its office.
•Count Montini and you seem enjoying a very
sentimental tête à tête all alone, in this romantic
scene, Miss St. Clair,' called to us the shrill tones
of Miss Emily Harriet Theodosia's voice. It is
quite the spot for romance.'
I could not speak.' One cold cutting bow of re-
cognition had Mr. Lindsay made me, and this was
the only notice he took of me. He never spoke,
-yet Georgiana, he did not see me unmoved. The
pale cheek, the parched quivering lip, the tremu-
lous eye, and unsteady step, betrayed his inward
agitation. The ladies pursued their way down to
their boat below. Miss Emily Harriet was leaning
on his arm, and he sailed away with them—while
they threw back a triumphant glance on the Count
7
>
VOL. III.
74
LAKE ADVENTURES.
ance.
6
and myself, left standing on the point, as their
boat rapidly receded through the sunny waters of
the bright blue lake.
The rest of our party were at this time going
over the inside of the villa close by, and were not
visible; so that Count Montini and myself alone in
this romantic spot, as Miss Emily Harriet sarcasti-
cally observed, must have had a strange appear-
As if this was not bad enough, we all adjourned
from Belaggio to the Villa Montini, where we din-
ed, at the Italian hour of dinner, which is nearly
the same as our luncheon time. Soon after din-
ner, according to Italian custom, the ladies and
gentlemen adjourned together to the gardens, and
Count Montini proposed acting charades.' In this
favourite diversion, the company are divided into
pairs, each gentleman asking a lady to act with
him, and every pair in turn go into an adjoining
room, to compose a charade ; and having rehearsed
together how they shall express by action-suc-
cessively the first, the second, and the third parts;
they return to the rest of the company, who try to
guess it, while they act it. The charades were
either in French or Italian ; if in French, Fran-
çais' was proclaimed by the couple about to act,
on entering. Many of the charades were well de-
vised, and admirably acted; and afforded general
amusement. Count Montini had asked me to be
his associate, and when our turn came to act a
charade, we went, as the rest had done before us,
into a small cabinet of the Casino, behind the sa-
loon, where the company were assembled, which
stands forward into the water; so that the whole
front of it, in breadth, opens to the lake. Count
Montini, who had asked permission to chuse the
charade, which I most willingly gave had fixed
6
LAKE ADVENTURES.
75
6
-
6
upon Amore’-and having seated me upon the sofa
exactly facing the lake, he began to rehearse the
first part. ‘Amo'—(I love)—with the most im-
passioned gestures of love, and more fervent de-
monstrations of it, than I conceived at all necessa-
ry. However I insisted upon cutting this scene
short, and he then acted the second part. Ré-
(the King)--in which, as King, he stamped, and
frowned, and knit his brows, and instructed me to
act the humble supplicant to him, as to an incens-
ed monarch. Then to represent the third part,
• Amore'—(love)—he flew back to me, and was
again going through the most speaking dumb shew
of love making; when, accidentally looking up, I
perceived a boat at a very short distance from the
summer house, rowing down the lake in full view
of us, and in it--was Mr. Lindsay! I started up.
He was evidently motioning and directing the boat-
men to row away--which they did rapidly, and
must soon have been out of our sight. The whole
of the scene between me and the Count, which to
him could bear but one interpretation, he must
have witnessed. What I said, or what I did, I
know not-but after a few moments vain struggle
with my feelings—for the first time in my life, I
fainted—and Count Montini caught me in his arms.
When I recovered my senses, I found the whole
Casino in confusion-my nose excoriated with salts,
my temples and lips burnt skinless with hartshorn
--and my whole person drenched with cold water.
Poor Lord Lumbercourt was hanging over me in
real distress. A hundred different remedies were
proposed in a moment,-a thousand contrary di-
rections given ;-advice and conjectures without
end heaped upon me. My indisposition was attri-
buted to heat, to cold, to air, to water, to fatigue,
to sailing, to fasting, to eating ice, to drinking
>
76
LAKE ADVENTURES.
water-to any and every thing except the real
cause. Count Montini himself openly imputed it
.
--with an undisguised frankness truly foreign, and
strongly in contrast with English reserve-to his
having alarmed me with his violent demonstration
of real love, while rehearsing the charade-and he
used all his powers of persuasion to induce me to
remain at his villa, lest crossing the lake should
bring on a return of indisposition. I succeeded,
however, in getting away immediately.--Lord
Lumbercourt accompanied us.
Mrs. Cleveland
would have declined his attendance, thinking me
best quiet, but, to her amazement, I begged he
would go home with us. My object in this was to
communicate to him the unfortunate accident that
had just happened, and to engage him to ascertain
where Mr. Lindsay was to be found, from the Bel-
lairs’s, who as he had been with them in the morn-
ing, probably knew his place of residence-in or-
der to explain to him the strange scene he had wit-
nessed in the Casino. Lord Lumbercourt not only
engaged to do this, but also undertook to call upon
him early the next morning, personally, to corrobo-
rate, from his own knowledge, the account of the
charade acting, which seemed to me too improba-
ble to obtain credit from Mr. Lindsay, unsupport-
ed by other testimony. From the moment I had
seen him in the morning with the Bellairs's, I had
little doubt that he was the Diogenes of the mas-
querade, and the spectator of the strange scene be-
tween Mrs. Cleveland, in man's clothes, and myself,
in my own room at Cadenabbia. Mrs. Cleveland,
who thought so too, fully explained to Lord Lum-
bercourt her frolic of that night, and its conse-
quences, which must have impressed Mr. Lindsay
--if he was the person who witnessed it with the
conviction of my utter depravity.
LAKE ADVENTURES.
77
a
It is not, however, my dear Georgiana, quite so
wonderful as it may seem at first sight, that Mr.
Lindsay should have witnessed this scene. If like
any other passenger on the lake, he had rowed
straight onwards past Cadenabbia, he would not
have seen it-but he stopped in his boat, and wait-
ed and watched our proceedings for a length of
time, and therefore it was that he saw it;—but
does not this watching seem to shew that we were
not altogether uninteresting to him?
Lord Lumbercourt entered into the vindication
of my character with the warmth and sincerity of a
true friend ; and assuring us that he would never
rest till he saw me completely justified, he set off
for his inn, carrying with him a letter of explana-
tion to Mr. Lindsay from Mrs. Cleveland.
Early next morning she received a note from
Lord Lumbercourt, saying Lady Bellairs had in-
formed him, that they themselves, though acquaint-
ed with him in England, were ignorant of his be-
ing upon the Lake of Como, until they had acci-
dentally found him upon the point of Belaggio ;
that he had then said he had been staying for a few
days at the house of a friend of his, Captain Beau-
mont, of the navy, who had been living with his
wife and child the whole summer in the villa Ser-
belloni on the lake. But they understood from
Mr. Lindsay, that he was going to proceed that
very day on his way by Lugano and the Lago
Maggiore, to Milan. Not satisfied with this ac-
count, Lord Lumbercourt said he had himself sent
to Captain Beaumont's house, and found that Mr.
Lindsay had actually gone the day before.
As a party had been fixed for this day to visit the
Lake Lugano, I immediately determined upon ac-
companying them, in the hope of meeting or over-
VOL. IJI,
7*
178
THE CAPTURE.
taking Mr. Lindsay there. But the particulars of
this eventful expedition I will relate in my next.
For the present, adieu !
CHAPTER XLIV.
THE CAPTURE.
She that has chastity is clad in steel,
And, like a quiver'd nymph with arrows keen,
May trace huge forests and unharbour'd heaths,
Infamous hills and sandy perilous wilds,
Where, through the sacred rays of chastity,
No savage fierce bandit or mountaineer
Will dare to soil her virgin purity. MILTON.
Chi va lontan della sua patria, vede
Cose da quel che già credea, lontane ;
Che narrandole poi, non se gli crede,
E stimato bugiardo ne rimane;
Che 'l sciocco vulgo non gli vuol dar fede,
Se non le vede e tocca chiare e piane.
Per questo io so che l'inesperienza
Farà al mio canto dar poca credenza.-Ariosto, Canto VII.
Oh troppo eara, oh troppo eccelsa prede
Per si barbare genti e si viilane !
Oh fortuna crudel, chi sia che 'l creda.--S. 62, Can. VIII.
LETTER XLIII.
CAROLINE ST. CLAIR TO MRS. BALCARRIS.
Cadenabbia, Sunday.
DIRECTLY after breakfast, the party from the vil-
THE CAPTURE.
79
la Montini rowed under our windows, and we em-
barked with them in a large boat for Mareggio, a
village in a beautiful bay of this lake, from whence
we had the choice of the conveyances of mules, or
of a most comical little cart,-narrower than any
thing that ever went before upon wheels, yet much
too wide for the mule road it had to traverse,--to
cross to Porlezzo, on the Lake of Lugano, a dis-
tance of six Italian miles. All the gentlemen, and
one Italian lady, the young Marchesa Ravezzoni,
and myself chose mules; the rest of the ladies went
in the little carts--and their difficulties and disas-
ters, in continually sticking fast in the hedges, be-
ing jammed between two walls, making old women
and their baskets fly into the ditch, leaving an oc-
casional wheel behind them, or taking an acciden-
tal roll down a hill, were extremely amusing to the
spectators.
At
any
other time I should have been delighted
with our ride. After ascending a long and steep
hill, our way lay through a beautiful valley, amidst
meadows of the brightest verdure, and cultivated
fields, now yielding to the busy peasants their third
luxuriant crop. Luxurious vines, loaded with rich
clusters of tempting grapes, were twined around
the lofty poplars, in rich festoons; the fig trees,
walnuts, and chesnuts in the open field, were stand-
ing covered with their ripe produce; and the mul-
berry trees, half despoiled of their foliage to sup-
port the industrious silk worm, bordered our nar-
row road. On all sides we beheld rural villages
and cottages, and farm houses, embosomed in these
fertile vales, beneath the loftiest mountains, while
such a prodigality of vegetation decked the whole
surface of the glad earth, that it filled the heart
with happiness only to look around, and almost
7
80
THE CAPTURE.
made its own miseries forgotten in the general joy
of nature.
We embarked at Porlezza, and after a long sail,
entered the bay of Lugano, the finest part of the
lake. The character of the scenery the whole way,
is unvaried. Immense high perpendicular banks,
.
rising abruptly from the water's edge, so steep as
seldom to allow footing even for a narrow pathway
along their rugged sides, covered with coppice
woods, and furrowed over with the deep channels
of thousands of devastating torrents, cast a deep
shade
upon
the dark waters of the lake, and threw
a gloomy and desolate aspect over the scene. Yet
there is grandeur in the tremendous Alpine heights,
which, far behind these savage cliffs, rear their na-
ked rocky heights to the clouds. By far the most
striking object is Monte Salvadore, its precipitous
summit crowned with a chapel. It is almost an
insulated mountain, the lake forming a sweep round
its base, into the deep bay of Lugano on one side,
and the bay of Muzano on the other, so that a nar-
row isthmus alone connects this singular mountain
peninsula with the land.
The rocky precipitous shores of this lake abound
in caves, used as cellars for wine, called by the
natives the Caverns of Eolus, from which issues a
cold and piercing blast. Speckled snakes, said to
be amphibious, infest the thick coppice woods
which hang upon its sides.
It is singular that no mention is made of a lake
of such magnitude and beauty, as the lake of Lu-
gano, in any ancient author--nor indeed till the
sixth century. But many writers consider the for-
mation of the lake to be of modern date.
About five miles below Porlezza, an inscription
on a wooden board on the shores, declares that the
>
THE CAPTURE.
81
remainder of the lake is in the territories of the
Helvetic Republic--so that we found ourselves
once more in Switzerland ; politically at least, for
geographically, Lugano is in Italy ;-in language,
manners, and customs, the people are perfect Ita-
lians—and they seemed extremely discontented at
being turned into Swiss by order of the Holy Alli-
ance.
>
Lugano, a neat little town lying along the fertile
shores of the bay, which are covered with vine-
yards, and gardens, and houses, had a most pleasing
appearance. We saw some frescos of great merit
by Luini. Masterpieces of painting in a little ob-
scure remote town such as this, made us feel that
we were indeed in the land of arts. But neither at
Lugano nor on the lake, did we see what I alone
longed to see, Mr. Lindsay; nor could we learn
any tidings of him, either from the muleteers of
Mareggio, the boatmen of Porlezza, or the inn-
keeper of Lugano. No English gentleman had
been seen.
Our passage back was wild and stormy-the wind
blew high and contrary, the lake tossed in uneasy
waves, and it was not without some labour that
late in the day, the boatmen reached Porlezza.
Mrs. Cleveland had been so sick and so terrified
on this passage, that she determined not to ven-
ture upon the Lake of Como, which, as the wind
was rising every moment, promised to prove very
rough. Instead, therefore, of riding back again to
Mareggio, and embarking there for Cadenabbia,
she resolved to take a wild unfrequented path
through the forest, which leads from Porlezza to
Cadenabbia. All the people crowded around us,
endeavouring to dissuade us from this attempt,
saying that the fastnesses of this wood, which ex-
)
82
THE CAPTURE.
tends far over the mountains, are the haunt of ban-
ditti, who issue from it to plunder the farms and
country houses, and often extend their depredations
to great distances, in search of richer booty. A
formidable band, the peasants said, had of late
possessed themselves of this retreat, and struck ter-
ror into all the surrounding country. But Mrs.
Cleveland's dread of the water so far exceeded all
the dangers of the land, that she determined to
brave this perilous journey; and two reluctant
guides were at last hired to accompany us, by pay-
ing them triple as much as they demanded, to go
to Mareggio. Count Montini could not, with de-
cency, leave the ladies from his own house, other-
wise he declared he would have attended us. We
were strongly advised to leave our watches and
money, and Colonel Cleveland gave his to Count
Montini, to whose care I also delivered my
watch.
But, as I thought, if we really should fall into the
hands of robbers--(of which, however, I had no
fear),--they might possibly murder us in revenge
for not getting a single sous from us,-I determin-
ed to keep my purse, and Mrs. Cleveland also gave
hers to her husband, to be ready to deliver up on
demand.
Mounted on mules, we now set off along the
wild mountain path, which leads to Cadenabbia,
just as the shades of evening began to fall around
us.
We slowly paced along, one after another, for
some time in silence; until the increasing darkness
compelled our guides to strike a light and kindle
their torches, which would scarcely burn from the
violence of the wind. Their uncertain glare, flash-
ing upon the moss-grown trunks of the old trees,
that bent and groaned beneath the blast, as we
THE CAPTURE.
83
a
a
passed along, had a strange and appalling effect,
and mingled with the roar of the wind among the
branches, so bewildered the senses, that Mrs. Cleve-
land's alarmed and busy fancy easily converted
every bush and jutting rock seen transiently and
indistinctly in the fitful gleams of light, into a lurk-
ing robber. For my part, considering the idea of
robbers as a mere bugbear, I was enjoying—as far
as I myself was concerned-all the romance and
adventure of this singular scene and situation ;
and even when the guides, bewildered with the
number of winding paths which struck in different
directions through the forest, stopped to deliberate
which was the right road, I entertained no idea of
any other danger than the possibility of wandering
about all night in the woods, or at most of having
a rencontre with a wolf or a bear; a chance which
was just sufficient to give a powerful stimulus and
interest to the imagination. I was in truth engag-
ed in the very profitable occupation of building
Chateaux en Espagne, when, being the leader of
the party, I overheard one of the guides saying to
the other, Per Bacco !--Checo*--we have taken
the wrong road. We are going further and fur-
ther
up among the mountains.
We shall get into
the very nest of these villains.' The other doubt-
ingly said he thought we were right.
I stopped, and telling Colonel and Mrs. Cleve-
land that one of the guides thought we had lost
our road, they immediately resolved to turn back,
and in fact we seemed, as well as we could judge,
to be ascending a deep gorge between two moun-
tains. Accordingly we turned about; but my sad-
dle becoming loose, I was obliged to stop to get it
6
* The Italian abbreviation for Antonio.
84
THE CAPTURE.
6
6
fastened : and when this was accomplished, the last
torch of the guide being expended, he attempted
to light a little lanthorn he had with him, which the
violence of the wind made somewhat difficult. I
held it for him, and just as he had accomplished it,
a rough voice from the thicket called out. Aspetta !
Ladroni ! cried the guide, with a groan, and a
man, breathless with speed, sprung out and seized
my mule by the bridle.
Robbers !--Ride, ride for your lives! I called
aloud to Colonel and Mrs. Cleveland, who, with
the other guide, were by. this time considerably
a-head of me. Colonel Cleveland, who was close
behind her, heard the cry-half turned his head,
while he furiously lashed her mule which set off at
full speed; their guide, with his torch, clung to the
tail of Colonel Cleveland's mule, and they were out
of sight in an instant. The panting ruffian who
held my bridle, could scarcely articulate the de-
mand of Denaro subito !!*
For all reply, and without a moment's hesitation,
I dashed the lighted lanthorn against his head and
eyes, with a suddenness and violence which stun-
ned and blinded him. He staggered back; the
light was extinguished ;—I drove the goaded stick
I carried, deep into the animal's sides ;-it plunged,
liberated its bridle from the robber's grasp, and
started forward at a furious gallop through the
darkness of the forest. The villain fired after me,
but I only heard the report of his pistol.
Onward we went, and I almost began to con-
gratulate myself on my escape,--for my flight was
rapid, -I heard no sound of pursuit,--and the mule
seemed to know its way by instinct, and carried
*
* Your money directly.
THE CAPTURE.
85
a
me in safety-scarcely relaxing its speed, through
the windings of the wood; and though I momen-
tarily expected the fate of Absalom,—to be left
sticking in a tree--it never once struck against one.
To my great joy, I saw at last a glimmering light
before me, which I did not doubt was the torch of
the Cleveland's ;-it came nearer, and in a few mo-
ments I was surrounded by armed banditti.
I expected instant death, and as unasked I gave
them my purse, I most submissively begged for my
life. They took no notice of my supplications,
.
but angrily demanded more money and my watch.
,
I assured them I had no watch, and that I had giv-
en them all the money I possessed.
This was by no means sufficient to satisfy them,
and after a few minutes ủeliberation among them-
selves, the chief informed me that I must write a
letter to desire my friends to pay them a thousand
crowns for my ransom, which he would send with
two of his band and the guide, whom they held in
custody; and that, until the messenger returned, I
must remain their prisoner. If these men brought
back the money within four hours, they would de-
liver me safely into the hands of any one who
might be sent with it; if not, they would take my
life.
In vain I implored that they would only allow
me to accompany the guide and the two banditti
within a short distance of Cadenabbia, and wait
under the guard of the banditti until the guide re-
turned with the money. This was positively and
sternly refused. The chief drew forth an ink-horn
from his pocket, and on pain of instant death, I was
compelled to write the request to Colonel Cleveland
for the payment of the sum. But as it was not per-
fectly clear that Colonel Cleveland had ever reached
8
VOL. III.
86
THE CAPTURE.
Cadenabbia, I directed the letter, in case of his ab-
sence, to be carried on to Lord Lumbercourt; and I
also represented to the chief, that as it was certain
no one person had such a sum in hard money, in
their actual possession, and that consequently it
would be necessary to raise it by contributions from
different individuals in different places, it would be
impossible to send it back within the given time, so
that he must allow me a longer extension of life.
He said he could grant me no more delay than five
hours at the utmost, for he had a rendezvous of
great importance with the absent part of his gang,
at a place at a considerable distance, to effect the
capture of some valuable goods, which they had
notice were to pass before day-break; nor could he
at all events have given me longer quarter, for if
the party were not dispersed by that time, their
retreat would be cut off by the Sbirri, whom their
recent outrages had already put upon the alert.
You will marvel at the humble request I made,
in case the money was not forthcoming in the time,
---that they would take me along with them to this
rendezvous! For I held being murdered in such
mortal aversion, that I actually begged, as a parti-
cular favour, to be allowed to become a companion
of thieves! I also assured them, that in case the
money could not be procured within the given
time, if they appointed another rendezvous, my
friends would keep it and send my ransom. The
chief gave me no hope of mercy, 'for if," he said
'
'he did not punctiliously fulfil all his threats, no
ransom would ever be paid, and after passing his
word of honour that he would murder a prisoner at
a given time, he must keep his parole.'*
* Verbatim, from a speech made by an Italian leader
of banditti to a prisoner.
THE CAPTURE.
87
1
!
One unfortunate woman, he told me, they had
very lately been obliged to murder, from the non-
payment of her ransom, and her bloody corpse was
left upon the mountains. I shuddered as I thought
that within a few hours this might be my fate.
But much as I dreaded death, one fear, more ter-
rible still, filled my soul. One of the banditti had
dropped a savage menace, sufficiently intelligible,
at which the very blood congealed in my veins with
horror; and before I wrote the letter, I told the
chief that as my honour was dearer to me than my
life, unless he would guarantee the one I would
not value the other at a ducat's purchase.
He said he would protect me if it was possible,
for he much admired the spirit and courage I had
shewn in making my escape (though unavailing),
from the first robber who acted as scout; and that
I was such a 'bravi ragazza' that he would do
cvery thing for me in his power.
I told him (for even his rugged heart, I thought,
I
might be won by flattery), that, I threw myself
entirely upon his generosity and protection--that
I saw he was a man of honour, (a galantuomo) and
felt assured he would protect a lady who was in his
power from insult worse than death.'
He seemed highly pleased with my compliments,
(alias lies,) but again avowed his inability at all
times to protect females from his lawless troop ;-
those among them who were not allowed to have
wives, which was the privilege only of the leaders,
conceiving that every woman they captured was
their lawful prey.
Dreadfully alarmed, I implored him to save me
from them, or if he found that impossible, to stab
me with his own hands, sooner than let me fall into
the power of these ruffians.
98
THE CAPTURE.
This conversation took place while he rode by
my side, as, followed by the band, he was conduct-
ing me further and further into the recesses of the
forest, to one of the secret haunts of the banditti.
It was a cave, or rather grotto, not under ground,
but in the side of a rocky precipice, and although
the entrance was so thoroughly concealed by fallen
rocks and overhanging shrubs and trees, that no
eye could have discovered it; and so low that we
had literally to creep into it, yet no sooner had we
passed the thickness of the outer rock, than I found
myself in a spacious marble hall (for the whole of
these mountains are composed of marble), at the
farther end of which, partially concealed by a turn
of the rock, issued a deep red glowing light, from
two braziers of burning charcoal, over which the
wife of the chief was preparing supper. She was
very young, and one of the most beautiful creatures
I ever beheld—with bright flasbing black eyes,
white teeth, coral lips, a rich glowing complexion
of the clearest brown, an oval contour of face, and
one of the prettiest petite figures in the world. Her
dress was extremely picturesque, consisting of a
petticoat ornamented with rows of red ribbon, a
jacket and boddice fitting tight to her shape, and
a piquant looking cloth cap, stuck on one side of
her head, from which her dark luxuriant tresses of
hair carelessly escaped.--She was deputed to search
me, to ascertain whether I had not some more
money or valuables on my person than the trifling
sum I had given the robbers, and accordingly she
conducted me into a small cave, which branched
out from the large one.
With the usual idle curiosity of uninformed wo-
men, she began to ask me a multiplicity of irrele-
vant questions about my dress, parents, lovers, hus-
THE CAPTURE.
89
>
6
band, and particularly what had brought me to
Italy, and to this forest ;--and without waiting for
an answer, she proceeded to tell me that the priest
said we English were all heretics, and possessed
with the devil, and that that was the reason we
could not rest in our own country, but kept wan-
dering about the world, and she anxiously inquired
if this was true, and if we really were possessed
with the devil ?
It struck me that I could perhaps turn the cre-
dulity of this woman to some account, and through
her, make the robbers afraid of approaching me,-
so I told her, with affected shame and reluctance,
that it was too true ;—that we English were affect-
ed with the Blue Devils,' who seized upon who-
ever held any close or intimate intercourse with us,
and grievously tormented their unhappy victims;
nay, that people possessed by them, frequently
hanged and drowned themselves. I added, that
all who were under the dominion of these blue
Devils,' were filled with vapours’arising from those
horrid demons.
She seemed struck with horror at the notion of
• Blue Devils;' and the vapours' with which they
filled the unhappy English—and she particularly
-
inquired, with great consternation, if they were
really blue, these devils ?
1 assured her they were altogether · Blue Devils,'
and that sometimes they turned English women
blue also; and those unfortunateso-of which I was
one--were called blues, but that we did not look
blue at all times, nor to all persons. She was ter-
ribly alarmed at the idea that these · Blue Devils'
might take possession of her, and seriously asked
me if the Blue Devils ever flew out of my mouth.'
I told her that they did sometimes, and seized upon
8*
6
VOL. III.
90
THE CAPTURE.
near
me.
other people in this way.--However I assured
her that they could not touch any one who did not
come into absolute contact with my person ;-that
if she were to salute or embrace me, they would
infallibly get hold of her, but that she might safely
examine my clothes and dress, though she must be
careful not to lay even a finger upon any part of
my person, or they would instantly seize upon her.
But she was so frightened she would not come
I perfectly satisfied her by opening
my dress before her, that I had nothing con-
cealed about me. I gave her my ear-rings and
rings, but she allowed me to keep my father's
picture, which she was persuaded, in spite of my
assurance to the contrary, was the picture of my
lover;- so that the only word of truth I told her,
was the only thing she disbelieved. I affected
great anxiety that the men in the cave should not
know of my being possessed with the Blue Devils,'
lest they should kill me—as an unclean thing;
(being perfectly certain all the time that they
would do no such thing as they expected, to get a
thousand crowns by keeping me alive.) But I
well knew that the more desirous I seemed to keep
the secret, the more certainly she would tell it;
and I had some hope it might frighten them into
ávoiding me. As I expected, she went immediate-
ly and informed them of it; and what was more
than I expected, they seemed to give it credit, (as
I gathered from their conversation, which I crept
after her to the mouth of the cave, to overhear.)
They were so superstitious, that any thing that is
supernatural-such as being possessed with Blue
Devils, they believe much more readily and firmly
than any simple truth.
In the search of my pocket the chief's wife had
THE CAPTURE.
91
drawn forth, amongst sundry of the most extraor-
dinary articles that female pocket ever contained
--a lump of opium wrapped in a bit of paper.
By a most singular chance, I had brought it down
from Mrs. Cleveland's medicine chest in the morn-
ing, for the purpose of mixing an eye lotion for
one of the servants of the inn at Cadenabbia, who
had an inflammation in one of her eyes. While in
the act of preparing it, I was informed that the
party were all in the boat, waiting for me, and not
having time to go up stairs to replace the opium,
and not daring to leave it behind me, I put it into
my pocket,—which you used always to say was the
receptacle for all sorts of odd things.
The sight of this piece of opium instantly sug-
gested a thought to me, which I determined to
endeavour to carry into effect. Accordingly, in
answer to her inquiry, I told her it was a sort of
gum which produced dreams that foretold what-
ever was about to happen to the person who took
it, in particular portions. She was extremely curi-
ous to take it, and she gave me back my penknife,
that I might cut her off the proper quantity. I
gave her a piece large enough to lull her into a
profound repose, and as soon as she had swallow-
ed it, she hastily went back to the banditti at the
captain's call, leaving my penknife in my hand. I
seized the opportunity, cut down the opium into
the smallest possible grains, and rolling it up tight
in a little bit of paper, I held it within my glove.
The banditti were now at supper, and the chief's
wife came to bring me back to the outer cave,
where they invited me to eat, which I thought it
politic not to refuse-and with fear and trembling
attempted to swallow, which I found extremely dif-
ficult." I asked for some drink, in the hope they
92
THE CAPTURE.
-
6
would let me drink out of the great ewer, or jug,
which was in the middle of the table, filled with
wine ;- but having the idea that I was infected
with the plague of the Blue Devils,' they would
not let me touch it, and only gave me a cup filled
from it. How to infuse the opium in their wine, I
could not conceive, as they were all sitting round
the table. Two of them began gambling with
cards, and two playing at Morra,* with vehement
gesticulations and noisy wrangling. They were all
fine looking young men--but with countenances
expressive of the deepest villany. They wore ear-
rings in their ears, and leathern belts around their
waists, in which their stilettos and ammunition
were carried.
Another belt was slung over their
shoulders. Their shirts open at the collar, dis-
played a picture of the Madonna, fastened by a
ribbon about the neck. There were only seven in
number, exclusive of the chief, who was an un-
commonly little man.
I sat in agony, listening to their licentious songs,
their horrible oaths, and still more horrible boasts
of the crimes and murders they had committed.
One of them vaunted of having killed nineteen
persons with his own hand, in cold blood, since he
began the trade.
* And I think you may murder another before
morning, if you like the job so well, Pietro,' said
one of the band, in a low voice, glancing at me,
* For I'll be shot if any money come for her. Why
they might have gone to Cadenabbia and back
twice over. Time creeps on apace. It only wants
an hour and a quarter before we must start, and
* A game which consists in holding up any number of
fingers in rapid succession; each party calling out the
number his antagonist shews.
THE CAPTURE.
93
then she must go;' designating me by pushing out
his thumb behind.
The liquor began to have effect; and one of
them, throwing ferocious glances upon me, mutter-
ed half distinct doubts whether I had the Blue De-
vils at all,-and at all events, whether a woman,
even possessed with Blue Devils and vapours, was
not better than none at all. Another advised them
'to wait till the time was expired, and then’-
The savage menace, though half suppressed, was
but too intelligible.
Every moment my situation became more hor-
rible. A quarter of an hour passed--another wast-
ed away-while with eyes fixed on the slow hands
of the chieftain's watch, which was hooked upon
the lamp on the table, I watched the minutes that
seemed ages, as they passed, and yet, alas! pass-
ed too rapidly for me ; for every one seemed to
bring me nearer to death-or danger worse than
death.
The chief's wife, stupified by the bit of opium
she had swallowed, had long been fast asleep. The
chief himself seemed half dozing. The robbers
became more noisy-their threats and glances eve-
ry moment more significant—their last flask of
wine was upon the table. In despair, I summoned
courage to try the last desperate expedient which
remained to me, and which I had long been medi-
tating.
With a beating heart I suddenly started up, and
screamed aloud - Gli Sbirri! Gli Sbirri! Son
alla bocca della Spelonca !'*
They started up in confusion, crying out—Non
6
* The Gens d'Armes ! The Gens d'Armes! They
are at the mouth of the cave!
94
THE CAPTURE.
9
e possibile, yet hastily snatching up their arms,
which were piled up in readiness, and making to-
wards the mouth of the cave, while I repeated
· Adesso sente! Eccoli. Son qui vicino—Si sgrida-
’
no! Si sgridano.'
I seized the opportunity whilst they were all
collected together, earnestly looking out at the
entrance; and threw the opium into the flask of
wine, hastily stirring it about with a knife which
was lying on the table. Just as I accomplished
this, they returned, exclaiming it was a false alarm.
I begged they would all drink my health for good
luck to them as well as to me; for I knew they
were such • Galantuomini, that they would much
rather have the thousand crowns than
my
life.
They cried out— Evviva Signora ! and immedi-
ately they all drank my health, and among them,
to my unspeakable joy, equitably shared the drug-
ged wine ; unanimously declaring that I was a
'bravissima donna,' and had given them no trouble
by screaming or.crying, or throwing myself into
fits, and that I even deserved to be a bandit's
wife;'—a distinction for which you may believe I
had at that moment, no peculiar envy. The chief
looked with anxiety at the dial of his watch, and
shook his head as he observed, that unless the mes-
senger returned from Cadenabbia, I had not half
an hour to live.
I shuddered with horror ; but soon the potent
drug worked its effect, and at last I had the hap-
piness of seeing them all sunk in sleep, which
promised both to be deep and long. Scarcely
able to breathe from alarm and agitation, I stole
softly to the mouth of the cave. No sound broke
the silence of night. I remembered having seen
the brigands tie my mule to a tree close by. It
6
THE CAPTURE.
95
was pro-
Manifold,
was now bright moonlight; I soon found the ani-
mal, and loosening its bridle, I mounted it, and
quickly rode away, leaving it to choose its own
course, which I did not doubt would be to Porlez-
za, the place to which it belonged; as the chief
had told me that when they waylaid me,
I
ceeding strait back for that village. As I did not
know the road to Cadenabbia, it was vain to at-
tempt to find it; nor did I wish it, as I should be
exposed to the risk of being recaptured by the
two banditti returning with the guide. As soon
as I thought myself out of hearing, I urged the
mule forward, which carried me briskly through
the mazes of the wood for some miles.
however, were my alarms from the deception pro-
duced by the gleams of moonlight upon the trees
and thickets, which continually bore to my terri-
fied fancy the appearance of ambushed men, and
by the noise of the wind among the trees, which
seemed to me the sounds of pursuit. At last
these dreaded sounds became louder and more dis-
tinct- It is the wind-it is the wind !' I repeated
to myself; and the burning blood rushed over my
face, and my heart died within me as I urged on
my mule to its utmost speed. But faster and fas-
ter, and nearer and nearer followed the sounds. I
heard the trampling of horses hoofs approaching
I heard once more the horrid mandate - As-
petta !!*_Armed men on horseback overtook me.
One of them seized my bridle. At this moment
my spirits and courage wholly deserted me; hope
was extinct; and pressing my hands upon my
bursting eye balls, with a groan of horror I feil
senseless on the neck of the mule.
* Stop!
96
THE CAPTURE.
6
When I came to my recollection, I found myself
lying on the grass, supported by the arms of a
man; while another, with a hat full of water, was
standing over me, and liberally sprinkling my face
and throat with it. Several men seemed standing
round us.
My hat and handkerchief were taken
off, my hair hanging dishevelled about my should-
ers.
I instantly awoke to a confused recollection
of all the horrors of my situation, and struggling
with abhorrence to disengage myself from the
man's arms, I implored him to take my life in-
stantly, but not to touch my person, and to spare
me insult worse than death.'
The arm that supported me, gently pressed me
closer; and a voice of infinite tenderness softly
said in English — Be composed, dearest Miss St.
Clair. You are safe—you are with those who
will die sooner than suffer you to experience in-
dignity.'
Good heavens! What voice is that? I ex-
claimed, trying to raise myself.
• Is she come to herself,' exclaimed the honest
voice of Colonel Cleveland, throwing down his hat
full of water. • God be thanked ! and he poured
forth his transports and his questions, without
waiting for answers.
This is no time for inquiries,' said my sup-
porter in a low voice. In a few minutes the
banditti
may
be down upon us.
No doubt their
scouts have already given the alarm. We must
carry you.'
carry
O no, no! I can ride!-I exclaimed eagerly,
* Let us be gone! Let us not lose a moment
and I started up. I staggered back from weak-
ness and exhaustion, but be caught me in his
arms; and recovering myself, and positively re-
6
THE CAPTURE.
97
fusing his urgent entreaties to allow him to carry
me before him, I was soon mounted upon one of
their fleetest horses, and riding through the forest
at speed.
The sound of the well known voice had not
deceived me. It was the voice of Mr. Lindsay.
He it was who had sought me; he who had sup-
ported me; he who was guarding me; and the
tone of his voice, and the deep interest expressed
by his countenance and manner, seemed to prove
that my safety was not indifferent to him. No
longer cold, sarcastic, bitter and disdainful, his
deportment was marked by the deepest respect
solicitude—and yes-to you I may say it-tender-
ness.
2
The suddenness of the change the unhoped de-
liverance I had experienced from fears the most
dreadful that can agitate the heart, and a fate the
most horrible that can befall woman,to security,
and the protection of those to whom it was hap-
piness to owe obligation-filled my mind with sen-
sations too deep for utterance. Indeed, the rate
at which we rode, and the narrowness of the path,
which obliged us to follow each other, wholly pre-
cluded conversation. I rode between the two gen-
tlemen, and we were escorted by four mounted
Sbirri, one of whom rode in front of the cavalcade,
as guide. Within a short distance of Cadenabbia
we heard the rapid advance of horses.
• The banditti ! exclaimed Colonel Cleveland,
stopping our march, and taking the command of
our party, which he drew up in battle array, as-
signing to every man his post, and giving strict
orders that not a shot should be fired till he gave
the word.
I was placed behind, trembling in every limb,
VOL. III.
9
6
98
THE CAPTURE.
6
under the immediate charge of Mr. Lindsay, who
sought to reassure me with the most earnest soli-
citude. He placed himself exactly before me, so
as to intercept any shot or any attack that should
be directed against me.
The opposite party now rode up. Their leader,
seeing the path beset with our armed men, drew
up his horse, halted, and demanded a parley. Co-
lonel Cleveland, who had formed his little troop
under the deep shade of a large tree, so as to
oblige the enemy to stand in the bright moonlight,
after reconnoitring his opponents for a moment,
called out in a joyful voice-Count Montini ! is
it you ??
Amici !!* cried the Count, and a joyful expla-
nation ensued. The supposed belligerents found
themselves allies.
It appeared that when the two banditti and
the guide arrived at Cadenabbia, to demand my
ransom, Colonel Cleveland, who had left Mrs.
Cleveland there in safety, had already set off
in pursuit of me, with Mr. Lindsay and the
Sbirri, whom he had hastily collected from the
village. The two banditti, not finding him there,
had gone on as I had directed, with my letter
to Lord Lumbercourt, at the other inn ;-but
Mrs. Cleveland, who could not in the whole
house raise two hundred crowns, and learnt
that it was necessary to send a thousand to save
my life, thought it very improbable that Lord
Lumbercourt could procure the remainder, and
therefore instantly sent a messenger across the lake
to Count Montini, who the moment he heard of
my capture, came over himself--not without con-
* Friends.
THE CAPTURE.
99
siderable peril from the extreme roughness of the
lake, with the money for my ransom, and an escort
of his own armed servants. At Cadenabbia he
found the two banditti and the guide, who had re-
turned unsuccessful from their mission to Lord
Lumbercourt, his Lordship having gone that morn-
ing to Milan. They were, however, detained at
Cadenabbia by Mrs. Cleveland, in the hope that
Count Montini might send back the money. The
hour was already passed that had been fixed, for
my death or ransom, but Count Montini instantly
set off with it himself, conducted by the two rob-
bers, and was now on his way to the cave to effect
my release, if I was yet unmurdered, by paying the
thousand crowns—the price of my life. The two
banditti, their hostage being rescued, and them-
selves surrounded by an armed force, were now
prisoners; and to save their lives they stipulated to
betray their accomplices, discover their haunts, and
identify their persons.
