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 VieiSSITUBES ABKOA® 
 
 THE GHOST OF MY FATHER, 
 
 ^ ^DtiZU 
 
 IN SIX VOLUMES. 
 
 MRS. BENNETT, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 anna; juvenile indiscretions; agnes de couaci 
 
 ELLEN; BEGGAR GIRL, &C. 
 
 ■ Were Trovidence inclin'd. 
 
 In unrele -.tini; wrath to human kind. 
 
 To take back every blessing f .at she gave, 
 
 From the wide ruin she i"Ould memory save: 
 
 Else would severest ills be soon o'ercast. 
 
 Or kind oblivion bury them at last. 
 
 But memory, with more than Egypt art, 
 
 Embalming every grief that wounds the heart, 
 
 Sits at the altar she has rais'd to woe. 
 
 And feeds the source whence tears for ever flow. 
 
 VOL. I, 
 
 LONDON: 
 PRINTED AT THE 
 
 FOR LANE, NEWMAN, AND CO. 
 
 LEA DENH ALL-STREET. 
 
 1806.
 
 
 INTROBUCTION. 
 
 «t«i» 
 
 My Dear Lady N . 
 
 A HE history you are anxious td 
 receive^ would perhaps more amuse and 
 interest you^ if it came from a pen with 
 talent to embellish real events, and inven- 
 tion to supply imaginary ones : from mine 
 ^ it will, I fear, be like tales of old time — 
 "4 tedious, if not incredible. 
 HT It is true, that recollection of happiness 
 ^ for ever flown, of misfortunes passed, and 
 q VOL. I. B dangers 
 
 a
 
 11 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 dangers from which I have escaped with 
 the wreck of all that was dear to my affec- 
 tion, renders the journal I have always 
 been in the habit of keeping, so much the 
 consolation of my private hours, that your 
 command, so far from imposing a task, 
 rather invites me to a pleasing occupation 
 for time, w^hich, without such a stimulus, I 
 could not have filled with equal self-indul- 
 gence. But even without the aid of written 
 memorandums, it is impossible I can forget 
 the events of my chequered existence, 
 nor those with whom it has principally 
 passed, since no incident to which memory 
 can recur, is unmarked by attachment, 
 sympathy, friendship, or gratitude ; and I 
 am never so much in grace with my own 
 feeling, as, when retired from the '' busy 
 hum of men," I retrace in my journals the 
 '* sad no more/' and unseen by mortal 
 
 eye.
 
 INTRODUCTION. Ill' 
 
 eye, anticipate a reunion with those 
 blessed spirits^ who, it is my delight to 
 believe, approve my fidelity to a trust 
 rendered infinitely more sacred, by the 
 misfortunes to which it has been exposed. 
 
 Of two things, however. Madam, I must 
 apprize you. You will perhaps be tempted 
 to say, it is the History of Henrietta St. 
 Herman, not that of the De Verencourt's, 
 which I shall have the honour to send you ; 
 but besides that, excepting one false step, 
 which was its own punishment, my life 
 may be justly esteemed a part of theirs ; ^ 
 if I appear too often in the foreground of 
 the picture, you will eventually find it is 
 my real station. 
 
 You will also find the history of my 
 
 friends, so connected with those misfortunes 
 
 of the Bourbons, with which you, who read 
 
 every thing, are already acquainted, that 
 
 B 2 I should
 
 IV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 I should fear you would be weary of what 
 might be deemed extraneous^ were I not 
 encouraged by your Ladyship's own idea, 
 in respect to the lovely group, who have 
 the honour and happiness to emulate the 
 virtue of the best of mothers. 
 
 Your daughters were too young, at the 
 period of the Revolution in France, to be 
 interested in events that then attracted the 
 attention of all Europe ; and the mere 
 politics of any country, are seldom the 
 voluntary study of young female minds. 
 When, however, they happen to afford 
 examples of the instability of human great- 
 ness — when they inculcate the grand lesson 
 of moral philosophy — '^ know thyself," 
 and when, as in this instance, they mark the 
 contrast, between a glorious, free, and inde- 
 pendent little island, and a kingdom whos6 
 boundaries are almost inuneasurabLe — the 
 
 former.
 
 INTRODUCTION. % 
 
 former^ governed by a King whose example 
 it is virtue to imitate ; obedient to laws 
 which secure their social blessings; jealous 
 of hereditarv freedom : and receivinor trea- 
 sure into the cornucopise of wealth and 
 commerce, from all parts of the habitable 
 globe; — the latter, self-degraded from their 
 once-boasted loyalty; crouching at the feet 
 of low-born tyrants; murdering their King, 
 deluging their fertile lands with their best 
 native blood, wallowing in the spoils of 
 the people, trampling on all law, annihi- 
 lating commerce, and mocking their God^ 
 the scourge of the age in which they were 
 suffered to exist, and the curse of poste- 
 rity — surely they then become useful and 
 instructive. 
 
 If this be granted, and if, blended with 
 
 the events I have to relate, your daughters 
 
 meet the misfortunes of a good, and if 
 
 B 3 good
 
 VI IKTTvODUCTION. 
 
 good and great be synonymous terms, 
 the greatest of Kings — if the pitiable 
 reverse of all that was splendid^ beautiful^ 
 and admired in the fate of the Queen of 
 France, induce them hereafter to peruse 
 the more general history of those bad 
 times, can it be done without such im- 
 provem.ent to the head and the heart,, as 
 will for ever endear to them the freedom 
 and security of their own native land ? 
 