Each of them, therefore,
was mounted on horseback, behind one of the Sbir-
ri; their hands tied behind their backs, and their
legs fastened together under the horses' bellies ;
and in this condition they were brought back with
us to Cadenabbia, where the Sbirri expected, by
this time, to find a reinforcement of their body
assembled, and where the bag of money, and my-
self (now two useless incumbrances), were to be
deposited.
Mr. Lindsay instantly declared his intention to
go with this party to revenge me,' he said, by de-
stroying every man of the gang. It was expected
they would make a most desperate resistance.
Colonel Cleveland also exclaimed he would
go
and
help to ferret out the villains. But Count Monti-
ni, with a truly Italian shrug, protested that they
6
6
100
THE CAPTURE.
had lost all their interest for him, now that I was
safe out of their hands; and that he really had no
particular fancy to be shot in a scuffle with such
Birbanti.'
I informed the officers that if they went instantly,
without loss of time, they would probably surprise
the banditti I had left in the cave, while still fast
asleep under the influence of the opium they had
swallowed.
When we arrived at Cadenabbia, Mrs. Cleveland
was thrown into transports of joy at the sight of her
husband and myself in safety. Dreadful indeed
must have been her terror and suspense during his
absence, and it was most merciful that in her situ-
ation, the fright and distress she had gone through,
had not brought on any evil consequences. But
the agonies of grief and alarm into which she fell
on the intimation that her husband was going in
pursuit of the banditti, made it wholly impossible
for him to leave her; and with sore reluctance
and regret, he was compelled to give up his inten-
tion.
But no intreaties nor representation could deter
Mr. Lindsay. All the Italians, who best knew the
nature of the service, united with Count Montini in
urging its extreme peril.
• You will be killed !' exclaimed Count Montini,
seeing him resolved.
• So much the better! he replied, with a bitter
smile ;-and flying down stairs he sprung upon his
horse, stimulating the fearful reluctant Sbirri,
and armed peasants, who now formed a body of
nearly twenty men, to undertake the expedition, by
threats of punishment if they refused, and promises
of reward if they succeeded. Under his lead they
once more set off for the forest.
THE CAPTURE.
101
He had promised to return direct to Cadenabbia,
after the enterprise was over, and to see us in the
morning, as we told him we had something of much
consequence to explain to him. But morning dawn-
ed, hour after hour wore away, and still he did not
appear. News was at last brought of the capture
of some of the robbers, and the destruction of others,
after a most obstinate resistance; and we learnt
that the Sbirri were bringing the prisoners in chains
down to Cadenabbia, to be embarked on the Lake
for Como; but no intelligence of Mr. Lindsay's fate
could we learn, and our anxiety became every mo-
ment more distressing.
When at last the Sbirri arrived, even they could
not give us any satisfactory intelligence respecting
him. That he was the first man who entered the
cave, and the foremost in the combat, all agreed.
He seemed, as they expressed it—to be every
where at once.' But alas! now he seemed to be
no where."
Besides the men whom I left in the cave, stupi-
fied with opium, and who fell an easy prey,—ten
or twelve more of the gang had arrived there be-
fore Mr. Lindsay's party reached it, and it was with
them that they had “the tug of war. The captured
brigands said with curses that but for that devil
of an Englishman,' they should not have been taken.
But they knew not what had become of him. One
of the Sbirri said he had seen him after the fight
was over, and that he fancied he was then in pur-
suit of some of the flying banditti, who actually
made their escape; and there was but too much
reason to fear that they had turned upon him, and
probably murdered him. An immense reward was
offered for his discovery, dead or alive, and treble
the amount for the apprehension of his murderers.
>
VOL. III.
9*
102
THE CAPTURE.
Parties of peasants were employed in searching the
forest the whole day. Colonel Cleveland himself,
and a strong party of men, explored the cavern and
its environs, and every part of the forest, with the
utmost diligence. The two robbers who had turn-
ed informers to procure their pardon, were taken
back with them to point out all the places of ren-
dezvous and concealment the brigands used in the
wood; but every spot was found silent and desert-
ed. The dead bodies of those who had fallen,
amongst which was the chief, were found lying
uninterred near the cave. His wife I learnt had
escaped. But no traces of Mr. Lindsay were dis-
covered any where. This mysterious disappear-
ance affected us all with unspeakable alarm and
misery; and the suspense and conjecture as to his
fate, almost effaced from my mind the impressions
produced by the horrors of the night, and the pro-
vidential escape I had myself experienced. The
banditti who were taken, said if I had not by en-
chantment and the power of the · Blue Devils,'
which possessed me, thrown them into that deep
sleep, I should have been killed at the hour that
had been fixed.' At that time their comrades had
joined them, to go upon a distant expedition to
waylay some rich merchandise that was expected
to pass the frontiers, (so that I must narrowly have
escaped their party,) but those men said they
found it impossible to rouse the others from the
enchanted sleep I had thrown them into.'
Colonel Cleveland, on hearing their account of
the inventions and operations I had practised in the
cave, against the robbers, to keep them at a dis-
tance, and effect my escape, went from one fit of
laughter into another, and certainly never will for-
get the story of the Blue Devils, as long as he
lives.
6
THE CAPTURE.
105
I learnt that Colonel and Mrs. Cleveland, after
escaping from the first robber who had seized me,
had proceeded without further molestation to Cade-
nabbia, the mules having turned into a path which
the guide at once knew to be the right one. And
with respect to their meeting with Mr. Lindsay,
whose appearance was nearly as mysterious to me
as his disappearance—coming as he did to rescue
me from the robbers--all that they knew about
him was, that they found him at Cadenabbia when
they arrived there, his boat having, as they suppos-
ed, in returning from Como, been driven there by
the roughness of the lake, which made it impossible
for the boatmen to proceed further.
In the middle of the day a messenger arrived
rith the following note, without a date, which he
said he had brought from a person he did not know,
from a village on Lake Lugano.
TO COLONEL CLEVELAND.
DEAR CLEVELAND,
Although I hope you received a message which
I sent by one of the Gens d'Armes, to acquaint
you that I was unexpectedly prevented returning
to Cadenabbia, as I intended, yet I seize the first
opportunity to dispatch this line, to assure you how
deeply I regret, that unforeseen circumstances,
which urgently required my immediate presence
on particular business in another quarter, made it
impossible for me to ride back this morning to in-
quire how the ladies felt after the terrors and dan-
gers of last night, which they encountered with
such heroic courage and fortitude. I sincerely
hope they have not suffered from the effects of a
104
THE CAPTURE.
situation so dreadful and exertions so unparalleled.
I shall deeply lament if anxiety for me should have
given them a moment's uneasiness. Unhappily it
was utterly impossible for me otherwise than by a
verbal message, sooner to acquaint you with the
unavoidable necessity of my change of destination.
With most respectful remembrances to Mrs.
Cleveland and Miss St. Clair, believe me dear
Cleveland,
Your's faithfully,
HORACE LINDSAY.
6
6
6
• The man's alive,' exclaimed Mrs. Cleveland.
• Heaven be praised,' rejoined I.
• But after all, what nonsense ! exclaimed Mrs.
Cleveland—and what affectation! What absurd
airs ! Why, what "unforeseen circumstances' could
have occurred in the middle of the night, and the
middle of a wood, to oblige him to ride away just
in an opposite direction! What could he have to
do upon Lake Lugano? And what possible busi-
ness could he have any where ?'
'
Never
poor
absentee was loaded with more abuse
than the unfortunate Mr. Lindsay.
She was sure “it was all whim, all caprice ; done
with no other view than to make himself of conse-
quence,-to make us miserable about him,-and to
enjoy the anxiety he caused.'-Such were the
invectives poured out against him by Mrs. Cleve-
land.
Colonel Cleveland declared, it was very strange,
very unaccountable,--but Lindsay was not a fel-
low of that sort either, and that he could not un-
derstand it.'
For my part, my secret opinion is, that he did
HOW IT HAPPENED.
105
not choose to meet me again,-and that his roal
: business' was—to avoid me.
Ever your's,
CAROLINE ST. CLAIR.
CHAPTER XLV.
HOW IT HAPPENED.
In sese redit.-Virgil, Geor, IV.
6
6
6
The conjecture made by Miss St. Clair, at the
conclusion of her last letter, as to the cause of Mr.
Lindsay's absence was not perfectly correct. Mr.
Lindsay had particular business on the lake of
Lugano, and unforeseen circumstances, which
came to his knowledge in the middle of the wood,
did, in his opinion, make it necessary for him im-
mediately to proceed there. What this particu-
lar business,' and these unforeseen circumstances'
were, must appear hereafter.
The day after receiving Mr. Lindsay's note,
Colonel and Mrs. Cleveland and Miss Št. Clair,
left the Larian Lake, sailing round the beautiful
promontory of Belaggio, and down that arm of the
lake which leads to Lecco, where they met their
carriage, which had been sent round from Como,
by land. From thence they proceeded by Bergamo,
106
HOW IT HAPPENED.
2
>
-
9
Brescia, the Lago di Garda, (the Benacus), Verona,
Vicenza, and Padua, to Venice.
But we must, for the present, leave the travellers
to pursue their journey, and resume the thread of
Mr. Lindsay's history, whom we left in the tower
of the old castle in Ober Engadine, in the power of
that mysterious being who had so lately been the
means of endangering and of saving his life. What
passed between them, it is not necessary at present
to relate ; suffice it to say that, after a sojourn in
the dungeon of that ancient keep, Lindsay again
issued forth to upper. day, and once more, though
long afterwards, made his appearance amongst the
scared villagers of Sajlas; who, having unanimous-
ly come to a determination that he had been carri-
ed away by the devil, received him as
one risen
from the dead. The little boys and girls ran away
squalling from him,--the young maidens lingered
with their buckets of water poised on their heads,
to contemplate him from afar, ---the good wife stood
at her cottage door to look after him, -- the sober
husbandman insensibly stopped his team as, with
open-mouthed astonishment, he met with him,-
nay, even the blacksmith paused with the heavy
iron uplifted in his brawny arm, as he beheld - The
Milord,' whose disappearance had caused such alarm
in the vallies, pass suddenly by his roaring forge.
But Lindsay was nearly seized upon, perforce, by,
his honest Engadine friends, and carried off to
Berne or Geneva, for the purpose of claiming the
reward which had been so liberally offered for his
discovery; and he was actually obliged to pay the
money himself, before he could proceed unmolest-
ed on his journey.
But even at the time of his incarceration in the
tower, winter, in these Alpine vallies, which even
6
HOW IT HAPPENED.
107
in July are frequently covered with snow, had be-
gun to reign in all his terrors; and Lindsay imme-
diately set off from Sajlas by the carriage road,
then the only practicable 'path, which leads by
Mount Maloja to Casaccio, and from thence to
Chiavenna; at a short distance from which (at
Riva), he embarked on the Lake of Como, where
he arrived two days before the Clevelands; but
having had occasion to apply to Captain Beaumont,
an old friend of his who was married, and living in
a villa which he had taken for the summer on the
lake, he was persuaded to spend a few days with
him. During his stay there, in returning from a
distant mountain excursion, which had detained
him late,- in rowing past Cadenabbia, his atten-
tion was arrested by the sight of Caroline St. Clair
pulling off the Count Landi's coat, and apparently
taking somewhat extraordinary liberties with his
person. She was attired in her Swiss dress, the
same in which he had last seen her, in Mr. Breadal-
bane's bed-room, and almost in his arms; and now,
in the same fascinating costume, she was apparent-
ly romping and coquetting with another man! His
curiosity, indeed his jealousy, were so powerfully
excited, that he could not resist stopping to see the
end of this singular scene, during which the unre-
strained laughter, and frolic, and intimacy that seeni-
ed to prevail in her intercourse with a perfect stran-
ger, and the lateness of the hour--altogether gave
him a painful sense of impropriety and levity.
When the Count went away to undress, and she
appeared alone, at her chamber window, looking
out on the beautiful moonlight scene, Lindsay
could not resist gazing upon her beauty, and the
heavenly expression of her countenance, with the
impassioned fondness of a lover; and the internal
ܕ
108
HOW IT HAPPENED.
conviction of her virtue and innocence seemed to
come home to his heart-surely,' he mentally ex-
claimed, nothing but angelic purity can harbour
in that sweet breast.'
If she be false--why then heaven mocks itself!
Just as the Count (for such Mrs. Cleveland seemed),
stole slyly behind her, seized her in his arms, and
covered her with kisses. What was Lindsay's in-
dignant amazement, when, after a faint struggle, he
beheld her fly after him, detain him, and even re-
turn his caresses ! He could scarcely credit the evi-
dence of his senses ! Yet he saw it ;-even his boat-
men saw it, and passed their coarse jokes upon
it.
It was too much. Shocked and ashamed beyond
expression, he remained fixed, speechless, and lost
in consternation for some moments. One excla-
mation burst from him, which reached Caroline's
ears, as his senses regained their empire, and he
instantly commanded the boatmen to row away.
As his friend, Captain Beaumont, insisted upon
his accompanying him next day, to the masquerade
at the villa Montini, he chose the character of Di-
ogenes, that he might indulge the morose and un-
social temper of his soul, and like a true cynic, rail
against all mankind or rather womankind, -the re-
al objects of his present spleen.
Overflowing with ire, and, as he thought, with
contempt, he watched Caroline St. Clair's arrival,
that he might speak daggers' to her. Notwith-
standing her disguise of the dress of the sorcerer,
the moment she spoke he recognised her voice ;
but the tone of that voice he found, at last, he
could not hear unmoved. The innate modesty of
her air and manner, the touching expression of can-
a
6
HOW IT HAPPENED.
109
over-
dour and truth, and the perfect purity and delicacy
which every word and every gesture evinced, bore
down all his prejudices and determinations,
came even the evidence of his senses, and made
him feel-even while he execrated his own weak-
ness and infatuation—that respect, admiration, and
even love, still reigned at the bottom of his heart,
though anger, jealousy, and contending passions
raged within it. Unable to hear and see her, and
command himself, he broke from her, and left the
gardens.
His own voice was so effectually altered by a
sort of small tube which he retained in his mouth
for that purpose--an art he had learned in Spain ;
and his figure was so changed by the classic cos-
tume he wore, that even Miss St. Clair's penetra-
tion had not identified him.
From his friend, Captain Beaumont, who remain-
ed till the end of the fête, and was much struck
with the beauty and grace of Miss St. Clair, he
heard with redoubled bitterness of indignation, the
undisguised attention and admiration she re-
ceived the whole night from Count Montini, a man
notorious for his gallantry, even among the gallant
Italians, a professed libertine, a dangerous seducer
-a perfect Don Juan of a man,—and a married
man too, though separated from his wife. Captain
Beaumont, from his ignorance of the language, had,
unfortunately, misunderstood Count Montini's jest,
and informed Horace Lindsay, that he had boasted
of Miss St. Clair's forwardness in proposing to go
away with him privately, which confirmed his
worst suspicions.
Two days afterwards, Horace Lindsay saw Miss
St. Clair, apparently quite alone with this profili-
gate man in the secluded groves of Belaggio; and
;
10
VOL. III.
110
HOW IT I APPENED.
the confusion and emotion she betrayed at the un-
expected sight of himself, he attributed to conscious
guilt and shame at being detected with the Count
in a private assignation. A few hours after, he be-
held her in a still more equivocal situation, again
alone with this accomplished seducer, in a cabinet
of his own Casino, and evidently making love. He
even beheld her use the gestures of a suppliant to
him, as if he had already triumphed over her virtue,
and she was now at his mercy! What further proof
could be wanted, that she was lost, abandoned, de-
praved,--bereft of all that was estimable in wo-
man ? With this conviction on his mind, he arri-
ved at Como, for which place he was actually
bound, when, in rowing past, he had seen her in
the Casino, although, for reasons of his own, he had
given out he was going direct to Lugano.
At Como, he at last received, amongst the enor-
mous packet brought by his servant from Geneva,
the letters written to him from Grindelwald by La-
dy Hunlocke and Mr. Breadalbane, in vindication
of Miss St. Clair. Notwithstanding all he had so
lately witnessed on the Lake of Como, he at once
gave implicit credit to the statement these letters
contained, of the propriety of Miss St. Clair's con-
duct towards Mr. Breadalbane; and of the noble
and generous motives which had induced her to de-
part, in this case, so widely from established rules
of decorum. In fact, so powerful is the impres-
sion made by honourable and upright characters
upon each other, that it seems a sort of mental
freemasonry. They recognise a kindred mind in
every word and look ; and seem at last to know, in-
tuitively, how each will act and feel in every situa-
tion and event. Even when apparently indisputa-
ble proof appears of utter unworthiness in either,
HOW IT HAPPENED.
111
an intimate conviction seems to tell the other that
it is a moral impossibility such a being can be
guilty of an act of baseness and dishonour.
Thus it was with Lindsay. Though staggered
and confou ded with what he had heard and wit-
nessed—though he repeated to himself—. It is too
true--have I not seen it?'--though his reason was
convinced, yet his rebellious heart was unimpressed
with it, and still retained the image of Caroline St.
Clair, in all the purity of woman's highest excel-
lence, which first took possession of it, and which
no subsequent efforts could drive from its seat. It
was a fine and intuitive tact-less fallacious than
reason -- that in defiance of its dictates, permitted
not his opinion to change-even while it seemed
contradicted by the evidence of his own senses.
He was indeed rejoiced to find at last, this secret
unacknowledged persuasion confirmed, and that
she was pure and spotless. Yet this proof of her
previous innocence rendered the conduct he had
so lately witnessed on the Lake of Como, more
extraordinary and incomprehensible. Was it
possible, that she, who was so lately all purity,
dignity, and modestý, was now transformed into
a shameless adulteress? Had she, who it ap-
peared was the affianced bride of Breadalbane,
after giving him her heart, and promising him her
hand--yielded her person to the licentious embra-
ces of a profligate Italian? No-though he had
seen it, he could not believe it; and Lindsay, tor-
tured by doubt, determined to go to Cadenabbia,
for the ostensible motive of explaining his apparent
neglect in not having answered the letters from
Grindelwald, but really with the hope that he should
receive some elucidation of the disgraceful scenes
he had witnessed. Having arranged the affairs
112
HOW IT HAPPENED.
which took him to Como, therefore, instead of pro-
ceeding direct to Lugano as he intended, he sailed
up to Cadenabbia, which from the roughness of the
lake, and the wind blowing directly contrary, he
had only reached after a very dangerous naviga-
tion, about an hour before Colonel and Mrs. Cleve-
land, after their flight from the robbers, arrived
from the forest.
On hearing that Miss St. Clair was taken by the
banditti, all the past was forgotten. She was ex-
posed to the brutal violence of lawless ruffians-
her life--her honour were in danger. Maddened
with the thought, he used incredible exertions,
employed unsparingly the all-commanding power
of money, and succeeded in collecting some armed
Sbirri and horses with extraordinary expedition ;
o that by the time Colonel Cleveland had reassured
his trembling wife, the cavalcade was at the door,
and both the gentlemen mounted, and set off on
the ineffectual search for the retreat of the banditti,
vainly patroling the recesses of the mountain and
the forest in every direction-until the sound of
Miss St. Clair's mule, as she was flying from the
robbers, at last struck their ear;—they pursued and
overtook her, and Lindsay threw himself from his
horse, and just caught her in his arms, as she fell
insensible from her seat. The words and the tone
in which they were uttered, as her senses were
slowly returning -pathetically beseeching the rob-
bers to “take her life, but spare her honour'--spoke
conviction to the heart of her lover, and filled it
with emotions too powerful for language to express.
The truth went home to his soul. She was inno-
cent. Guilt could not have uttered those accents.
fle needed no further proof. Some arch delusion,
some artful deception indeed, must have been prác-
PURSUIT.
113
tised ;--but even against the evidence of his own
senses, he felt the internal conviction, the moral
certainty, which could not be shaken--that her pu-
rity, even of mind-was unstained, and that she
was spotless as an angel.
Could Caroline have known what was passing
within his mind, what transport would it have given
her ! But he was torn from her by his own gene-
rous ardour, to avenge her injuries upon the villains
who had assaulted her, and she saw him no more.
After his victory over the banditti, unforeseen cir-
cumstances,' and particular business,' called him,
as we have seen, from the cave in the mountain
forest, to the Lake of Lugano, where, for the pre-
sent, we must leave him.
6
>
CHAPTER XLVI.
PURSUIT.
One would think that all mankind were trying to catch one
another.
MESSING.
LORD Lumbercourt, like a Knight Errant of old,
and most certainly an old Knight Errant,-im-
moveably bent upon the vindication of Miss St.
Clair's fair fame, which he had vowed never to rest
until he had cleared from every slanderous imputa-
10*
VOL. III.
114
PURSUIT.
6
6
tion, set off for Milan on the same morning that
the party at Cadenabbia and the Villa Montini un-
dertook their ill-fated expedition to the Lake Lu-
gano, with the view to intercept Mr. Lindsay on
his arrival at that city, from the aforesaid lake, and
explain to him all the suspicious circumstances and
appearances he had witnessed the preceding day.
But his Lordship’s motions were somewhat slow;
and albeit he neither tarried by the way to see the
famous iron crown at Monza, nor the holy relics,
nor the splendid palace, nor any of the curiosities,
-yet by the time he reached Milan, he found, to
his great disappointment, that Mr. Lindsay-as
mine host of the Albergo Reale firmly believed-
had set off that same day for Florence. It was at
least certain that his carriage was no longer there,
and that "un certo · Milor. Inglese - giovane' bel
uomo'-and answering perfectly to the description
of the person, equipage, and attendants, of. Milor
Lindsay, had set off that morning for that fair city;
so that "Milor' Lumbercourt, nothing doubting,
forthwith posted after him,-and diligently pursu-
ed this ignus fatuus—in the shape of his cousin,
which regularly proceeded before him the whole
way, without his once getting any nearer to it, un-
til, on the utmost summit of the stormy and snow
covered Appenines, and within one short day's
journey of the goal, the gout seized him with its
relentless fangs, in the wretched Osteria of Pietra
Mala,—the worst quarters in the world for 'gouty
gentlemen who love their ease.'
But as these ancient gentlemen, especially under
a fit of the gout, are not the most entertaining
companions in the world, we shall abandon the un-
fortunate peer to the solitary discomforts of his
bleak and wretched abode, and pursue the traces
9
PURSUIT.
115
rence.
of that chariot which he was vainly làbouring to
overtake ; and which, late in the day, drove up
furiously to the door of Schneider's hotel at Flo-
A gentleman impatiently put his head out
of the window, and eagerly inquired-not for
apartments, beds, dinners, or any of the usual de-
mands of travellers—but for Lady Hunlocke.
. Che Cosa ?' demanded the astonished Came-
riere.*
• Curse her! Do you dare to curse her?' was
angrily articulated in a broad Scotch accent, while
a gaunt long visaged physiognomy, and clenched
fist, were thrust menacingly out of the window.
• Curse mi Leddy Hunlocke! Wull ye then?"
?
“Non capisco,' exclaimed the perplexed Came-
riere, with a shrug which better than his words,
explained his utter non-comprehension.
Mi Leddy Hunlocke, ye gowk ? Dinna ye hear?
Are ye deef?' roared the Scot in a voice cal-
culated to make him so; apparently conceiving,
like all people ignorant of foreign languages, that
want of hearing alone could prevent any body from
understanding English.
• Je dis, que, Je veux avoir, Mi Ladi Hunlocke,'
repeated the gentleman, in that extraordinary
French which English .gentlemen sometimes do
speak. Je demande Mil-leti,' he emphatically
repeated, trying to Italianize his pronunciation.
Mil-let-ti, Je vous dis.'
• Mil-letti' repeated the Cameriere, pondering
over the words to himself, with a face of deep study
6. Ah! Mill' letti !t Signore domande Mill letti!
6
9
6
6
а
* Waiter.
f A thousand beds.
7
116
PURSUIT.
6
6
6
Adesso capisco. Ma cospetto !---Mil letti !!! Per
Bacco! Non c'e Mill letti ; e non so si trova ma'
• What the devil is the fellow gabbling about?
Ou est Miledi Hounlocke?' and straightway a bat-
tle royal between the impatient Englishman and
the perplexed Italian would have ensued, had not
an elucidation taken place by the intervention of a
foreign servant, who was loitering near the hotel
door.
Ah! una signora! una certa signora Inglese!'
exclaimed the illuminated Cameriere, unspeakably
relieved at finding • Milor' did not want a thousand
beds; and he produced, with much alacrity, a writ-
ten list of all the inmates of the hotel, among
whom Mr. Breadalbane found the name of Lady
Hunlocke.
He eagerly asked to see her.
• She was gone to the opera.'
• And Mademoiselle Carline?'
They knew no such person.'
What! was Lady Hunlocke there alone? Was
nobody with her?
Nobody, but her fille.'
· Her fille ! well, it is her fille then, I suppose,
since Carline chooses to call herself so said Bread-
albane, pettishly and impatiently. Let me see
-
her directly!
He was accordingly conducted to a long dark
room, the habitation of Lady Hunlocke's domestics,
lighted only by a dim lamp at one end, which
scarcely served to make darkness visible. The
logs of wood lay extinguished on the unswept
hearth. Two empty wine flasks and a greasy Eng-
lish newspaper lay on the well be-slopped wooden
table. Breadalbane perambulated this comfortless
apartment with hasty strides. He was cold and
6
6
G
PURSUIT.
117
6
hungry, and desperately impatient, but he was
compelled to wait. At last, when his patience was
utterly exhausted, the door, at the further extremity
of the room, slowly and doubtfully opened. He
rushed forward, seized the hand of a hesitating fe-
male, who still stood within it, and whose black
dress, long cloak, large black bonnet, and down-
cast looks, would have rendered it nearly impossible
to distinguish whether she had either shape or fea-
ture, even if there had been any light. Feeling
for the blushing timidity and tender confusion of
his adored . Carline,' he sought to reassure her, by
clasping her to his bosom, and pouring forth every
tender and endearing epithet. The flap of her
bonnet being bent against his breast, completely
hid her face from his view. He felt, indeed, some-
what surprised, that his beloved Carline permitted
this liberty ; but he wondered still more, that she
did not speak; for his impassioned flow of elo-
quence sustained no interruption from the passive
maiden-until, at last, having declared, that life
had no charm without her, and that she was the
sole mistress of his heart,'-- he ended by imploring
her with the most moving pathos to be his--im-
mediately and for ever.'
To this unutterable amazement-at this down-
right putting of the question, the supposed Car-
line' briskly replied, *that, indeed, she should be
very happy to marry so civil a spoken gentleman,
though she could not recollect ever keeping him
company before--but that should be no detriment.'
What,' exclaimed Breadalbane, receding from
the astonished damsel's arms,— Why, who the
devil are you?
“The devil, indeed!' ejaculated the enraged fair
one, the devil I say !
-
6
6
6
>
6
118
PURSUIT
no rate.
6
· And where is Mademoiselle Carline?' interrupt-
ed Breadalbane.
• Mademoiselle Carline, indeed! I know nothing
of Mademoiselle Carline, sir,--nor of any such
trumpery. I'd have you to know, sir, I'm a very
different guess sort of person, sir. I'm my Lady
Hunlocke's own woman, sir, --and if I had'nt a
thought that you were an honourable gentleman,'--
Oh, confound my honour.'
• And if I had'nt a known, sir, from your own
gentleman, sir,---who told me as how you had been
a hunting for me all the world over, and had fallen
in love with me, somehow, all on a heap, as it
were, at first sight--and were going to marry me,
and make a lady on me, -I would'nt have been
keeping you company and fondling on you here, at
• Peace, peace, my good woman, and tell me.'
'Good woman, quotha’-I say good woman !
0
you false hearted man, to go to call me good
woman !
O confound these chambermaids !' exclaimed
Breadalbane, stopping his ears, they are doomed
to be my pest. Wherever I go I meet with them.--
I began with making love to one lady's maid at
Berne, and I'll be hanged if I have done any thing
but make love to ladies' maids ever since, whether
I will or not.'
• Oh! Oh! Oh! fie upon you! you false hearted
gentleman, that you are ;-and do you own it to
my face? Do you kinfess, that you've been a mak-
ing love to iver so many more, afore me,-and
won't you do honourably by me? And won't you
marry me, as you said you would ?'
Now do be quiet, do; there's some money for
you, my good woman-girl, I mean;--So, now, say
no more about it.'
PURSUIT.
· 119
6
6
Why, what's all this?' exclaimed Lady Hun-
locke, who, having heard that a gentleman had
arrived expressly to see her, and was in earnest
conversation with her maid--now entered the room
by the opposite door.-Mincing in tears, and Mr.
Breadalbane giving her money, and begging her
not to tell !?
Regardless of her astonishment, Breadalbane
assailed her with questions about Mademoiselle
Carline;' while she was equally inquisitive to know
what he wanted with Mrs. Mincing.
When, at last, his mistake was discovered, and
Lady Hunlocke had enjoyed her laugh at his ex-
pense, she informed him, that Mademoiselle Car-
line had accompanied Colonel and Mrs. Cleveland
to Venice,'--and to Venice, Breadalbane resolved
to set off, next morning. But some delay attending
the necessary formalities respecting his passport,
rendering his departure impossible, he was saved,
perforce, from the disgrace of leaving Florence
without seeing the Venus di Medicis, or without
ever entering the gallery.
The next day, therefore, he attended Lady Hun-
locke to that celebrated Museum of Art, accompa-
nied by Saunders McMuckleman---the very sight
of whom among the statues was irresistibly ludi-
crous. His gaping wonderment, his uncouth
gestures, and the broad ejaculations and strange
remarks that burst from him, together with the
oddity of his dress, the awkwardness of his figure,
and his inconceivable simplicity, attracted such
universal notice, that numbers of idlers followed
him about wherever he went, to reap the amuse-
ment he never failed furnish.
When first brought before the Venus di Medicis,
he exclaimed Gude Lord, why she's stark naked !
120
PURSUIT
6
6
and straightway he plaistered his huge sprawling
hands before his eyes, shocked with the immodesty
of such a spectacle ; nor could he ever be persuad-
ed to take more than a bashful peep at it, as he
said, ' for vara shame. But when he afterwards
saw some young English women coolly surveying
and criticising the beauties of certain nude male
figures in the gallery, he held up his hands and
eyes, ejaculating—God mend them !'
They are mended, sir,' said a female, turning
sharply round upon him— Admirably mended, as
you
call it, or rather restored. Don't you see how
exquisitely the contours have been preserved—the
fine forms of those manly limbs displayed—the
truth in the conformation of the ribs--the power
in the broad swelling chest-the nature in the bend
of the back! Look here,' continued the fair de-
claimer, laying her hand upon the back part of the
thigh, how beautiful is this !!
Gude Lord ! its his b--! exclaimed M'e
Muckleman, stopping short at the first letter of the
offensive word, as he retreated further from her,
with looks of alarm.
· Admire ! continued the unbashed critic, cast-
ing a glance of scorn upon the laughing gentlemen
who surrounded her_Admire the consummate art
in the developement of the fine muscles which
play about the abdomen--the perfection of the na-
vel-the--
• The gude God guide us !--ejaculated M'e
Muckleman, where will she gang till next!--Eh!
·
but it's awfu', sirs.'
An impatient Dilettante, who had been long
watching for an opportunity to show off, now pro-
fited by this interruption to interpose his strictures;
-during which, Breadalbane felt something nudg:
6
6
PURSUIT.
121
6
ing his elbow, and looking round, beheld the visage
of M'cMuckleman drawn to its most portentous
length.
• Is yon a woman think ye?' asked the astounded
Minister, in a low voice.
Breadalbane, laughing, averred the fact.
· Eh! but she's an unco queer ane,' ejaculated
he, ' An sic an haviril! And than she's no decent!"
Miss Emily Harriet Theodosia Bellairs by this
time having got the better of the Dilettante, and
got in her voice again, had turned her rhetoric up-
on the famous. Alexander the Great, and she was
prosperously proceeding in a long harangue, com-
posed of the second-hand cast of criticism, and af-
fected enthusiasm about its beauties--and expati-
ating at large upon the noble yet agonized expres
sion of the countenance; He looks," she said, as
if agitated with remorse for the murder of Clitus;
-- he looks as if sighing for new worlds to con-
quer ;-he looks'_
"He just leuks as if he had gotten the gripes,
I'm thinking, interrupted M'cMuckleman bluntly;
which unlucky observation so completely overset
the gravity of the whole party, that Miss Emily
Theodosia's erudite eulogium was drowned in the
chorus of laughter which burst from the loungers
collected around her and M'cMuckleman.
In high dudgeon, the discomfited fair one was
turned out of the gallery, with the other lounging
amateurs of the art, by the relentless Custode, the
appointed hour for closing the doors having arrived.
Finding that Mr. Breadalbane was immoveably
bent upon setting off for Venice the following morn-
ing, Lady Hunlocke's inventive genius suggested a
maneuvre by which she hoped to counteract the im-
pending discovery of who · Mademoiselle Carline'
11
6
VOL. III.
122
PURSUIT.
6
6
really was, and the discouraging consequences of
her final rejection of his addresses-which she
foresaw would inevitably follow his meeting with
her. She therefore told him, in strict confidence,
and as a great secret, that as · Mademoiselle Car-
line's' manners and acquirements were so much su-
perior to her station, and indeed quite those of a
lady, she had been pursuaded by her friends, Colo-
nel and Mrs. Cleveland and herself, to assume the
name of “Miss St. Clair,' and pass for an English-
woman, in order to enable her to visit with them,
and enjoy the advantages and pleasures of society.
• Carline,' exclaimed Lady Hunlocke, has of late
taken a fancy to be quite an Englishwoman in eve-
ry respect, and piques herself upon being so com-
pletely English in manners and language, that no
one could discover her to be a foreigner. Perhaps,
adroitly insinuated the artful lady, it is the deep
interest she has lately taken in a certain English
person, that has caused this rage for being English
---and as she is particularly anxious to seem really
an Englishwoman in your eyes, you must pretend
to believe it; and Colonel and Mrs. Cleveland,
who are determined to take you in, will tell you as
well as herself, that she is really Miss St. Clair,
and only took the costume and character of a
Swiss, for the purpose of nursing you after your
fall. So be sure not to betray the smallest doubt
of it, and you will deceive them in return.'
Breadalbane, who was delighted at being let into
this secret, declared he would seem perfectly con-
vinced of it.
She's a little cheat,' said Lady Hunlocke.
s That is not the only deceit she means to practice
kipon you,-but I must not betray her-
Breadalbane most earnestly implored her to tell
6
PURSUIT.
123
6
him, and with feigned reluctance, and after many
denials, she at last consented, and informed him,
that Carline, distrusting the stability of his attach-
ment to her, was determined to try its power by
pretending that she herself was indifferent to him,
and never would marry him. “At all events, Lady
Hunlocke said, she most certainly never will give
you any encouragement until after your return
from Scotland, and until she sees whether your love
is proof against absence, and against her pretend-
ed rejection ; for she thinks you too young and vo-
latile to be capable of constancy, or a permanent
attachment.'
Breadalbane at first thought this a most cruel
project, and inexcusable in Carline thus to sport
with his feelings; but Lady Hunlocke soon suc-
ceeded in persuading him, that it was the most de-
cided proof of her tenderness and delicacy-that
it arose from a scrupulous regard for his happiness
and her own; for a mind like hers would suffer ex-
quisite misery, if married to a man who should
prove indifferent to her, and that it was the most
noble and heroic of actions. Breadalbane, who
was suffic'ently romantic, and not over and above
right-headed, though peculiarly warm-hearted
swallowed it all, and thought her more charming
than ever, for forming this scheme to deceive him.
Lady Hunlocke, in this instance-like many oth-
er good hearted people-did wrong, with the best
intentions in the world. She thought her friend in-
expressibly foolish to refuse Mr. Breadalbane ; that
she never could have so good an offer; and that
Caroline herself would inevitably repent of it, when.
too late ;- and sincerely believing that if by any
art or contrivance, she could prevent her from
damping Mr. Breadalbane's hopes-she would
124
THE APPENINES.
gladly marry him, when a little time had overcome
the romantic scruples, which, she conceived, alone
prevented her from now accepting his hand,-she
thought the scheme she had put in practice for so
desirable an end, not only innocent but laudable.
CHAPTER XLVII.
THE APPENINES.
Gľ alpestri dossi d'Appennini,
GUARINO.
-
It was early in the morning when Breadalbane
took his departure from Florence ;-but dark night
found him still slowly and painfully toiling up the
storm drifted Appenines. The snow was falling
fast,—the wind howled mournfully round the car-
riage-while the combination of animals, consist-
ing of horses, mules, and oxen, that were har-
nessed to it, forming a string apparently nearly a
quarter of a mile in length, could scarcely drag
it onwards. The men who followed it--now
propping up the wheels, and now lifting up the
falling mules-were scarcely able to keep their
feet ;-and Breadalbane's spirits and patience were
nearly exhausted, when he at last descried a bright
blazing fire, which, flashing up amidst the dark-
ness of the storm, presented a most inviting spec-
tacle to the benighted traveller.
THE APPENINES:
125
6
6
>
But vain were Breadalbane's vociferations and
commands. His inexorable conductors would not
budge one foot nearer this guiding light; nor
could he understand the volley of Italian words
and grimaces with which they answered his broken
phrases and angry gestures. Neither himself nor
his servants could speak Italian; so that there
was no chance of coming to an explanation, and
Breadalbane, at last, enraged at the obstinacy of
the drivers, jumped out of the carriage--leaving
McMuckleman within it, bawling after him,-and
endeavoured to make his own way on foot towards
the fire, followed by some of the countrymen;
who finding that to stop him was impossible, with
a true Italian shrug, gravely observed to each
other, that Milor, -like the rest of the Inglese,-
was mad.'
But Breadalbane found the way much longer
and rougher than he expected. It led him over :
the wild and bleak height of the mountains,
amongst rugged rocks and broken hollows, so fill-
ed up and hidden by deep snow wreaths, that he
was every moment in imminent danger of being
entirely buried in them, while the storm, eddying
round his head, choked and blinded him with its
fury. Breadalbane, however, was not of a dispo-
sition to be deterred by difficulty or danger, from
accomplisþing any object on which he had set
bis mind, and his curiosity was powerfully excited
to discover from whence this extraordinary fire
could proceed, which, as he approached it, blazed
wildly up in the darkness of these lonely moun-
tains, like a meteor of the night; now catching :
the sides of the hills with its red fitful glare--nov;
sinking for a moment, only to rise again with in-
tenser flame to the skies. His progress. was con--
VOL. III.