 And thus. Madam, having endeavoured 
 to palliate two of the most unpardonable 
 errors in this class of writing, egotism and 
 prosiJigj I prove my respect to your com* 
 mands, by enclosing those anecdotes of my 
 own history which lead to that of my noble 
 friends, and have the honour to be 
 Your sincere friend. 
 
 And obliged Servant, 
 
 H. St. Herman.
 
 VICISSITUDES* 
 
 HE last efforts of the race of Stuarts 
 to regain the crown of Great Britain, was 
 a sort of challenge to modern chivalry, 
 which had nearly proved fatal to the Mar- 
 quis de Courville, and the second son of 
 the Duke de Verencourt, who, weary of 
 the frivolity of the Court of Louis the 
 Fifteenth, attached themselves to the for- 
 tune of Charles Stuart when he landed in 
 Scotland. 
 
 No more of the misadventures of that 
 
 undertaking is material to this subject, than 
 
 s 4 relates
 
 8 ' VICISSITUDES. 
 
 lelates to Sir Hector Dunbar, a Catholic 
 Chief, possessed of great hereditary pro- 
 perty, and so popular among his numerous 
 clan, that his defection from the established 
 government was of singular importance. 
 He had happened to form a friendship 
 with the two noble Frenchmen previous 
 to their being associated in the same cause, 
 and involved in the same misfortunes. 
 
 The disastrous period to the hopes of 
 Charles had not power to weaken the 
 attachment of the three friends, who braved 
 innumerable perils during their conceal- 
 ment in the Highlands, with the most 
 heroic perseverance, till almost naked, and 
 perishing for want, they were conducted, 
 by a faithful Highlander of Sir Hector's 
 clan, on board one of the many small 
 vessels that hovered off the Isle of Sky to 
 facilitate their escape, which at length they 
 happily efiected. All the world knows 
 the shameful conduct of the disappointed 
 Charles on his arrival at Paris, where, 
 
 callous
 
 VICISSITUDES. d 
 
 callous to the miseries of his misguided 
 followerSj he plunged into the most shame- 
 less dissipation ; and while the Nobles of 
 his own country were brought by their 
 zeal in his cause to an ignominious death, 
 eVen at the moment when the best blood 
 of Scotland was flowing from the axe of 
 the executioner^, the undisturbed brow of 
 Charles Stuart was seen at every public 
 spectacle. 
 
 Sir Hector Dunbar, who had sacrificed 
 family, fortune, and country to him he 
 thought his rightful Prince, could not be 
 an indifTerent spectator of the apathy that 
 doubled all his own regrets. He must 
 indeed have sunk under accumulating an- 
 guish of mind, had he not found in the 
 bosom of friendship, an asylum so delicate, 
 so generous, and persevering, as would 
 have reconciled him to every thing but the 
 fate of a beloved wife, and the amor patrue 
 which is the inseparable characteristic of a- 
 true Scotchman. 
 
 B 5 iady
 
 10 
 
 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 Lady Dunbar soon after joined her hus- 
 band ; and as Monsieur de Verencourt had 
 married the sister of the Marquis de Cour- 
 ville, who had also espoused a lady of 
 equal rank with himself, she experienced 
 from the two families all that attention 
 which noble minds feel due to misfortune. 
 
 But the moment that had separated her 
 from Sir Hector, had been as fatal to her 
 health as to her peace : she languished 
 under a gradual decay, and died giving 
 birth to a daughter^ who became the more 
 endeared to her father, as being all he could 
 of right now call his own. 
 
 From the cold bosom of my departed 
 mother, I was taken to the generous, fos- 
 tering heart of Madame de Verencourt, 
 after whom I was baptized, and by whom I 
 was adopted. The helpless state of his 
 infant, and total dependance on friends, 
 roused my father's spirit into action. 
 Deeply repenting the Quixote loyalty that 
 ruined him, he would have gladly availed 
 3 himself
 
 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 11 
 
 himself of the interest of his noble friends to 
 procure a pardon, and reinstatement in his 
 forfeited estates, had not these reflections 
 occurred in the precise moment when the 
 evil was past remedy; for at the same time 
 when he was declared an outlaw, some re- 
 collected services of one of our ancestors^ 
 a professed respect to our ancient family, 
 and, probably, no small degree of political 
 craft in conciliating our numerous clan^ 
 induced the English Government to take 
 my uncle, a youth of ten years old, under 
 its protection, to give him Protestant 
 tutors, and to settle the whole of our 
 estates on him, when he should arrive at 
 majority. 
 
 This was a blow for which my father was 
 not prepared ; it rendered the melancholy 
 turn of his mind habitual, and would per- 
 haps have endangered his intellects, had 
 not the N arquis de Courville, now the 
 happy father of a fine boy, by constituting 
 him sole director of his sons education, 
 contrived to make the gratiUide of his 
 B 6 disposition
 
 12 YtClSSlTUBlS. 
 
 disposition conducive to the restoration of 
 his peace. 
 
 As for me, I am to this moment ignorant 
 of any proof of tenderness or care more 
 truly maternal than that I experienced from 
 Madame de V. even after she became a 
 real mother. 
 
 Monsieur de Verencourt, like all of his 
 noble house, was honour and liberality 
 personified : his air was grand, his address 
 elegant, and his munificence unbounded ; 
 faithful in friendship, stern in resentment, 
 but too high-minded for revenge, he w^as 
 the best of husbands, the most tender of 
 fathers, and the most considerate of mas- 
 ters. The Duke de V. who died while his 
 brother was in Scotland, evinced his fra- 
 ternal confidence by leaving him sole 
 guardian to his son, a youth of five years 
 old : and well did he perform the sacred 
 ofRce; the reciprocal attachment of uncle 
 and nephew ended but with life. 
 
 Madame de V. the counterpart of 
 her elegant brother in person, did not, 
 
 like
 
 ViCISSlTltDfi*. 15 
 
 like him, consider high birth and rank as 
 casual advantages, when not distinguished 
 by the more brilliant appendages of innate 
 virtue. She was even so attached to the 
 etiquette of precedence and family con- 
 sequence, as sometimes cast a shade over 
 her many fine qualities, excellent heart, 
 and generous sentiments. Except this 
 trait, which one knows not whether to 
 blame or commend, Madame de V. was 
 a perfect character. 
 
 The Marquis de Courville must have 
 been worthy, for he was the bosom friend^ 
 of Sir Hector Dunbar ; he must also have 
 been amiable, for he was adored by Ma'- 
 dame de V. ; sensible, for he filled arr 
 ofhce in the Ministry to the satisfaction of 
 his King, without making the people his 
 enemy ; fortunate, for he was one of whom 
 every body spoke well. 
 
 My raptures when Julia de V. was 
 born, and the agonies I felt when separated 
 from her, established me in her nursery ; 
 and I was many of the juvenile years of 
 
 my
 
 14 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 my life distinguished by the appellation of 
 Madame de V.'s little nurse. 
 
 The young Duke de V. my senior as 
 much as I was that of Julia^ who was also 
 one year younger than De Courville;, lived 
 at our hotel. The Marquis de Courville 
 was fixed at Versailles by duty — the Mar- 
 quise by inclination, so that my father and 
 his pupil were general and welcome guests 
 with us ; we made one family, and re- 
 ceived the compliments of visitors as such;, 
 on our rapid improvement. 
 
 But it was the Duke who had the highest 
 meed of praise. If I ci^so am lavish, if 
 recollection, sweet and painful, guide my 
 pen, still I shall be no more than just^ for 
 lano^uao^e cannot flatter him. 
 
 Susceptible to all the finest impressions 
 of genius, his early conception distin- 
 guished the great diiference betwixt innate 
 greatness and innate vanity, and with the 
 same precision he separated the merit of 
 civility from the meanness of servility. His 
 person was already finely formed;, and every 
 
 feature.
 
 VICISSITUDES. 15 
 
 feature, true to his illustrious origin^, spoke 
 the youth of fashion. To his equals he 
 had an air of pride, which, however, was 
 manner only. To his inferiors and de- 
 pendants, his sweetness and urbanity were 
 irresistible. His capacity for learning, his 
 proficiency in science — in short, what was 
 there of elegant refinement in which he 
 did not excel ? The solid graces of a 
 noble mind were adorned, not obscured, 
 by the most fascinating juvenility. Take 
 
 him all in all but I correct myself — I 
 
 have seen his equal. 
 
 My father could not witness the im- 
 provements of the Duke de V. without 
 regretting the natural levity of Charles 
 de Courville ; but it was in vain the tutors 
 remonstrated, reproved, and corrected — 
 the misfortune was without remedy; he 
 was literally an etourdi, and my father was 
 at length provoked to resign a charge he 
 could no longer retain with benefit to his 
 friend, or honour to himself 
 
 The
 
 16 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 The Marquis had only time to be angry 
 and sorry ; but the Marquise, who saw in 
 her son a promise of all the accomplish- 
 mentSj which were in her judgment ne- 
 cessary to form a captivating character, 
 graced the declaration, that Sir Hector was 
 a pedant himself, and wanted to make one 
 of her son, with a shower of tears; — the 
 Marquise, one of the first of those ladies 
 v/ho were prevailed upon to visit Madame 
 du Barry, was of course an immense fa- 
 vourite ; and she took occasion to disclose 
 to her the subject of her uneasiness. So 
 admirable a judge of the right and wrong 
 in a Nobleman's education as Madame du 
 Barry, could be at no loss about the advice 
 proper on such an occasion. 
 
 The Abbe Tcrrai had solicited her 
 patronage for a young man of his own 
 stamp, and she mentioned him to the 
 Marquise, as a sub-governor, more con- 
 genial to the disposition of her son, and 
 v/ho v7ould of course obtain an influence, 
 
 which:
 
 VICISSITUDES. 1% 
 
 which the austere manners of the puritan 
 Scotchman were more formed to repel. 
 
 That puritan Scotchman^ the Marquis 
 "knew to be all a man of honour and edu- 
 cation ought to be ; but he had not a 
 moment to spare, so that Madame du 
 Barry's summary mode of managing for 
 every body settled the business. 
 
 The Abbe Roquelar was one of those dan- 
 gerous characters who, for the scourge of 
 mankind, have been met in all ages and all 
 countries. He had been selected for the 
 use of the Du Barrys, as a proper imple- 
 ment for those secret services which re- 
 quired uncommon cunning and adroitness ; 
 but the display of his talents alarmed even 
 them. He had already been initiated into 
 some of the mysteries of their employ- 
 ment, for which reason the expedient of 
 providing for him in a different line was 
 more convenient than either to retain or 
 discard him. Nothing, therefore, could 
 .be more apropos than this new arrangement 
 for the young De Courville. 
 
 Roquelar's
 
 18 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 Roquelar's person was light, aiiy, and 
 degagee : his piercing black eye could 
 change its natural ferocity into an expres- 
 sion of o;ood-humoured thouorhtlessness 
 whenever it suited his caprice or interest 
 so to do. He pretended to sentiment and 
 morality ; but dispensed w ith both in the 
 fables he invented, and the monkey tricks 
 he played for the amusement of his pupil. 
 He understood the fiddle better than the 
 mathematics ; the arietta of the Italian 
 Opera were more to his ta&te than Euclid 
 or Virgil ; the French comedie beyond all 
 comparison more amusing than the Morals 
 of Seneca; and he talked nonsense far 
 more fluently than Latin. 
 