11*
3
126
THE APPENINES.
6
-
6
siderably retarded by M'cMuckleman, who find-
ing that to stop him was impossible, had followed
at his heels with the magnanimous resolution to
share his fate ;-maintaining, at the same time,
that he must be gaen clean daft,' for that, of a
surety, he was just ganging to deliver himsel
ow'r into the hands of rubbers, who nae doubt had
raised that lowe on the hill tap, to lure fules, like
moths tillt ;-while ever and anon his discourse
was cut short by his ungainly person being laid
sprawling among the snow; at every fresh plunge
into which, he woefully prophesied, that of a
" a
surety he should be scomfished, like a fat wedder
on a snawy night.' 'O wow, but I'm just smoor'd
wi't ;' he cried, shaking himself, ma vary lugs
are stapped up. Eh, Sirs ! but its waefu’ wark —
this ;-and the gude Lord deleever us-here come
the rubbers!' Threé men, indeed camne somewhat
suddenly upon them, bearing dark lanthorns,
and M'cMuckleman falling down on his knees in
the snow, besought them in most piteous terms to
spare his life, and "aboon a', no to harm the laird.'
• Don't be alarmed, my good friend,' said an
English voice. Lindsay ! exclaimed Breadalbane,
in astonishment; and it was in fact Lindsay him-
self. Having put up for the night at Pietra Mala,
he had-in exemplification of the truth of the
Tuscan peasants' assertion, that all the English-
men were mad-set fort', with two guides, in the
face of the storm, to visit the Volcano, as the
peasants call the never-dying fire which burns
upon the Appenines. It was however no time or
place for explanation. They therefore proceeded
together on their way, and after much toil and
severe buffeting with the storm, the united parties
at last arrived at the wonderful fire.
6
THE APPENINES.
127
6
>
It issues from the earth, and covers a consider-
able extent of flat gravelly soil, without any mouth
or cavity, rising to a great height, and blazing up
like an immense furnace. It is a flame which
never dies. By day and by night, in storm and in
sunshine, in summer and in winter, this watch-fire
of nature is incessantly illumined. Through ages
past-from the earliest records of time, its myste-
rious flame, fed by no fuel, and tended by no
hand, has continued to burn; and in all probabi-
lity it will endure till time itself shall be no more
-- till the earth, and all that it inherits, shall pass
away. The powers of man, nay even those of
nature, fail to extinguish it for a single moment.-
The rainy torrents of Autumn and the deep snows
of Winter but serve to augment its force and
brightness.*
When Lindsay and Breadalbane reached the
spot, the flames, bursting through the snow, and
closely surrounded by deep snow, had the singu-
lar appearance of snow on fire,
At a little distance they actually beheld wa-
ter on fire. A neighbouring spring, called, from
its fætid odour, Acqua Buja, bursts into flame
when approached by a taper. The ragged pea-
sant boy, who followed their steps, took up some
of it in a bottle, which blazed up immediately on
the application of a light, nor was it extinguish-
ed even when a stream of common water was!
poured upon it.
Lindsay concluded that this burning water”,
1
6
* It is a curious fact, that during rain and snow, the
extent and fury of the flames are always increased. This ,
apparently results from the decomposition of the water,
furnishing an accession to the hydrogen gas, the spon-
taneous evolution of which, no doubt causes the fire.
128
THE APPENINES.
arose from the ignition of the hydrogen gas whichi
it evolved. The peasants, on the other hand,
maintained that it was the special handy work
of the devil himself, nor did the conclusive proofs
which Lindsay afterwards exhibited, on their re-
turn to Pietra Mala, in the least tend to convince
them of the error of their theory. But we stop not
to record his scientific experiments, nor their re-
sult. To philosophize, is not our province. To
the heights of science we must not aspire. Bet-
ter would it befit us to recount some marvellous
adventure,-some terrific scene of horror which
befell our country men, when standing by those
eternal fires of nature, in the darkness of night,
and amidst the winiry storm, on the lonely summit
of the Appenines. It was the very time and place
for an adventure of romance. But, however
grievous, such is the fact, that no misfortune
whatever befell them; and it is our hard fate, as
faithful historiars, to relate that they reached the
wretched inn ai Pietra Mala in inglorious safety.
During the whole of the evening Breadalbane
poured forth into Lindsay's ear his plans, and
hopes, and happiness ; little suspecting the daggers
he was planting in his heart. He informed him
that he was now on his way to Venice, to claim his
adored · ('ariine, and although he did not expect
she would marry him inmediately, he meant as
soon as he had gone throngh the forms, necessary
on coming of age in Scotland, and taken possession
of his estate.cto return to her in Italy, on the
wings of love, and make her his own for ever.-
Breadalbane never dropped the most distant hint-
(for his sanguine spirit never admitted the possibi-
lity to itself)—that she would eventually refuse
him. Indeed the contrary had been so indus-
THE APPENINES.
1202
triously implanted in his mind by Lady Hunlocke,
that it would have been a difficult matter to have
rooted it out. He was firmly persuaded that her
scruples arose entirely from motives of generosity
and refined delicacy, which did her the highest
honour, and that they would give way to the as-
surance of his constancy: He could not bear to
admit a doubt that she loved him. How indeed
could he doubt that a poor Swiss girl, in a humble
situation, should love a young man possessed of
his endowments of fortune, station, person, and
character, who passionately loved her, and honour-
ably sought her in marriage? And he was right.
Had she really been in this situation, she would-
she must have loved him. Nothing attaches wo-
man to man so strongly as the sense of obligation.
She is proud of his superiority-not humbled by it.
With man it is the reverse. He loves the woman
on whom he has conferred obligation, who clings
to him for protection, and looks up to him as a
superior being.
The conference between Breadalbane and Lind-
say—in which indeed the latter played only the
passive part of listener—was interrupted by the
entrance of Gregory,' whose dismal countenance
announced the dismal news that his master was
laid up in a fit of the gout, in that dismal hole.'
And he delivered an earnest request from the Peer
to see Mr. Lindsay immediately.
Lindsay accordingly hastened to the chamber of
his unfortunate cousin. Stretched on a hard mi-
serable pallet, composed of rough boards, and
covered with a rougher mattress, stuffed with
leaves of Indian corn, lay the luxurious Lord.
6
G
130
THE APPENINES.
Lumbercourt, who ever and anon dolefully com-
plainéd, that
No curtain'd sleep had he, because
He had no curtain to his bed.
-while the wind whistled mournfully through the
naked room, responsive to his lamentations. No
carpet covered the dirty floor, and the smoke rolled
in stifling columns down the gaping chimney.
His own hardships having been narrated and
deplored, his Lordship at last successfully ac-
complished his object of explaining to Lindsay
the suspicious appearances which had misled him
with respect to Miss St. Clair, both in the inn at
Cadenabbia and in the Casino of the Villa Montini.
And now that the mystery was unravelled, and that
Lindsay learnt that the supposed Count was Mrs.
Cleveland, disguised in the first scene,-and that
the rehearsal of acting a charade was all the love
making in the second-he marvelled how he could
have been so dull as not to have suspected the
truth :—just as one wonders how one could have
missed finding out an enigma, when the solution is
told. He blushed for himself in having even for a
single moment, under any circumstances or ap-
pearances, believed her guilty of conduct so dis-
graceful ;-and now that incontestible proof was
given of her innocence.—with that strong re-ac-
tion which generous minds always feel—the con-
sciousness of having done her injustice, and injured
her even in thought, filled his heart with redou-
bled love and admiration for the idolized being
whom his fancy painted— scarcely a little lower
than the angels !
THE APPENINES.
131
It is true that his heart had always secretly
-doubted her guilt-and that during the interview
in the forest, he actually felt convinced of her
innocence :-yet, when the witchery of her pre-
sence, the persuasion of her glance, and the ma-
gic of her voice, no longer exerted their irresistible
influence over him,—the scenes and the facts he
had himself witnessed, returned upon his mind so
forcibly, that he vibrated between the evidence of
her guilt, which seemed indisputably confirmed
by his own senses—and the seeret innate persua-
sion he felt of her innocence. He was doomed
alternately
To doubt, yet doat-suspect, yet fondly love.
Now, doubt and suspicion were for ever removed ;
but the higher she rose in his estimation, the more
bitter was the sigh with which he reflected that
she was lost to him for ever.
CHAPTER XLVIII.
THE MARRIAGE.
Sweet is the cup when at the lip,
And sweet the first or second sip;
But all the bitter's left below,
And sour it turos as deep we go;
This draught, it lasts a man a life
O who would ever take a wife !
ANONYMOUS.
Domus et placens uxor.
A few days after Lindsay's arrival at Florence,
he received, to his inexpressible astonishment, the
following letter, forwarded to him from Milan :-
JOHN HEATHCOTE, ESQ. TO THE HON. HORACE
LINDSAY.
MY DEAR LINDSAY,
That man upon whom the intelligence unexpect-
edly bursts that the woman of his earliest affec-
tions-bound to him by the strongest vows of love
his long affianced bride is the wife of the friend
whom he most esteemed and trusted, and to whom
he had confided every thought of his heart-that
man is surely deserving of pity, as the victim of
perfidy ;-that man, Lindsay, is you!
I have to inform you that you have been jilted
by your mistress, and supplanted by your friend.
THE MARRIAGE.
133
Before this letter can reach you, Susan Hamilton
will be the wife of John Heathcote.
You might at least have deemed yourself safe
from the insulting expression of that false friend's
triumph and happiness. But I dread not your re-
sentment. And such is my opinion of your meek-
ness and placability, that not only do I expect
your free forgiveness, but even a declaration of
your satisfaction at my success, and participation
in my happiness. I call upon you to congratulate
me on winning from you the woman who had
pledged to you her faith.
Further, Lindsay, I have to confess that I have
never treated you with confidence. Though you
have had no reserve from me, never have I opened
my heart to you. Now, for the first time, it shall
be disclosed to yoů.
Before you ever saw Susan Hamilton, my heart
was devoted to her. But you ‘came, saw, and con-
quered.'. Your talents and insinuating manners-
your ardour and eloquence, completely prevailed
over my cold reserve and diffident, untold love.
She had known me from a child, grown up to es-
teem me as a friend, was familiar with me as with
her household gods ;'-but you came upon her a
bright and sudden luminary, in the full blaze of ta-
lents and promise of manhood. You won her heart
-or at least captivated her fancy. You were three
years younger than herself, and this you may re-
member she always thought a strong objection to
the match; but love triumphed over it. I wa's ma-
ny years your senior, and mine was not a boyish
passion which could be forgotten. It was the very
habit of my soul.
During your absence in the Peninsula, the con-
stant intercourse necessarily arising from our near
VOL. III.
12
6
134
THE MARRIAGE.
neighbourhood, strengthened her friendship for me;
while time and absence, and the gradual diminution
of your own love--which your short and unfrequent
letters evinced-insensibly wore away her attach-
ment to you.
At first she loved to talk to me, be.
cause she could talk to me of you ;-but at last I
thought I perceived that I, by myself I--as noun
substantive-no longer merely as adjective to
you, was an object of considerable interest to ber.
I never at any time sought her society,—but what
the devil can a man do? She used to come
to stay with my sister, and I could not run away
from her. She hunted too,-- like all our Yorkshire
girls of spirit and I could not give up hunting,
and how could I help talking to her by the side of
the cover ? So I found at last there was nothing
for it but to fly the country--which I did.
But when Lindsay, I found this summer, that
you despised the jewel which I would have pur-
chased with my life,—then did I long to make it
my own.
Then, seeing that your love had turned
into bondage; that indifference for her had been
followed by attachment to another; that your
heart was at last touched with a genuine passion,
and tortured with bitter struggles between love and
honour ;-then I resolved to do you and myself, the
service to save you from misery, and secure to
myself happiness, -and, if possible, to win from you
the heart of Susan Hamilton.
" On my return to England, I found her at Chel-
tenham. She was firmly convinced of your grow-
ing indifference; for you are a bad dissembler,
Lindsay,---you cannot feign what you do not feel,
- your letters, and the whole of your conduct, be-
trayed the extinction of your attachment;--but she
had too much sense to break her heart about it. In
THE MARRIAGE.
135
short, at last, I told her what she knew that I
loved her ;-and she owned what I hoped,--that she
loved me.
I would not give you any hint of this
till I could tell it you as a fact, lest the hope should
end in disappointment.
But all this time I am writing to a man conceived
to be defunct. It is true that you have not, till of
late, been incontestibly proved to be dead, but still
you were not known to be alive; for nobody had
ever heard from you for such a length of time, that
every body wondered what could have become of
you,- till, at last, a letter arrived from your ser-
vant, written in doleful dumps,' stating, that after
you had been missing some weeks, he had disco-
vered that you had been carried off by banditti from
some den in Switzerland, and murdered. A further
confirmation of these horrid tidings afterwards ar-
rived from him, dated Milan, stating that high re-
wards had been offered in vain for your production,
--dead or alive ;--and that you were most unques-
tionably deceased. Colonel Cleveland wrote to the
same effect. So that there could be no doubt of
the fact. Old Hamilton firmly believed it. I re-
joiced at it, and shall owe you a debt of gratitude
so long as I live, for having departed this life so
opportunely; for, but for this fortunate occurrence
of your timely--or, as others consider it, your un-
timely-decease,,I should not have been már-
ried.
At first old Hamilton had positively refused his
consent. For although he might reasonably have
thought, that, as his daughter never would marry
you without your father's consent, even when she
did love you,--she was not very likely to do so now,
when she did not love you, and when she did love
me; and when, moreover, she positively declared
-
136
THE MARRIAGE.
she never would marry you at all ;-yet the old
flint still held out, and still obstinately clung to the
expectation, that he would at last accomplish this
match with you, so long the favourite object of his
ambition, but which no one concerned any longer
wished, except himself. But when he learnt the
news of your death, his final hope was flat des-
pair ;'--and considering, that as my father's health
was in the most precarious state, and that if he
died, I could not, in decency, marry for some time
—and that delays are dangerous--and that Susan
Hamilton might never marry at all—and that she
was thirty-and, that after all, £10,000 a year was
not to be despised ;--he, at length, ungraciously
gave his consent; and he is now as anxious to ac-
complish the marriage as he was before to pre-
vent it.
Next Tuesday, unless you should unadvisedly re-
turn from the dead to forbid it, I shall be a married
man.
Few things, my dear friend, could be at this mo-
ment more unacceptable to me than the news of
your being alive. I pray heaven no such unplea-
sant intelligence may arrive. Not that I should ob-
ject to your living at any reasonable time, but at
this moment, it is not to be endured. But seriously
-I have not the smallest uneasiness on your ac-
count.-I know you too well to be astonished at
any vagaries you may take. I conclude that you
have gone upon some erratic or Quixotic expedi-
tion, and hid yourself, after some romantic manner,
in the mountains. That you are buried among
the
Alps, I believe ; but not that you are dead. Ban-
ditti might have robbed you—but they could have
no imaginable motive for murdering you : nor is
there the smallest proof, according to your sapient
THE MARRIAGE.
137
servant's own account, that you ever fell into the
hands of any banditti at all.
So write to me, my good fellow.-Arise from the
dead and speak your epitaph! Tell me you are
alive and merry,--rejoicing that the yoke which
weighed so heavily on your neck is laid upon
mine.
One little caution, however, let me give you.
You have slipped your neck, almost by a miracle,
out of this noose. Be cautious how you slip it into
another. Never expect again--when you are pre-
pared for execution—that some good natured friend
will come to be tucked up in your stead-like me
I am, dear Lindsay,
Always yours,
JOHN HEATHCOTE.
1
1
With what sensations Lindsay read this letter,
may be imagined. That he was free-was indeed
-
unhoped, unexpected happiness--or rather a relief
from misery. Like the fettered wretch, when his
chains are suddenly loosed and fall from him, new
life seemed diffused through his frame. Yet he
felt that freedom itself, lost more than half its
solace, because he could not barter it for a new
bondage ;-and with a bitter sigh he reflected, that
but for the unfortunate engagement which had
enthralled his liberty, she might have been bound
to him by the dearest and tenderest of ties. But
now (intolerable thought!) she was for ever lost
to him and destined to another. She was the
betrothed bride of Breadalbane.
Yet he could scarcely convince himself that it
was Breadaibane whom she really loved, Her
agitation on discovering who was supporting her
when she fainted in the forest, and the tone in
VOL. III,
12*
138
THE MARRIAGE.
which she uttered the exclamation on recognize
ing him, evinced feelings of no common interest.
Above all, there was a language in her eye, and an
expression in the few persuasive words she had
used at Cadenabbia to deter him from pursuing
the robbers, that involuntarily betrayed a secret
scarcely known to herself; and the conviction that
he himself was dear to her, had at that moment
flushed his cheek and filled his heart with transport.
But he now believed that he had deceived himself,
and mistaken gratitude and esteem- and the inte-
rest arising from the equivocal and unexplained
circumstances in which he had seen her placed
for preference and love. For he was quite sure
that she never would have promised her hand to
Breadalbane, without having also given her heart;
-nor was it surprising that, in the opportunities
be enjoyed during her attendance upon him in the
parsonage at Grindelwald, he had obtained her
affections.
Lindsay therefore formed the sensible determi-
nation to banish her from his remembrance,-a
resolution which he could not be charged with for-
getting, since he thought of it from morning till
night,-50 true it is, that
Vouloir oublier quelqu'une, c'est y penser.
Under deep depression which he could not shake
off, Lindsay remained at Florence; and though he
went listlessly through the established round of
life---rode his English horse in the Cascino, criti-
cised the works of art in the gallery, made his ap..
pearance at operas and parties and lived like, and
with the rest of the world, his soul seemed absent
. and torpid,—the colouring of every thing was sad
MEETING AND PARTING.
139
2
and changed-all enjoyments and pursuits were
insipid and listless—and he could have said with
our immortal poet, that-
-
Man delights not me, nor woman neither.-
CHAPTER XLIX.
MEETING AND PARTING.
O for a horse with wings!
I suppose him virtuous, know him noble,
of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth,
In voices well divulg'd, free, learn'd, and valiant ;
And in dimension and the shape of nature
A gracious person ;-but yet I cannot love him;
He might have took his answer long ago.
SHAKSPEARE.
1
In the mean time Breadalbane pursued his rapid
journey by the way of Bologna, Ferrara, and Pa-,
dua, to Venice : pushing forward with the head-
long speed of a true Milor' Inglese ; so that the
unlucky M'cMuckleman found himself, like ano.
ther Tantalus, mocked with the cup of enjoyment
continually presented to his lips, without the pow-
er to taste it ;—for the post horses did not see less
of the cities through which they rattled, than did
the travellers attached to their heels.
At Fusina, Breadalbane found it a relief to his
feverish spirits, to exchange the whirl of the rat-
tling carriage for the soft stillness of the gondola,
140
MEETING AND PARTING
which, with imperceptible motion, glided over the
calm surface of the Lagunes towards Venice.
The last rich glow of the evening sky was reflect-
ed on the far extended waters, from which the fair
queen of the Adriatic, like Venus rising from the
sea, reared her towered and crowned head, as if
called up by enchantment from the bosom of the
deep. Proudly her glittering domes and gorgeous
palaces, seen from afar, rested on the golden waves.
But evening closed before their gondola entered
the Grand Canal, and the moon, riding high in
heaven, shed over the Grecian columns and marble
porticos of that once magnificent sheet of water,
the softened light which at once veils ind harmo-
nizes with the ravages of time, and the remains
of fallen splendour. Even the Rialto itself lost
the look of squalid poverty it wears by day, and its
graceful marble arch hung beautifully over the
calm reflecting water.
At the hotel where Breadalbane stopped, he had
the satisfaction of finding that Colonel and Mrs.
Cleveland and the Signorina' were actually esta-
blished there, and the mortification of learning that
they were just gone out to a party at the British
Consul's.
• The British Consul's !' exclaimed Breadalbane;
*I dare say I have a letter to him.' And impa-
.
tiently tossing out the contents of his letter case,
he pounced upon a letter addressed to this identi-
cal consul.
Without even taking into consideration how
torturing it would be to himself, with his highly
wrought feelings, to meet “Carline' for the first
time in a mixed assembly, and spend the evening
with her in a crowd of strangers, he instantly de-
Lermined to follow her there ; and having dressed
6
MEETING AND PARTING
141
as if his life depended upon haste, with charac-
teristic thoughtlessness and impatience he hurried
away, pushing M'cMuckleman into the gondola be-
fore him, so impatiently, that the amazed Scotch-
man, in his awkwardness, narrowly escaped falling
headlong into the canal, and actually did tumble
down flat upon all fours, at the bottom of the boat.
Being picked up by the gondoliers, however, with-
out much bodily damage, they rowed away to the
palace of the British Consul.
A blaze of light issuing from the windows, the
sounds of mirth and music, and the crowds of ser-
vants and gondoliers about the doors, filled Bread-
albane with fresh perturbation. He almost wished
himself away ; but the thought that in a few mi-
nutes he should see Carline, banished every
other
from his mind.
The Consul having been summoned out of his
drawing room, glanced his eyes over the letter
which Breadalbane presented, politely expressed
the pleasure he should feel in making his stay at
Venice agreeable to him, and requested him to
join the company above stairs, among whom,” he
added, you may perhaps chance to find some of
your English friends.
Breadalbane's heart throbbed quicker at these
words, and his impatience increased every moment.
He heard, or at least understood, no more of the
polite speeches addressed to him;- but at length
perceiving the Consul still delay and hesitatingly
glance at M'cMuckleman--who was bowing and
scraping with all his might—as if uncertain in
what capacity to consider him, whether he was
intended to be left with the footmen or taken to
the ladies--he hastened to present. Mr. M'cMuck-
6
6
142
MEETING AND PARTING.
6
leman, a Scotch clergyman who was travelling
with him.'
'A tutor!' thought the Consul; but what an
extraordinary animal !'
More than usually extraordinary indeed was
McMuckleman's appearance on this occasion, for
his black coat and breeches were bedaubed with
dust and stains, and his hands deformed with dirty
bloody scratches, acquired in his recent tumble at
the bottom of the gondola ; his uncombed hair hung
lank and matted round his begrimed face; his thick
worsted stockings were wrinkled on his shapeless
legs, and his coarse dusty shoes tied with leather
thongs, completed a figure such as probably never
before trod the marble floor of a palace. Yet the
Consul, with laudable gravity, ushered them both
up the wide marble staircase, at the top of which
the folding doors were thrown open, and a blaze of
beauty and brilliance burst upon M'cMuckleman's
astonished sight. His large eyes seemed ready to
start from their orbits, and calling out— Eh sirs !
Saw ye ever the like o'that ? Sic' a sight! And are
they enacting a play noo, Sir ?'—he so effectually
discomposed the risible muscles of the Consul, that
after nearly enduring a martyrdom of politeness in
suffocating his laughter, it actually broke forth.
But never was a laugh more safely indulged;
for the guileless M'cMuckleman, still gaping with
wonder, never dreamt that he was the object of it;
and Breadalbane saw nothing-heard nothing but
one form which appeared before him playing on
the harp—one voice, whose heavenly harmony, as
it sung some of the finest strains of Italian music,
thrilled through his soul ;-it was the form, the
voice of his adored Carline.
Near the conclusion of the song, she, too, saw
6
MEETING AND PARTING.
143
him; and as if paralysed, her fixed eyes rested upon
his figure, her half opened lips refused to utter the
sound that trembled upon them; and her suspended
fingers ceased to awaken the strings; her glowing
cheek turned pale as marble--and for a few mo-
ments she looked like a beautiful being suddenly
transformed to a statue. Breadalbane hastily ad-
vanced to her--but such was his agitation, that
even his step was unassured and wavering, and his
trembling lips only uttered' an indistinct murmur-
for the words that would have broke from them
words of passionate emotion and love-he was
compelled to stifle. Agonized with feelings to
which he durst not yield, he felt that the eyes of
the whole company were fixed upon him ;-indeed
a stifled whisper ran round the room, in which in
love,' and · lovers,' were alone audible. Caroline,
however, soon recovered her self-possession, and
rising from the harp with a grace and dignity pe-
culiarly her own, she received him like an old
friend, and hastened to present him to Colonel and
Mrs. Cleveland.
. And I suppose I may in turn introduce you to
Mr. Breadalbane,' said Mrs. Cleveland.
• Miss St. Clair-Mr. Breadalbane.'
Mr. Breadalbane bowed and smiled.
• Why how is this? Did you know she was Miss
St. Clair ?' said Colonel Cleveland.
Breadalbane, who had been extremely flattered
at the idea he had formed that she had chosen to
assume the same of St. Clair, in consequence of
the old prediction he had repeated to her, now said
that he had heard from Lady Hunlocke that 'Ma-
demoiselle Carline' was now Miss St. Clair.'
But what can you be laughing at?' exclaimed
Colonel Cleveland.
6
-
6
744
MEETING AND PARTING,
• At a prophecy,' said Breadalbane, fixing his
expressive eyes with such a sinile and look upon
Miss St. Clair, that her lovely countenance was
suffused with blushes.
Mrs. Cleveland laughed, for she had heard the
prophecy from Lady Hunlocke; but Colonel Cleve-
land's importunity to hear it, was not to be resisted.
• In the days of my youth then,' said Breadalbane,
an aged Seer-pre-eminently endued with the
second sight---repeated to me these prophetic
6
lines :-
You shall seek for a St. Clair,
And seek long in vain,
But you'll wed with a St. Clair
At last without pain.
a
.
Now, I have been seeking for a St. Clair, and seek-
ing long in vain,—for these two months at least-
But perhaps,' said Mrs. Cleveland, who had
received her private instructions in a letter from
Lady Hunlocke, which had only preceded Breadal-
bane himself by a few hours Perhaps, after all,
St. Clair may not be Caroline's real name.'
O no!' said Caroline, delighted at this relief;
• I may have as many aliases, as a culprit at the
Old Bailey. St. Clair may only be another assum-
ed name.
I hope at least you will soon assume another
name,' said Breadalbane.
His speaking glance, and Mrs. Cleveland's arch
smile, and Colonel Cleveland's laugh, again brought
back Caroline's blushes, and she felt conscious
;
that she blushed—and she was angry with herself
for blushing--which made her blush the more ;-
she felt, too, that her lover's enraptured 'eyes were
feasting upon her confusion--which he interpreted
the most favourably to his hopes.
MEETING AND PARTING.
14:
But she turned from him, and entered into earnest
conversation with a lady, who had the great, though
sole recommendation of being seated on the other
side of her-and so deeply interesting did she seem
to find this colloquy, that she could bestow no at-
tention upon any thing else. Very soon, however,
the gentlemen to whom she had previously been
the centre of attraction, but who had hung back as
spectators during the unexpected meeting which
the emotion of Breadalbane rendered so remarka-
ble--finding she did not choose to encourage him,
again closed around her. Although graver than
usual, she talked and listened to them apparently
perfectly at her ease, while Breadalbane looked su-
premely miserable. He never even attempted to
rally his spirits, or affected to attend to any thing
else--but stood with his eyes fixed upon her, watch-
ing every look and movement, while she never
seemed to see him :--though a penetrating observer
might have discovered that she felt his gaze.
At this moment McMuckleman made his way
through the gay crowd to her, which indeed was
not difficult, for every one, as he advanced, reced-
ed from contact with the streaks of dust upon his
clothes; and with his customary bow and scrape,
he hoped she was vara weel.'' She immediately
recollected him---for who that had once
M'cMuckleman, could ever forget him? And
though scarcely able to keep her gravity at the
sight of his extraordinary figure, she spoke to him
with marked kindness and attention, expressing the
pleasure she really felt at finding him travelling
with Mr. Breadalbane, on whom she threw a glance
which amply recompensed him for his good offices
past, and intended towards the “Meenister-and
even for the mortification he experienced at that
13
6
seen
VOL. III.
146
MEETING AND PARTING:
9
moment, in surveying the dirty creature he had
brought with him-whose appearance would wholly
have escaped his observation but for his approach
to Caroline. But he was now sensibly alive to the
ridicule of such an exhibition, and to the obvious
and ill-suppressed risibility of the whole party.
But before he could get near him to counsel him to
go away and make himself clean, M'cMuckleman,
drawing from his pocket a night-cap, which he de-
liberately shook out and held up to the view of the
astonished company, narrated, after his usual hap-
py manner, how he had found it in her bed, and
ended this confused history with inquiring, if she
• wad na' pleas to take the caup enoo ?'
At this sight and hearing, Caroline herself, and
the whole party, could no longer maintain their
gravity, and the room rung with peals of laughter ;
while M'cMuckleman, standing displaying the
night-cap, his long solemn dirty face, gaping open-
mouthed with astonishment as he looked round on
every one, to discover what was the cause of this
sudden burst of mirth---had an effect so ludicrous,
that fresh fits of laughter shook the sides of the
spectators.
Weel,” he exclaimed, at last to Caroline, when
she had got a little the better of this convulsion-
* I'll tell you what it is-what for will ye no' take
it then? It's an unco braw mutch.'
With infinite difficulty she contrived to articulate
that she was much obliged to him.'
·0—foint a hair," said McMuckleman, looking
pleased ---You'r vara welcome.'
But,” said Colonel Cleveland, coming forward
and drying his eyes— Let us understand this.
Where did you say you found Miss St. Clair's
night-cap?'
-
а
MEETING AND PARTING.
147
6
6
6
6
* In her ain bed,' said M'c Muckleman.
* And pray, may I ask, what you were doing in
her bed ?
· Sleeping in't, to be sure! What else should a
body do in a bed ?
Far be it from me to insinuate that you did any
thing else,' exclaimed Colonel Cleveland. But'
his speech was here drowned by the unconquerable
laughter of the gentlemen. But,' he resumed, ,
do
you really mean to say that you were sleeping
in Miss St. Clair's bed ?'
• Joost,-noo.'
• What! that you were sleeping in the same bed?''
- Ideot!' exclaimed Breadalbane ;
cannot you
explain, at once, that you happened to sleep in
Miss St. Clair's bed, the night after she occupied
it?
• I deed say sae, Maister Breadalbane.'
Nay, nay--now don't gainsay your words,' said
Colonel Cleveland. You know you said you
.
found her night cap in the bed, when you got up
yourself in the morning.'
I did sae-I lighted on it sure enough, when I
got up mysel'; It's like she left it ahint her i'th
bed, when she gaed awa' i'th grey the morning.'
'I told you so !' said Colonel Cleveland.
says distinctly he had the honour of sleeping with
the fair owner of that night cap.'
· The Lord saif us !-No!' exclaimed M'c Muck-
leman with a jump of affright. You'd maist
· gan
a body loup oot o' their skin wi sic awfu’ like no-
tions. Sleep i’th bed wi’ the leddy! why its just
horrible to think o't!'
* Now, my good friend,' said Breadalbane to him,
in a low voice, while the room resounded with
Inughter, ‘had you not better go home and get
>
He
6
148
MEETING AND PARTING.
your clothes brushed, and your hands and face
washed ? Do look how dirty, they are.'
"Gude guide us, sae they are! I'll tell you what
it is ;--it's a' wi' the coup ye' gav' me i' the bit bo-
atie, down bye. Dad ! if I had'nt click'd haud o'
the mon, I'd hae been weel dooked.'
• Well, well, now suppose you go.'
Weel, sirs !' cried M'cMuckleman with a bow
all round, hat in hand, to the company, here's a
gude even till ye. But Miss Carline, I'm wissing
to' ken gif ye'll no' tak’ the mutch ?'
• No, no, not now,' said Breadalbane.
• Wéel, the morn's morning, then ;' and pocket-
ing the night cap, with a great expenditure of bows
and scrapes, M'cMuckleman was at length fairly
conveyed out of the room.
When the party broke up,-an event which, to
Breadalbane's impatience, had long seemed never
likely to happen-he had at length the happiness
of escorting his adored Carline, as he still firmly
believed her to be, down stairs, and handing her
into the gondola :--but her steps were so light, and
she herself had so much to say, that he found it
impossible to utter one word of the feelings with
which his heart was full ; and although he stood
ready to hand her out again on reaching the hotel,
she instantly retired to her room, bidding him
·good night with infinite sweetness, but in a tone
and manner which fell like ice upon his hopes.
So depressed and disappointed did he look when
she disappeared, that the good natured Colonel
Cleveland asked him to breakfast with them, an in-
vitation which he eagerly accepted, and took his
leave.
The next morning, while Caroline was alone
reading in the breakfast room, Mr. Breadalbane
>
MEETING AND PARTING.
149
6
was announced. Taken thus by surprise, her
heightened colour and evident trepidation betray-
ed at least consciousness of his sentiments, if not
the existence of reciprocal feelings; and her san-
guine lover imputing her emotion at his sudden ap-
pearance to this latter cause-poured out his whole
soul to her, painted with all the eloquence of love,
the tortures of hope deferred, and disappointed ex-
pectation, which he had endured while watching
for her at Berne ;-his misery at Lausanne, when he
heard of her departure ; -his indefatigable yet long
baffled search for her over the continent ;--and
finally, his unspeakable happiness in once more
finding her—'never, never I trust, to part more,'
he continued — 0 say! dearest, most adored of
women, say that you will never condemn me again
to leave you ! Say that you will reward me for all
that I have undergone for you-say that you will
be mine by the dearest and holiest of ties!'
• Neversaid Caroline firmly--but yet so gently,
so softly, that he thought her denial meant assent.
O say not so! retract that cruel word, dearest
Carline! Why seek to make me miserable, when
with one word you can make me happy? Do you
want to try me further ? Do you still doubt my
love ?'
• I wish I did,' thought Caroline, as a sigh broke
from her, at the conviction of the misery she was
about to cause to him. But her lover misinterpret-
ed the feelings from which her sorrow sprung.
" You do doubt me, then! You doubt the truth,
the strength, the constancy of my attachment! O
Carline! how you wrong me!--Surely, surely you
must know that my whole heart is yours, and yours
alone--that it beats but for you! My whole hopes, my
6
13*
VOL. III.
150
MEETING AND PARTING.
9
happiness, my very existence are bound up in you.
O tell me you believe me !
• I should be sorry to believe you,” said Caro-
line, in a tone of sadness.
• It would only serve
to make me miserable. I had hoped you had for-
gotten me; and I still hope that soon, very soon,
you will forget me.'
Her words struck anguish to his heart.
Cruel-cruel, unfeeling girl! O torture me not
with words such as these! In pity spare me the
agony of believing you really wish me to forget
you! o Carline, you will drive me to desperation !
Nay, do not turn from me! Do not hide from me
that dear face ! Look at me Carline ! Speak to me!
Tell me that you will let me love you !
Caroline could not speak. In vain she sought
to put a stop to his impassioned supplications.
She could only, in broken accents, beseech him
' to leave her'--'to let her go?-while she yainly
struggled to disengage her hand from his, which
he pressed with more and more tenderness, and
covered with fervent kisses. The blushes which
dyed her glowing face, he interpreted into the
scious confusion of love; and as he hung over her
enraptured, he poured forth his whole soul, his
hopes, his happiness, his passion_before she could
at all succeed in interrupting him.
Caroline had not a single spark of coquetry in
her composition; where many women would have
enjoyed a heartless triumph in this proof of their
power, she felt only uneasiness and regret. The
gentleness of her nature made it insupportably dis-
tressing to her to give pain. Besides, upon this
particular subject, she felt so much embarrassment,
that she, who on all other occasions, was possessed
of the most perfect self-possession and self-com-
6
con-
MEETING AND PARTING.
151
mand-could not listen to the language of love
no, not even from old Lord Lumbercourt himself-
without suffering under the most painful confu-
sion. In the present instance, to this peculiar sus-
ceptibility, was added the most poignant self-re-
proach; for thus having, however unintentionally,
been the cause of so much unhappiness to the man
to whom she certainly owed her life. Those feel-
ings, which now struck upon her heart, when she
saw the strength and violence of Breadalbane's at-
tachment, were portrayed in her expressive coun-
tenance.
He read its language, and implored her to tell
him what it was that distressed her? • Have I caus-
ed you any inquietude ?” he anxiously inquired,
with all a lover's tenderness. O tell me what I
have done! For worlds would I not give a mo-
ment's pain to that gentle bosom! Mould me as
you please. I am all your own. I will be all
you wish-only tell me how to win your love !!
His passionate pleadings touched Caroline to the
heart. But the entrance of Colonel Cleveland, for-
tunately at this moment, to her great relief, obliged
Breadalbane at once to swallow his love--and his
breakfast.
During breakfast, she gained the satisfactory in-
telligence that Breadalbane had met with Mr. Lind-
say at Pietra Mala; and that Mr. Lindsay hąd there
met with Lord Lumbercourt, with whom he had
had a long conference ;--so that she could not
doubt that all the suspicious circumstances which
Lindsay had witnessed in her conduct at Grindel-
wald and the Lake of Como, must now be satisfac-
torily explained, and that he could no longer enter-
tain the smallest doubt of her innocence. This
conviction brought a sensation of joy to her heart,
132
MEETING AND PARTING.
which for a time recalled the habitual sunshine of
her countenance-while that of poor Breadalbane,
who little suspected the cause from whence it
sprung---soon caught the reflection.- Caroline's
heart smote her, when she saw the hopes which her
smiles had unintentionally rekindled, and the cloud
once more settled upon her buoyant spirits.
Colonel Cleveland thought it had never before
been his fate to breakfast—and he sincerely hoped
it never might happen again with so dull a pair of
lovers. They both seemed truly miserable, what-
ever might be the cause; and thinking they were
good company only for each other, Colonel “Cleve-
land beat his retreat with such precipitation and
generalship, that he actually anticipated Caroline,
who had projected a similar movement; and she was
thus once more left in the hands of the enemy, by
whom she was at once made a prisoner.
In vain she sought a pretext to follow Colonel
Cleveland. She could not escape from Breadal-
bane, and she was compelled to listen to the story
of his love. She found it, to her great surprise,
nearly impossible to convince him that she really
never would marry him; so effectually had Lady
Hunlocke infused into his mind the belief that she
only meant to try him; and that time, constancy,
perseverance, would infallibly win her consent.