 At the same time that young De Cour- 
 ville laughed at and despised his new tutor, 
 he could not forbear imitating him ; and 
 Sir Hector loved the father too well to 
 be an uninterested witness of the retrograde 
 progress of a son who was fast forgetting 
 the few useful thinos he had learned. He 
 again remonstrated ; but as the Marquise 
 
 w^as
 
 VICISSITUDES. 19 
 
 was now perfectly satisfied that her son was 
 in good hands, the Marquis answered my 
 father merely with assurance that his con- 
 tinued friendship had no sort of connection 
 with the difference of opinion between Sir 
 Hector Dunbar and the Abbe Roquelar. 
 
 My father's only consolation was now at 
 the Hotel de Verencourt, where Julia and 
 his daughter flattered his best hopes. 
 Henrietta Dunbai% three years older than 
 Mademoiselle de V. was not quite so 
 tall : her figure was petite, but well formed. 
 Her face, without being beautiful, has been 
 thought to have a certain take ; but, as if 
 the features of her mother's mind were the 
 inheritance of her child, her countenance 
 had apenseroso cast, which those by whom 
 she was beloved, considered as extremely 
 interesting. 
 
 Mademoiselle de V.'s tall, graceful, 
 and elegant form always possessed that 
 enchanting medium that has '*^ of every 
 thing enough, of nothing too much." Her 
 features were regular and animated. If a 
 
 critic
 
 29 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 critic without sensibility^, were to quarrel 
 with her fine black eyes, as being too 
 large^ it must be in the moment when a 
 sudden emotion of answer chanoed the 
 n'^tural position of her long eyelash. She 
 possessed a mind open to information, and 
 capable of any improvement. Her educa- 
 tion you will not doubt was suitable to her 
 age, her rank, and the large fortune to 
 which she was heir; and let me not sacrifice 
 gratitude to false modesty, by omitting to 
 declare that I was an equal sharer in all 
 those advantages. De Courville, my fatheic 
 used to say, " was his labour" — Julia and 
 myself '' his recreation." 
 
 Madame de V. could not be wholly 
 blind to the faults of her nephew; but she 
 thought him, next to her ow^n Julia, the 
 most charming creature in the universe. 
 His rattle indeed w^as infinitely agreeable ; 
 and the prompt sm.ile that always seemed 
 ready to divide his vermilion lips, and 
 shew a set of exquisitely white teeth, 
 forced affection where esteem might not 
 
 be
 
 VICISSITUDES. fl 
 
 be so alert. He was the Gani/mede of all 
 her circles ; and she contemplated with 
 pride and pleasure the future head of the 
 House of De Courville. 
 
 Every body has heard of the violent dis-' 
 position of the Duchess of Gramont. It 
 was in one of her fits of resentment for 
 having been forbidden the Court by the 
 favourite, whose place she wished to supply, 
 that she drove in great fury to the Hotel 
 de V. and alarmed the parents of Julia 
 with assurance that the King, or rather the 
 favourite, had already arranged a marriage 
 for the heiress of Madame de V., with an 
 obscure relation of the Due D'Aguillon, 
 w^hose name she was not at liberty to men- 
 tion. — '' The obloquy will be the King's/* 
 added she ; ^' the advantage the favourite's ; 
 but the misery and mortification all your's/* 
 The parents of Julia were horror-struck, 
 the more as each had formed their own 
 secret plan for the establishment of their 
 mutual darling. 
 
 The
 
 22 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 The Due de Verencourt^ matured into 
 perfection under the eye of his uncle and 
 guardian, was the son of his adoption. If 
 Madame de V. was the partial herald 
 of the beauty and graces of Charles de 
 Courville, he was no less the faithful 
 recorder of the virtue and goodness of 
 his beloved nephew, which were certain 
 pledges of happiness to the wife of his 
 choice. — '' Who/' said he, '' but Louis 
 de V. can deserve Julia ? — Who but Julia 
 can merit him ?" 
 
 Madame de V. on her part, had long 
 since settled the union with her nephew^ 
 of which she had made no secret to her 
 brother. The young men, principally 
 brought up in the same house, would have 
 been very likely to prefer equal attractions 
 elsewhere, had any such been to be found. 
 The French Noblesse begin very early to 
 distinguish beauty ; but as neither the 
 Duke nor the Marquis saw any thing com- 
 parable to Julia de V. they were rivals 
 
 for
 
 VICISSITUDES. 23 
 
 for all the little favours incident to their 
 youth and situation. 
 
 When Julia chose to speak of her lessons^ 
 it was to the Duke : it was of his com- 
 mendation she was proud, when she read 
 or wrote ; and she always submitted her 
 drawings to his corrections ; but for a 
 playfellow, a partner in the dance, or to 
 talk nonsense, she invariably chose De 
 Courville. 
 
 The domestic harmony of many families 
 would have been destroyed by such oppo- 
 site sentiments on a point so delicate as 
 the marriage of an onlv child, whom her 
 parents both idolized. Here it was far other- 
 wise ; either would ha\ e submitted their 
 wishes to the other ; but the tender con- 
 test ended in an agreement to acquaint 
 both the young men with what was in 
 agitation, and leave their daughter to 
 her own unbiassed choice. 
 
 The glow of transport, the downcast 
 tearful eye, the hesitating, half-smothered 
 accent, and trembling grasp^ as the Duke 
 
 bent
 
 24 Vicissitudes. 
 
 bent his knee, when he understood his 
 uncle's wish, spoke volumes of eloquence 
 to M. de v., who well knew the marks of 
 true affection ; and the Duke wgs no coun- 
 terfeit. 
 
 Young De Courville attended his father 
 to the boudoir of his aunt ; and on the 
 subject being opened, declared he loved 
 his cousin Julia almost better than any 
 thing in the world, because nobody was 
 so handsome and good-humoured. 
 
 Julia was then summoned to the pre- 
 sence of her parents, who mentioned the 
 hint received from the Duchess of Gra- 
 mont, to explain the absolute necessity 
 imposed by situation and circumstances, of 
 forestalling arrangements, to which honour 
 forbade them to accede. She was embraced 
 by them both, and tenderly questioned if 
 her heart felt a preference out of her own 
 family. 
 
 The ready and frank disavowal led to the 
 cousins; with the most affectionate earnest- 
 ness, she was then pressed to an election 
 5 of
 
 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 25 
 
 of him whom her heart preferred. That 
 election^ I well knew^ was already made ; but 
 it was not till she had been repeatedly and 
 tenderly urged by her parents, that kneeling 
 before them^ and covering her face with 
 Madame de V 's robe, she scarce whis- 
 pered '' My cousin Charles." 
 
 Monsieur de V. arose immediately 
 from his seat : it was with difficulty he 
 concealed his disappointment ; but he 
 blessed his daughter, and retired, leaving 
 his Lady mingling tears of joy with those 
 which secret love and modesty drew from 
 Julia. 
 
 The Duke left Paris the same day, for- 
 tunate in a governor and companion 
 worthy himself, the Abbe Riccoboni, an 
 ecclesiastic whose character his actions will 
 best develope. 
 
 The contract v*^as presented to the King, 
 and signed without any objection ; but the 
 favourite made herself amends by arranging 
 another match, equally disagreeable to 
 M. de Verencourt. 
 
 VOL. I. ' c The
 
 26 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 The King signified his pleasure that 
 the young Duke ,de V. should espouse 
 
 Mademoiselle de H , who, though of 
 
 the blood royal, condescended to support 
 her extravagance, by the addition to her 
 slender fortune of a pension from the King, 
 which the favourite had the credit of ob- 
 taining. 
 
 The early establishment of his son, the 
 great wealth he would possess by his 
 marriage, and the rank he would hold in 
 the world, added to the interest both him- 
 self and my father felt in the future happi- 
 ness of our lovely Julia, awakened the 
 J^Iarquis to serious reflection ; and he too 
 late discovered, that to merit the respect 
 of worthy men, and the esteem of valuable 
 women, poor Charles had not only much 
 to learn, but much, very much to unlearn. 
 After many consultations on the subject, 
 in which ine Marquis had the candour to 
 take great blame to himself, he resolved 
 to resign his station at Court, and, with 
 my father^ accompany his son on a foreign 
 
 tour.
 
 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 
 
 tonv, with a view to improve his head by 
 their joint attentions, and his heart by 
 their society ; and, above all, to discharge 
 the Abbe Roquelar. 
 
 Meanwhile the contracted pair were 
 every day together, and their attachment 
 appeared too sincere to be endangered by 
 the proposed separation, although Charles 
 was in ecstacies at the novelties in prepara- 
 tion for his departure, and eagerly anti- 
 cipated the amusement of travel, lament- 
 ing only the loss of his lively Abbe ; but 
 to me, and only me, Julia confessed that 
 she thought travelling a very unnecessary 
 finish to a gentlem.an's education. Perhaps 
 with respect to young De Courville vour 
 Ladyship may be of the same opinion ; 
 it was, at least, that of your affectionate 
 friend, 
 
 H. St. Herman. 
 
 IC 2 PACKET
 
 28 VICISSITUDBB. 
 
 PACKET JI. 
 
 My Deah Lady N- 
 
 JL OWE you and my young friends an apo- 
 logy for the minuteness of my last packet; 
 but fond recollection will loiter^, in spite 
 of better judgement, on scenes of infantine 
 and dear delight. I shall need no such 
 apology at the conclusion of this. I bring 
 into your respected presence a woman full 
 of error and misfortune. I bespeak your 
 indulgence ; and since I cannot be an 
 example;, I entreat your daughters to con- 
 sidei me as a warning. 
 
 It
 
 VICISSITUDES. 29 
 
 It was at this period not the custom for 
 women of high rank to be seen often at 
 Courts except when the Dauphiness and 
 Princesses were in gala ; but on occasion 
 of the double nuptials of the two families 
 of De Verencourt and De Courville^ it was 
 etiquette, which Madame de V. would 
 not for the world oflend^ for all the parties 
 to be presented. 
 
 Such was the noble conduct of Ma- 
 dame de V. that I was not, even at 
 this time, sensible of my father's entire 
 dependance ; nor when my purse was 
 supplied, at stated periods, as matter of 
 right, did I suspect that I was the object of 
 her bounty ; but how often since have I 
 blessed the beneficent spirit which exacted 
 no submission, which veiled itself from 
 acknowledgments, which indulged me like a 
 child, and which gave me equal consequence 
 with her own daughter. 
 
 With reflections like these crowdino- on 
 
 my mind, I am sure my young friends 
 
 will forgive my not amusing them with a 
 
 c 3 description
 
 30 VICTSSITUDES. 
 
 description of our Court dresses. All th« 
 collateral branches of both families were 
 present^ vieing with each other in splen- 
 dour ; but a disappointment happened 
 from a sudden indisposition of the Duke 
 de v., whose presentation was on that 
 account deferred. 
 