Mr. Breadalbane,' said Caroline at last, very
seriously-I should ill requite the obligations í
owe you--the remembrance of which, believe me,
will never be effaced from my heart, if gratitude
alone'-
• Gratitude !-Obligations !- What obligations
dearest Carline! You owe me nothing !
and
MEETING AND PARTING.
153
6
11
6
6
Nothing but the highest obligation that one
human being can owe to another-my life!
•Good heavens !—what do you mean?'
mean,
that you cannot suppose me so ungrate-
ful as to have forgotten-though you do not choose
to remind me of it--that you snatched me from cer-
tain destruction at the peril of your own life, on the
Glacier of Grindelwald.'
* Almighty God !--was it you?'
• Is it possible that you did not know it?'
You Were you that sweet enchanting girl!
O fool! blind, infatuated fool that I was! Where
were my eyes--my understanding—that I did not
discover it! Then were you—tell me dearest Car-
line-were you not the lovely being that I saw that
morning, by candle-light, at your room door_nay
in your own room at Berne?"
Caroline's blushes betrayed her ; but she laugh-
ed as well as blushed, at the recollection of that
ridiculous scene.
The delighted Breadalbane, after having given
vent to his transports at this discovery, was thrown
into still greater by eliciting, to his unspeakable
amazement, that she was really and bonâ fide Miss
St. Clair.
. And you took the disguise of Carline,'-of a
humble Swiss peasant--that you might stay by me,
watch over me, save me!'
The blushes that rushed over her cheeks, were
Caroline's only answer.
He threw himself at her feet, he seized her re-
luctant hand, he covered it with kisses,--he press-
ed it in his-he looked up into her face with en-
raptured adoration--but it was the mute eloquence
of his eyes alone that spoke-till sinking beneath
their expression, she hid her conscious face ;-but
6
154
MEETING AND PARTING.
his lips only breathed with the all persuasive tone
of love-the simple words- O Caroline, be mine!'
Covered with confusion, Caroline vainly sought
to withdraw her hand. Her efforts only served to
make him press it more closely in his, and imprint
upon it kisses more fervent and impassioned. In
this mute worship, he would have knelt happy at
her feet for hours ;--but she soon recovered her-
self-she obliged him to rise-and in accents of
gentleness and sorrow, but in the firmest and most
determined language-she told him she did not,
she never could, return his attachment;mand
she expressed her unalterable resolution never to
marry him.
а
But Breadalbane did not despair. He felt con-
vinced the prophecy would be accomplished, that
he would • at last wed with a St. Clair,' and that she
was fated to be his wife.
With all the eloquence of true passion, Breadal-
bane sought to touch her heart, and to change her
resolution ;-but what was his consternation, when,
in the most touching and energetic part of his ap-
peal against this sentence, to his utter astonishment,
and even indignation, she suddenly burst into a fit
of laughing.
I beg your pardon, Mr. Breadalbane ;-indeed
I did not mean to hurt or offend you ; but look out
of the window, and you will, I am sure, forgive me,
and laugh too ;-- for really not to 'laugh, exceeds all
power of face."
Breadalbane looked, and beheld M'cMuckleman
standing at the great door of the hotel, upon the
landing place of the Grand Canal, with a huge
loaf of bread grasped in both hands, out of which
he was gnawing enormous mouthfuls by the main
force of his jaws, which opened and shut like some
MEETING AND PARTING,
155
6
huge machine at work ;-his immense mouth was
distended to its utmost dimensions, and being fuller
than it could possibly hold, the fragments of bread
projected far beyond it. Wholly unconscious of
the astonishment and diversion of the passengers,
M'cMuckleman stood erect on his two legs, in the
attitude of the Colossus of Rhodes ;-the immo-
;-
bility of the rest of his person forming a curious
contrast to the extreme activity and hard labour of
his jaws. Caroline threw up the window, and
spoke to him, but his mouth was so full he could
not possibly answer her; and after much sputter-
ing and nearly choking himself, he bolted the most
enormous mouthful that certainly ever went down
mortal gullet, and explained that he had been
waiting breakfast on Maister Breedalbane, till he
was sair a hunger'd, and he had just gotten a bite
o' bread till himsel.'
Breadalbane, with compunctious visitings of con-
science, now remembered that he had utterly for-
got to leave a message to desire the luckless Mee-
nister' to breakfast without him ; which the good
simple creature, would never have dreamed of do-
ing, without special permission, if he had waited
till nightfall. It was now long past noon, and Ca-
roline, ordering some luncheon, invited the famish-
ed · Minister' to come in and partake of a more sa-
tisfactory repast than his dry loaf.
Mrs. Cleveland, who, from the indisposition at-
tendant
upon her situation at present, never break-
fasted down stairs, now made her appearance.
For this time, therefore, the subject of love was ne-
cessarily dropped, to Caroline's great relief; but
she saw with pain, that Breadalbane still counted
upon
ultimate success; and indeed it was difficult
to banish hope from his heart. For like the hydra-
6
6
156
MEETING AND PARTING.
6
headed monster, 'no sooner was one hope destroy-
ed, than another sprung
forth in its stead.
Breadalbane soon found an opportunity of re-
newing the subject, but with no better success.
• You distrust my constancy,' he said. You
doubt the stability of my attachment. You think
me giddy and volatile, and incapable of a strong
and lasting passion. But try memput me to the
proof. Impose on me any sacrifice-any condi-
tions—any probation you please ;-I will cheerful-
ly submit to your will. Only give me a ray of hope
-only say that if I prove myself worthy of you, at
last you will be mine! Only tell me you will try
to love me !
But his impassioned eloquence and supplications
were lost upon Caroline. Though her feelings were
distressed, her resolution was inflexible; and though
Mrs. Cleveland tried to shake it with all her pow-
ers of persuasion-though Colonel Cleveland" evi-
dently thought she was crazy to refuse such an of-
fer,--and though Lady Hunlocke in her letter, of
which Breadaibane was the bearer, strongly urged
her to marry him forthwith ; Caroline never felt a
moment's hesitation in giving him a decided and
irrevocable refusal, thereby acting in direct con-
tradiction to Lady Hunlocke's advice, who conclud-
ed her epistle with these words— At least do not
decidedly refuse him; the time will come when
you will be very sorry for it. If you keep clear of
any engagement, you can never be bound to marry
him, nor can he have reason for complaint if you
should at last marry another; and, with a shadow
of hope, he will be at your disposal for life. But
take away every particle of hope, and the strongest
love will die. That is the food on which it lives.'
But Caroline determined to take away every
6
MEETING AND PARTING.
152
6
6
>
are.
particle of the food on which love lives.' She
scorned to act as many “honourable women do,
who give ‘no word of promise to the ear,' but so
ingeniously insinuate it to the sense,' that the de-
voted lover fondly indulges the dream, that the
time will come when his suit will be accepted ; and
his insensible mistress secures the power of having
him at last, if she can do no better.' Such things
But from such proceedings, Caroline's noble
and honourable mind revolted with contempt and
abhorrence. To do Lady Hunlocke justice, she
would never have given such advice, had she not
firmly believed that Caroline would marry him at
last, and that he was peculiarly formed to make
her happy, from his high spirit, strong feeling, and
ardent generous disposition, so like her own. She
firmly believed that Caroline's determination to re-
fuse him, arose entirely from motives of mistaken
delicacy, respecting her stay with him at Grindel-
wald having produced his attachment; and that it
she did not love him now, the fervent and devoted
passion of such a young man must, in time, gain
her heart. So Breadalbane also still fondly ven-
tured to hope ; and they would have been right,
had Caroline's affections been her own to bestow.
Breadalbane lingered three days, in the vain hope
of moving her in his favour—but in vain. Yet in
their very last interview, he betrayed a latent hope
that time, and his unshaken constancy, would
change her sentiments.
' Is there nothing, Mr. Breadalbane,' at last she
said, exhausted with combating this idea is
there nothing that can banish this chimera from
your mind ?
• Yes, one thing,' he replied ; "and one only.'
* And what is that ?'
14
6
VOL. III.
158
MEETING AND PARTING.
6
6
Will
you
tell me,' he said, with a look and tone
of strong emotion; "will you answer me one ques-
tion? You hesitate-Caroline, you are truth itself;
you would not deceive me—will you put an end to
this torturing suspense ?'
I will--if I can ;' she said, in a voice of sup-
pressed emotion.
• Do you love another ?' he said, in a faltering
voice, and very slowly, for his pallid lips could
scarcely articulate the words ;-and he waited,
with his eyes fixed upon her face, as if life and
death depended upon her answer.
The blood retreated to Caroline's heart, leaving
her face as pale as marble; then its crimson tide
rushed as rapidly and impetuously back.
Mr. Breadalbane,' she said, I will treat you
with perfect confidence. Your peace, your happi-
ness is at stake. I ought,-to you—and you only
-would I'—she stopped, unable for a moment to
proceed.
He could not interrupt her; he could not speak.
He had buried his face in his hands.
Yes, I will tell you—what I would die sooner
than own to any other—what I have scarcely ever
acknowledged to myself-I do love another!
Breadalbane clenched his hands in agony, and
groaned. "O God!' escaped him.
Before I ever saw you,' she continued, my
heart was another's.'
* Before you knew me! Heaven bless you for
that ! he exclaimed, That alone could have en-
abled me to bear it and live. May God in heaven
bless you !-and he rushed out of the room.
Caroline saw him no more.
In two hours' time
he was out of Venice, and driving onwards towards
Scotland with that restless speed, with which minds
6
6
SELF-TORMENTING.
159
ill at ease seek to fly from themselves. Deeply
did she feel for him, and her sorrow cast a cloud
upon her spirits, which she found some difficulty
in shaking off. But the native elasticity of her
mind soon restored her to serenity, and she con-
soled herself with the thought that Breadalbane
was very young, and consequently, though his
feelings were violent, they would probably be of
proportionably short duration. She had rooted
from his mind every hope, by a sacrifice of pride
and delicacy, the magnitude of which none but a
woman can estimate ; and she therefore felt as-
sured that a little time would cure his passion, and
restore him to tranquillity, and happiness.
CHAPTER L.
SELF-TORMENTING.
-
We that are true lovers, run into strange capers.
SHAKSPEARE,
-
LEAVING Venice with regret, our travellers set
out for Florence. Much do we hear of the plea-
sures of travelling—but few there be that find
them. The delights enjoyed while actually jour-
neying along the road, sitting hour after hour and
day after day, pent up inside a travelling carriage,
sye shrewdly suspect are rarely found very great
a
160
SELF-TORMENTING.
!
6
Nay, we even doubt if there be one, among the
many hundreds of travellers that have been whirled
through Europe, who has not many a time and
oft, looked with longing desire towards the des-
tined inn of rest, and yawned beneath the burden
of that ennui which is the invariable consequence
of travelling ---though travelling is as invariably
sought as its cure.
Dr. Johnson indeed said, that Life had few
better things than being whirled rapidly along in
a post chaise.' But the world contains few Dr.
Johnsons. To sluggish and indolent souls, perhaps,
this motion may form an agreeable stimulus, while
they enjoy the sense of their own inaction, and of
being transported whithersoever they list, without
any exertion of their own; but to beings of active
ininds and ardent character, the monotony, con-
finement, and inactivity, of a long journey, prove
irksome and wearisome to the last degree. Their
energetic spirits long for some positive exertion of
mind or body.
Caroline was one of those to whose nature it
was repugnant to be thus reduced to the condition
of a mere machine and though few travellers
were more observant, or more capable of drawing
enjoyment from every scene and every event-
there was little in the flat marshy country, and
the decaying towns through which they jour-
neyed, to afford pleasure or interest ;-while the
sight of an immense population of squalid beg-
gars perishing around them, of sickness and want,
beset their senses, and oppressed their spirits,
with the sight of wretchedness they could not re-
lieve. The thick fogs and falling sleet, too,
which obscured every object, made the travellers
often ask themselves if they were indeed journey-
SELF-TORMENTING.
161
ing beneath the brilliant skies of Italy--and if this
was the land of beauty and promise the garden
of nature ? Often as Caroline's eye wandered list-
lessly over naked fields, leafless trees, and rified
vineyards, now fallen into the sere and yellow
•
leaf, her thoughts strayed to distant scenes and
dearer objects.
Indeed how seldom, even in travelling through
scenery the most beautiful and varied, does the
mind rest satisfied with the contemplation of the
prospects before it, although even then passing
away for ever !-how continually does it fly to some
favourite object, some cherished hope, some dear
though distant remembrance, which absorb its real
thoughts and interest--while the eye idly wanders
over the loveliest scenes of nature !
At Pietra Mala, they heard that Lord Lumber-
court had left that wretched domicile,--the gout
having left him ;-and at Florence they found him
completely recovered, both from his fit of gout,
and from his fit of the tender passion ; for he now
seemed to feel for Miss St. Clair all the affection
and interest of a father, and entirely to forget that
he had ever thought of her as a lover. Indeed
Caroline, by the ease, the kindness, and confidence
of her manner, had from the first, with a delicacy
well worthy imitation, happily avoided recalling it
to his recollection.
Ruefully, however, did his Lordship bemoan him-
self over the hardships of travel, -over the oil
and the garlic, the sour wine and lack of sauces,
the bad dinners and bad beds, the dirt and dis-
comfort, the imposture and impudence, and all
the varied pains and penalties that he, in common
with every luckless traveller, had undergone in
his pilgrimage over Alps and Appenines. Like
14*
VOL. III.
162
SELF-TORMENTING.
6
Touchstone, he seemed ready to say,-'Ay, now
am I in Italy; the more fool I;-when I was at
home, I was in a better place. But travellers
must be content.
It so happened, that Miss St. Clair was some
time at Florence without seeing Lindsay. He
called soon after their first arrival, but none of
the party were at home; and in the usual tour of
sights which strangers first make, through churches,
and palaces, and libraries, and museums, and
works of Scagliuola, and Pietre Dure, and a long
etcetera—they were not likely to encounter him,
or any one who had been long enough a resident
at Florence, to have gone-or undergone—the
round of the said exhibition. Besides Lindsay had
understood from Lady Hunlocke, that Mr. Breadal-
bane and Miss St. Clair would certainly some
day be united'--for this idea she neither could
nor would relinquish, and Caroline herself could
not drive it from her mind,--and he therefore se-
dulously shunned her, for he dreaded seeing her.
At last, however, they were destined to meet.
One morning, as Caroline was waiting in Lady
Hunlocke's drawing-room till she was ready to
go out with her, Lindsay was shewn in.
unexpected appearance threw her into such in-
ternal agitation, that her heart palpitated as if
it would beat out at her side, and her trem-
bling limbs could scarcely support her. But the
secret consciousness of her own feelings, the dread
that he should penetrate them, and the strong
effort she successfully made over herself to con-
ceal all external signs of them,--threw such a
forced coldness and constraint over her manners
so unlike her usual ease and vivacity, that Lindsay
felt deeply hurt with her reception of him ;-while
-
His
SELF-TORMENTING.
163
the embarrassment occasioned by his own senti-
ments towards her, by her supposed engagement to
Breadalbane, and by the remembrance of all the
singular circumstances, and suspicions, and expla-
nations, which had lately taken place between
them, --had an effort equally embarrassing and
repulsive upon his manners. Both were engrossed
with thinking how altered were the manners of the
other, and in recalling the past, which neither had
the courage to mention; and the few forced com-
mon-place observations and inquiries that passed
between them, and the tone in which they were ut-
tered, would have made a superficial observer sup-
pose, that these two people entertained a thorough
dislike to each other's society. The entrance of
Lady Hunlocke was a relief to this embarrassing
constraint. She instantly discerned it, but, wholly
unsuspicious of any attachment between them
which it was impossible she could entertain--ne-
ver in her life having seen them together before-
she attributed it entirely to the awkwardness aris-
ing from the strange situations in which she knew
Lindsay had seen Caroline, and the consequent ex-
planations which had ensued.
Lindsay pleaded an engagement, when Lady
Hunlocke asked him to attend them to the galle-
ry; and with wounded feelings and aggravated
wretchedness, he took his leave.
Caroline was discontented with herself-she
scarcely knew why ;-she was miserable-for she
thought she had sunk in Lindsay's esteem. “She did
not,' she proudly repeated to herself, want his love;
but she had a right to his respect;-and the mark-
ed disapprobation his manners shewed towards her,
proved, she thought, that his sentiments respecting
her had undergone a complete change. Intent
164
SELF-TORMENTING.
6
upon concealing her own emotion, during his visit,
she was wholly unaware of the repulsive effect it
had produced on her own manners towards him.
The same evening she saw him at the Opera, but
a distant bow alone marked his recognition of her ;
although he went into other boxes and talked to
several other parties.
Yet Caroline, on the whole, was inclined to
believe from her observation in several successive
meetings with him, that it was neither dislike nor
indifference that made him so sedulously avoid her.
She well recollected he had said, that honour for-
bade him to marry the woman he loved-she could
not doubt that he had loved her, and she therefore
concluded that some unfortunate engagement of-
fered an insuperable obstacle to their union.
One night, however, she met him at a party of
the British Ambassadors, where, as usual, he paid
her no attention save that of covertly watching her
every word and action; so covertly indeed, that
no human being ever observed it; and as she was
too proud, and too conscious of her own feelings,
ever once to direct her looks to him, it was mar-
vellous how she detected this close and secret at-
tention. Yet so it was--that she did feel, rather
than see his observation, though once, and once on-
ly, her eye caught a single glance from his. This
was after she had been solicited, and tormented,
and beset on all sides, to act in the intended pri-
vate theatricals which Lord B- - was about to
establish. He himself was bent upon performing
Jacques, and many had been the candidates for the
part of Rosalind, which his Lordship pressed upon
her-but she decidedly refused to play it, or to
play at all; and parried the attacks made upon her
with so much firmness, and yet so much spirit and
SELF-TORMENTING.
165
9
6
>
vivacity, and ingenuity, that, involuntarily, one
eloquent glance of love and delighted admiration,
spoke the feelings of Lindsay's heart; a glance
that spoke to hers.
Finding that he could not get a Rosalind to his
mind, Lord B-left the matter for the present
unsettled, and began to discuss who should be
chosen to act the part of Orlando. Lindsay was
proposed, but Lord B-laughingly said, that
he was much too dangerous for a lover, and that in
pity to the fair Rosalind, whoever she might be,
they must endeavour to find some less seductive
person.'
So then,' said an elegant dandy youth, in a
tone of pique-Mr. Lindsay is the only dange-
rous man to the ladies.'
· Not so,' said Lord B-politely recollecting
himself, -None of you gay, gallant, young Lotha-
rios will do. We must find out some dull, tame,
married man, such as myself; or at least some
engaged man, to perform the lover.'
· Then Lindsay is the very man,' said young
Lord Rostrevor, taking him by the shoulder, for
he looks so sad and serious, I'll bet two to one he's
engaged. Come, own the truth, Lindsay ? Are
you not an engaged man?'
• No! thank heaven !' said Lindsay.
• Why, then, you've got such a serious counte-
nance, that you must actually be married, in sober
sadness ;' said the inquisitive little Peer.
No, that I neither am, nor ever shall be !' ex-
claimed Lindsay.
• Never marry!' exclaimed Lord B- Non-
•
sense--you don't mean seriously to say, you are
determined never to marry !
Positively and seriously determined. I never
«
6
6
.
6
166
SELF-TORMENTING.
6
will marry, and therefore will never act the part of
a lover.'
Lindsay had a particular meaning in saying this,
and he said it in a tone of truth and earnestness,
which brought conviction that he was serious;
and he was not even rallied upon his invincible
determination against the married state. There
was a certain Lady Emily Beaufort present, an
heiress of rank and title, whose assiduous though
diffident attentions to Lindsay, and ill disguised
passion for him were, at this time, the talk of Flo-
rence; and it was observed that she changed co-
lour at this speech, and betrayed strong emotion.
It also excited strong emotion in the breast of ano-
ther, who did not betray it.
“He is not engaged! He is under no entangle-
ment then !' said Caroline to herself. Nay, he
declares he never will marry—so that he can have
no engagement.
What then could he mean by
saying at Grindelwald, that honour forbade him
to marry the woman he loved ?' What was the
invincible barrier, which separated us for ever?'
Caroline knew, beyond any doubt, that she had
been the object of his love. • But if he be at
liberty,' she thought, why then does he shun me?
Why are his manners so changed and marked with
such coldness and constraint? Can he have dis-
cerned my passion for him ? Can he have pene-
trated my feelings, which I thought were so well
concealed ? Perhaps, that night, in the forest, he
,
saw what I myself then first discovered that I
loved him beyond all human beings—beyond life
itself. And he takes this way to shew me that he
disdains me---to crush at once the hopes he may
suppose I cherish !
Burning blushes of shame and indignation co-
6
6
6
SELF-TORMENTING.
167
6
.
6
vered her face at the very idea ; and she resolved
to shew him that he was mistaken, that she did
not care a straw for him, and that she disdained
to court his attention, or win his love. So proud,
so cold, and so reserved therefore, became her
manners to him, that their estrangement increased-
every day, and with it their mutual unhappiness.
• Though engaged to Breadalbane, why should
she treat me with such coldness and hauteur,
thought Lindsay. “Is it merely because she sees
that I love her?' And he was indignant that she
should make so ungenerous a use of her power.
• Though he does not choose to marry me,' said
Caroline to herself, ‘for it is plain there exists no
obstacle,--he surely might shew me common at-
tention, and not shun me, as if he thought I had
some design upon him.'
In this agreeable frame of mind towards each
other, Caroline one morning, for the tenth time,
was visiting the unrivalled collection of paintings
in the Palazzo Pitti, with Colonel and Mrs. Cleve-
land and Lady Hunlocke, who had never seen
them. In one of the rooms there is a picture of
the Three Fates, by Michelangelo Buonarrotti,
which she was vainly trying to make Colonel Cleve-
land admire.
I think they are three as ugly ill-natured look-
ing old cats, as I ever saw in my life;' said Colonel
Cleveland. They are regular old maids.'
“I wish, Colonel Cleveland,' said Caroline, laugh-
ing, that you would be more scrupulous in what
you say respecting that truly respectable sister-
hood; I feel somewhat sore by anticipation upon
it.'
• You! why it's impossible you should ever be
an old maid.'
6
168
SELF-TORMENTING.
>
• Now I think it extremely possible.
Colonel Cleveland laughed outright. “Excel-
lent! So you really pretend to say that you are de-
termined to die an old maid.'
• Pardon me! I never said so, for I have made
no such desperate determination; and if I had, I
should not be such a simpleton as to proclaim it.
I only said I expected to be an old maid. It was
anticipation, not determination,-it was a prophe-
cy, not a resolution. But I fear, -observe, Colonel
Cleveland, I fear,--that it is too true a prophecy,
and that it will inevitably come to pass. "I feel the
internal conviction that I am destined to live and
die Caroline St. Clair.'
• Nonsense! It never can be! One cannot fancy
you turned into an old maid; such another as one
of these three old scarecrows, or Fates,--or what-
ever you call the hideous old creatures.'
• But if these three relentless sisters have pro-
nounced it to be my doom, how can I help it?'
O yes ! you may help it;' said Colonel Cleve-
land, significantly.
• She will help it;' said Lady Hunlocke.
.We
shall see her Mrs. Breadalbane yet.'
• Never !' said Caroline.
Well, I am sure I think your doom will really
be to be an old maid, then ;' said Mrs. Cleveland ;
. and it will only serve you right. After refusing
Mr. Breadalbane, I should like to know whom you
would accept. Pray now, Caroline, whom would
you accept?'
• Mr. Lindsay!' exclaimed Lady Hunlocke.
Caroline started and turned crimson all over;
believing that Lady Hunlocke meant to say she
would accept Mr. Lindsay,—that she had penetrat-
ed her preference for him, and was thus publishing
6
6
6
6
1
SELF-TORMENTING.
169
6
-
6
you?'
>
it. She turned away her head to conceal her con-
fusion, and beheld-standing immoveable at the
door-Mr. Lindsay !
Why, Lindsay,' echoed Colonel Cleveland,
what brought you here ?'
• I have only this moment come in ;' eagerly ina
terrupted Lindsay ; as if afraid of being suspected
to have overheard this conversation-some of which
certainly had reached his ear.
• But bless me! what is the matter?- you look
-S0–I don't know how-odd and delighted.
Why, what piece of good fortune has befallen
"The good fortune of finding you here,' said
Lindsay ?
• But how the deuce came you here yourself?
I thought you were gone to Pisa, Lucca, and the
Lord knows where,' said Colonel Cleveland.
No, I am not gone!' said Lindsay, evidently in
a fit of absence.
No, you are not gone ! repeated Colonel Cleve-
:'
land. Why, the man's dreaming! Do you think I
can't see you're not gone there, when you're stand-
ing here, without your informing me of it? But
pray, why are you not gone ?'
“I got a letter-,' said Lindsay; and he stopped
abruptly.
• A letter! you got two letters from me to carry
to Leghorn, to-day.
“I have !' said Lindsay.
• And pray, then, do you go to-morrow ?'
• To-morrow! repeated Lindsay, still in the
clouds.
· Well ! to-morrow will do ;' said Colonel Cleve-
land. Now, Lindsay, I must tell you an excellent
joke. "Miss St. Clair admires those three hideous
15
6
6
6
6
VOL. III.
170
SELF-TORMENTING.
6
6
old maids here of all things; and she says she is
going to be one herself.'
What, a hideous old maid !' said Lady Hunlocke,
laughing.
No,--not a hideous old maid, though they are
all hideous enough, heaven knows! Nobody but
you, Miss St. Clair, ever found any thing to admire
in an old maid.'
• At least if Miss St. Clair were to be one, every
body would find something to admire in an old
maid,' said Lindsay.
'O, it is impossible to get at what you think-
you are so full of compliments.
Not quite impossible, I think ;' said Lady Hun-
locke, significantly, sotto voce, as if to herself.
Something Lindsay said to Caroline, in so low a
voice that no other ear could catch it--and with a
look which she alone felt; whatever it was, it
brought the mantling blushes into her cheeks, and
without replying, she hastened to join the rest of
the party, who were moving away.
As soon as Lindsay had handed the ladies into
their carriage, he joined Colonel Cleveland in his
morning's ride, and by turning the conversation
upon Breadalbane--a subject he had heretofore cau-
tiously avoided-he soon learnt from his communi-
cative companion, the whole story of Caroline's
resolute rejection of her devoted lover at Venice;
together with the Colonel's private opinion that
she must be out of her senses to refuse such an
offer.
To this, Lindsay, who was absorbed in his own
tumultuous thoughts and feelings, gave a mecha-
nical assent, to his own inexpressible amusement,
when he recalled to mind afterwards what he had
been saying; and he remembered, that amongst
SELF-TORMENTING.
172
other things, he had actually agreed it was a great
pity she had not accepted Mr. Breadalbane!
Scarcely had Colonel Cleveland got home before
he triumphantly imparted to Miss St. Clair, Lind-
say's decided disapprobation of her refusal of Mr.
Breadalbane, and his sincere regret at hearing of it.
Scarcely could Caroline believe him; but Colonel
Cleveland was sincerity itself, and he reiterated
again and again I assure you, Lindsay perfectly
agreed with me. He was quite of my opinion in
every respect. He thought you much to blame to
refuse Breadalbane, and regretted it as much as I
did. Now, you don't look pleased. Now, I know
that's because you think I should not have told
him; but, observe, I did not let it out-No, no, I
would not have betrayed Breadalbane. No man
likes to have it trumpeted abroad that he has been
refused. But Lindsay knew of it, for Breadalbane
had told him at Pietra Mala he was going to Ve-
nice, to propose to you : only Lindsay never thought
of asking, till to day, whether you had accepted
him or not.'
The glow of indignation which overspread
Caroline's fine face on hearing this, expressed but
imperfectly her feelings. She was indignant that
Mr. Lindsay should make her actions the subject
of animadversion-indignant that he should have
the presumption to blame them,--indignant that
he should think that she ought to have jumped
at Breadalbane's offer ;- but she was wounded to
the heart that he was sorry she had not accept-
ed himn-and mortified beyond description that
he had not even had sufficient curiosity to in-
quire before now, if she was going to be married
to him or not.
Little did she know that he had understood she
172
LOVERS' VOWS.
was irrevocably engaged to Breadalbane, and that
he avoided the subject only because it was torture
to him!
CHAPTER LI.
LOVERS' VOWS.
Sweet ! I love thee,
And would be gladder to be lov'd again,
Than the cold earth is in his frozen arms
To clip the wanton spring. Nay, do not start,
Nor wonder that I wou thee.
Faithful Shepherdess.
O most gentle Jupiter! What a tedious homily of love have you
wearied your parishioners withal, and never cried, 'Hare palience,
good people."
SHAKSPEARE.
3
CAROLINE's delight was the gallery. Day after
day, with unwearied pleasure, she returned to gaze
upon its inexhaustible treasures of art. Some of
the choicest of these, however, are preserved in
rooms which are locked up, excepting once in
every two hours, when one of the Custodi, with a
train of gaping strangers at his heels, makes the
circuit of the whole, carefully locking every door
behind him, and inexorably refusing to prolong his
stay one moment beyond the stated time.
These cursory surveys by no
means satisfied
Caroline ;-before she had nearly satisfied herself
with the beauties of one painting or statue, she
LOVERS' Vows.
173
6
was compelled to follow the rabble rout out of
that room into the next, when the same hasty
glance only provoked the appetite which grows
with what it feeds on. One of these Custodi, who
himself possessed the true Italian feeling for the
Arts, observed the eager delight with which she
instantly singled out from all the rest, the finest
master-piece, and sympathising in the longing lin-
gering look' she threw behind her when compelled
to quit it, charitably proposed to leave her behind
him -provided she would consent to be locked up
for the next two hours. To this she gladly con
sented, more especially as she wished to profit by
the offered opportunity to copy, undisturbed, the
exquisite head of St. Cecilia, by Carlo Dolce, and
a few more of the pictures. Almost every day,
therefore, one or other of the rooms became her
voluntary prison, in which she enjoyed, without
interruption or observation, the study of the finest
productions of the great masters, and the delightful
occupation of sketching their designs.
The morning after the interview alluded to in
the last chapter, at the Palazzo Pitti, Caroline went
as usual to the Gallery, and as usual was left locked
up in the room containing the portraits of painters,
when the Custode took his departure, followed by
his flock. She was at present engaged in copying
the unrivalled portrait of Lionardo da Vinci, by
himself, and she stood for a few minutes before
commencing her drawing, wrapt in admiration be-
fore it, wholly unconscious that any one was in the
room, -when a hasty step approached her from a
recess at the other end of the apartment; and a well
known voice apologised for intruding upon her.
Caroline started, and emotion not to be controlled
VOL. III.
15*
174
LOVERS' VOWS.
6
thrilled through her frame and crimsoned her cheek
- for it was the voice of Mr. Lindsay.
Having learnt at Colonel Cleveland's, where he
had called, that she was gone to the Gallery, he
had followed her there, and entered the room unob-
served by her, while she was absorbed in contem-
plation of the paintings. A word and a scudo to
the Custode, easily procured him the privilege of
sharing the imprisonment to which he knew she
voluntarily submitted.
He again renewed his apologies for his presump-
tion, with the most respectful seeming diffidence ;-
while perhaps the increased fire of his eye, and
glow of his cheek, betrayed that her obvious con-
fusion augmented bis confidence.
• But,' said Caroline, attempting to rally her spi-
rits and recover her self-command, instead of wast-
ing your time in apologies, you must employ it to
effect your liberation, while it is yet possible.'
• Must I ?” he said; gently detaining her as she
was hastily moving to the door-Must I, indeed ?'
His eyes, under the glance of which hers instantly
dropped, again called up her conscious blushes.
• Must I go?' he repeated.
If you delay, the Custode will be out of hearing
for I am locked up for two hours.'
* And will you not allow me to share your impri-
sonment?'
O no, no!
Will you not? Yes--let me stay with you, dear-
est Miss St Clair! Say that you will let me stay?'
She had not raised her eyes, yet the tone of his
voice alone thrilled to her heart; still she made an-
other effort to master her feelings, and tried laugh-
ingly to say, 'that she had already exposed herself
to so much misrepresentation from inadvertently
6
3
6
6
6
LOVERS' vows.
175
remaining alone with gentlemen, that he must not
be surprised if she was afraid to repeat it.'
You have indeed reason to be afraid of me!-
reason to hate me and to shun me ! he exclaimed.
• Yet do not drive me from you! Do not condemn
me unheard ! Hear me, and forgive me! For I know
such is the gentleness of your nature, that you will
forgive me, though I have offended past all claim to
pardon.' And he poured forth his explanation of
the extraordinary combination of circumstances
which had misled him ;-his indignation against
himself for having allowed any appearances what-
ever to implant a doubt in his mind of her perfect
propriety of conduct ;--bis deep contrition for his
Offence--and his humble supplications for forgive-
ness with an eloquence of looks, words, and tone,
that could not fail to touch the heart of woman.
He had thrown himself upon her mercy-he hung
upon her accents as if life was in the balance ;
but she could only utter, with trembling hesitation
- Do not ask my forgiveness—I have nothing to
forgive!'
• But I will ask your forgiveness !' he said, throw-
ing himself at her feet, and holding her trembling
hand in his. “I will implore it! I will never cease
to sue for it, till you grant it to my prayers and
supplications! I will kneel at your feet for it, till
you say that you forgive me.'
0 rise! rise !
Tell me then that you forgive me! Say that
you will restore me once more to your favour !-
you will look upon me as you once did-
that you will smile upon me again!
She could not speak. He looked up into her
blushing face, while he still pressed her hand in
his--and after an interval, during which she could
6
6
6
Say that
176
LOVERS' VOWS:
only repeat—0 rise, Mr. Lindsay! rise !-He
again, with all the fervour of passion, murmured
• Tell me that you forgive me! Tell me so, Caro-
line! tell me so! Will you not say that you
forgive me !
I do I do indeed! O rise!'
• That is not forgiveness, Caroline. Say you do
forgive me !
I do forgive you,' she said, in accents scarcely
audible.
He imprinted a kiss of deep devotion upon the
hand he held, and then obeyed her repeated com-
mand to rise.
It was quite evident, from the first word he
spoke, what was his intention; and Caroline had
instantly felt it to her heart. Yet from that pow-
erful and unaccountable impulse which prompts
woman to shun that declaration of love when at
hand, for which in secret her soul has sighed-
Caroline, the instant he rose, went hastily towards
the door.
• You cannot get out!' he said, with infinite
gentleness, and with a smile such as had never
illumined his face for many long months--Like
Sterne's starling, you may vainly repeat—'I can't
get out! I can't get out!'
Caroline laughed, or tried to laugh at her for-
getfulness of the door being locked.
• This is not the first time you have been locked
np with me,' said Mr. Lindsay.
• Do you remem-
ber the charnel house of St. Bernard ?
This observation, for whatever reason, did not
tend to remove Caroline's embarrassment, and she
hastily turned to the pictures, and began admiring
the portrait of Lionardo da Vinci, with great
prodigality of epithets of encomium. No answer
6
LOVERS' vows.
177
was returned; she felt his passionate gaze was
fixed upon her, not upon the picture.
She bestowed afresh, a liberal supply of praise
upon the beauties of Lionardo, at which she seem-
ed to be looking. Still he did not speak—but he
drew nearer and nearer to her. She too, now, was
silent-but her heart throbbed, her bosom heaved
with deeper respiration,-her eyes met his, intently
fixed upon her face, with an expression of such
mute adoration, that hers sunk beneath them, and
conscious blushes again kindled over her cheek.
She would have moved away, but he gently took
her hand, and his pressure thrilled through her
frame. She tried to withdraw it,-he pressed it
more tenderly--more fervently in his own, and
drew her nearer to him, uttering only those broken
expressions of passion and tenderness, which never
can be repeated. Agitation almost overpowered
her. He supported her to a settee which stood
against the wall, and seated himself beside her.
She made no further effort to escape, and while
his looks and words breathed half expressed pity,
and the softest tenderness to sooth her trembling
confusion and emotion, it was too dear, too delight-
ful to his heart to wish it removed.
So bright the tear in Beauty's eye,
Love half regrets to kiss it dry-
So sweet the blush of bashfulness,
Even Pity scarce can wish it less!
We forbear to paint the scene that followed,
every word and look of which were indelibly en-
graved on the hearts of the lovers. Caroline lis-
tened to the story of his love with silence, more
eloquent than speech-a few murmured words
were all that he could draw from her ; but the soft
178
LOVERS' VOWS.
6
6
beam of her brilliant eye, the sweet tremor of her
frame, and the purple light of love that glowed
upon her cheek, needed no other language to
speak to the heart of her enraptured lover. Long
before he had half finished the tale he was breathing
into her ear, the unreasonable Custode unlocked
the door ;-and, with a very clear idea of the
paintings the room contained, and her copy of the
head of Lionardo da Vinci greatly advanced, Ca-
roline left it and returned home, attended by
Lindsay. They found the house deserted, and for
three hours more Lindsay poured forth his whole
soul to the beloved mistress of its affections.
Why, Lindsay ! what are you here! What,
not gone to Pisa yet?' said Colonel Cleveland, as
he returned with his wife a little before dinner
time.
• Not yet,' said Lindsay.
"So then my letters are not gone either?" said
Colonel Cleveland, “why, what a pretty fellow
are you !
Caroline meantime was quietly stealing out of
the room ; and Lindsay, as he opened the door for
her, whispered— May I come this evening !
• O no, no! not for the world !' she said.
Pray-pray let me-
No, no!
* And pray,' continued Colonel Cleveland, who
had been talking to him unregarded all this time
about his letters, 'how came you to be here, when
you
said
you had some important business at
Leghorn.'
. Because I had more important business here!
• Nonsense !—why what business can you have
here?
- Shall I tell you ??'
6
6
6
LOVERS' vows.
170
6
6
late
6
Why yes,-if it's no secret, I should like ex-
tremely to know what very important business
you can have at Florence.'
*To pay my addresses to Miss St. Clair.'
“No! It's not possible !-exclaimed the amazed
Colonel.
· And yet it is perfectly true.'