 Julia, a radiant meteor, just shewn, to 
 be withdrawn, needed not the profusion 
 of ornaments with which her beauty was 
 adorned. She looked and moved an angel ; 
 the innate grace of modesty, free from the 
 plebeian error of bashfulness, was seen in 
 every movement; every eye followed, 
 every tongue admired her. Nor was young 
 De Courville without his share of universal 
 approbation. 
 
 My dress and ornaments left nothing for 
 vanity to sigh for, had not Julia been my 
 whole concern ; but it was hei' beauty that 
 crimsoned mt/ cheek; her triumph that 
 eJated, and her happiness that interested 
 me. The Court was extremely crowded, 
 and the heat excessive. The Dauphiness 
 
 was
 
 VICISSITUDES. 31 
 
 was already withdrawn; the Princesses were 
 following ; and Madame de V.^ who was 
 
 led by the Prince De C , gave us to 
 
 understand she too was going. The whole 
 scene was new to me. There was a great 
 press round us^ to see the contracted pair. 
 I was divided from my friends^ and in- 
 voUmtarily withdrew my hand from General 
 de Courvillcj who was my escort^ and with 
 difficulty got back behind the crowd, glad 
 to take breath, till I saw that I was literally 
 alone. 
 
 I looked round in the utmost embarrass- 
 ment. The galleries were ahnost empty. 
 \ly confusion increased every moment. 
 A group of men stood at a small distance, 
 who, I could not but perceive, were ob- 
 serving me ; and I was near fainting. 
 
 One of those men, a very handsome 
 elegant oflicer of the Guardedu Corps, soon 
 after approached. He addressed me in 
 English, spoke of my friends as if he had 
 been of their intimate acquaintance, and 
 c 4r begged
 
 3^ ViCISSITtJDES. 
 
 begged to have the honour of protecting 
 me to them. 
 
 I made some incoherent answer in the 
 same language^, and suffered him to lead 
 me towards the grand staircase^ w^here we 
 met M. de Verencourt^ and my escort^ 
 the Genera], making their hasty way 
 through a crowed of ladies. Too late I 
 recollected that the anger in M. de 
 Verencourt's countenance, and the con- 
 tempt in that of the General, which I 
 attributed to displeasure at my thoughtless 
 conduct, were wholly directed to the 
 stranger, who bowed w^ith all imaginable 
 ease to my friends ; and on my motioning 
 to withdraw my hand, said something in 
 English, of the blessing chance had thrown 
 in his way, and retaining it as long as he 
 could, the crowd again intervened ; and as 
 I could see my friends, and perceive they 
 
 saw me, I— Let me at once confess my 
 
 folly — my fate was at that hour decided 
 
 I listened with pleasure to sentiments of 
 
 admiration.
 
 VICISSITUDES. 35 
 
 admiration^ the first ever addressed to 
 me : and my weak^ unsuspecting heart no 
 doubt spoke from my eyes a language 
 he too well understood. When we reached 
 the carriage — 
 
 '' Now at leasts Sir/' said M. de Veren- 
 court^ taking my hand with the same angry 
 countenance. 
 
 The stranger bowed low to me^ and 
 passed M. de Verencourt with a polite 
 bend^ which was returned so haughtily, 
 that^ for the first time in m.y life, I thought 
 him unbecomingly proud. Madame de 
 V/s alarm, subsided the moment I ap- 
 peared. She laughed heartily at my con- 
 fusion, which, however, proceeded from 
 a source she could not suspect. 
 
 M. de Verencourt did not unbend his 
 brow; but as he fatally preserved a pro- 
 found silence, I still thought he was angry 
 with me, more especially when every lady 
 who visited us, declared that the situation in 
 which I had contrived to place myself, v/as 
 c 5 ^ the
 
 34 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 the most awkward and petrifying that had 
 ever happened. 
 
 The following Sunday was fixed upon 
 for the presentation of the Duke de Veren- 
 court and his bride. Every preparation was 
 made for the second eclat of Julia^ and of 
 course myself But beautiful dresses no 
 longer occupied me ; my waking dreams 
 were all devoted to the handsoinc stranger^ 
 whoj I doubted not^ I should again sec ; 
 and it was with no small mortification as 
 w^ell as surprise, I understood that M. de 
 Verencourt requested we might not appear 
 ^t Court that day. 
 
 A tear glistened on M. de V/s eye^ 
 when he told Madame de V. that, as the 
 Duke had really felt himself too ill dis- 
 posed to witness the presentation of Julia, 
 so he would be more affected at meeting 
 her at his own, than was consistent with the 
 respect due to his young bride. This v^ould 
 have been a severe disappointment to me, 
 had not St. Herman, to my equal surprise 
 
 and
 
 VICISSITUDES. 35 
 
 and pleasure, been announced during their 
 absence at Court. 
 
 The. two hours he agreeably entertained 
 both Julia and myself, passed without our 
 reflecting that, as he had not been in- 
 troduced to Madame de V., his visit 
 to us was without precedent : and when 
 he made his conge, notwithstanding 
 the impression which his fine figure and 
 elegant conversation left in his favour, 
 this could not fail to occur. Conscious 
 of an indecorum of which wx were a little 
 ashamed, we agreed not to mention him till 
 we should see him in Madame de V.'s 
 circle. This, however, did not happen; for 
 though he frequently repeated his visits, 
 they were so vrell-timed, that, without the 
 appeararice of design, he was always an- 
 nounced when only Julia and myself were 
 at home. 
 
 Once admiUed by the Swiss, and in- 
 troduced, either by her laquais or mine, to 
 the small saloon where we usually received 
 cur viiiitors, the beino; denied would have 
 c. G been
 
 36 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 been awkward; and indeed, as Julia was 
 now very generally engaged, the rapture 
 he affected, and which I really felt, recon- 
 ciled me to an indecorum so productive of 
 false happiness. 
 
 My heart, which, in the noble family 
 who adopted me, had been used only to 
 the ma?dms of truth, and the language of 
 sincerity, could ill resist the artful and 
 delicate flattery with which St. Herman 
 besieaed it. He g^ave me charms of which 
 my unconscious mirror had never informed 
 me ; appeared to exist on my looks when 
 present ; and, having prevailed on me to 
 answer one of his billets, found it so con- 
 soling in absence, that I could not refuse 
 so small an indulgence to a lover so pas- 
 sionate, so constant, and so disinterested. 
 
 The De Courvilles and my father were 
 on the point of departing. Ah ! had St. 
 Herman but hinted his plan before ! But 
 Lam now at that period of m.y unfortunate 
 story, when, engrossed by my own feel- 
 ings, I see my friends are only generally 
 4 mentioned.
 
 VICISSITUDES. 37 
 
 mentioned. The tears I then shed, are still 
 to be traced on my journal. 
 
 Balls and suppers were given by the 
 numerous branches of the familv. De 
 Courville was the constant attendant of his 
 lovely cousin^ who, in the midst of festive 
 enjovments, could not conceal the pangs 
 she felt as the separation approached. 
 
 At \\\^ Hotel de Courville I again met 
 St. Herman, where he was received by the 
 Marquis with politeness. The Marquis 
 seemed to be on terms of familiar con- 
 fidence with him ; and he was included in 
 the invitations of many of their friends^ 
 though Monsieur de V., in my pre- 
 sence, forbade his admittance at our hotel. 
 How have I lam.ented that his motives were 
 left to conjecture ; and how natural was it 
 for a creature so young and inexperienced, 
 to impute a conduct for she which he could 
 neither account nor approve, to caprice. 
 Every meeting elsewhere became doubly 
 interesting, from the very circumstance that 
 seemed calculated to end our acquaintance 
 
 at
 
 38 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 at home. Alas ! one giddy deviation from 
 propriety is ever the sure forerunner of 
 many. 
 
 The parting of Julia from her lover was 
 all tender regret on her side — all respect- 
 ful and fond attention on his. Madame de 
 Verencourt, who postponed an indispensa- 
 ble mark of respect to the young Duchess 
 de v., till her brother and his son left Paris, 
 set off with Monsieur V. to Languedoc, 
 and in the meantime placed Julia and my- 
 self in the Convent, where she had herself 
 been a boarder, without any restrictions. 
 
 Here I daily saw my lover at the grate. 
 He professed the most honourable inten- 
 tions; and so vaunted hisfortune and connec- 
 tions, as left no reason to doubt the approba- 
 tion of my friends, and my dear Julia, who, 
 herself occupied in all the fervid romance 
 of a first passion, was delighted to exchange 
 rhapsodies with a friend she so entirely^ 
 loved; and thus by the time Madame 
 de V. returned from her visit to the 
 Duchess, St. Herman was completely master 
 
 of
 
 VICISSITUDES. 30 
 
 of my heart. My simplicity^ Lady N 
 
 was greats but my misfortunes greater. I 
 beseech your pity. 
 
 Immediately on Madame do V.'s 
 arrival at Paris, every thing was adjusted 
 for our retirement to Lorraine; but, con- 
 trary to my expectations, I heard nothing 
 of my lover's application to Monsieur 
 de V. Four days, an age in the simple 
 calander of a love-sick girl, elapsed — he 
 did not appear, and he had not written. 
 
 Alarmed for his safetv, trembling for his 
 constancv, and shocked at the restless 
 anguish that proved my peace depended 
 on him, I was too much indisposed to 
 accompany my friends in their conge visits; 
 and one day only now remained of the 
 period fixed for leaving Paris, when my 
 laquais presented a billet from the object 
 of all my thoughts, which I tried in vain to 
 understand. 
 
 He dared not come to our hotel— be- 
 sought me, if I valued his life, instantly 
 to meet him for one moment in the garden 
 3 oS'
 
 40 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 of the Thiiilleries^ attended only by my 
 faithful laquais. 
 
 It is impossible to describe the various 
 emotions with which this billet filled me; 
 but they all ended as you will expect — I 
 acceded to his request. 
 
 Hurried, incoherent, and improbable 
 were his explanations. Monsieur de Veren- 
 court had repelled his advances v;ith a 
 severity for which he could not account. 
 Returning, distracted and irritable, from 
 the unsuccessful interview, the hope of his 
 life hanging on the uncertainty of my deter- 
 mination, he met an officer of rank, with 
 whom he vvas not on good tenns. A quarrel 
 ensued, which terminated in a duel ; and 
 though the wounds of his antagonist were 
 not pronounced mortal, he dreaded an 
 arrest at the moment when I was about to 
 be torn from him for ever; and, with every 
 appearance of desperation, he swore in that 
 case to fall by his own hand. 
 
 ' Of what immediately followed, I had, at 
 the time, but a confused idea. His apparent 
 
 grief.
 
 VICISSITUDES. '41 
 
 grief, tears, entreaties, vows of everlasting 
 love, and oaths that my will should on all 
 occasions be his second law, prevailed. 
 The well-instructed laquais waited with a 
 Jiacre. I was carried to the Church of St. 
 Sulpice. 
 