Well-I never heard any thing so extraordina-
ry! Why I always thought you were not good
friends. I thought that she had taken offence at
you, and you had taken fancies about her; and
that, in short, you were just as unlikely to come
together as cat and dog. But I am very glad of it,
upon my soul !
'I rejoice to hear it with all my heart,' said Mrs.
Cleveland. And I suppose then I may congratu-
* I
you upon your good fortune.'
Why so ?'
• Because I think a man seldom acknowledges
that he is paying his addresses to a lady, unless he
is assured of her consent.'
And I give you joy with all my heart, upon
your success, Lindsay,' said Colonel Cleveland.
Stop-stop !--not so fast, my good friend!
said Lindsay. I said nothing about success; I
have none to boast of.'
• What the deuce !-has she refused you ?'
• She has refused me permission to come here
this evening.'
• Then stay dinner-and you will be here with-
out coming.
Lindsay shook his head—I think I had better
disobey her at once, point blank,--besides I am
afraid she has had enough of me, already, this
inorning ;-this evening, I must not come to see
herbut-
6
180
LOVERS' vows.
was
• But you may come to see me,' said Mrs. Cleve-
land, laughing; Will you ?'
Lindsay joyfully caught at the invitation ;-and
when he did come, the smile, the blush, and the
sparkling eye with which Caroline received him,
were heavy punishments for his disobedience.
In happiness the most perfect and unmixed
which this world can bestow, the lovers spent this
evening, and the next morning, and the four fol-
lowing weeks of uninterrupted bliss. On what day,
or hour, Lindsay drew from the blushing Caroline
the promise to be his, we cannot precisely say.
We think ourselves, however, justified in'asserting
it could not be very long after his declaration, be-
cause we know that a few days only after that pe-
riod, the departing ,courier for England
charged with a letter from Lindsay to Lady St.
Clair, to ask her consent to their union ;-at the
same time, acknowledging he should do his best
to persuade Caroline to marry him without await-
ing it.
Of Lady St. Clair's consent, indeed, it seemed
quite clear there could be no doubt. It was her
most anxious wish that her daughter should marry
well,'—by which she meant to rank, fortune, and
fashion ; all of which were united in the person
of
Horace Lindsay, only son and heir of Lord Mont-
fort, and himself of distinguished celebrity in fash-
ionable life. Certainly the qualities which had won
her daughter's love, would not have much value in
the mother's eyes; yet her vanity could not fail to
be gratified that a man of such brilliant talents,
and so pre-eminently recherché should be her son
in law.
Caroline, however, would not marry without ac-
tually receiving her mother's consent; although
6
LOVERS' vows.
181
6
she could not help acknowledging, with Mrs. Cleve-
land, that it was mere matter of form.' Moreover,
she was determined not to marry until Mrs. Cleve-
land had perfectly recovered from her accouche-
ment, which was now almost daily expected to take
place ;-so that all her lover's powers of persuasion
and eloquence--and they were not small-were es-
sayed in vain, in order to persuade her to marry
without waiting for these events. There was not,
however, much time to lose,-at least so Lindsay
had suddenly discovered. The necessity for his
being in India, and consequently for being married,
having prodigiously increased ever since that day
on which he had met Caroline in the Chamber of
Portraits, in the Gallery.
He had written to his father to announce his in-
tended marriage, and intended journey with his
bride overland to India, by way of Rome, Naples,
Greece, Egypt, and the Deserts a journey to
which, with all its hardships and difficulties, Caro-
line looked forward with delight. But she was
never destined to take it. We must not, however,
anticipate.
Lindsay had no consent to await. He had long
ago received from Lord Montfort full permission,
with one exception (that of Miss Hamilton) to mar-
ry whom he pleased. He was also furnished with
full powers to make adequate settlements, with the
approbation of his nearest relation, Lord Lumber-
court.
The settlements were now prepared, all the ne-
cessary arrangements made, even the wedding
clothes were ready ;-yet sad forebodings at times
lled Lindsay's mind, that something would occur
to prevent the marriage. Notwithstanding those
moments of gloom, however, which one smile from
VOL. III.
16
182
LOVERS' VOWS.
Caroline would instantly dispel, Lindsay enjoyed
happiness as uninterrupted as this world can be-
stow. But as uninterrupted happiness, though ex-
tremely pleasant to experience, is extremely dull to
describe, we shall pass over these halcyon days
which now shone upon the lovers, like a bright
gleam of sunshine between the storms.
During the interminable conversations in which
the lovers, like all lovers, spent their time, Caro-
line learnt, what indeed she before believed, and
what the sagacious reader has long since discover-
ed-that Lindsay was the author of the serenade
at Interlachen. He was at that time staying in a
cottage near the waterfall on the Lake of Brientz,
and in returning through the valley of Interlachen,
from a mountain excursion, on the evening of her
arrival with the Clevelands, he stopped to look at
the crowd of waltzers assembled at the inn, among
whom, to his great amazement, he beheld Caroline
and Lady Hunlocke. In the subsequent moon-
light walk of the two friends, he was gazing at Ca-
roline behind the trees; and overhearing her ex-
press the most animated desire to hear the famous
singing girls, he immediately engaged the four fine
peasant singers of Brientz, in whose house he lodg-
ed,—and who of course had come down to the fair
-to sing their national songs, beneath her window.
In order to indulge the expression of his own feel-
ings, he hastily wrote some verses, adapted to a
beautiful air of Mozart's, which he got Paccherot-
ti, the Italian music master of Berne, to sing to the
accompaniment of his guitar.
He, too, was the spy who the next day lurked in
the woods at Giesbach, whither he had proceeded
,
along the shore, as the boat which contained Caro-
line rowed up the lake ; and having established his
LOVERS' vows.
183
6
signals of intelligence with his friends, the peasant
singers, he had made them ask her to sing his fa-
vourite song, that he might once more—and as he
then believed for the last time--have the delight of
hearing her, and, unseen himself, of beholding her.
It was of course his voice which echoed the " dying
fall' of hers from the woods, and prompted her to
chase him to the very verge of the woody preci-
pice, down which he descended at the hazard of his
neck, to effect his escape.
All these circumstances, which had so strongly
excited her amazement and curiosity at the time,
were satisfactorily explained; but when she archly
inquired into the business of importance' which
had carried him so hastily from the Robbers' cave
to the Lake of Lugano, instead of returning, as
he had promised, to Cadenabbia ;-he hesitated,
and at length said, that he could not satisfy her
on this point, because the secret was another's, not
his own, and he had given a solemn and uncondi-
tional promise not to reveal it to any human be-
ing; therefore, though he knew it would be as safe
with her as with himself, he could not violate his
word.'
Caroline gaily assured him she had not even a
wish to know this secret; and, indeed, had asked
him the question only with the mischievous view of
rallying him upon his fear of meeting her—which
she had believed to be the true and sole cause of
his hasty flight to Lugano.
Lindsay, one day, shewed her the Indian scarf
which she had lost on the Furca ;—and which, be-
ing found carefully concealed on his person when
he was arrested at Sajlas, and stained with blood--
had very nearly been the means of hanging him.
Ile enquired most minutely into every particular of
184
A DISCOVERY.
her meeting with the extraordinary man who had
found it on his return down the Furca, and had giv-
en it to him; and he seemed deeply interested by
her account of him; but when she questioned him
in return, as to what he knew of him, he merely,
said he had met with him accidentally in the Gri-
sons, and that he had given him the scarf, proba-
bly,' he added, “because he did not value it quite
so much as I did.'
Caroline's curiosity was still unsatisfied, but
Lindsay said he could give no further account of
him,' and turned the conversation to another sub-
ject.
6
CHAPTER LII.
A DISCOVERY.
Ah me! for aught that ever I could read,
Could ever hear by tale or bistory,
The course of true love never did run smooth !
SHAKSPEARE.
Miser, chi mal oprando si confida
Ch'ognor star debba il maleficio occulto :
Che quando ogni altro taccia, intorno grida
L'aria e la terra istessa in ch'e sepulto :
E Dio fa spesso che l'peccato guida
Il peccator, poi ch 'alcun dì gli ha indulto;
Che se medesmo, senza altrui richiesta,
Inavvedatamente manifesta.
Ariosto, Canto VI.
One day, about a month after the letters were
A DISCOVERY.
185
dispatched to Lady St. Clair, Lindsay was sitting
with Caroline, when she suddenly started and ut-
tered an exclamation of alarm;--a sound was heard
from the hall-it rapidly ascended the staircase-
* It is my mother's voice!' she exclaimed, turning
pale. The door was violently thrown open, and
Lady St. Clair, alone, pale, trembling, and exhaust-
ed, rushed into the room, and throwing a wild
glance upon them, breathlessly exclaimed, --- Are
you married ?
“No! was the reply.
Then heaven be praised !' she exclaimed, as she
sank into à chair; and, after a short struggle, faint-
а
cd away;
She is dying--she is dead!' exclaimed the hor-
ror-struck Lindsay.
Caroline, herself pale as death, but by a strong
cffort maintaining her calmness and presence of
mind, desired him to throw open the windows, to
ring the bell, and leave the room; while she hastily
cut all the fastenings of her mother's dress, and ap-
plied such restoratives as were at hand. Mrs. Cleve-
land, to whom Lindsay instantly flew, soon arrived
with attendants, and by following Caroline's judi-
cious directions and precautions, her mother soon
revived, and was put to bed.
It was evident that she had something to commu-
nicate that weighed heavily upon her mind; but
Caroline, perceiving from the alarming effects of
any agitation, that perfect quietness at this moment
was indispensable for the preservation of her life
and reason, suppressed her own intense anxiety to
learn the truth, and would not allow her to enter
upon that explanation, every attempt at which so
dreadfully shook her exhausted frame.
Caroline! I will speak; you are my child
VOL. III.
16*
186
A DISCOVERY
6
you must obey me!' said Lady St. Clair with irri-
tation.
• To-morrow, I will obey you, dear mamma,' said
Caroline, in a soothing tone ; 'but to-night you
must obey me--that you may be in a condition to
command hereafter.'
• To-morrow you will obey me! Promise me
that, Caroline, and I will be pacified !' said Lady
St. Clair eagerly.
Caroline's soul involuntarily recoiled from this
promise, which she felt to be tantamount to re-
nouncing Lindsay, She therefore evaded it, and
affectionately kissing her mother's pallid cheek,
said, Yes, to-morrow, and every day my dear
mamma, you shall command and I will endeavour
to obey. Now be composed, and sleep in peace.'
A heavy sigh and stifled groan burst from her
mother's heart; and she said, as she sunk back
on the pillow, -I shall never know peace more!
She soon sunk into an uneasy sleep, the refuge
of exhausted nature--for her maid told Caroline
that her lady had not been a single night in bed
since they had left England; and that whenever,
exhausted by fatigue, she had lain down for a few
hours, she had always started up in violent agita-
tion, exclaiming that she must set off instantly, or
else she might be too late.'
With a mind filled with astonishment and dread,
Caroline sat and watched by her mother's bed-side,
in the silence of the night. That she had come for
the purpose of breaking off her marriage she could
scarcely doubt---but why or wherefore? What
probable--nay, possible cause of objection, could
exist to a match in every respect so gratifying to
Lady St. Clair's pride and ambition ? In vain she
exhausted herself with fruitless conjectures. But
up-
6
6
9
>
A DISCOVERY.
187
she was miserable. She felt the fearful undefined
sense of some unknown calamity at hand ready to
overwhelm her, and her heart sunk at the pros-
pect.
Her mother's sleep was broken and perturbed--
once she started from it, calling out-Stop, stop!
Let her go !she never can be yours! There-
there !-now go!-Leave her I say. Then again
she shrieked out with horror—Married !-mar-
ried ! O God ! O Lindsay! Lindsay! Foul
foul-wickedness! My doing! Yes-yes !--all my
doing !
Cold drops of sweat stood upon her brow; and
her clenched fists and convulsed features, betray-
ed the deep agony of her spirit. More than once
Caroline was compelled to awaken and to sooth
her.
It was late in the morning when Lady St. Clair
awoke, perfectly calm and collected, and well in
health. She spoke little to her daughter when she
saw her watching by her bed-side; dismissed her al-
most immediately, and did not send for her again
till after she had breakfasted, when Caroline found
hier pacing backwards and forwards in the room,
her eyes fixed on the ground, and her cheeks pale
as ashes. She stopped short at her daughter's en-
trance, and fixed her eyes upon her with a look of
wretchedness which shocked Caroline.
Will you save me, Caroline, from eternal mise-
ry?' said Lady St. Clair with solemnity.
• What a question !' said Caroline. Tell me
what I can do for you, my dear mother, to make
you happy?'
Happy !-repeated Lady St. Clair, in a tone of
voice which made her shudder; ' happy !--She was
silent for a few moments, as if collecting her pow-
ers, and then said-Caroline! I have been an in-
6
188
A DISCOVERY.
>
prayer?'
dulgent parent to you—I have given you every
advantage that my cares or means could bestow.
I have done all in my power to bring you forward
in life; your interests and advancement have been
the grand object of my pursuit. Ever since you
grew up, I have lived but for my daughters; nor
have I required much in return.
I have never
exacted the sacrifice of your time--your pleasures
-your pursuits. I have never compelled you to
do what you disliked, nor to relinquish what you
liked.'
" I know it well,' said Caroline. You have al-
ways been a most kind and indulgent mother.'
• In return for all this, I have now one request to
make to you. Will you grant it to your mother's
Caroline turned deadly pale, as with a faltering
voice she asked, "What it was she required of
her?'
* That you will give up Mr. Lindsay ?'
'I cannot! I am engaged to him.
Your engagement is nothing—it cannot be bind-
ing, unsanctioned by your parent and guardian.
You are still a minor- --an infant. When
you
made
that engagement, you anticipated my consent.
I never doubted it.'
• But I never can give my consent.'
• But what can be your objections ?'
* It is useless to inquire. They are insurniount-
able. No time nor change of circumstances can
overcome them. Promise me, Caroline-solemnly
promise me, that you will never marry Mr. Lind-
6
6
say!
Caroline was silent
• Will you then refuse my prayer—my humble
supplication ? Will you not grant me this one re-
quest--this single recompense for a life devoted to
a
A DISCOVERY.
189
a
you? Will you, for the sake of a lover whom you
have only known a few short months, cast off every
tie of duty towards the mother whose cares have
reared you from infancy? Yes!-a mother must
sue in vain to a child ! But it is not a matter of
choice. You may indeed save me from the bit-
terest pang that can wring my heart, by consent-
ing, voluntarily, to break off this hateful match ;-
but break it off you must. You never can marry
Mr. Lindsay.'
• O tell me why! exclaimed Caroline.
• Believe me when I say, that an insurmountable
barrier exists to your union !
• But what barrier can there be ?' asked Caro-
line.
•Who can oppose it excepting yourself? He
has his father's consent to marry whom he pleases.'
His father! groaned Lady St. Clair, in a voice
of anguish. "O Caroline, spare me !--believe me
when I tell you it is impossible. It never can be.
Ask me no further --but promise me—solemnly
promise me--that never in my life, nor after my
death, you will marry Mr. Lindsay !'
O ask not such a promise! I cannot-cannot
make it.'
Caroline, Caroline, you will drive me to despe-
ration—to madness! You torture my heart !--Al-
ready is my misery more than I can bear—and will
you increase its heavy burden, and force me to'-
She buried her face in both her hands, and sobbed
aloud.
• Mother! my dear mother! tell me what is the
cause of your unhappiness! Tell me what is this
obstacle to my marriage. If it be indeed insur-
mountable, I must be--I will be resigned to it.
-
190
A DISCOVERY.
6
But perhaps,--perhaps it may not prove s0,--per-
haps it may be possible to overcome it!
O no, no !--never, never!-exclaimed Lady
St. Clair, in an agony of grief. “Do you think,
that to such a marriage, more than fulfilling my
fondest hopes and fondest wishes for you, I should
have raised any objection, if it could have been ;-
but it cannot. Caroline! will you not believe
me--that an insurmountable obstacle exists to
your union with Mr. Lindsay, and that it never
can be !
• But I do not understand it. Who or what
should prevent it? Surely you do not mean that
we really could not be married if we pleased ?'
• And the curse of heaven would light upon your
marriage. Misery-bitter misery, and horror un-
speakable, and everlasting perdition, would you
bring upon your devoted heads !'
Caroline turned deadly pale. She began to
believe that her mother's reason was impaired, and
that her intellects, if not wholly overturned, were
at least in imminent danger. She sought to sooth
her-
• Calm yourself, my dearest mother! she said.
. Do not agitate yourself in this manner! Let us
talk no more on this subject just now! We will
think of it afterwards.'
No, no !--exclaimed Lady St. Clair, vehe-
mently. Never--never will I talk of another sub-
ject--never will I let you quit my presence, till you
take a solemn oath never to marry Mr. Lindsay.--
Caroline's blood froze with horror.
• You think me mad, Caroline! Do not deceive
yourself with that hope--(Caroline shuddered).--
Yes, hope, Caroline ! Would that this obstacle
to your marriage existed only in my distempered
6
A DISCOVERY.
191
6
imagination! Gladly--gladly would I consent to
be mad indeed, for ever, if that could change
the past !
For pity's sake, torture me not thus with sus-
pense, but tell me what is this terrible mystery-
this dreadful obstacle ?' said Caroline.
• Why inquire, when I tell you that no earthly
power-nor even God himself--can overcome it?
Caroline started, and looked horror-struck at the
seeming blasphemy of this strange speech.
• No !--I am not impious Caroline! I am bad
enough--but impious I have never been. Nor
have I now taken God's holy name in vain. I re-
peat it--God himself cannot overcome the obsta-
cle to your union.'
And what can be impossible to God?' asked
Caroline.
Some things are impossible even to God--by
his own decree. He cannot do away the past--he
cannot recall the sins that have been committed !
• But he can wash them away ;-- he can take
away their penalty.'
• Never !' said Lady St. Clair, as she threw her
eyes up to heaven in agony. "O God of infinite
justice, thy righteous doom is fulfilled! Thy curse
-thy bitter curse—is fallen upon my guilty head-
that the sins of the parent should be visited upon
the children!'
O my dearest mother! believe in the mercy of
God--not in his vengeance! Trust to his forgive-
ness! Fear not his wrath--for the tears of penitence
shall wash away the stains of guilt !'
• Penitence! No-I am no penitent. Even now
it is the consequences of sin, not the sin itself, that
I lament with this bitterness of soul. At least let
me not add hypocrisy to crime! Caroline--hear
6
-
-
6
192
A DISCOVERY.
6
6
me! I would not deceive you--alas! I have no
motive for it! Hear me, then, while I swear by all
that I hold most sacred--by my hopes of mercy-
by the holy name of my Redeemer---that there exists
an insurmountable obstacle to your marriage with
Mr. Lindsay !
• Almighty God !--what dreadful mystery is this!
exclaimed Caroline.
· Caroline !--once more I call upon you, and for
the last time,-- by your duty-by your gratitude-
by your affection to me--by the sacred name of
• Mother, which ought to be dear to you--by
your hopes of happiness here and hereafter--
solemnly to swear that you will never marry
Mr.
Lindsay !
Caroline trembled--but was silent.
'If you do, the curse of God will fall upon
you! Misery--bitter, eternal misery, will be your
portion !
'O curse me not, my mother !--exclaimed Caro-
'I curse you not--I never will curse you !--but
you will be cursed of God and man, if you marry
him. Swear to me then-solemnly swear—that
you never will !'
O mother! mother !--I cannot_dare not--
swear it. I know not whether I could keep my
vow. I will, however, promise that I will not
marry him now--that I will
not marry him at all
without your knowledge. But surely the time may
come'-
• Never !--If I were laid in my grave, your vow
must be equally binding. Swear never to marry
him !
Caroline was silent.
• Then you will marry him!'
line, in agony.
6
A DISCOVERY.
193
6
6
• I cannot dare not swear that I never will.'
'Cruel-ungrateful girl! Know then-since no
tie of duty, gratitude, or honour, can teach you to
renounce a lover for a mother's sake,-know that
you must give him up for ever,--for-he is—your
brother !
Caroline stood fixed in mute amazement-mo-
tionless—as if the bolt of heaven had struck her
senseless,-or the wand of some enchanter had
turned her to marble. At length, with a long
drawn breath she repeated – My brother !-How
is it possible ? Are you then his mother also ?'
No, no!'-exclaimed Lady St. Clair, without
lifting up her face, which was buried in her hands
- His father is your father!
Caroline stood silent, transfixed with amazement.
Yes,' continued Lady St. Clair-since the
shameful truth must be divulged, known only to
my own heart,- to him who is the earthly author
of your being, and to God,-know that Lindsay,
now Lord Montfort, and not Sir Reginald St. Clair,
was your father.'
• Can it be possible ? My father !_not my fa-
ther! Him whom I loved so dearly-whose memo-
ry I still reverence above all on earth-who loved
me so tenderly and so fondly !!
• Yes !--said Lady St. Clair, with a bitter laugh,
'a pretty lesson, were it known, for those who talk
so sentimentally of the force of blood, and the in-
stinct of natural affection -For he loved you far
better than all his children, though you only--
among them all, were not his child; and you lov-
ed him--ay far more tenderly—than me, who am
your mother! But ill have I deserved your love!
Accursed to you was the hour in which I gave you
birth! Deep, deep has been the measure of my
17
6
а
VOL. II.
194
A DISCOVERY.
6
guilt-but bitter is now the atonement! O would
that I alone could bear its dreadful burden, and
that none should fall upon your innocent head, my
daughter!?
.
o think not of me! with difficulty articulated
Caroline.
• Blind--infatuated--unprincipled wretch that I
was !-hardened in my guilt !--never has remorse
or repentance touched my heart. Rather did it in
secret triumph that my fame was spotless, and my
crime unsuspected by my deluded husband, and by
the world! Vainly did I think that my secret would
go down with me to the grave—that never would
it be known to any human being! Alas! alas!—I
thought not of Him “from whom no secrets are
hid ! But he has poured out upon me the vials
his wrath ! In the midst of my blind confidence,
the dreadful day of retribution has overtaken me!
The spectre of my guilt stands between me and
the fondest wishes of my heart—and blasts the
peace and happiness of my innocent child !'
For some time they sat in silence, overpowered
by their feelings. Caroline was stunned and para-
lysed by the shock she had received, which fell
upon lier like a blow out of the ordinary course of
nature-and it was long before she could believe
in its reality, and before the dreadful sense of the
extinction of every earthly hope of happiness, fell
like a deadening wait upon her heart.
Lady St. Clair at last broke the silence.
My guilt, Caroline, was the fatal effects of pride
and ambition. I loved Lord Montfort, then Cap-
tain Lindsay, an officer without fortune or title ;
and while my heart was his, I married Sir Reginald
St. Clair, from mere worldly motives.
years afterwards, in the absence of my husband,
6
Three
A DISCOVERY.
195
and under circumstances of peculiar temptation, I
was again thrown in the way of Captain Lindsay.
Ile still loved me-he was still the sole possessor of
my heart. My virtue, unsupported by principle,
and guarded only by pride, yielded to my passions.
You, Caroline, were the fruit of our intercourse,
which never was suspected.'
Lady St. Clair paused for a few moments, then
continued— Caroline, I require of you no promise
of secrecy. My life—and far more than my life-
my honour, is in your hands. Only remember this
--and remember also, that my determination is not
to be shaken ;-I never will survive the discovery of
my guilt. That moment in which it is made known
to Mr. Lindsay, or to any other human being, shall
be the last of my life !
Caroline shuddered. No!' she replied, no
earthly consideration shall ever induce me to di-
vulge it.'
And thus this dreadful interview terminated.
Caroline flew to her room and locked the door, to
give vent undisturbed to the agony of her heart.
CHAPTER LIII.
RESIGNATION.
Rebus angustis animosus, atque
Fortis appare.
Hor. Lib. 11, Od. X.
Patience and sorrow strove
Which should express her goodliest. You have seen
Sunshine and rain at once ; their smiles and tears
Were like an April day.
SHAKSPEARE.
NATURE forced her way, and some hours passed
before Caroline could so far command the flood of
anguish which at first overwhelmed her heart, as to
be able to maintain outward calmness. Her
strong powers of mind, and native fortitude alone,
would have been insufficient to have sustained her
in this dreadful trial, when every earthly stay and
hope of happiness were, in one moment, torn away
from her for ever ; had not the perfect resignation
of her soul to the will of God, the uncomplaining
submission with which she bowed to his decrees,
and the blessed consolations which his spirit pour-
ed into her heart, fortified her to bear that tremen-
dous stroke, which, in the moment of secure and
unalloyed felicity, crushed her heart, and made the
long prospect of forlorn existence, a dreary and
cheerless blank. No hope was left.-- how wel-
come, in that moment of deep despair, would have
been the refuge of the tomb! But that refuge she
RESIGNATION.
197
>
was not permitted to seek. The long, lingering
torture of life was to be endured ; years of sorrow
and suffering presented their dreary vista before
her sickening heart. In the spring of youth her
doom was sealed. The light of heaven, the fair
face of nature, the refinements and enjoyments of
polished life, the pursuits once so dear to her, the
delights of knowledge, taste, and science, the in-
tercourse of mankind-all, all, were now tasteless
and hateful to her soul. Even the friends she loved
scarcely seemed any longer to possess any interest
in her affections. Her heart seemed withered--her
affections blighted. Consciousness of innocence
alone supported her. The unsubdued spirit within,
recoiling from its earthly bondage, raised its aspi-
rations to that world where sin and sorrow are un-
known, and bade her hopes, though foiled on earth,
take rest in heaven. Bitter, bitter indeed, was the
burden of life-But I will seek to bear it, for it is
the will of God!' cried Caroline, as with clasped
hands and supplicating eyes she implored the
support of heaven. I will fulfil my appointed
course; I bow to his divine dispensations. His
will be done !!
She passed many hours in solitude, for Mrs.
Cleveland, having tapped at the door of her room,
and received no answer, supposed that she had
lain down to sleep-exhausted with sitting up the
night before with her mother, and she had given
orders that she should not be disturbed.
It was in the dusk of evening that Caroline
arose from the bed in which, in the first agony of
sorrow, she had thrown herself; and having ar-
ranged her hair, and obliterated, as far as it was
possible, the traces of emotion from her counte-
nance, she rang her bell, and learnt that Lady St.
17*
VOL. III.
198
RESIGNATION.
Clair was better, and had taken a slight repast in
her own room, and that Mr. Lindsay was below,
and had been constantly enquiring after her the
whole day.
Caroline shrunk in agony from the idea of meet-
ing him. Alas! her grief was not for herself alone.
The happiness of another was wrecked with hers.
She was doomed to break those vows which united
them by every sacred bond of love and faith in the
eye of heaven; and without assigning any reason,
with seeming caprice, wantonly to overwhelm
the heart which loved her, with misery. She
knew how dreadful would be the agony that Lind-
say would suffer, and the thought of it almost
overcame her fortitude. She was utterly unable
to communicate to him herself, the heart-rending
sentence that they must part for ever ; but, anxious
to break it gradually to him, she determined to
employ Mrs. Cleveland, to prepare him by de-
grees
for the worst.
She therefore sent for her, and with wonderful
calmness begged her to tell him that she was too
much exhausted to go down stairs, or to see him;
and also to acquaint him that Lady St. Clair had
positively interdicted their marriage, and never
would consent to it. Mrs. Cleveland could scarce-
ly credit her senses. Lady St. Clair, she was firm-
ly convinced, must be mad ;-and when Caroline
seriously declared her unalterable resolution to
abide by her mother's command, and to break off
the match-she began to think that Caroline must
be mad also. Finding, however, from the dreadful
struggle it cost Caroline to speak upon the subject,
and the silent agony written on her countenance,
that she was fit for nothing but repose that night
---and having no doubt that she would think dif-
.
RESIGNATION.
199
ferently of the matter in the morning,--she left
her, after having been obliged by Caroline's im-
portunities, reluctantly to promise that she would
inform Lindsay of Lady St. Clair's refusal to con-
sent to their union; and this promise she per-
formed.
Miserable--Lindsay thought-as man could be
-though little dreading what was ultimately to be
his doom-he at last-left the house, finding all his
importunity vain to induce her to see him.
When he returned next morning, unspeakable
was his mortification, to find himself still excluded
from Caroline's presence; and his indignation
against Lady St. Clair's tyranny, knew no bounds.
He requested to see her Ladyship, and after some
consideration, she determined to grant him this in-
terview, which she felt could not be avoided.
The cold hauteur with which Lady St. Clair
avowed her unalterable resolution never to con-
sent to her daughter's marriage with him, and her
steady refusal to assign any cause of objection to
it, exasperated Lindsay beyond measure. She did
not indeed hesitate, by way of blinding him, and
preventing the possibility of his entertaining any
suspicion of the truth, to drop an artful insinuation
that she had other views for Caroline,which in-
censed Lindsay still more ; and he did not scru-
ple to tell her that her views would be disappoint-
ed, for that he was certain Caroline would not
marry another; and that he should leave no means
untried to induce her (whom he considered al-
ready his wife in the eye of heaven), to marry him
),
without her mother's consent—since she could as-
sign no reason whatever for withholding it.
• You will attempt it in vain !' said Lady St.
Clair, in an unmoved tone. Caroline is deter-
200
RESIGNATION.
mined to refuse you. And well she knows that
the curse of a parent and the curse of God, would
fall upon such an unhallowed marriage; -and
with these words she quitted the room, leaving
Lindsay thunderstruck.
In spite of her denunciation, however, he exert-
ed every power to induce Caroline to disregard her
mother's prohibition, and marry him. Denied her
sight, he assailed her with letters filled with ar-
guments, persuasions, supplications, and all the
passionate eloquence of love.
Caroline having written to him in vain, and
besought him to spare her the continuance of im-
portunities which rent her heart, was at last oblig-
ed to return his letters unopened, which wounded
him to the soul. She employed both Lady Hun-
locke and Mrs. Cleveland to assure him that she
had bound herself by a solemn vow, never to mar-
ry him; and to impress upon him the utter im-
possibility of their union. They painted much
more forcibly her silent agony-her deep despair
--and the dreadful ravages which grief had al-
ready wrought upon her looks and spirits. Through
them he employed every power of persuasion to
move her resolution. They saw, however, it was
unalterable; yet still he declared he never would
take a refusal but from her own lips.
But she shrunk with horror from an interview
with him. She felt that it was more than she
could bear; and that she must never again behold
him, whom she still loved, but whom to love was a
crime. To have listened to his passionate plead-
ing, and to his ardent etfusions of devoted love-
once so dear to her heart-would now have driven
her almost to distraction. To have witnessed his
agony, and pronounced the doom of eternal sepa-
RESIGNATION.
201
ration, would have exceeded even her powers of
fortitude. Such indeed was the state into which
she was thrown by his importunity to see her, that
both Lady Hunlocke and Mrs. Cleveland, alarmed
for the consequences, assured him if he persisted
in it, they believed her life would be the sacrifice,
Their representations at length induced him to
consent to leave Florence without seeing her, and
in a state of wretchedness bordering upon distrac-
tion, he set off for Rome.
The last letter she wrote to him, of which the
following is a brief extract, will shew the earnest
sincerity with which she laboured to impress upon
his mind the utter impossibility of their union;
that no lingering hope might serve to keep alive
his attachment.
6
me-
·
Look upon me as if the grave had already
closed over
--for to you I am dead for ever.
The tomb itself could not prove a more insu-
perable barrier than that which divides us. In-
dulge no vain hope that at the death of my mo-
ther I shall be at liberty to be yours. I have
pledged to her my solemn word that I never will
marry you --and I will keep that vow while I
live. Lindsay ! you know that my resolution,
once taken, is immoveable-my word, once giv-
en, inviolable. O cease then, in pity to me, to
importune me with vain supplications, against
that inevitable doom over which I have no con-
trol, and which neither time, nor chance, nor
chạnge, nor Fate itself, can ever avail to alter !
Forget me, my friend !-It is my last request.
Think of me only as one, who is already an inha-
bitant of that world, in which alone we may be
united; for in this we are parted for ever.'
202
RESIGNATION.
A few days after Lindsay's departure, Lady
St. Clair also accompanied a party of her friends,
whom she found at Florence, to spend some weeks
at Rome; being desirous, now she was in Italy,
to see that celebrated city, and enjoy its gaieties.
But she left her daughter, the sight of whom in-
deed was now insupportably painful to her, with
the Clevelands, at their earnest desire.
Caroline had far too high a sense of duty, and
too sincere a spirit of resignation, to sink under
the burden of grief. Life was misery; but it was
her part to endure its wretchedness, and to fulfil
its duties. What she suffered was known only to
her own heart. She struggled to suppress its se-
cret agony, and she endured it with uncomplaining
patience. She never spoke of her sorrows. She
devoted herself to the happiness of her friends.
She interested herself in works of benevolence and
acts of kindness. Above all, she never suffered
herself to be a moment unoccupied ; aware that
idleness is the nurse of sorrow, and that philoso-
phy itself does not possess such potent mastery
over grief, as constant active employment. Read-
ing and music, however, once her favourite oc-
cupations, she found herself obliged entirely to
relinquish.. In reading, her thoughts obstinately
wandered from the page ;-while music wholly
overpowered her fortitude, and aroused the tide of
agony
that rushed with irresistible force over her
heart.
Her persevering exertions were not made in vain.
She began to taste that internal peace which the
consciousness of doing right, by insuring the se-
cret approbation of the heart, alone can bestow.-
Grief had lost something of its bitterness; the
agony of her spirit had passed away. She felt
RESIGNATION.
203
with less acuteness that sickening void of the
heart, in which all that it once has loved, becomes
distasteful;—and she began to feel, that though
she herself could never know happiness more, she
might enjoy its reflection from those she loved, and
create for herself some portion of interest. in life,
by living for the happiness of others.
A few days after Lindsay's departure, in the
very first and bitterest agony of her mind, Mrs.
Cleveland's accouchement took place; through the
whole of which Caroline attended, and nursed her
with most watchful and affectionate care; and in a
fortnight's time, she had the pleasure of seeing her
perfectly recovered.
Fortunately for Caroline, this event and Mrs.
Cleveland's consequent constant occupation of
nursing, entirely precluded visiting ; and though
she herself might have entered into a round of dis-
sipation with Lady Hunlocke, and was continually
assailed by her kind and lively friend to accompa-
ny her to balls, and operas, and parties,-it may
easily be believed that, in the present temper of
her mind, she preferred the retirement of home.
Nearly two months had elapsed since Lindsay's
departure from Florence, when one evening, as
Caroline was playing chess with Colonel Cleve-
land, the servant brought her in a note, which she
read with astonishment and agitation. She had,
indeed, abundance of time to read it a hundred
times over, while Colonel Cleveland was deliberat-
ing how to save his queen. He need not, how-
ever, have puzzled himself; for though Philidor
himself could not have saved the devoted queen,
and Caroline mechanically took it,—yet, in a few
moves, with unexampled ingenuity,--she contrived
204
RESIGNATION.
to lose the game, to Colonel Cleveland's inexpres-
sible surprise and delight.
Such, as the sagacious reader may conceive,
were the effects of this note-yet it was short and
simple, and common-place, and ran as follows :-
• Lord Montfort presents his compliments to
Miss St. Clair, and requests permission to wait
upon her to-morrow morning, at any hour she may
please to appoint.'
Lord Montfort !!!--Lord Montfort was then in
Italy—at Florence-and not in India ! Lord
Montfort, Lindsay's father and her father,-far
from shunning her sight as a living memento of
his own guilt, and the
cause of his son's misery-
was coming to see her, and himself voluntarily
sought the interview !
• 'Twas strange—'twas passing strange.' To Ca-
roline it was altogether unaccountable. She could
.
not look forward to this meeting without the most
painful embarrassment and agitation. To Lord
Montfort it seemed to cause neither-for when he
called the following morning, he began at once
to talk, principally
however to Colonel and Mrs.
Cleveland, with that polished ease of manner, and
style of conversation, which characterise a man of
the world---without appearing to pay to Caroline
any marked attention.
Lord Montfort was a most distinguised looking
man; still very handsome, with a noble command-
ing face and figure--and evidently possessing that
sort of confidence in his own powers, which the
knowledge of their having been highly and public-
ly appreciated alone can give.
RESIGNATION.
205
He accounted for being in Italy by saying, that
having nearly fallen a victim to the climate of
India, he had been compelled to resign bis com-
mand, and had returned overland, both to gratify
his own curiosity, and to meet his son in Italy,
who had joined him at Naples, immediately on his
landing from Alexandria a few weeks ago.
Mrs. Cleveland now inquired after Mr. Lindsay.
· He is not perfectly well,' said Lord Montfort.
• He came with me as far as Rome, where I left
him a few days ago, to examine the antiquities at
his leisure. For my part, when I have seen the
Coloseum and the Pantheon, and looked at a few
broken columns and brick walls, which I am con-
tent to believe any thing any of the antiquaries
choose to call them for they all call them by
different names, and none of them know any thing
about them,-I began to tire of Rome, and find
out that it gives me the vapours; for the place is
so superlatively dull and dismal, that actually the
very sunshine looks melancholy.'
• Does your Lordship mean to make any stay at
Florence ? said Mrs. Cleveland.
Only long enough to let Lindsay satiate him-
self with the ruins of Rome,' said Lord Montfort.
• When he is tired of them, we shall
proceed to-
gether to Venice, and home over the Tyrol.'
It may be supposed that Caroline could not lis-
ten to this conversation, so uninteresting to others
--without emotion. For she saw that Lindsay had
told Lord Montfort all that had passed. He must,
therefore, be aware that she knew from her mother
the real obstacle to their marriage, and knew him
to be her father.
After Mrs. Cleveland left the room, Lord Mont-
18
6
VOL. III.
206
CROSS PURPOSES.
fort still continued to talk with the same fluency
on general subjects only; and having obtained her
promise to be his Cicerone through Florence, he
made an appointment to visit the Gallery with her
the following morning, and took his leave.
CHAPTER LIV.
.
CROSS PURPOSES.
This faith was taught me by the dove,
To die, and know no second love.
BYRON,
Though plung'd in ills and exercis'd in care,
Yet never let the noble mind despair,
When press'd by evils and beset by woes,
The Gods their timely succour interpose ;
And e'er our virtue sinks, o’erwhelm'd with grief,
By unforeseen expedients bring relief.
When Lord Montfort called next morning, Ca-
roline was able to receive him without any appa-
rent emotion or embarrassment; and immediately
introducing Lady Hunlocke, who was with her, she
said with a smile, that as she thought two heads
better than one, she had asked Lady Hunlocke to
assist her in shewing his Lordship the celebrated
sights of Florence.
Not one tenth part of which I have ever seen
CROSS PURPOSES.
207
myself; observed Lady Hunlocke; "and of that
tenth part I remember nothing.'
• Then the only chance you have of seeing them
yourself, is by shewing them to others; said Ca-
roline.
· Yes !--I am eminently qualified for that office,
as far as gusto goes,' said Lady Hunlocke ; inas-
much as I infinitely prefer teaching what I am ig-
norant of, to learning what I ought to know.'
This trio spent this morning, and every morning
--and very soon almost the whole of every day to-
gether. Lord Montfort amused himself with watch-
ing Caroline's drawing, or her progress in modelling,
-an art which she had lately begun to study, in
order to divert her mind from brooding over her
own sorrows. Lady Hunlocke, too, forth with be-
gan to draw, under Caroline's direction, with unex-
ampled perseverance ; for never had her volatile
Ladyship, before, been known to adhere to any
one employment for half an hour together. Lord
Montfort afterwards attended the ladies in their
rides or walks, and generally spent with them his
evenings also. Lady Hunlocke, who had originally
promised to chaperon Caroline in her morning ex-
cursions with Lord Montfort, from pure good na-
ture, now evidently found peculiar pleasure in them
herself; and seemed to prefer the chosen few who
formed the evening society of Mrs. Cleveland's
drawing-room, to larger and gayer assemblies.
Mrs. Cleveland, as well as Caroline, soon saw
the increasing interest and delight which Lord
Montfort and Lady Hunlocke took in each other's
society, and as he was only twelve years older than
her Ladyship, and looked even younger than he
was, they thought the match was highly suitable
and probable.
208
CROSS PURPOSES.
In the mean time, though Lord Montfort's atten-
tions might be paid to Lady Hunlocke, his obser-
vation was fixed upon Caroline, with a degree of
constancy and watchfulness which surprised herself,
and sometimes piqued her Ladyship; for she occa-
sionally caught his penetrating eyes fixed upon her
young friend, with an expression of pity, regret,
and admiration, that gave her a most unaccounta-
ble degree of uneasiness. But Caroline, who
thought she knew the cause of the deep interest he
evidently felt for her, (although even she, knew it
only in part), saw, with her usual penetration, that
he was studying her character; and she saw, also,
that he esteemed and loved her in no common de-
gree. He had indeed observed, not without emo-
tion, her unvaried patient sweetness and cheerful-
ness-her unaffected attention to the wants and
happiness of others-her command over her feelings
--and her unremitting struggle to conquer the
grief that too evidently preyed upon her heart, by
incessant activity and occupation. He watched
with sad solicitude, the pale cheek, the wasted
form, the quivering lip, and the wandering eye that
betrayed the secret sufferings which she bore with
such unobtrusive gentleness and fortitude. All her
actions, looks, and words--all that he saw, all that
he heard, tended to inspire him with the highest
admiration of her mind and heart,--and he felt
persuaded that Lindsay never could forget such a
being, and never could love another as he loved
Caroline St. Clair.
Lady Hunlocke had informed Lord Montfort of
Mr. Breadalbane's devoted attachment to Caroline,
and her hopes that she might yet, in time, be in-
duced to marry him; and Lord Montfort testified
the strongest desire that this marriage should take
CROSS PURPOSES.
209
place, as the only means of eradicating, from Lind-
say's mind, his hopeless attachment to Caroline.
He also informed Lady Hunlocke, that he had now
more ambitious views for his son, and anxiously
wished him to marry the Lady Emily Beaufort, the
only daughter and heiress of Earl Beaufort ; an alli-
ance which, besides its wealth and rank, opened a
road to high political influence. Lady Hunlocke
knew perfectly what indeed was known to all the
world that the Lady Emily had conceived a strong
passion for Mr. Lindsay, and had manifested it at
Florence in as marked a manner as maiden reserve
permitted. Her father's advances to him had been
still more unequivocal ; but when his approaching
marriage to Miss St. Clair was made public, Lord
Beaufort and his daughter immediately left Flo-
rence for Rome, where, as Lady Hunlocke had
lately heard, although Lord Montfort was too deli-
cate to mention it, their attentions to him, ever
since the marriage had been broken off, had been
renewed with equal assiduity, and equal bad suc-
cess.
Lord Montfort, however, who had this alliance
for his son much at heart, entered with great inte-
rest into Lady Hunlocke's plans for bringing about
Caroline's marriage to Mr. Breadalbane. Perhaps
Lady Hunlocke, unknown to herself, had this
match more warmly at heart now than ever ; for
ignorant of the tie, which connected Lord Montfort
to Caroline, she could not see the high estimation
and the deep interest he evidently felt for her,
without some uneasy feelings of jealousy, which
she would have blushed to have avowed to herself.
She had, by Caroline's desire, written to Breadal-
bane, to inform him of her intended marriage to
Mr. Lindsay; and she had, contrary to her desire,
VOL. III.
13*
210
CROSS PURPOSES.
written to inform him it was broken off for ever--
at the same time urging the necessity of not hazard-
ing the hopes he might form, by a premature re-
newal of his suit. But Breadalbane, with the ut-
most difficulty, had refrained from instantly flying
to throw himself at her feet-and, after a very short
delay, impatience prevailed over prudence, and
once more, in the dead of winter, he traversed
Europe, crossed the Alps and Appenines with in-
credible speed, and reached Florence about a
week before the time Lord Montfort intended to
leave it.
The inseparable trio were sitting together, as
usual, one morning, when Breadalbane suddenly
entered the room, unable to speak from excess of
agitation. Caroline's pencil dropped from her
hands, and turning very pale, she sat gazing upon
him, in speechless distress. Lady Hunlocke re-
peated his name with an exclamation of astonish-
ment, and Lord Montfort stood, observing Caroline
with the deepest attention.
A conversation, or rather a catechism--for it
consisted entirely in question and answer, between
Lady Hunlocke and Mr. Breadalbane--now ensued,
in which she herself had to prompt his replies; and
during this colloquy, Caroline made an excuse to
leave the room.
Lord Montfort's penetrating eye had marked the
distress painted on Caroline's expressive counte-
nance at the unexpected appearance of Mr. Brea-
dalbane ; and when Lady Hunlocke afterwards
observed to him, that “Many a heart is caught at
the rebound,'- he shook his head, and said, . Yes,
but there are some hearts which never rebound.'
His prediction was verified,--after two days of
fruitless entreaty, and two interviews of deep dis-
6
CROSS PURPOSES.
211
-
tress to Caroline and himself,—Breadalbane felt
the conviction that he had nothing to hope,-
neither at present nor at any future period; and
some hours after his fate was sealed, he went to
Lady Hunlocke, and declared his resolution to set
off the next day for Rome.
Lord Montfort, who was with her, heard this in-
telligence, decisive of Breadalbane's final rejection,
in silence, but not without a degree of emotion,
which even his habitual command over his counte-
nance could not entirely conceal : and as he im-
mediately left the room, avowedly in search of Miss
St. Clair, Lady Hunlocke, who had become of late
possessed with the notion (born of jealousy,) that
he had fallen in love with her himself, was now per-
suaded he was actually gone to propose marriage
to her, out of hand. And she was right. Lord
Montfort's object was really to propose marriage to
her-and he enforced the proposal with all the elo-
quence he could command,—but it was marriage
with Mr. Breadalbane.
But vain were all the arguments and persuasions
with which he sagely set forth the misery of a life
of single blessedness,-the happiness of the marri-
ed state, and the superlative felicity of being mar-
ried to Mr. Breadalbane. To all his eloquence
Caroline could only reply, that she never should
marry at all, and never could marry Mr. Breadal-
bane.
• I do not ask you to marry him now, nor yet
to determine positively ever to marry him at all;
but do not obstinately deterrine not. Forget, for
the present, that he is your lover. Think of him
.
as your friend, it is all he asks. Make him your
associate--your companion ;--and in time, believe
me, you will learn to think of him as the compa-
212
CROSS PURPOSES.
3
nion of your life—as the cherished friend of your
heart--as the being dearest to you on earth. You
can have no objection to associate with him as a
friend-to see and converse with him, and let him
enjoy your society.'
The greatest !' said Caroline. 'I should feel I
was guilty of holding out false hopes, which I know
never can be realised. I am too miserable myself,
-she stopped abruptly, sorry this had escaped her,
_ I wish at least, never to be the cause of misery
to others. Mr. Breadalbane will now soon con-
quer an attachment which he himself is convinced
is hopeless ;-it will soon
wear away:
But if I
encourage him to hope, and then deceive him-as
assuredly I should do- I might entail long and
lasting unhappiness upon him. Time never can
alter
my
determination on this point. I never can
marry Mr. Breadalbane.'
• But take time to consider of it, my dear
young
friend! Do not act so precipitately! Even if you
would rashly throw away all your own prospects of
happiness, at least pause a moment before you ruin
the happiness of others.'
Caroline, to whose countenance the animation
of speaking had lent a temporary glow, at these
words turned pale, but did not speak.
Yes,' continued Lord Montfort-I know this
will have more weight with you, than any conside-
ration of self. Caroline! the happiness of three
human beings is in your power ;--it is for you to
make them happy or miserable forever.'
• What do you mean?" she said.
Caroline ! I have never told
what it would
only agonize you to hear - the deep distress and
slow consuming grief that prey upon Lindsay's
mind, and threaten to destroy the powers of his life.
you,
6
CROSS PURPOSES.
213
I know him well : he cannot recover.
His case
differs materially from yours. To him never can
be disclosed the true cause which interposes a fatal
barrier to your union. Bewildering conjectures
continually torture his mind ;-fruitless projects dis-
tract his thoughts ;-unavailing regret, harassing
;-
anxiety, and lingering suspense, keep him inces-
santly on the rack ;—and the vain hope, though
continually repressed, still revives again, that at
last you may be his. There is but one cure for
this. If he knew that you even thought of marry-
ing another-he would feel that you were lost to
him for ever.'
• But I cannot-he knows I cannot. I would
not-I could not deceive him.'
• Then you seal his death-warrant. Not long
can life struggle with what he now endures.-
Think Caroline! it is a father who implores at
your hands the peace, the life of his son,of that
being upon whom all his prospects, hopes, and hap-
piness, depend ! But it is not myself that I think
of. No disappointment of my own afflicts me like
the sight of his unutterable misery. Break but the
spell that binds him to you,-he will be restored
to life; to its noble purposes, its hopes and its ho-
nours ;-he will in time once more know happi-
ness; nay, he may even marry another.:-(Caro-
line's countenance changed.). But if you refuse
to utter that word,' continued Lord Montfort, he
is lost ; lost to all the uses of life-and soon, I fear,
I
to life itself.'
· He will not be lost!' said Caroline, eagerly.
. Plunge him into the stirring scenes of life into
toil, and danger, and difficulty, and excitement !
Call forth his powers of mind, his talents, his genc-
rous virtues,- and he will be himself again!
6
6
214
CROSS PURPOSES.
6
6
Lord Montfort gazed with admiration on her
beaming eye and eloquent countenance. He, how-
ever, with sadness observed, that Lindsay's health
was so much impaired as to be wholly unequal to
the exertion of mind and strength that would be so
congenial to his spirit-and he once more urgently
pressed Caroline, by every representation calculat-
ed to touch her heart and move her resolution,
at least, to throw out to Breadalbane the hope that
she would one day marry him ; and to Lindsay the
assurance that she had thoughts of it.'
• By all your feelings of generosity and pity—by
the regard you still feel for Lindsay--by the gene-
rous wish you feel for his happiness-I implore
you, Caroline, to save him from never-ending mise-
ry, from the total wreck of peace,-nay, of life itself!
--and this you may do, merely by saying that you
will in time try to receive Mr. Breadalbane as a
lover.'
Caroline mournfully but firmly refused. Any
sacrifice that was consistent with honour and prin-
ciple, I would joyfully make for Mr. Lindsay's
peace. To contribute to his happiness in any way,
would give me more heartfelt satisfaction, than
any thing this world can now bestow ;-and well do
I know, that his happiness can only be ensured by
forgetting me. But what you ask of me, my Lord,
it is impossible for me to do. You yourself would
despise me, were I base enough—for any object,
however laudable-to practice deliberate deceit-
to raise expectations I never meant to fulfil--and
act towards one who himself is all truth and ho-
nour, with falsehood and treachery.'
• The truth is, my dear Caroline, that I think
what was at first feigned from motives of genero-
6
CROSS
215
PURPOSES.
a
sity, would soon be felt; but I wish you even now
not to feign it, but seriously and sincerely to think
of marrying Mr. Breadalbane; and you will then
;
deceive no one, but make every one really happy.
Their conversation at last ended, by Lord Mont-
fort entreating her to re-consider the matter, not
with rigidity of principle, but with her native ge-
nerosity of heart; and let him hear her final deter-
mination in a few days. She shook her head, in
melancholy assurance, that the determination he
asked was already made.
When Lord Montfort left Caroline, he encoun-
tered Lady Hunlocke, who was sitting in the ad-
joining room, through which he must necessarily
pass—with a book in her hand, and the tortures
of suspense and
and jealousy in her heart. Her worst
fears were confirmed for Lord Montfort immedi-
ately told her, that he had been vainly endeavour-
ing to persuade her fair friend to think of mar-
riage, with no better success than Mr. Breadal-
bane had experienced. Still, however, he had not
relinquished all hopes, and he entreated Lady Hun-
locke to use her all-powerful influence to induce
Caroline to alter her determination. “I leave the
cause in your Ladyship’s hands,' he added, for I
know
you
will
prove a most zealous and able advo-
cate.'
"I will do my best,” said Lady Hunlocke--whose
changing colour and difficult articulation might
have betrayed her feelings, had Lord Montfort
entertained the most remote suspicion of her mis-
take,— but your Lordship needs no advocate.'
• The entrance of Mrs. Cleveland here interrupt-
ed their conversation, and Lady Hunlocke seized
the opportunity to make her escape, pride enabling
her to restrain her emotion, only until she could
6
6
6
216
CROSS PURPOSES.
indulge it unobserved. Lady Hunlocke, however,
felt it to be indispensably necessary-even to avoid
exciting suspicion of her own sentiments-that she
should comply with Lord Montfort's request of
speaking to Caroline on the subject of his suppos-
ed suit; and she accordingly prepared for the pe-
culiarly agreeable task of persuading her rival to
marry the man she herself loved.
But Lady Hunlocke was a bad dissembler, and
the change in her voice and countenance struck
Caroline so forcibly on her entrance, that she anx-
iously inquired if she was well ?'
Quite well, thank you,' replied Lady Hunlocke,
- or at least,' she added, attempting a laugh, ex-
tremely ill executed, “I have only got the vapours,
I believe.'
• For the first time in your life then, I am sure,'
said Caroline.
* But I came to speak to you,' hastily interrupt-
ed Lady Hunlocke. “I wished-- - that is
Lord Montfort,'—she began and stopped, and after
one or two attempts, rapidly added, · Lord Mont-
fort has been telling me the subject of his long in-
terview with you, Caroline.'
. And did you not know it before ?'
I did suspect it, certainly; but-however-I
have promised to try to persuade you to consent-
or at least to give him hopes--you will in time con-
sent?
O Lady Hunlocke! what cruel persecution is
this! In pity urge me no more on this subject !
and tell Lord Montfort--what you must know-
that my resolution is invincible. I never can mar-
6
6
6
6
ry.'
No, that I cannot do, Caroline. Do you tell
him so yourself; and tell him, I entreat, that I
CROSS PURPOSES.
217
6
6
6
>
have used my utmost influence with you on the sub-
ject. I would say more, but'--
But, you are not able! exclaimed Caroline,
alarmed.' My dear Lady Hunlocke, you are very
unwell! Do let me send for Dr. Clarke.'
No, no! I hate doctors! I shall soon be well.
I must be alone. But tell me truly-are you posi-
tively determined never to accede to his wishes ?
-because he said he had still some hope.'
How can he have any ? I positively told him I
never could marry. O Lady Hunlocke! how can
he or you think it possible that I should ?'
•I, on the contrary,' said Lady Hunlocke,
should have thought that Lord Montfort might
have induced you to think of it, though others
have failed. I should have thought it impossible
for him to sue in vain.'
He certainly will, however. He seemed, in-
deed, determined to renew the subject, although I
told him it would be in vain.'
So then it is your lot to make three men mise-
rable at once! Mr. Lindsay, Lord Montfort, and
Mr. Breadalbane!'
• It is indeed—I fear!' said Caroline, with a sigh,
that came from the bottom of her heart. But I
cannot help it-I never can marry.'
* Then Caroline, if your resolution is unaltera-
ble, it is not right to trifle with him. Refuse him
decidedly, and --
• Refuse him ! exclaimed Caroline, in astonish-
ment, who was thinking and speaking of Mr. Bread-
albane, 'I did! You know I did, dear Lady. Hun-
locke! You saw him after he left me and I am
sure he had not the smallest hope.'
• He told me, on the contrary, that he still enter.
19
VOL. III,
218
CROSS PURPOSES.
6
6
6
6
tained some hope of prevailing upon you to alter
your determination.'
• Good heavens! what infatuation! And does he
not then go to-morrow?'
No-not for some days to come. And really,
Caroline, if you are positively determined to refuse
him, you should not keep him in suspense.'
• But what can I do?'
• Why, you have already succeeded in convincing
one lover of the sincerity of your refusal_why
not another?'
• One lover!' repeated Caroline, with a sigh, for
she thought of Lindsay. Yes! but it would ap-
pear this infatuated man is proof against all I can
say. Will you, dear Lady Hunlocke, try to con-
vince him that I am irrevocably determined never
to marry him!'
O no, no! I cannot. How can you ask me !
interrupted Lady Hunlocke, angrily, if you are
determined to refuse Lord Montfort, cannot you
refuse him yourself?"
. Refuse Lord Montfort ! refuse him-what? I
don't understand you !
io Caroline ! what affectation ! How unlike you!
I say, that if you are positively determined not to
marry Lord Montfort, you should positively tell
him so.'
Marry Lord Montfort ! exclaimed Caroline, in
a tone of horror. • Good God !
« Then if you look upon it with such aversion,
why leave him in doubt?
What could put such an idea into your head ?'
Is it possible you could really imagine that Lord
Montfort ever thought of marrying me?'
• I know it, Caroline. What can you mean by
the affectation of denying it, when I had it from
6
CROSS PURPOSES.
219
6
5
6
6
his own lips ? Nay, you yourself acknowledged to
me this moment, that Lord Montfort used every
persuasion to induce you to marry him.'
• Him !_Yes, to marry Mr. Breadalbane.'
To marry Mr. Breadalbane ! exclaimed Lady
'
Hunlocke, starting up from her chair with an ani-
mation that electrified her friend. • To marry Mr.
Breadalbane! Was that indeed all ? Did he really
not offer to you himself?'
Never!' exclaimed Caroline, never could such
an idea enter his mind. He wishes me to marry
Mr. Breadalbane, for the sake of his son's peace.
At this moment Lord Montfort himself entered
the room, and asked Lady Hunlicke what happy
news she had just heard, that made her look so ra.
diant with joy?"
Confusion covered Lady Hunlocke's countenance
at this question ; but Caroline came to her relief
with so many questions to ask of Lord Montfort,
that she had time to recover herself. Caroline
then left the room, and her Ladyship was more
gay, more brilliant, and more charming than Lord
Montfort had ever beheld her. Every day he seem-
ed to find her society more attractive her power
more irresistible : yet still be entered into no ex-
planation ;-he never talked of love,-never hinted
at marriage; day after day passed, -nay, the very
day before his intended departure arrived; he call-
ed upon Lady Hunlocke, and sat a full hour alone
with her, talking on indifferent subjects in the most
provokingly amusing manner,—but the very mo-
ment Caroline appeared, he asked her to grant him
a private audience, and to Lady Hunlocke's utter
dismay, they left the room together.
When alone, Lord Montfort asked Caroline what
was her final determination respecting Mr. Breado
-
220
CROSS PURPOSES.
6
6
6
albane; and finding she was still resolved against
:
him, he again set before her, with great eloquence,
all the advantages of such a marriage-but in vain.
She expressed her unalterable resolution never to
marry.
:. Never to marry ! repeated Lord Montfort ; with
an expression of affection in his countenance,
strangely at variance with the somewhat sarcastic
tone of his voice, · Young ladies' unalterable resolu-
tions never to marry, are not much to be depended
upon. You think yours perfectly unalterable--
and yet I will lay my life you are married before
two months are over.'
• My Lord ! my Lord!' said Caroline ; can no-
thing induce you to believe me?'
· Nothing can induce me to believe that you will
not be married,—and that before you are many
weeks older.'
• Time will shew,' said Caroline with a faint
smile.
• Time will shew your error, not mine,' said
Lord Montfort. I am quite certain that the very
•
first man I propose to you, you will instantly agree
to marry.'
Caroline stood a moment mute with astonish-
ment, at this extravagant assertion ; at last, recol-
lecting herself, she said, with a smile-That is,
I suppose, because you will propose no man.'
• Pardon me, I have another gentleman to pro-
pose to you. A gentleman whom-now that the
coast is clear by the final dismission of Mr. Breadal-
bane and other troublesome rivals, will come for-
ward to offer you his hand--and he will make you
that offer, feeling, as I do, the certainty of his be.
ing accepted.'
And pray who is this most conceited and self-
6
6
CROSS PURPOSES.
221
6
6
6
assured gentleman?' said Caroline, more and more
amazed.
Caroline!' said Lord Montfort, in a tone sud-
denly changed to strong emotion, his eyes fixed on
her face, with an expression that spoke to her heart
-Caroline, dear Caroline !' he repeated, as he
took her hand in his— Are you prepared to hear
it? May I venture to tell you who it is ?'
She trembled from head to foot, but the suspense
was not bearable.
• Tell me!' she faintly exclaimed.
Caroline, my own dear girl —it is-Lindsay
himself!
O God ! she exclaimed, almost sinking beneath
the overpowering violence of her fewlings.
• Dear, excellent, noble min ed. girl-now, in-
deed my daughter! a dau th'èr hom I may claim
before the whole world with pride, as my own.'
• O how can this be? O if it be false! If it be
only to try me!
Do not suspect me of such wanton cruelty,
said Lord Montfort. But Caroline, before I ex-
plain myself further, you must make a solemn pro-
mise never to reveal what I shall tell you.'
• Not even to him?'
“To no human being ! But more especially not
to Lindsay !
She hesitated a moment,
• Caroline, without this promise, you can never
be united to him. You condemn both him and
yourself to hopeless and unending misery.'
She immediately made the solemn promise never,
without his consent, to reveal what he was about
to communicate to her, to any human being.
“Then Caroline, know that no barrier exists to
6
6
>
19*
VOL. III.
Ckius PURPOSES.
your marriage with Lindsay. He is not your brom
ther.'
Good heavens ! did my mother deceive me then!
No, that could not be. And how could she be
deceived ?'
No-what she told you is strictly true ; you are
my daughter and hers. But Lindsay is not my
son.'
• Is that possible
• He is my son by adoption-my son in affection
--my son by every tie that can endear him to my
heart, excepting that of nature. Lindsay was a
friendless, destitute orphan—abandoned to pover-
ty, neglect, and sorrow, when I took him to my
home and heart. But no father could feel for a son
fonder affection than I do for him ; and my son I
must and will ever consider him ;- my son he must
ever consider himself. I may marry again-I pro-
bably shall. I may have a son of my own. But I
never can have a son I love so well. I never will
deprive him of my inheritance; and no power on
earth could tempt me to acknowledge that I have
imposed him upon the world as my son and heir, to
keep from my title and estate the man I hate. But
with
you
that secret is safe.--and now tell me, my
dear Caroline,- will you marry Lindsay?'
A smile such a smile as had not lighted up her
lovely face for many a day—was lier delighted an-
swer. • But how,' she ashed, 'can we remove my
mother's scruples, unless she knows the truth ?'
• She must,' said Lord Montfort-But the com-
munication must be verbal. I will see Lady St.
Clair myself. You say she is now at Rome; I will
go there to morrow; see her, and bring back her
full consent to your union. Will you write to
Lindsay, Caroline, and tell him to come to you?
-
6
.
CROSS PURPOSES.
223
I think that is all you need say to him, he added
archly.
Caroline's beaming smile again met his delighted
gaze.
•What! going ! without one word of reproach-
one angry look-one justly merited complaint !
Why of what super-human materials is your strange
little heart composed ? Can you then forgive me
so easily, for all the protracted misery I have made
you suffer, when one word would have served to
dissipate it?'
0,' said Caroline, the happy can easily for-
give; and besides I have nothing to forgive. I owe
you thanks—not reproaches. The intelligence
was gratuitous; it might have been for ever with-
held.'
• It was withheld to try you, dear Caroline! I
will acknowledge I had more ambitious views for
Lindsay. There is a lady of fortune, high connex-
ion, and superior character, who is strongly attach-
ed to him, and whom I know to be worthy of him.
I did not know you.'
Lord Montfort might have owned that he did
not feel sure that the daughter of Lady St. Clair
was the woman he should wish to see the wife of
Lindsay. But this truth, delicacy withheld. He add-
ed, I came here to become acquainted with you,
to observe you, and to try you; and I have tried
you, and seen you tried, to the utmost, dear Caro-
line! If persuasion, or sophistry, or false genero-
sity, or the passionate supplications of a lover, or
the importunities of friends—or the temptations of
riches, and distinction, and rank, could have in-
duced you to marry one man while your
heart was
another's--you would have given encouragement
to Mr. Breadalbane, and Lindsay would have been
6
-
224
CROSS PURPOSES.
cured of his passion for you; and no doubt would,
in time, have married the woman I wished. But
you preferred obscurity and loneliness—and that
dismal doom to woman's heart-of never marrying
at all, to marrying from unworthy motives. I own
I thought there was not one, no not even you, who,
when an insurmountable barrier divided
you
for
ever from the object of your choice, would have
refused to marry another, with such recommenda-
tions as Mr. Breadalbąne possesses. And now for-
give me, dear Caroline ;-but I see you do ;-and
tell me you will love me as a father.'
He folded her in his arms, with all a father's af-
fection, and imprinted a kiss of parental tenderness
upon her glowing cheek. At that moment the
door opened--and Mrs. Cleveland, followed by
Lady Hunlocke, entered the room.
What were Lady Hunlocke's feelings may better
be imagined than described. The pang agony
that shot to her heart, could find no utterance in
words. She stood rooted to the spot, while Mrs.
Cleveland, in confusion, and apologizing for her
intrusion, was hastily retreating. Lord Montfort
recovering himself, called her back, begging them
both to congratulate him and Miss St. Clair-
Lady Hunlocke heard no more at these words
she rushed out of the room, and out of the house.
Mrs. Cleveland, however, listened to the end of
Lord Montfort's speech, which called for her con-
gratulations upon Caroline's marriage with Lind-
say;--Lady St. Clair's objections to their union,
he said, were removed, and he had just had the
happiness of acquainting Caroline with this good
He added, that he should set out the next
morning for Rome, and settle every necessary pre--
liminary with her Ladyship..
of
news.
CROSS PURPOSES.
225
Great and sincere was the joy of Mrs. Cleveland;
but where, and wherefore, had Lady Hunlocke
vanished ? No one but Caroline could guess. She
perfectly understood the ó wherefore,' and instantly
dispatched a note to inform her of the happy and
unhoped-for news, of the obstacles to her marriage
with Mr. Lindsay being removed.
Lady Hunlocke's transport, as may well be ima-
gined, was unbounded ;-and her sympathy in her
friend's happiness was certainly not the less, that it
seemed to remove every barrier to her own. Yet
still, that provoking man, Lord Montfort, went off
to Rome without explaining himself. As he was,
however, immediately to return, and to remain in
Florence until after the marriage, Lady Hunlocke
was by no means hopeless.
During his absence, we shall take the opportunity
of laying before the courteous reader, the circum-
stances which induced Lord Montfort to adopt our
hero as his son,
CHAPTER LV.
CRIMES AND SORROWS.
Je peins Jes homines, et non pas des anges. Je ne veux pas les
peindre meilleurs qu'ils ne sont.
LA FONTAINE.
Endless would be the task to trace the rise and
progress of that intense hatred, which even from
226
CRIMES AND SORROWS.
boyhood raged in the breast of young Lindsay,
afterwards Lord Montfort, and his cousin. Brought
up together in the house of their mutual uncle and
guardian, placed at the same school, entered at the
same college, and eventually serving in the same
regiment, their near association only served to
shew more clearly their invincible antipathy-as
substances of opposite nature, the closer they are
brought into contact, the more violent is the repul-
sion between them.
At school, Lindsay was continually getting into
scrapes, and continually getting blamed, yet the
spirited generous boy was a universal favourite
with every body; while the tame, cautious, selfish
Hamilton, though continually exempt from censure,
was beloved by none. By his fawning flattery and
.
submission, he contrived indeed to insinuate himself
into the favour of the master, by whom he was con-
tinually held up to his cousin as a pattern of stea-
diness and propriety-while Lindsay openly mani-
fested the scorn he felt at the mean arts and the
pitiful tale-bearing by which Hamilton sought to
bring disgrace upon him, and recommend himself
to favour. He was several years younger than
Hamilton, and his decided superiority in talents, in
learning, in enterprise, and in all manly sports and
exercises, excited the envy of his cousin, who
sought to surpass him, not by generous emulation,
but by the basest contrivances. For instance, at
the grand annual competition for a prize, he ac-
complished his ends by stealing Lindsay's theme
out of his pocket, the night before the day of trial,
when he was asleep,--copying and destroying it;
and thus he defeated him, by means of his own abi-
lity and learning. The fact did not admit of proof
to others, but Lindsay recognised every word of
CRIMES AND SORROWS.
227
that much conned Latin-the composition of which
had so sorely puzzled his brains-and the loss of
which had so grievously vexed his spirit. Nay, he
was even denied, from his known hostility to him,
the satisfaction of proclaiming his suspicions, be-
cause they would have been imputed to envy at his
success : and thus he had the mortification to see
his rival wrest from him the prize which he had
laboured so hard to win, and knew himself so justly
to deserve.
Those who best know human nature, will most
justly estimate how deeply this seemingly petty
injury rankled in the breast of the ambitious school-
boy. Every day fresh causes of the same trifling,
yet galling nature, fostered the enmity of the two
cousins.
Hatred, like jealousy, feeds upon “trifles light
as air.' It is easier to forgive the man who has
attempted your life, than the successful and scorn-
ful rival, who has heaped upon you mortification,
defeat, petty injury, and insult. In manhood,
the animosity which seemed only to 'grow with
their growth, and strengthen with their strength,
developed itself with greater rancour. They both
entered the army, Lindsay two years later than his
cousin, and both had commissions in the same
regiment; but Hamilton being Lindsay's senior
officer, had a thousand opportunities of gratifying
the malice and vindictiveness of his disposition, by
a domineering exercise of authority, and a system
of petty provocations, which Lindsay's high spirit
could ill brook.
About this time Lindsay, most unadvisedly, fell
in love with the beautiful girl (the present Lady
St. Clair,) to whom his commanding officer, Sir
Reginald St. Clair, was paying his addresses; and
228
CRIMES AND SORROWS.
his love was returned. Yet she refused him be-
cause his fortune was small, and married the old
General, because he was rich.
Soon after this disappointment, the regiment was
ordered to Scotland, and stationed at Piersfield
Barracks, where Lindsay unfortunately became
captivated with a pretty girl, a native of Inver-
ness, who lived with him as his mistress; and
during his connexion with her, she gave birth to a
boy, of which he believed himself to be the father,
not doubting her previous innocence or her fidelity
to him. But she was at this very time secretly
connected with Hamilton also, by whose malicious
instigations she endeavoured to draw her unsus-
picious protector into proceedings that would ena-
ble her to prove a marriage. Lindsay was young
and imprudent enough to be prevailed upon re-
peatedly to call her his wife, in the presence of
persons whom she pretended were her relations
from Inverness-(but who in reality were mere
witnesses prepared to swear to the fact)-in order
to humour her affected anxiety to preserve her
character in their estimation. She even contrived
to get him to direct a note to her, by the name of
• Mrs. Lindsay'—under the pretext that it had to
pass through her pretended father's hands and any
of these circumstances were sufficient, in the Scot-
tish law, to establish her legal claim to be his wife,
and legitimate her child.
Secretly instigated and counselled by Hamilton,
she then left Lindsay's protection, and instituted
proceedings to prove herself his wife. The facts
were fully substantiated; but she was induced to
drop the suit by finding that Lindsay had obtained
abundant proofs of her illicit connexion with Ham-
ilton, which would enable him immediately to ob-
6
CRIMES AND SORROWS.
229
tain a divorce; and although this would not have
effected the legitimacy of the child, yet as that
was a secondary object to her, she agreed to ab-
stain from any further prosecution of her claims,
so long as he continued to pay her an annuity of
£200 per annum.
Soon after this arrangement, Lindsay obtained
an appointment on the Staff under his Colonel,
General St. Clair, who had been for some time
past in Canada, where an expedition was fitting
out under his command, against the French West
Indian Islands. Lady St. Clair had joined her
husband in Edinburgh, only a short time previous
to his embarkation, but she had prolonged her
stay there for many months afterwards, under va-
rious pretexts. The real cause was the renewal
of her intimacy with Captain Lindsay, which the
constant intercourse arising from his connexion
with his Colonel, naturally occasioned. Their
mutual passion revived, and the consequences of
the opportunities and temptations which they en-
joyed for its indulgence, were, that some months
after General St. Clair's departure, she found her-
self in a situation which would inevitably proclaim
her guilt to the world.
Though Lady St. Clair had not enough principle
to preserve her honour-she had far too much
pride to submit to the loss of reputation. She
instantly resolved upon following her husband to
Canada; and accordingly she pretended to be
:;
suddenly seized with the most insupportable anx-
iety respecting General St. Clair's health. His
last letter, she said, filled her with apprehensions.
She was certain he disguised the truth from her.
She therefore sent her child to her own relations
in England, and sailed for Canada in a ship in
VOL. III.
20
230
CRIMES AND SORROWS.
which there was no other passenger than Captain
Lindsay. In order to get quit of any observer
on her conduct and situation during the voyage,
she contrived that her only female attendant should
be left behind, as if by being accidentally too
late in returning from carrying her child to the
care of her friends. On landing in Canada, she
joined her husband, to whom Captain Lindsay was
appointed Aid de Camp, and remained with him
for some time, until the expedition under his
command, sailed for Martinique and Guadaloupe.
Lady St. Clair then went into Upper Canada,
where she was certain that even at Montreal, no
human being could know, or would ever dream
of inquiring, the time of her landing in America;
and, under pretext of satisfying her curiosity, she
extended her tour to the most remote and infant
settlements.
Thus Caroline St. Clair, by a curious coinci-
dence of names, was actually-and, as Lady St.
Clair declared, prematurely, born in a Canadian
Cottage, on Lake St. Clair. The few witnesses
of the birth of the child-ignorant natives and
strangers to her-were soon got rid of; and as she
repeatedly changed all her attendants, both before
and after her confinement, under the pretext of the
intolerable awkwardness and insolence of Canadian
attendants, it soon became impossible to ascertain
its real age, and she had it in her power to fix the
date of its birth when she pleased. She thus
completely eluded all suspicion of the truth.
Her husband, indeed, absent in the West Indies,
-was so completely engrossed by the anxious
command of the expedition, and so completely cut
off from all communication with her, that it was
easy to keep him in ignorance of her accouchement
CRIMES AND SORROWS.
231
until long after it was over; and when she did at
last write to acquaint him with it—as if it were an
event that had just happened-she informed him
that even then it had been brought on prematurely,
in consequence of an overturn in one of the rough
carriages of the country.
Even without these precautions, in the arduous
and anxious distant service in which he was en-
gaged, no computation of the date of her joining
him of which indeed he had neither record nor
recollection-and certainly no suspicions of her
fidelity, would ever have entered her confiding
husband's mind. Under pretence that the cold
climate of Canada injured her health, she returned
to England, before General St. Clair left Martini-
que, where he was long detained by repeated but
vain attempts to retake Guadaloupe, of which the
French had regained possession, while the British
troops were incapacitated from service by the yel-
low fever. The real father of Caroline St. Clair,
therefore, remained for ever unsuspected.
At this period Captain Lindsay, unexpectedly,
succeeded to the title and estates of Lord Montfort,
by the accidental death of that nobleman. Fail-
ing himself, this succession would devolve upon
his cousin, Augustus Hamilton, who was the next
heir of entail ; and such was the hatred that sub-
sisted between them, aggravated by a thousand oc-
currences during the campaigns in the West In-
dies, in which they both served ---that Captain
Lindsay, or Lord Montfort, as we must now call
him, might be said to dread death-less from the
loss of life to himself, than from the aggrandisement
it would bring to the man his soul hated. The
news of the death of the Scotch woman, who had
claims to the title of his wife, was therefore most
232
CRIMES AND SORROWS.
grateful to him; and he almost immediately married
an amiable young woman, the daughter of an officer
of good family, on service in America; less per-
haps from any strong attachment to her, than from
the
eager
desire to have an heir. But this desire
was doomed to be disappointed, even at the mo-
ment in which it seemed to be granted.
Lady Montfort, after a protracted and perilous
labour, was delivered of a still-born boy; but sus-
tained such internal injury, that though her life
was with difficulty saved, all chance of her ever
having another child, was forever destroyed.--The
accoucheur, in answer to the eager inquiries of Lord
Montfort, announced to him this distressing intelli-
gence, which overwhelmed him with grief and dis-
appointment.
Two years elapsed; Lord and Lady Montfort re-
turned to England. Still the bitter reflection prey-
ed more and more deeply upon his mind, that his
hated rival would one day triumph in his death,
and succeed to his title and estates; and at length
he resolved to acknowledge a marriage with his
former Scotch mistress, in order to legitimate the
child she had borne to him, and acknowledge him
as his son and heir. Having confided to Lady
Montfort his intention, she joyfully acceded to his
proposal; her disappointment in having no off-
spring nearly equalling his own. The most emi-
nent English and Scotch counsel unanimously
agreed that the child's legitimacy could incontest-
ably be established. Indeed the proofs of it were
now in his father's possession ; for the unfortunate
woman on her death-bed, repenting of her conduct
to him, and conscious, as she said, that in justice
she was not his wife, whatever she might be in law;
had sent him all the papers and proofs which had
CRIMES AND SORROWS.
233
been collected of her claims; imploring his for-
giveness, and humbly requesting he would bring
up the child—which she solemnly declared to be
his--in decency and virtue.
Thus the malice of Hamilton, in bringing toge-
ther these proofs, now justly recoiled upon himself;
since by establishing the legitimacy of this child,
they excluded him from the succession.
Lord and Lady Montfort went down to Edin-
burgh. The necessary proofs and forms were im-
mediately gone through, of the reputed marriage
between Captain Lindsay, now the Lord Montfort,
and Jessy Douglas, deceased—abundant witnesses
of which indeed still existed. They expected to
find the child in Edinburgh, but learnt at the office
of the Banking Company, who had the charge of
paying Lord Montfort's annual allowance for its
maintenance, that the money had, for twelve
months past, been remitted to Glasgow, where the
woman who had the care of it-(but who did not
know whose child it was),-had removed, car-
rying it with her. To Glasgow they immediately
went; but on arriving there, found the woman had
again removed to Stornaway, her native place.
These repeated delays and disappointments, ag-
gravated by the insupportable tediousness of High-
land travelling, fairly exhausted Lord Montfort's
patience; for not a single pair of post-horses
were then, nor indeed are to this day, to be found
through the whole of the Highlands ; so that the
unlucky traveller is of necessity compelled to be
dragged on by the same 'cattle,' as they are appro-
priately enough called, day after day, to the end
of his journey. But Lord Montfort, longing to see
his child, and wearied with this snail like progress,
left his lady and servants to proceed with the car-
6
20*
VOL. II.
234
CRIMES AND SORROWS.
a
riage, and those same much enduring horses,--and
pushed on alone, as fast as he could, with hired
guides, and hired Highland ponies, crossing the
country by the shortest cuts.
What was his disappointment on arriving at
Stornaway, and finding with difficulty the abode
of the woman who had the charge of his boy--to
discover that he had died some months before, of
the scarlet fever! She had buried him at Glasgow
as her own, and had concealed his death from the
Edinburgh Bankers, who had the charge of paying
the annual stipend for its support, in the hope of
still receiving it, through the medium of a relation
at Glasgow.
The grief and disappointment of Lord Montfort,
at this disastrous news, exceeded all bounds; and,
sunk in gloom and despondency, he set out on his
return. On the second day of his dreary journey,
night overtook him a wet and windy night-far
from the place of his destination; and when at last
he reached a miserable Highland shieling, at a
place called Ballyhulish, on the wild shores of Loch
Leven,* at the head of Glencoe, he gladly sought
the shelter of its humble roof; and he was making
his supper upon such fare as the house afforded,
consisting of ewe milk cheese, oat cakes, eggs, and
whiskey, when he heard from an adjoining room,
the sounds of low moaning, as of one in pain or
distress. On inquiry, he learnt that it proceeded
from an elderly Lady, who, without any attendant
or companion, excepting a child, had arrived there
the day before, so ill that she could proceed no
further; and the people of the house said they
thought she could not survive the night.
* Loch Leven, in Argyleshire, about fourteen miles from
Fort William
CRIMES AND SORROWS.
235
Lord Montfort, feeling sincere commiseration
for her forlorn situation, wrote a note, respectfully
offering his services in any way, particularly in
writing and dispatching an express to her friends,
and immediately procuring the nearest medical ad-
vice, and a sick nurse, to attend her.
In reply, he was requested to enter the sick
chamber. On a miserable bed, in the corner of a
mean dirty apartment, reclined an aged female,
evidently dying-on whose still fine features and
lofty countenance, was impressed that striking ex-
pression of high breeding and high mindedness,
which, when traced by the combined hand of nature
and early education, neither age, nor poverty, nor
sickness, not death itself, can efface. On the bed
beside her, with his little round arm clinging round
her neck, was a lovely boy--who, with the tears
still wet on his blooming cheeks, had sunk into the
sweet repose of innocent childhood. She mention-
ed to Lord Montfort to be seated near her, and
when in the softened tone of sincere feeling, he
again respectfully and earnestly asked what he
could do for her, she replied-
• For me, nothing ; human aid cannot avail me :
But you can save this poor boy.
Lord Montfort respectfully interrupted her by
pressing to be allowed in the first instance to send
for medical aid.
With a faint motion of the head and hand, she
replied-- It is in vain. The hand of death is up-
on me—that iron
which human power cannot
unloose. But it is not for myself that I grieve ;
for I am weary of life ; but for this poor forsaken
boy--left alone amidst strangers. How bitter will
be his sorrow, when he finds me cold and dead!
And none to protect him--none to guide him to his
distant home!
grasp
6
236
CRIMES AND SORROWS.
?
6
"I will do that,' said Lord Montfort, eagerly;
“be assured of it. I will conduct him safely to his
friends.'
· Alas! friends he has none. But will you con-
duct him when I am gone, to his only relative?
Churlish as he is, he cannot surely refuse him shel-
ter. Will you do this?'
Lord Montfort gave his promise, and inquired
where and to whom he should conduct him?
* In the Summer Islands, on Loch Broom, in
Rosshire,' said the lady, ' lives Bertram St. Clair.
Take this poor orphan to him, with these papers,
shewing him a small ebony box. “Preserve them
carefully, for they contain the documents of his
birth and rank and tell him, Margaret St. Clair,
on her death-bed, sends to him her grandson, the
last of his unfortunate race;—the friendless, father-
less, houseless, and persecuted Lord Setoun and
Roslin.
Lord Setoun !
Cold will be thy welcome, my poor boy,' said
the lady, as she sadly gazed upon the sleeping
i cold will be thy reception in my father's
halls: for Bertram is a hard and selfish man, and
his domains are lessened now; and his means
straitened, and children of his own surround his
board ;--and to harbour thee, poor unoffending
innocent! his servile spirit may fear will bring
upon him the ill will of the upstarts whose favour
he courts ;-yet he cannot refuse thee shelter !
He cannot turn thee out to perish !
Lord Montfort attempted to speak, but emo-
tion so choked his words, that they were nearly
inarticulate.
Poor boy!" she exclaimed, her dim eyes still
fondly rivetted upon him, without attending to
6
6
child;
CRIMES AND SORROWS.
237
6
ger.'*
6
6
6
Lord Montfort, thou may'st find house and
harbour, perchance, but welcome and kindness
thou shalt never find! Too soon wilt thou know
how bitter is the bread of dependence, and how
cold the home in which thou must live a stran-
A tear slowly coursed its way down her
furrowed cheek, as still bending over him, she
fondly added, Bless thee, my poor orphan boy!
heaven bless thee! Thou wilt awake from that
sweet sleep, and find thy last and only friend in
this wide world, cold and senseless by thy side.'
“No! no!' said Lord Montfort; "he shall never
want a friend while I live !"
Will
you be kind to him ? Will you take care
of him when I am gone ?" she eagerly exclaimed,
trying to raise herself, but sinking back fron
weakness.
I will be a friend and father to him ! inter-
rupted Lord Montfort. If you will confide him
•
to my care, he shall never know want nor unkind-
ness ;-he shall be to me as my son. I am child
less. I will be his father, and Lady Montfort will
love him as the fondest mother loves her child.'
• You will !' exclaimed the Lady, holding up her
hands to heaven. • And do you promise me-so-
lemnly promise me, that you will indeed be as a
father to him ?'
*I do—so help me heaven!'
· Then I die happy!' she exclaimed, sinking
back on the pillow.
We draw a veil over the rest of this scene.
Suffice it to say that, confiding undoubtedly in the
promises of Lord Montfort, and tranquillised as to
the future fate of her orphan grandchild, the noble
6
6
* Tu proverai si, &c. &c.-Dante,
238
CRIMES AND SORROWS.
6
spirit of Margaret St. Clair left its earthly tene-
ment, without one sigh or struggle. Her last
words were, God has sent you here. God has
heard your promise. God will bless you, and bless
my poor boy!
As soon as she was dead, Lord Montfort remov-
ed the child to his own room and having given
directions that every thing should be prepared for
the funeral against his return, he conveyed the
child down the pass of Glencoe to Tyndrum, where
Lady Montfort had fixed to meet him, and having
given him to her care, he returned to perform the
last solemn duties to the deceased Lady Setoun.
Immediately after the funeral, he left Scotland,
with his wife and the boy--whom, it is unnecessary
to say, always passed for his own ;-and whom
both he and Lady Montfort soon loved as tenderly
as if he had been indeed their son.
The particulars which the dying Lady Setoun
communicated to Lord Montfort, respecting the
unfortunate family of his infant charge, with diffi-
culty and at broken intervals, from her increasing
weakness and exhaustion, and which he afterwards
found more fully recorded in the papers in the
ebony box, we shall briefly relate as follows.
In the rebellion of 1745,* the young Earl of
Setoun—whose father's title and estates had been
forfeited in 1715, and restored,—took a most pro-
* Most of the circumstances here related, respecting the
escape, adventures, and fortunes, of the Earl of Setoun
and his wife and family, are fact; but they took place in
the Rebellion of 15—not of 45. A lineal descendant of
this Lord Setoun-(who would, of course, be the Earl of
Setoun, if the title were restored),--is sa to be still liv-
ing, a humble village joiner, at a place called Bellingham,
in Northumberland,
CRIMES AND SORROWS.
239
minent and active part. At the fatal battle of Cul-
loden, he was taken prisoner, conveyed to London,
his estates confiscated, and he himself condemned
to death. He would inevitably have been execut-
ed, but for the address and resolution of his wife,
a Highland lady, a first cousin of his own, of the
name of Margaret St. Clair, who followed him to
London, leaving her infant with her family in Scot-
land. She was allowed admittance to him in
prison, and upon one of these visits, she changed
dresses with him, and disguised him so thoroughly
that he passed the turnkeys and guard in the dusk,
at the hour when the prisoners' cells were locked
for the night, and their friends compelled to leave
them. A secure asylum had been provided for
him without the walls, and his friends were pre-
pared to aid his escape from England, which he at
last successfully effected, and joined the Chevalier
in France.
It was not until the next day, that his evasion
from prison was discovered, when in place of the
condemned captive was found his wife. She was
at first threatened with death, but after some time
she was released from her dungeon. She imme-
diately rejoined her infant in Scotland, where she
lived many years, in order to aid the plans of the
Chevalier to regain his hereditary power. By her
zeal and intrepidity, a constant communication
was kept up, between him and the chiefs of his
party in Scotland. After many years of absence,
Lord Setoun ventured his life to see his wife once
more, by landing on the sea shore, at a little cot-
tage near Eymouth,* belonging to a faithful ser-
vant of his family, where he spent several days
>
*
* A sea-port village on the coast of Berwickshire.
240
CRIMES AND SORROWS.
>
with her and his son. A second son was born in
consequence of this re-union, seventeen years
younger than the first.
than the first. Soon after that event, the
death of the Chevalier* rendered her services in
Scotland unnecessary, as the young Prince enter-
tained so much jealousy of the friends and coun-
sellors of his predecessor, that he admitted none of
them into his confidence. She, therefore, with her
children, joined her husband in France.
Lord Setoun and his eldest son, Lord Roslin,
were eventually obliged, by circumstances, to enter
the military service of France, which at that time
was at peace with this country, and they were
serving under Marshal Luckner, in the Nether-
lands, against Austria, when England declared
war, and sent an army under the command of the
Duke of York, to join the allies. At the disas-
trous battle of Fomers, where the British troops
performed prodigies of valour, Lord Setoun and
his son first drew their swords against their coun-
try, and both fell on the field of battle. The se-
cond son, now Lord Setoun, who had also very re-
cently entered the army, was at this time serving
in the campaign on the Rhine. He afterwards
.
married a Swiss lady, of noble family, by whom he
had one son, to whom he was passionately attach-
ed. He was, however, compelled to leave this dar-
ling child, with his wife and mother, in order to
pursue his military career, in which he was rising
rapidly to distinction. His military talents had
gained the confidence of Buonaparte, whom he ac-
companied into Italy; and after the victorious bat-
;
tle of Lodi, he was ordered, at the head of a French
force, augmented by a strong body of Corsican ex-
* 1765.
URIMES AND SORROWS.
241
iles, to expel the English from Corsica.* Success
attended the expedition. The English were com-
pelled to evacuate the island; but Lord Setoun
perished. Thus, by a striking fatality, the father
and the two sons fell, on different occasions, the
very first time their swords were raised in battle
against their countrymen.
The intelligence of the death of her husband, in
Corsica, and of her only brother, Colonel Choiseul,
who fell with him, proved fatal to the delicate
health of Lord Setoun's wife, who sunk into the
grave, leaving their child to the care of his pater-
nal grandmother, Margaret St. Clair, the Dowager
Lady Setoun. She immediately left Switzerland,
to which she had no longer any tie, and set off for
Scotland with her orphan grandson. She was far
advanced in years, and her only hope was to live
to consign her helpless charge to the care of her
nearest surviving relative, Bertram St. Clair, second
cousin of the infant Lord Setoun,-and to breathe
her last in the home of her ancestors. But, in con-
sequence of the war, all direct communication be-
tween France and England was impracticable; and
it was after a long, circuitous, and painful pilgrim-
age, beset with difficulties and hardships, and ren-
dered ten-fold more severe by the pressure of po-
verty, that, worn out with age, with grief, with pri-
vation, and suffering, she reached the end of her
earthly pilgrimage at the miserable cabaret of Bal-
lyhulish, and with her dying breath, consigned the
young Lord Setoun to the care of Lord Montfort.
In accepting the charge, doubtless, in the first
instance, Lord Montfort was actuated by the gene-
rous wish to save and protect the destitute boy,
* 1796.
VOL. III.
21
242
CRIMES AND SORROWS.
and relieve the agonizing anxiety of his dying
grandmother. No motive, however, could render
justifiable the imposture of passing off the child of
another as his own, and thus excluding even his
hated enemy from his lawful inheritance. But
Lord Montfort, as his whole life and conduct evinc-
ed, possessed no power of principle to restrain his
impetuous passions; he was guided by the impulse
of strong feelings, whether they were good or evil,
-whether they sprung from love or hate,-from
generosity or revenge. For the friendless orphan
boy, thus thrown upon his benevolence-thus sent,
as it were, by Providence, to supply the place of
his own,--he felt all the love of a father; and when,
to the wish of securing to this noble child a title
und inheritance equal to that of his birth, from
which the misfortunes of his family had cut him off
for ever, was added the vindictive desire to mortify
and disappoint the man he hated, and debar him
and his posterity from that succession which would
otherwise be theirs ;-we cannot wonder that Lord
Montfort yielded without hesitation, and almost
without compunction, to the powerful temptation
that beset him. He contemplated with pride his
future representative, who was destined to perpe-
tuate his name as his son. The secret of his real
birth was confined to his own bosom, and therefore
he vainly thought it was impossible it ever could
be discovered.
But time will shew.
CHAPTER LVI.
HOPE DEFERRED.
Between the cup and lip
There's many a slip.
PROVERB.
Quanto più su l'instabil rota vedi
Di fortuna ire in alto il miser uomo,
'Tanto più tosto hai da vedergli i piedi
Ove ora ha il capo, e far cadendo il tomo.
Ariosto, Canto 45.
CAROLINE had heard the particulars of his adop-
tion of Lindsay briefly, from Lord Montfort. What-
ever were the sentiments her pure sense of right
might dictate of his conduct, she was not called
upon to express any opinion upon it; and indeed
it is quite certain, that she thought very little at
this moment about questions of morality, or about
any thing except the transporting expectation that
she should soon meet with Lindsay-never-as,
she hoped-to part from him again. Delusive ex-
pectation! But let us not anticipate. Let the
book of fate-by which we mean of this history-
duly unfold the important events recorded in its
leaves.
Caroline had calculated at least a hundred times,
the hours and minutes that had elapsed since the
departure of the courier, and those that must
elapse before He could possibly arrive. (The
244
HOPE DEFERRED.
reader will please to observe, that at this moment
there was to her but one he in the world)---she
ought therefore to have made an accurate compu-
tation ;-and she had, for the hundredth time, ar-
rived at the conclusion, that in about six hours he
might possibly arrive ;-when a travelling carriage
drove furiously to the door. She flew to the win-
dow; even before the carriage stopped, a gentle-
man opened the door for himself, and sprung out,
threw one glance to where she stood, and in a few
seconds she was clasped in the arms and to the
heart of Lindsay.
Life has few moments such as these-moments
worth years of common existence ;—but both the
lovers felt the truth, that
'Tis bliss, but to a certain bound,
Beyond 'tis agony.
It was indeed the agony of bliss—but agony so de-
lightful, that although it could only find relief in
tears, those external symbols of sorrow-its very
remembrance never afterwards returned upon the
hearts of either without renewed emotion. It was
long before a word was exchanged between them.
Broken exclamations, mingled with every epithet
tenderness could dictate, were all he could utter,
as he clasped her again and again to his throbbing
heart.
In happiness, if possible more exquisite from
the contrast of their past misery, the enraptured
lovers spent a week of bliss before Lord Montfort
returned from Rome, bringing with him, as might
be expected, the full and joyful consent of Lady
St. Clair to her daughter's union with Lindsay.
The marriage was fixed to take place in three
weeks time, when her Ladyship promised to return
HOPE DEFERRED.
245
to Florence and grace it with her presence. No
man could endure with more indifference than
Lindsay, the ignorance in which he was doomed
for ever to remain, as to the nature of Lady St.
Clair's past objections to the marriage. That they
were overruled was sufficient for him. A transient.
wonder might be excited in his mind, as to what
they could possibly have been ;- but it created no
interest, no curiosity. He was happy-Caroline
was his own. Fate itself, he thought, had not the
power to part' them. He was mistaken.
One day Lord Montfort interrupted a most inte-
resting conversation his son was holding with Ca-
roline, by calling him away, to speak to hini alone
--and after some preface, which we will spare
the reader, he informed him that he had serious
thoughts of marrying Lady Hunlocke. The satis-
faction expressed on Lindsay's countenance, as
well as by his words, at hearing these tidings, sur-
passed all that Lord Montfort could have expected
from his disinterested generosity and affection.
Lindsay thought as he said, that nothing could
conduce more certainly to his father's happiness
than a union with Lady Hunlocke, for whose cha-
racter he entertained the highest esteem ;-and his
father's happiness was so truly dear to him, that he
could not but rejoice at an event so likely to pro-
mote it.
* And yet if we should have any children,
Lindsay ! said Lord Montfort-
· I sincerely hope you may, Sir—you will be
ten thousand times happier with a family than
without one'-
• But you seem to forget that these children
must be provided for out of the fortune which
would have been your's and your children's; and
VOL. III.
21*
246
HOPE DEFERRED.
6
>
6
that you may also have to pay my wife's jointure-
who is still a young woman.'
• I should be very sorry ever to have to pay a
jointure to your widow, Sir, I assure you,' said
Lindsay, "and as to your children, I, who am one
of them, am already amply provided for by your
generosity ;-if my children think they are not,
they must learn to provide for themselves. Your
unentailed property of course must go to your fu-
ture family, and so saying, Lindsay was hastening
to Caroline to communicate the joyful news to her.
Stop, stop, not quite so fast, my dear Lindsay,'
said Lord Montfort - I have not even asked Lady
Hunlocke's consent yet!
Lindsay laughed for he thought her Ladyship's
consent was very secure; and he lost no time in
acquainting Caroline with the intelligence, whose
satisfaction, on hearing it, was not less lively than
his own.
He rejoiced for his father, she for her
friend.
Lord Montfort's approaching marriage to Lady
Hunlocke was soon publickly announced. It was
to take place on that day fortnight, which was
already fixed for the union of Lindsay to Caroline
St. Clair.
But fate had fixed otherwise. Already were the
deeds and settlements drawn, the bridal dresses,
and all the wedding paraphernalia prepared ; nay
even the bride-cakes were baked -- an achievement
somewhat difficult at Florence, where bride-cakes
were utterly unknown, and which never could have
been accomplished, except by the persevering ex-
ertion of Mrs. Plait ;—but by her consummate
confectionary skill, already were prepared these
tempting bride-cakes, fit emblems of the brides
like them, externally white as snow, and internally
-
HOPE DEFERRED.
247
sweet as sugar ;-already, I say, were the sweet
brides and sweet bride-cakes in readiness, and one
turn of the globe only intervened before that event-
ful day, when the brides were to be married and
the bride-cakes eaten, when just as dinner was
over, a letter--a tumbled, fumbled dirty letter was
brought to Lindsay -a letter which, insignificant
as it looked, completely altered his future fate.
He read it with a change of countenance and emo-
tion, which struck all the party ; crushed it in his
hand; and, after a few moments consideration,
asked Lord Montfort to accompany him to ano-
ther room.
Caroline was miserable. She felt a dreadful
foreboding that some new calamity was at hand to
divide her once more from Lindsay, yet little was
she prepared for the stroke, when after a short con-
ference they hastily came out, and Lord Montfort,
with a countenance of great agitation, announced
the necessity of their immediate departure for Mi-
lan. "Time would not allow,' he said, 'to explain
all the complicated circumstances of the case ;
but the life of a man for whom they were both
more deeply interested than for any other human
being, was at stake, and there was not a moment
to lose.' With these words Lord Montfort hastily
left them, and while the carriage was getting rea-
dy, he flew to the house of Lord B-disturb-
ed the astonished ambassador over his wine, and
scarcely giving him time to inquire why or where-
fore, made him summon his secretary to write a
letter, which he himself dictated, to the head of
the Austrian Government at Milan; and this mis-
sive the passive ambassador unresistingly signed,
not very clearly understanding what it was that he
was thus subscribing.
6
6
248
HOPE DEFERRED.
In the mean time Lindsay, who seemed too
much overwhelmed with wretchedness himself, at
the prospect of separation, to be able to enter into
much explanation-even if he had been at liberty
to do so, only said in answer to the anxious inqui-
ries from the ladies, that he himself was under
the greatest obligation to the person in question,
who had endangered his own life to save his; but
until that moment he had not been aware that
Lord Montfort knew any thing whatever of him,-
and indeed the unfortunate man himself had told
him he did not know his father. He could not
therefore at all understand the deep interest Lord,
Montfort felt for his fate, the cause of which Lord
Montfort had told him he could not explain.'
At this account, which only served to increase
the mystery, Lady Hunlocke's dissatisfaction at
Lord Montfort's abrupt departure, was so obviously
testified, that Lindsay could not help asking- If
she thought it possible that either himself or his.
father could tear themselves away, if they did not
know that their immediate presence, and utmost
personal exertions, were not indispensably neces-
sary, as the sole chance of saving the unfortunate.
man's life, if indeed that were yet possible?'
Lady Hunlocke candidly acknowledged the ob-
vious necessity of the case, and at the same time
her utter inability to bear it with patience.
Caroline, however, did bear it with patience,
and without a murmur-but she felt it with secret
wretchedness not less than that which Lindsay
himself suffered. Some new stroke of fate seemed
again impending to divide Lindsay from her-per-
haps for ever; and though she struggled to over-
come such apprehensions-and succeeded at least
in concealing them-yet in that bitter moment,
6
HOPE DEFERRED.
249
6
when he held her to his heart for the last time, the
words • Promise me only to return whatever hap-
pens!' burst from her lips.
• Return! aye, if life be left me! The whole
world united should not keep me from you for a
moment!'
• But promise me-promise me faithfully, you will
return !'' she anxiously repeated.
Lindsay promised -- solemnly promised that
nothing but death should prevent him returning the
moment return was possible.' At length he tore
himself from her, threw himself into the carriage be-
side his father, and in an instant they were out of
sight.
But though the deserted brides elect may be
kept in the dark respecting this mystery, which
thus unceremoniously whirled away from them in
a moment their destined bridegrooms-we--not
being sworn to secrecy, hold ourselves at liberty to
reveal the truth to the courteous reader; and we
shall enter into the particulars rather more minute-
ly than Lindsay, in his first hurried conference, re-
lated them to Lord Montfort. But this matter dem
serves a chapter to itself.
CHAPTER LVII.
TRUTH WILL OUT.
Disguise ! I see thou art a wickedness!
SHAKSPEARE.
Eventful day! how hast thou changed my state !
DOUGLAS.
The reader may possibly remember the strange
adventure which befel Mr. Lindsay in the Grisons,
where, but for his timely justification by the ex-
traordinary man who had originally been the means
of bringing him into suspicion, he would inevitably
have been convicted as a murderer, by the obsti-
nate and precipitate justice of the thick-headed
Baillie. On the very evening of his acquittal, it
may also be remembered, that under the influence
of an infatuation which he could neither account
for nor resist, he sought once more that mysterious
personage, who had awakened in his mind an in-
terest so intense,—and returned alone to the ruined
tower.
It was deserted. The shades of evening, which
were falling fast, increased its usual obscurity, and
rendered it so gloomy that he could scarcely see
around; but having ascertained that no one was
there, he paused but for a moment to look out
upon the grey lake which washed the base of the
cliff on which it stood, when the ponderous door of
the tower was clapped to with sudden violence..
TRUTH WILL OUT.
251
6
He rushed to it, but too late; it was barred against
him, and almost at the same moment, the mysteri-
ous stranger, who seemed to have risen from the
earth, stood before him, and with the help of his
mute attendant, instantly disarmed him, and hurri-
ed him down to a dyngeon beneath the ruin.
Previous to leaving the village, Lindsay had put
a bag of gold in his pocket, as if purposely to tempt
the cupidity of robbers ; but really with the view
of giving it to this very man, whom he judged fitted
for better things than the desperate mode of life
he seemed to pursue.
* You now take by force, that which I meant
voluntarily to have given you,' said Lindsay to him;
• and excepting that,-my life is all you can get,
and it is not worth your taking. Liberate me, and
name my ransom! You cannot surely mean to mur-
der the man at night, whose life you preserved in
the morning ?
• Your life !' said the stranger, with a sarcastic
laugh; and for what do you think I preserved
For the sake of justice and humanity.'
No! As for justice, if justice were executed
on all men, I should like to know who would
escape hanging ? And as for humanity, it would
have been humanity to have killed you at once,
and not have saved you only to undergo lingering
sufferings.'
• And pray for what end then did you save my
life ?'
• To suffer, I tell you ;' he replied: "for what else
is life ever given ? Is not man born only to suffer ?
Is not existence—that accursed doom-given to
6
your life?
6
6
:
a foretaste of hell? Is not life unvaried
wretchedness ?'
him as
252
TRUTH WILL OUT.
6
6
>
No,' said Lindsay; life is a scene of chequer-
ed good and evil. There exists no being who tastes
not of joy.'
• Yes, enough of joy to make misery be felt
just as darkness would not be apparent were there
no glimpse of light. Young man !' he continued,
· had any one destroyed my life at your age, -
aye, by the most cruel and torturing of deaths,
it would have been a deed of mercy. All are
wretched; but I am singled out from mankind
as a mark for the arrows of misfortune.'— He
paused a moment, then, without attending to what
Lindsay said to him, he continued :- The heir
of ancient titles and honour, I am sunk in
the lowest scale of degradation. The rightful
Lord of thousands, I am ground down by abject
poverty. The leader through fighting fields of
glory, I am now covered with ignominy, and hunted
like a wild beast from the abodes of men. Yes ;-
I, who have been the companion of Kings, am now
the outcast of society.' He paused a moment,
then continued in a tone of desperation– But
this—this is nothing. This might have been borne,
-had one tie of nature, or humanity, or affection
been left to me: but all are torn from me.
father and my brother fell in the field of battle. My
wife was cut off in the flower of her youth. My
mother died, an aged unprotected wanderer,-I
know not where, nor when, nor how. She disap-
peared from the earth,—and with her disappeared
my boy.-0! that thought is madness! My inno-
cent child--my lovely boy--was lost to me for
ever,--and mystery involves his fate! I know not
I never shall know his end. Perhaps he perish-
ed in lingering misery, from slow pining neglect
and abandonment :- perhaps he died of cold and
а
My
TRUTH WILL OUT.
253
>
• You say
6
hunger, a helpless outcast ;--with none to cheer
his little heart, none to minister to his innocent
wants !---Torturing, distracting thought the
scourge of my life,-that still fires my burning
brain to madness, and stings my withered heart !
-Years pass over me in vain. Time cannot sear
that incurable wound that still bleeds afresh, at the
thought of my lost, my loved, my only boy!
he was lost, replied Lindsay, pitying
his despairing wretchedness, why then may you
not as well suppose that he found some kind friend
and protector? Who would harm helpless infan-
cy? Perhaps he is yet alive and happy; perhaps
you may even yet live to see him !!
O never, never !'he exclaimed, twenty long
years of misery have passed, and I have sought him
through the earth in vain. Never shall I see him
more!
Never know his fate !--That-that is
the pang.-0 had he died with his sainted mother,
-from what a life of lingering wretchedness should
I have been saved, and how happily should I have
laid my head beside them in the peaceful grave !
But I know not even where his little bones
lie.'
Lindsay sought to give him hope and comfort,
but he shook his head as one that felt not his
words, and said, 'O! you know not yet, how dear
beyond all the fondest ties of love, to a parent's
heart, is his only child! You cannot know,--how,
through years of exile and imprisonment, and de-
gradation and slavery, the thoughts of my wife
and darling child, supported life and gave me
hope ;-how often their images were the visions of
my nightly cell !
• You, then, have been a prisoner?' asked Lind-
say.
a
VOL. II,
22
254
TRUTH WILL OUT.
6
9
• Yes; a captive in Algiers; a menial slave to
infidel barbarians. I was taken by an Algerine
pirate, in leaving Corsica. Three years I endured
that bondage. My soul thirsted for my home,-
and at last, maddened by despair, I denied my God,
- renounced my faith,--I pawned my soul for
I
liberty,- I bought it at the price of my salvation.
I escaped--and when, at last, the long-sought hour
of deliverance had arrived when I flew back to.
those beloved objects, for whom I had sacrificed
all my pride on earth--my hopes of heaven ;-all,
all were swept away ;--no trace left of
any
that I
loved. The blessed wife of my bosom was in the
cold grave ;--my venerable mother, my innocent
child-gone, none knew whither ;-vanished from
the earth ;--and I myself left alone! Long,
long ago, would death have ended my sufferings,
had not the wild hope of learning some tidings of
my boy, still kepi me in this miserable world!
He paused, and Lindsay expressed the sincere
pity he felt for his misfortunes.
The stranger looked as if he heard, or at least
understood him not, and abruptly interrupting him,
he said, " But this is not what I meant to say.
These are idle words. But it is you, young man,
who are in fault. You are so like my mother, and
so very like my poor brother, that, gazing upon
you, has drawn from me the weakness of dwelling
on sorrows which no other ear has ever heard. I
thought, when I first saw you--I alınost thought
you were my son! God forgive my madness! he
exclaimed, bursting into an agonizing laugh of hor-
rid mockery.
Lindsay was greatly shocked at the wildness and
reckless desperation apparent in his countenance
and manner; at last he observed. ---But you said,
TRUTH WILL OUT.
255
6
-E
6
when you first saw me, you thought me a St.
Clair.'
· Yes--if my poor boy had survived, he would
have been called St. Clair, for that is my family
name. Besides, from your strong resemblance to
my mother, Margaret St. Clair, I thought you
might be one of the descendants of her kinsman,
Bertram St. Clair. His children I have once seen;
--for not satisfied with writing to Bertram St.
Clair, I made my way, years ago, to Loch Broom,
to seek for my son at the risk of my life,--for I
narrowly escaped being executed as a spy. But
alas! I found that no tidings of my poor boy, or
of my mother, had ever reached her paternal
home.'
May I ask why you seized me last night, and left
me shut
up
in the tower ?' said Lindsay, who now
clearly saw that he had no robber to deal with.
I took you for one of the Gens D'Armes lurking
I
here to arrest me, and I afterwards detained you by
force, and seized you again to-night, in order to
get you to do me a piece of service.'
• A singular mode of persuasion however;' ob-
served Lindsay, with a smile.
• My business with you is this ;' continued the
stranger, without noticing his remark. . My only
friend, Henri Choiseul, the brother of my wife, who
was my companion in arms, and in captivity among
the Moors,- is now a prisoner to savages still more
barbarous--to those Austrian Goths who are deso-
lating Italy. By them he has been condemned to
the galleys—to degradation ten thousand times
worse than death; and for no other crime, than that
of serving the King he had sworn to defend-Mu-
rat.--Yes! him, whom the little narrow-minded
tyrants of the world once owned as a legitimate
256
TRUTH WILL OUT.
monarch--whom, but yesterday, it would have
been treason to have opposed, because he was in
prosperity,--but whom it was treason to be faithful
to, in the day of his adversity. My brother had
been attached to Murat through life-had fought
under his command, enjoyed his confidence, and
reaped his benefits in power;—and he was not base
enough to desert his friend, his general, and his
King, in the day of distress. He fled with him to
Toulon, and afterwards to Corsica ; and he was one
of the thirty faithful followers who accompanied
him in his last desperate landing in Calabria,
where his little party were immediately taken pri-
soners. He witnessed his heroic death, when,
kneeling down with eyes uncovered, he bared
his breast—and himself gave to the soldiers the
fatal. order to Fire !' which even his enemies
could not pronounce! It was for his fidelity and
adherence to this brave man, that he was tried and
condemned to the galleys.* But I will rescue him,
or perish in the attempt ;-and it is for this end
I am now wandering amongst these mountains. He
is to be marched from the prisons of Milan, which
are overstocked with convicts, to labour on the
roads over the Alps ;--and thus will he return to
Switzerland to his native country, to work in
that land of freedom in chains, like a felon, and
chained for life to felons! I have hovered upon
the frontiers for many weeks, as my intelligence
led me to expect the chain of convicts, of which
he forms one, to be marched out of Italy, by one
pass or another. Its latest destination has been
>
* Many officers of noble birth were condemned to the
galleys for life, both when taken in arms with Murat, and
subsequently in the ill-fated Neapolitan Rebellion of 1821.
TRUTH WILL OUT.
257
gen
If, at any
up the Lake of Como, by Chiavenna ; where it
arrived two days ago; and I expected that he
would have been able to effect his escape at the
intended halting place last night, about three
leagues from hence, by the assistance of one of
my emissaries, who was to have brought him to
this tower; and in this dungeon beneath it, he
was to have remained concealed until the first pur-
suit was over. The signal you heard last night
was from one of my scouts, who was on the watch;
but the persons, of whose approach he gave warn-
ing, proved not to be the fugitives. To-night I
must again watch the pass. But even should Choi-
seul effect his escape, and reach this spot in safe-
ty, there is but little chance of his ultimately
ting out of this country without a passport. It is
for this I crave your assistance.
frontier
town you will procure for him and myself—for I
must accompany him-a passport -as if for two
servants of your own, whom you wish to send back
into France or England, I have no doubt of safely
effecting our escape. But you are at liberty to aid
me or not, as you please. Had you not sought me
I should have sought you. I felt that I could trust
you. I disarmed you, that you might do no unne-
cessary mischief in the first moment of alarm ; and
I incarcerated you in this dungeon only that you
might hear my story, and be safe from the intru-
sion of the meddling villagers, should they come
in search of you.--You may now go freely. I
know you will not betray me.'
Lindsay instantly agreed to do what he wished,
and finding that it was probable the fugitive would
be hotly pursued by the guards of the prisoners,
in which case a desperate and unequal combat
must take place, before his rescue could be effect-
22*
VOL. III.
258
TRUTH WILL OUT.
ed-he insisted on joining his new friend in this
perilous enterprise ; and actually spent the night
with him in a watch, which however proved una-
vailing
But before they left the tower, Lindsay learnt,
what the reader has long since discovered, that
this mysterious stranger was the unfortunate Lord
Setoun. He had been left for dead at the taking
of Corsica, 1796, but recovered by the care of his
brother in law, Colonel Choiseul. In leaving the
island afterwards, together, in a small vessel, they
were taken, as Lord Setoun related, by an Alge-
rine pirate, and remained for three years in slave-
ry, when they embraced the Mahometan faith, in
order to obtain liberty; and though at first strictly
watched, they at length succeeded in effecting
their escape in a boat, and landed in safety on the
coast of France. Choiseul immediately followed
the fortunes of his old commander Murat. Some
years afterwards, when Lord Setoun had finally
abandoned his despairing search after his child, he
joined his brother in law, then his sole surviving tie
to earth, and also entered the service of Murat, who
had just been proclaimed King of Naples.* He
served with him through the dreadful campaign of
Russia, until the final dispersion of the Neapolitan
army in 1815.
On that last disastrous field, he was left almost
alone, his troop of Neapolitan horse, with the rest
of the army, having been completely routed. He
however threw off his uniform, and escaped being
made prisoner, by pretending that he was one of
the many Englishmen who had been in the Austri-
an camp previous to the engagement, and that he
* 1808.
TRUTH WILL OUT.
259
had been stripped and plundered by a fugitive par-
ty of the enemy. He was therefore suffered unmo-
lested to pass the Austrians at that time; but be-
ing afterwards discovered in an attempt to aid the
desperate plans of Murat for re-establishing his
power, a fine was set upon his head as a traitor.
He saved himself, however, by flight, which he ac-
complished chiefly by the fidelity and vigilance of
his German Swiss attendant, who had adhered to
him like a part of himself, ever since his return
from Algiers. He took refuge in Switzerland, but
anxiety for the fate of his friend and brother Choi-
seul brought him to the frontiers of Italy, from
whence he received constantintelligence from Choi-
seul, chiefly by means of a man who had served
in his regiment, and had been promoted by him ;
and whose life he had saved by his intercession
during the reign of Murat. This man was now an
Italian Sbirri, in the Austrian service.
Lord Setoun was also in league with the bands
of smugglers who carried on a hazardous but lucra-
tive trade in smuggling over the mountain passes
into Lombardy, the merchandize which the little
nearsighted policy of the Austrian government pro-
hibited, in order to force the consumption of their
own clumsy German manufactures. The same in-
terdiction had been enforced even more rigorously,
but equally ineffectually, by Buonaparte, against
the productions and manufactures of other coun-
tries, but more especially of England; and during
his iron reign, smuggling-which was the only pro-
fitable trade carried on over the whole Continent
-had every where arrived at a systemised organi-
zation, that enabled the bold and numerous bands
of smugglers successfully to set at defiance the
power of that tyrant at whose nod nations trembled,
260
TRUTH WILL OUT.
and monarchs ascended or descended their thrones.
This illicit traffic still went forward with the same
daring spirit, and many of the fugitives from the
defeated and disbanded Italian armies, had joined
these desperate bands; among others, some of the
soldiers and non-commissioned officers of Lord Se-
toun's Neapolitan Brigade men who were person-
ally strongly attached to him, and who not only
brought him all the information he required, but
were ready to aid him in any desperate enterprise
with their lives. It was with the aid of these emis-
saries that Lord Setoun planned the rescue of his
friend.
The morning following their watch on the moun-
tain, intelligence was brought to Lord Setoun that
the destination of the convicts was changed, and
that they were actually sent off to work in the
quarries near the Lake of Lugano. Lord Setoun's
scheme for the liberation of his unfortunate friend
was therefore entirely disconcerted. Lindsay, how-
ever, offered to go himself to see Colonel Choiseul,
and concert with him the necessary measures for
his escape ; and this he thought he could do un-
suspected, while pretending to examine, as a geolo-
gist, the celebrated quarries where poor Choiseul
was doomed to work like a felon.
Having concerted their plans, mode of commu-
nication, and place of meeting; Lindsay took leave
of Lord Setoun, and went down to Chiavenna with-
out returning to Sajlas; it being of the utmost im-
portance to the success of their enterprise, that his
motions should not, by any possibility, be traced.
At Chiavenna, where he provided himself with a
change of clothes, he was stopped from the want
of a passport; his own having been lost some
weeks ago, in crossing a wild mountain torrent in
.
TRUTH WILL OUT.
261
>
the Rhinwald, in which he narrowly escaped
drowning, before he took up his abode at Sajlas;
where, partly from the want of this document, he
narrowly escaped hanging.
Knowing, however, that his old friend Captain
Beaumont was residing on the Lake of Como, he
sent for him, and by his assistance procured a pass-
port. He then proceeded in search of Colonel
Choiseul, whom he found labouring in the quarries
in chains. He recognised him by the password
used by Lord Setoun's emissary, with which he
was furnished; and by asking, in very bad broken
;
French, for somebody to answer his questions
respecting the quarries in English-which he pre-
tended was the only language he understood
Choiseul naturally came forward, and they carried
on their conversation without exciting suspicion ;
while Lindsay, like a desperate mineralogist, was
hammering away at the rocks for his specimens.
Having arranged every thing with Colonel Choi-
seul, he dispatched Lord Setoun's faithful emissary,
who was waiting close at hand, to his master, with
intelligence of the plan devised for effecting Choi-
-
seul's escape.
>
It was in returning from this meeting at a late
hour to Captain Beaumont's villa, that he was
attracted by the sight of Caroline, as his boat
rowed past the window of the inn at Cadenabbia;
and three days afterwards, when he sailed past the
Casino where Count Montini and Caroline were
rehearsing the charade of Amore,' he was on his
.
way to Como, where he had ordered his two servants
to meet him from Milan, for the purpose of procur-
ing passports,-nominally for them, but really for
Lord Setoun and Colonel Choiseul. One of his
domestics was a Swiss courier, and the other an
262
TRUTH WILL OUT.
English valet, and in person as well as in country,
they fortunately answered to the description of the
intended fugitives. But retaining this passport for
their use, Lindsay sent his servants back to Milan,
and from thence with his carriage forward on the
road towards Bologna,--the same passport with
which they had travelled to join him from Switzer-
land to Italy, being all they wanted.
In consequence of receiving at Como the letters
brought by his servants which had lain so long at
Geneva, from Lady Hunlocke and Mr. Breadal-
bane, containing the vindication of Miss St. Clair's
conduct,-he determined to go that evening to Ca-
denabbia, on his way to Lugano, for the purpose
of seeing her. There, he learnt on Colonel and
,
Mrs. Cleveland's arrival, of Caroline's capture by
the banditti : and having been foremost in effecting
her rescue, he set off again to take vengeance on
the gang who had been the authors of the outrage,
and surprise them in their cave in the forest.
One of the very Sbirri, however, whom Lindsay
collected for this service, was Lord Setoun's prin-
cipal emissary; the same who had undertaken to
effect the escape of the convict from the depôt near
Lugano. The night following had originally been
fixed for this enterprise ;-but this man whispered
to Lindsay that it must be accomplished now or
never, because the next day the country would be
up in arms, and the mountains scoured in all direc-
tions, by the officers of justice in pursuit of the fu-
gitive robbers; so that the convict would be recog-
nized to a certainty, and re-taken : but if Colonel
Choiseul and Lord Setoun, well mounted upon the
horses which were already provided for them, were
to fly immediately, they would be in Switzerland
before the pursuit began.
TRUTH WILL OUT.
263
Lindsay saw the justice of this, and both he and
his confederate (the said Sbirri), hastened from the
robbers' cave to the Lake of Lugano, sought Lord
Setoun, whose retreat they knew, and having given
the concerted signal to the prisoner, who had pre-
viously filed through the grated window of his cell
and his own fetters, with a file that had been con-
veyed to him for the purpose; he descended to
them by a ladder of ropes which they had provided,
and got clear off. At a convenient distance, in a
retired spot, the prisoner dressed himself in the
clothes provided for him, (the usual attire of a
courier), and his own were sunk deep in the lake,
by means of large stones. They then mounted
their horses, and, attended by Lord Setoun's faith-
ful German attendant in the character of a guide,
proceeded through the pass of Mount St. Gothard ;
and as all three were well armed and desperate, it
was certain that they would not be easily re-taken,
even if pursued.
The Sbirri, having fulfilled his part of the trans-
action at the prison, and received his reward ;
straightway rode off to avoid suspicion, and return-
ed to the rendezvous of his band—having apparent-
ly been very active in pursuit of the robbers; and
certain to be equally actively and fruitlessly occu-
pied in pursuit of the fugitive convict the next day,
whose escape he had just effected.
Lindsay having bade farewell to Lord Setoun,
returned to Sajlas, in order to claim his baggage,
which the obstinate honesty of his good hosts had
refused to give up, either to his own courier, or to
a messenger he had since dispatched for it-and
whom they abused for a cheat, declaring that they
knew, but too well, the Milor was not in this
6
9
264
TRUTH WILL OUT.
world to send for it, and that they would keep it
till his friends came from England to claim it.
Having possessed himself of it, Lindsay lost no
time in getting through the Austrian Italian states,
lest the part he had played in the escape of the
prisoner should by any evil chance be discovered.
Lindsay had received at Florence a letter from
Lord Setoun, cautiously written in the character of
his English servant, acquainting him with their
safe arrival at Paris. It now appeared from the
unfortunate Lord Setoun's present letter, that,
finding his friend Choiseul safe under the protec-
tion of a powerful friend at the French court, and
being himself too restless and miserable to stay
quietly in any place—more especially amidst the
crowd and bustle of a large city,--he had wandered
back to Switzerland. From thence he was impru-
dent enough to venture into Italy, in order to in-
dulge the longing desire he felt once more to see
Lindsay, for whom he had conceived a strong par-
tiality. He also persuaded himself that it was ne-
cessary he himself should repay Lindsay the money
he had lent them to effect their escape ; which
Colonel Choiseul, on rejoining his friends in Paris,
had given him for that purpose ; and although it
mnight unquestionably have been remitted in the
usual way-it served him for an excuse to his own
mind for indulging his inclinations. He expected
to pass through Lombardy unmolested, being fur-
nished with a passport as Mr. St. Clair, an English-
At Milan, however, he was recognized,
arrested, tried, and condemned. And in addition
to the former act of proscription against him, he
was now accused of being implicated in a conspi-
racy (real or pretended) of the Carbonari against
the Austrian government, which was said to have
man.
1
TRUTH WILL OUT.
265
been recently discovered and frustrated. This last
charge against him, which was entirely false, was
brought forward by the creatures of government,
doubtless to afford a pretext for the condemnation
of an obnoxiouš individual ;-executions for the
crime of adhering to the French cause being, so
extremely unpopular, that even the Austrian autho-
rities were unwilling to incur their odium.
Lord Setoun said in his letter, that he conceived
Lindsay's interest and intercession with the Austrian
Government might avail to save him; and the
proofs of his really being, by lineal descent, a Scot-
tish nobleman, and born in Scotland, which he had
given to Lindsay's care, when he fled with Colonel
Choiseul, might be of importance to him now.
Lindsay, too, could himself bear testimony, that,
at the very time when he was accused of being
present at the nocturnal meetings of the Carbonari
in the States of Milan, he was wandering upon the
inountains of the Grisons.
:
Life is not valuable to me for itself,' added
Lord Setoun, but I would shun a disgraceful and
ignominious death--unworthy of my birth, my
family, and my character. I would not go down
to the grave loaded with the false imputation of
being a cowardly traitor, guilty of mingling with
the basest of mankind in midnight conspiracies and
dastardly assassinations. The last of my ill-fated
race-I would not disgrace my ancestors. You,
perhaps, can yet save me from the ignominious
death to which I am doomed; and remember, if
you think it worth your while, there is no time to
be lost.–Every morning's light I expect to bring
the order for my execution.'.
6
1
VOL. II.
23
CHAPTER LVIII.
(JUSTICE
Then if he dies, I am his murderer
His blood cries out to heaven,-vengeance on me!
His crimes are mine--I struck him to the heart.
'Twas I that drove him to these desperate straits,
And made hiin hate his kind,
CALDERON.
-Patriæ pietatis imago.
VIRG. Æn, X. 824.
child ;
LORD Montfort's feelings on hearing from Lind-
say the particulars related in the foregoing chap-
ter, may be better imagined than described. The
agony of spirit with which he listened to the de-
scription of the overwhelming anguish, that still,
after an interval of so many years, wrung the heart
of this unfortunate man for the loss of his only
and the remorse which seized him for hay-
ing, however unintentionally, by his culpable con-
cealment, been the means of bringing down de-
spair and desolation upon his whole life-were
no light retribution for the wrong he had com-
mitted. But he carefully guarded the secret in
his own breast; resolved, that if the unfortunate
Lord Setoun should already be sacrificed by the
arm of power, his son, at least, should be spared
the agony of knowing that the victim was his fa- ,
ther.
They travelled night and day, bribing the pos-
tillions to push forward with a headlong speed,
which exceeded all that the wondering Italians had
ever yet seen of the haste of a “Milor Inglese.
6
JUSTICE.
267
6
-
6
Indescribable was the amaze of the postillions
at the last stage, when ordered to drive to the
prison at Milan. Convinced that Milor,' like
the rest of his nation, was stark mad, they were,
nevertheless, obliged to comply ;-—and for the first
time, and probably the last,-a dashing English
travelling equipage, stopped at the prison gates.
Lord Montfort gasped for breath ; his tongue
cleaved to his mouth,--while Lindsay eagerly ask-
ed the iron faced turnkey for Mr. St. Clair.
The surly man at first said — no such person
was there ;' but after some trouble, he was made
to understand what prisoner they wanted. He
then said that the man was ordered for execu-
tion the next morning, and that nobody could be
allowed to see him.?
In vain they endeavoured to obtain admittance.
They then made immediate application to the high
autiorities, who readily granted to a personage so
distinguished, and bearing such weighty recom-
mendations as Lord Montfort, free and imme-
diate communication with the criminal,' as he
was termed.
They found the unfortunate Lord Setoun in a
narrow, dark, solitary cell, suffering under every
species of privation and contumely that can ag-
gravate
the horrors of imprisonment and approach-
ing death. The dignified gratitude he expressed
for Lord Montfort's extraordinary kindness in com-
ing himself to Milan, for the sole purpose of sav-
ing 'a liſe so worthless,' was torturing to his feel-
ings; and every word he uttered seemed to him
like heaping fresh coals upon his head.
• Talk not to me of gratitude or obligation ! ex-
claimed Lord Montfort. I have done you irre-
parable injury, and never can atone for it.'
* Set your mind at rest on that head, my Lord;"
268
JUSTICE.
said Lord Setoun, with a faint smile. Whatever
•
you may have done. It is long since man had the
power to injure me.'
Through the Austrian commander in chief, who
is virtually, though not nominally, the highest
authority in Milan, an immediate reprieve was
granted to the prisoner, and Lord Montfort labour-
ed indefatigably to obtain a revision of his sen-
tence. Lindsay's testimony effectually established
his innocence of the last charge brought against
him, that of being implicated in the late con-
spiracy of the Carbonari,--and full proofs were
brought forward of his being by birth a Scottish
nobleman, as he had represented himself upon his
trial. The testimony of his innocence and vera-
city, however, would probably have availed him
nothing; but so weighty were the representations
Lord Montfort caused to be made by the British
Ambassadors and Charges d'Affaires, at Florence,
Turin, and Naples,--so powerful was his own
known influence with the British Cabinet,--and
so active was the interference of a certain British
statesman, high in power, then at Milan, who on
hearing the story, warmly interested himself in
Lord Setoun's fate,--that the Austrian govern-
ment, warned that the Court of St. James's would
lake up, as a national concern, an injury offered to
one of its own subjects, and somewhat ashamed of
the part they had acted-- were obliged, forthwith,
to undo all they had done, and to grant a full and
free pardon to the prisoner.
Powerful and universal was the interest excited
by Lord Setoun's misfortunes among the British
residents at Milan ; and the high influence already
alluded to, was offered to co-operate with that of
Lord Montfort, in interceding with royal clemency,
to procure the reversion of the attainder, and the
JUSTICE
269
6
>
6
>
restoration of this unfortunate nobleman to his
titles, honours, and estates. He gratefully but
firmly declined this oiter, which was earnestly
made to him by Lord Montfort, saying, I am in
poverty and childless. To me rank would be a
burden ; I have none to inherit it after me; I am
;
the last of my unfortunate race.'
You are not sure of that;' said Lord Mont-
fort, in a constrained voice. • Perhaps you still
have a son:
• In mercy seek not to awaken that vain hope,
that visionary dream ! Long, long, has it mocked
and tortured me. Never name to me more; my
poor lost child !
* I told you,' said Lord Montfort; "that I had
deeply, irreparably injured you. I have been the
cause of years of misery to you, for I alone knew
the fate of your mother ---
“And of my son !' wildly exclaimed Lord Se-
toun, gasping with agitation. And do you know
•
his fate?--and have you withheld it from me?'
'I am the only person on earth to whom it is
known;' said Lord Montfort. • Be satisfied that
at least he has always been treated with kindness,
and never known the want of a father.'
• Does he live?' with difficulty articulated Lord
Setoun.
• He is alive.he is every thing you can wish!"-
said Lord Montfort.
"Where, where is he?' exclaimed Lord Setoun..
* Be composed. He is coming to you-very soon
you will see him.'
Almighty God! I thank thee !—exclaimed
Lord Setoun; and after a convulsive struggle of
a few moments, a flood of tears burst forth,—the
first that, for twenty years, had moistened his eyes.
6
6
23*
VOL. III.
270
JUSTICE.
.
6
Rejoiced to see them flow, Lord Montfort feft
the room, that he might, uninterrupted, give vent
to his emotion.
To Lindsay Lord Montfort now briefly related
the real circumstances of his birth, and his adop-
tion by himself. The inexpressible astonishment
which took possession of Lindsay's mind, on heara
ing this extraordinary history, may be imagined.
He felt bewildered and confounded like a man
whose identity is all at once changed by magic.
That he was not his Father's Son, he could scarcely
comprehend. When Lord Montfort at last finish-
ed speaking, the feelings of overflowing love to-
wards him, which still filled his heart, were the
first that burst forth.
My more than father !—he exclaimed, 'what
change of parentage, or of fate, can loosen the
sacred ties of affection-far, far stronger than
those of blood—which bind me to you for ever!
The filial love, and the unbounded and devoted
attachment that fill my heart towards you, will
ever be yours,—for I could not divest myself of
them. They are a part of myself;—and to them
are now added a fresh debt of gratitude, that I can
never repay.
I owe you far more than a son
ever owed a parent ; for without being my father,
without one tie of nature or obligation, you have
been to me the best and kindest of fathers; and
that, purely because I was an orphan, and helpless,
and destitute! If I did not now feel towards you
ten times the affection, the gratitude, and venera-
tion that I ever felt before, I should be a monster!'
Deeply affected with this burst of feeling, Lord
Montfort expressed the paternal pride and love he
must ever feel for him.
• But we must not forget that you have another
father,
my
dear son,-- for such I must ever consi-
der you,' said Lord Montfort.
JUSTICE.
271
6
• Yes;' said Lindsay, 'now, I have two fathers.'
Lord Montfort would have prepared Lord Se-
toun for the meeting, but in an instant Lindsay
was in the room, and in his arms. My father!'
was all he could utter. My son! my son! my
long lost child ! burst from Lord Setoun's heart.
For awhile the father, with his long lost child,
6
6
Forgot his sufferings, and all else beside,
Life has few moments of such pure delight,
Such foretaste of the perfect joys of heaven.
But over this meeting we must draw a veil.
There are thousands whose hearts can instinctive-
ly feel what must have been the emotions of the
father and the son on this re-union, and to those
who cannot, description would be unavailing. But
so much more powerful a passion is paternal than
filial love, that those who know the human heart,
will easily imagine how infinitely the happiness of
Lord Setoun exceeded that of his son.-The latter
indeed had never known the want of a father; but
the former had through life mourned in agony the
loss of his child. And now to meet this long lost,
loved, lamented son again--and such a son-when
hope was extinct ;-seemed to change the colour
of his destiny, and recompense him for years of
misery. Even his countenance seemed changed.
Hope, and benevolence, and joy beamed over those
features, which so long had borne the sombre im-
pression of despondency and despair.—He could
feel no anger against Lord Montfort. The belief
of his death, the destitute situation of his orphan
boy, solemnly given into his charge by his dying
grandmother, and the exemplary manner in which
he had discharged towards him the duties of a
father-forbade him to complain. In fact, as we
have before had occasion to observe, the happy easi-
272
RE-UNIONS AND UNIONS..
ly forgive. Lord Montfort could not however for-
give himself. It was not the adoption of the boy
that was wrong-it was the deceit of concealing
from the child's nearest relations what had become
of him, and passing him off as his own son ;—an.
act unjustifiable in itself, and which had embitter-
ed the life of his unfortunate father.
CHAPTER LIX.
RE-UNIONS AND UNIONS..
Omnes ut tecum merites pro talibus annos
Exigat, et pulchra faciat te prole parentem.
VIRG. En. I, 78,
Happy is the man that hath made her his wife !
Happy the child that calleth her mother!
Economy of Human Life.
The two fathers and the son--now transformed
from Lindsay into Lord Roslin -- lost no time in
setting off for Florence. Lord Setoun perfectly
remembered Miss St. Clair, whose demeanour and
calm collected courage had won his admiration
during the storm on the Furca; and he was de-
lighted to find that she was the destined wife of
She was also a descendant of his own
house, a distant cousin : her father, Sir Reginald
St. Clair, having descended in a direct line from
the unfortunate Lord Setoun, who was attainted.
in the great rebellion. Lord Setoun remembered
Lady #unlocke also, and he acknowledged that:
his son.
RE-UNIONS AND UNIONS.
27 8
she was a most captivating woman; but then she
l
was a very woman.
Caroline St. Clair, he said,
had shown herself all that a woman should be
yet possessing the firmness of a man.
But one new impediment now started up to
Lindsay's--or we should now say to Lord Roslin's,
marriage with Caroline—that hung heavily on his
mind; which was, that he had not a sixpence. It
was true that Lord Montfort insisted, that the dis-
covery he had been compelled, as an act of justice
to make, should have no influence upon the fortune
of his son as he still called Lord Roslin ; and that
the unlucky settlements which had been already
twice made for his marriage with Caroline St. Clair,
should be allowed to stand as they were, without
any other alteration than the necessary substitution
of one name for another.
To this the said Lord Roslin could not be
induced to agree; not that he felt too proud to
contract fresh obligations to Lord Montfort, whom
he still considered as his father ; but he felt that
in accepting fortune from him, he was depriving
his future children or heirs of their just inheritance,
and that it was a robbery of a patrimony to which
he had no claim.
Lord Montfort, however, would have felt deeply
hurt had his son, as he always called Lord Roslin,
persisted in refusing all pecuniary aid from him.
The latter was sensible of this, and therefore yield-
ed a reluctant consent to accepting temporary as-
sistance. It was indeed repugnant to his nature,
now that he knew himself not to be his to re-
ceive it; but it was still more repugnant to him, to
hurt Lord Montfort's feelings,--and not to marry
Caroline : and he did not see, being, although deep
in love, not altogether deprived of reason, how they
were to live upon air.
a
son,
274
RE-UNIONS AND UNIONS.
It was at length determined that Lord Rosline
should quit the military service, which the pros-
pect of uninterrupted peace had divested of every
attraction for him, and that Lord Montfort should
use his all-powerful influence to obtain for him an
appointment then vacant at home, in the civil line.
Although not an office of great emolument, it was
calculated to call forth his talents, and bring him
forward in public life-in which Lord Montfort had
always thought him peculiarly qualified to distin-
guish himself;-and the event afterwards fully jus-
tified his expectations.
Lord Montfort also resolved to use his powerful
interest with the royal ear, to obtain the restoration
of Lord Setoun to his title. As soon as his mar-
riage with Lady Hunlocke should be celebrated,
he resolved to proceed without delay to England,
to push these points by his presence and personal
solicitations.
On arriving at Florence, some delay took place
at the gate of the city, with those eternal plagues
of travellers in Italy—the Doganieri, or Custom-
House Officers, who took it into their heads to in-
sist upon searching the carriage, and even the per-
sons, of the whole party; on the pretence of hav-
ing information that they had contraband goods
with them. Lord Montfort shrugged his shoulders
-turned his pockets inside out-and walked off--
leaving Lord Roslin to settle the matter for Lord
Setoun, who obstinately resisted this examination,
and seemed to prefer being detained all night, to
submitting to what he considered an indignity.
Lord Montfort proceeded straight to Colonel Cleve-
land's, walked in at the open door, and up stairs,
and into the room where Lady Hunlocke and Caro-
line were sitting.
At the unexpected sight of him, Lady Hunlocke's
RE-UNIONS AND UNIONS.
275
6
6
6
Tapture was unbounded; but Caroline could scarce-
ly welcome him. Her eager eye sought the door
-her attentive ear listened for a hasty step on the
stair-case-and in a faltering voice she asked
Mr. Lindsay! is he not with you.'
Lord Montfort cruelly sported with, her anxiety
and alarm. "No-you will see Lindsay no more. I
have no longer a son,' he said, with mock solemnity.
Caroline turned deadly pale and clasped her
hands. She could not speak--but it was dusk ;
Lord Montfort did not see her countenance.
Good God! what has happened to him?' said
Lady Hunlocke.
“My son is now no more!' said Lord Montfort.
With a deep groan Caroline clasped her hands
to her forehead, and rushed out of the room.
• Caroline! Caroline! stop! It was only a jest !
He is alive and well ! exclaimed Lord Montfort-
But she heard him not. She had instinctively
rushed through the suite of apartments towards her
own; when-at the top of the stairs she beheld
Lindsay! She uttered a piercing shriek, and fell
into his arms.
• What have I done ! exclaimed the horror-,
struck Lord Montfort, in an agony of remorse.
Every restorative was tried by the half-distracted
party. At last a surgeon was sent for, who instant-
ly bled her. She speedily recovered, and at once
seemed perfectly collected—but pale as monumen-
tal marble.
'I can bear it all,' she said, in a calm voice.
Now tell me the truth.'
• You have nothing to hear-nothing has hap-
pened, dearest Caroline,' said Mrs. Cleveland. It
was a thoughtless jest of Lord Montfort's. You
know you saw Lindsay yourself, alive and well.'
• Yes !-was it-was it really him ? It was not a
vision then ?
276
RE-UNIONS AND UNIONS.
1
6
Very soon he was admitted. She felt herself
once more clasped in his arms and to his bosom,
and the shower of delicious tears she shed there,
relieved her heart, and removed all fears for her
reason or life.
To Caroline, the wonderful story-which every
one else had by this time heard-was not so won-
derful as to others. She already knew that Lind-
say was not the son of Lord Montfort-but she was
indeed surprised to hear that his real father was
discovered to be alive; and that he was the very
person whom she had met, and whom his own son
had met, in circumstances so singular.
To Lord Lumbercourt this news seemed not on-
ly wonderful but highly agreeable; and he declar-
ed, after due consideration, that Lord Roslin should
be his heir.
That must be because I am now discovered to
be no relation to him,' said Roslin, laughing, when
informed of his good fortune, by a formal letter
from Lord Lumbercourt, for as long as I was his
own cousin german, he never manifested any inten-
tion of leaving me sixpence.'
• At least you must allow that he is a little less
than kin, and more than kind,'—said Caroline
• Now I think Lord Lumbercourt very reasonably
says in his letter,''I thought that, as the sole heir
of Lord Montfort, you needed no accession of for-
tune, and that you would be too rich already.
But now the case is changed. I have long been
perplexed who to make my heir. I have scarce-
ly any relation, and no friends. My principal es-
tate is entailed with the title, and goes to a man I
scarcely know; but the rest of my property I can
;
leave as I please--and to whom can I leave it with
so much propriety as the friends I love best on
earth-Miss St. Clair, and my cousin ; for such I
1
ܕܐ
RE-UNIONS AND UNIONS.
277
3
9
still consider you? At my age it does not suit me
1
to lose either friends or cousins--and your trans-
formation from Mr. Lindsay into Lord Roslin, makes
no change to me.'
Lord Lumbercourt forthwith executed this wise
resolution, and after providing handsomely for
Gregory'--and leaving some other trifling legacies,
he bequeathed the whole of his unentailed property
to his residuary legatee, Lord Roslin.
An event, which a letter from his friend John
Heathcote announced, soon after their return to
Florence, gave a most unchristian sort of satisfac-
tion to Lord Montfort. This was no other than
the death of his ancient enemy, Augustus Hamil-
ton. He endeavoured not to rejoice; but he could
.
not help feeling that the certainty that old Hamil-
ton could never inherit his title and estates and
never even have the triumph of knowing that he
had imposed upon the world as his own son and
heir, an adopted child—relieved him from a secret
source of galling mortification, which had embit-
tered his peace, more than he chose to acknowledge
even to himself.
The assurance of the speedy appointment of
Lord Roslin to his new office soon arrived-to the
general joy of all parties; but more especially of
Roslin himself, and his affianced bride.
At length the happy day actually arrived, and
in the house of Lord B-, the British Ambassa.
dor at Florence, Lord Montfort and his late reputed
son were indissolubly united to Lady Hunlocke
and Caroline St. Clair. Immediately after the
ceremony Lord and Lady Montfort set off for Eng-
land, and Lord and Lady Roslin retired to a beau-
tiful villa on the banks of the Arno; where the
Italian spring, bursting into beauty, dressed the
24
VOL. III.
278
RE-UNIONS AND UNIONS.
6
groves, and gardens, and luxuriant fields of that
enchanting vale with verdure and gladness.
Lord Setoun left the wedded lovers on their
marriage day, and followed Lord and Lady Mont-
fort to England. The story of his misfortunes,
and the utter oblivion that_with the extinction of
the House of Stuart--had been drawn over all
delinquencies committed in their cause, by the
liberal policy of the reigning Sovereign, who no
longer visited the sins of the fathers upon the
children'seconded by the powerful interest of
Lord Montfort-at last procured for him, by the
royal clemency, a restoration to the ancient titles
of Earl Setoun, Baron Roslin. An estate of con-
siderable value in the Highlands, which, with the
rest, had been forfeited in the rebellion of 45, but
given to a less obnoxious branch of the house of
Setoun,-had, by the death of the last owner,
without issue, fallen into the hands of Bertram St.
Clair, who had possessed himself of it as the next
of kin; although he well knew that Lord Setoun
himself was still alive. This estate he was now
compelled to surrender. Lord Setoun took pos-
session of it, and the faithful Highlanders of his
clan proclaimed with transport the return of their
chieftain to reign over them:
In the society of his son and his daughter, he
enjoyed a happiness, heightened by the remem-
brance of past misery. His heart, at last, had
found objects whom he could love, and whose
affection endeared his life. His character seemed
to have undergone a total change; or rather, the
clouds which had so long obscured it, had rolled
away. No longer morose or misanthropic, his
temper was kind and conciliating, and the strong
feelings of his heart, and the vigorous powers of
his mind, fully developed themselves. In the
RE-UNIONS AND UNIONS.
279
school of adversity, Lord Setoun had learnt lessons
of virtue, that, in the day of prosperity, shone forth
in his character.
Lord Lumbercourt soon discovered that the
climate of Italy disagreed with him, and aggravat-
ed his gouty paroxyms; and he found no atmos-
phere so congenial to his health and comfort, as
that of his native country, and more especially of
the fire side of Lord and Lady Roslin, in promot-
ing the happiness of which, he had so large a
share. His Lordship too, felt not a little proud of
the distinguished figure his declared heir now
made in public life, and the promise he gave of
rising to the highest offices of the state.
Six years after their marriage, Lord Lumber-
court died. Lord and Lady Roslin then took pos-
session of the ample estates and noble mansion
which Lord Lumbercourt had bequeathed to them.
Happy in themselves, and diffusing happiness
to all around them, they possessed the most pure
and unalloyed felicity which can fall to the lot of
humanity.
Lord Montfort, a happy husband, became the
happy father of two sons and a daughter. Lady
Montfort, one of those favoured spirits upon whom
the sunshine of happiness always seems to fall, and
whose sorrows pass like summer clouds-was hap-
pier than ever even Lady Hunlocke had been.
Lady St. Clair still continued the same incessant
pursuit of pleasure,--and, like all those who make
it their sole pursuit, never attained it.
Our excellent friend, Saunders M'cMuckleman,
having printed his poems by subscription, had the
never to be forgotten honour of presenting copies
of them, wi' his ain honds,' to
6
His Grace the Duke of Rattleland, and
Her Grace the Dutchess of Ditto,
280
RE-UNIONS AND UNIONS.
6
6
He was presented, by Breadalbane, to the Kirk of
Kittlerig, his native village ;-or rather town,' for
by that respectable title every half dozen of dirty
· thacked cotters hooses' is dignified in Scotland.
But the 6 wee bit hoosie' that had sheltered his
childhood was now exchanged for the proud do-
micile, of the square, stone-built, blue slated manse,
with its parlour on each side of the door, and its
garden and glebe extending in front. His favourite
evening walk was down the glen, where whimpled
the bonnie bit burnie' in which he had so often
. paidlet,' when a bare fitted laddie.'
No mitred prelate was ever happier ; and, per-
haps, none ever attained, so completely, the fulfil-
ment of all his ambitious views as the Rev. Saun-
ders ;--for he had no idea that human ambition
could soar higher than to be the minister of Kittle-
rig. And now,--proud elevation! he himself
held forth in that very pulpit which, of yore, he
had contemplated with awe as the grandest seat on
earth. Saunders, indeed, was remarkable, even in
that land of pulpit prolixity, for the length of his
discourses, which always considerably exceeded
an hour; and afforded time for a peculiarly com-
fortable doze to the worthy members of his flock,
tyho regularly came in all weathers, many a long
Scottish mile, to take their hebdomadal repose in
the Kirk. No Scottish congregation, certainly, can
be accused of neglecting the command, to take
their rest on the Sabbath day; but the Reverend
M'cMuckleman's congregation were unusually or-
thodox sleepers.
Saunders espoused, -not his Jessie,' to whom
he had addressed so many dismal effusions of verse
-though, questionless, Jessie would have had him
---but a certain Miss Jackie Gordon, a good
umoured, stirring, comely, farmer's daughter,
6
RE-UNIONS AND UNIONS.
281
6
6
who brought him some siller,' and kept him, as he
himself observed, ' a' right and tight th'gither.'
Breadalbane, at first, went nearly distraeted at
the news of Caroline's marriage, though his despe-
rate passion was eventually cured by it. He
almost immediately proceeded to make the modern
Grand Tour, which begins where the ancient
Grand Tour used to end. Setting off from Naples,
like all other accomplished and adventurous youths
of the present day-he travelled through Greece,
and Egypt, and Nubia, and Syria; visited Constan-
tinople and Jerusalem--and even entertained se-
rious thoughts of proceeding into the interior of
Africa, to discover the source of the Nile. But the
bright idea of travelling in the Caucasus and Cri-
mea luckily struck his fancy ;-and being nearer
and yet more replete with enterprise, distinction
and novelty--he made his way through these
savage countries--returned by Russia--and through
Sweden, Norway, and Denmark to England.
He speedily posted down, wild with spirits, to
see his friends, Lord and Lady Roslin, at their
beautiful seat in Yorkshire. Arriving without no-
tice, he hastily past the footman, who threw open
the library door, and flew to a lady, seated at a ta-
ble, whom he addressed as Caroline. She looked
up with astonishment--and received him, with the
perfection of politeness indeed, but as a perfect
stranger. He stood confounded ;---the blinds
were drawn---the room obscure-her back was to
the light. He looked again ;-it was Caroline-
and yet it was not Caroline. Her figure was
rather more petite, her hair and eyes rather lighter,
her complexion rather more rosy. He hesitated,
and looked still more confounded
'I believe you take me for my sister ;' said Fan-
282
RE-UNIONS AND UNIONS.
а
ny St. Clair, with a smile which was quite Caro-
line's, and in a tone which was her's only.
He was so delighted with this second edition of
Caroline, that he forgot his impatience to see the
original;—but when Caroline herself came into the
room--like Charity with all her four children
about her,-Bread'albane met her like an old and
valued friend. She was still the same Caroline he
had ever known her-except that her person was
fuller and more majestic; her complexion richer
and less varying; and that her step and figure had
lost something of their airy lightness. But the
sunny smile, the laughing eye, and the bewitching
countenance, still beamed upon him in all their
playful brightness and the tones of the same en-
chanting voice welcomed him with delight to his
country and to her home.
Breadalbane had only come down for a few days.
lle stayed a few weeks, during which time he fell
in love with Fanny St. Clair. She resembled her
sister, not only in face and form, but in heart and
mind. She had the same sweetness of temper,
the same warmth and generosity of feeling, the
same sunshine of soul, and vivacity of spirit. She
was not, perhaps, possessed of such powerful ta-
lents, such exquisite taste, such wit and imagina-
tion, such strength of mind and depth of know-
ledge, as Caroline ;—but these were not the quali-
ties which had attached Breadalbane to Caroline,
and these qualities he neither missed nor regretted
in Fanny--And he loved her, if not with the same
passionate enthusiasm-which is never felt but
once--at least with as much ardour, and far more
enduring affection, than he had loved Caroline.
At the end of a few months he was married to
her, to the unspeakable satisfaction of all her
friends ; but most of all of Lord and Lady Roslin.
By the death of Lord Setoun the following year,
RE-UNIONS AND UNIONS.
283
Lord Roslin succeeded to the title-the old family
estate—and to the high honor of being head of the
Clan of the St. Clairs.
We ought to have related in its proper place,
that the Old Castle of Roslin--being held by many
sage Advocates and Writers of the Signet, to be
unalienable with the ancient title of Setoun and
Roslin, was, upon its restoration, claimed by Lord
Setoun; who, from the early tales of romance and
Scottish story infused into his mind in the days of
infancy, by his mother, the heroic Margaret St.
Clair,-had a strong passion for the possession of
this ruined seat of his ancestors' feudal pride and
power. The present proprietor, the good natured
Breadalbane, yielded it without a contest to the
old Lord ; although the matter, if well managed,
might have furnished a law plea, of the usual ave-
rage length,--of twice the duration of the siege of
Troy.
Thus, the prophecy of the old carle was accom-
plished,--and when Lord Setoun, with Lord Ros-
lin and Caroline, and their children, the young St.
Clairs, visited this beautiful scene, they were re-
minded, that
St. Clair for a season
May fall from his reign ;
But St. Clair to proud Roslin
Shall come back again.
And they hoped that,
St. Clair from proud Roslin,
No mortal shall se ver;
For St. Clair with Roslin
Shall flourish for ever!
The seer's prediction to Breadalbane himself,
like most oracles, kept the word of promise to the
ear, but broke it to the hope ;' for it was literally
verified that
28.1
RE-UNIONS AND UNIONS.
He should seek for a St. Clair,
But seek long in vain ;
And yet wed with a St. Clair,
At last without pain.
* An old blockhead!' said Breadalbane, on recall-
ing this memorable prediction - he did me untold-
of mischief,- that silly carle !-For, when I was
ready to despair, these foolish words came across
me, and my heart rose with hope ;-nay, so strong
was the impression, that I could not help believ-
ing that Caroline St. Clair would be mine at last-
till she was actually married. But heaven be prais-
ed ! 'St. Clair !- dear Fanny St. Clair, is mine at
last!'
With the wonderful accomplishment of these
wonderful prophecies, we must close our history;
maintaining, that their accomplishment is quite as
wonderful and authentic, as the accomplishment of
any wonderful old prophecy that ever was heard
of;—(and we should be glad to know, who ever
did hear of any old prophecy whatever that was
not accomplished ?)--After the wonderful accom-
plishment, therefore, of these wonderful prophe-
cies, recorded in this our history-we trust none of
our readers will be heterodox enough to deny the
existence of that wonderful faculty Second Sight.'
At the same time,-in contemplating the per-
fect connubial happiness enjoyed by all the mar-
ried pairs whose fates are recorded in this history
-by Lord and Lady Setoun, by Lord and Lady
Montfort, by Mr. and Mrs. Heathcote, by Mr. and
Mrs. Breadalbane, and by the Reverend Saunders
M'cMuckleman and Mrs. M'cMuckleman, we trust,
that our readers will, one and all, with one accord,
acknowledge the felicity and supremacy of that
much abused passion-Second Love.
THE END.
1
e
1
1
0
1
#
1
3

co
VC
06

3 9015 06357 3052
co
VO
S.
OBE