 Not a moment was left for reflection. 
 The man's rapturous gratitude was almost 
 frenzy : he lifted me into a travelling 
 chaise, which awaited at another entrance 
 of the Church ; nor till we had passed the 
 barrier, had I breath to ask where we were 
 going,. nor words to express my consterna- 
 tion when he replied '' to England/' 
 
 It seemed as if an unseen blow had be- 
 numbed my senses. Had I left, perhaps for 
 ever, the companion, the friend who, a few 
 short hours since, was dearer to me than the 
 whole world ? Had I outraged the authority 
 of the parent, and violated every duty of 
 gratitude, to become a wanderer with a 
 man to whose connection, fortune, and 
 character I was literally a stranger ? Tears^ 
 which he w^ell knew how to assuage, 
 
 reproaches
 
 is VICISSITUDES, 
 
 reproaches he was prepared to answer^ and 
 indignation, opposed by humility, followed 
 those killing reflections. 
 
 I have no memorandums till we alighted 
 at lodgings prepared for us in Pall-Mall^ 
 London. We were the next day con- 
 veyed to a Church in an hired coach, and 
 married in the form of the Church of Eng- 
 land ; but though nothing that the most 
 fond and tender husband could do to re- 
 concile me to my fate was omitted, busi- 
 ness, and that, as it seemed, of much im- 
 portance, carried Mr. St. Herman from me 
 so often, as left me leisure to retrace a 
 regular system in all his proceedings. Not 
 only the laquais, but my woman must 
 have been in his interest. A packet of wear- 
 ables, with a new travelling dress, prepared 
 for our journey to Lorraine, was in the 
 carriage ; and as nothing could have se- 
 cured the success of his plan, but confidence 
 in his own strength and my weakness, there 
 were moments when pride and resentment 
 were roused — when^ haunted by remorse for 
 
 violated
 
 VlClSSlTtJDES. 43 
 
 violated duty to my father, and regret for 
 my friends, I gave myself up to grief. 
 
 St. Herman's behaviour, however, in- 
 creased his interest in my heart ; and the 
 summer advancing, when he informed me 
 the proceedings in his business must be 
 delayed, and proposed making some excur- 
 sions in a country, to which he was as great 
 a stranger as myself. 
 
 On our return after three months' ab- 
 sence, he found at our lodgings fresh 
 credentials to the French Ambassador, in 
 consequence of which, as I supposed, he 
 constantly attended one or other of the 
 English Ministers, to whom he was officially 
 introduced; and as I was now for the first 
 time informed he was related to Madame 
 J3u Barry, I concluded he was executing 
 commissions from her. 
 
 I was now in a situation when every 
 female who has a heart, must remember the 
 author of her being. It was five months 
 since I left Paris. I was not, indeed, in- 
 terdicted from writing to my father or my 
 
 friends
 
 44 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 friends there ; biit^ what was full as pro^ 
 hibitory, it was my husband's request ; and 
 while I was moving from one new spectacle 
 to another^ like all suspended duties^ it 
 ceased to be remembered. But now my 
 health becoming delicate^ my spirits low, 
 wretched^ alone, and unable to go abroad, 
 Al. St. Herman more and more engaged, 
 and when at home, not enough interested 
 about my situation, to satisfy the sensibility 
 of my feelings — no friend of my own sex 
 to sooth, advise, or encourage me — then it 
 was that my eyes, were continually swollen 
 with weeping, and my heart would have 
 broken, had I not been allowed to implore 
 my father's blessing, and to solicit Julia's 
 interest with Madame de V., to forgive her 
 adopted child. 
 
 I can with difficulty respire when I read 
 the memorandums of that fatal day, when 
 an answer arrived with my father's super- 
 scription. 
 
 '' Why does the fool hesitate and trem- 
 ble !" cried St. Herman, in a voice so 
 
 perfectly
 
 VICISSITUDES. 45 
 
 perfectly new, it increased my perturbationi 
 " Have I leave ?'' said he, touching the 
 seal. 
 
 I put my hands before my eyes, but 
 
 could not answer. Ah, Lady N ! the 
 
 pen drops from my hand ! — It contained 
 the malediction of my dear, beloved, and 
 honoured parent on me, on St. Herman, 
 on the child of which I had informed him 
 I was pregnant ! 
 
 St. Herman threw down the letter, — 
 " An old fool !" said he; '' would that all 
 his letters were equally laconic !" 
 
 I can give no account of myself after 
 this. I heard what my husband said cer- 
 tainly ; but he no longer occupied me. I 
 fell into strong convulsions; and, with the 
 weight of a father's malediction on my 
 soul, became a mother. 
 
 New feelings and new cares now filled my 
 sad heart ; and while too weak to hold the 
 dear babe, whom a sense of guilt had pre- 
 maturely brought into the world, all my 
 solicitude was for its preservation 
 
 A humane
 
 46 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 A humane doctor who attended me, and, 
 though ignorant of the cause, saw my 
 desease was mental, undertook to procure 
 a nurse for my poor weakly son. But my 
 return to convalescence was retarded by a 
 decided alteration in St. Herman. His 
 engagements were no longer confined to 
 the proper hours for business ; and the sun 
 often rose before he reached his home. To 
 me he was, and was not the same. My 
 heart trembled at the idea of losing his 
 affection ; but why I foreboded a calamity 
 of such magnitude, I knew not. He was 
 particularly attentive to the restoration of 
 my health ; but the object of most interest 
 to me, was one of indifference to him. 
 Our son soon outgrew the consequent 
 weakness of his premature birth, and I 
 noted his first smile as the herald of hitherto 
 unconceived happiness; while his father, 
 with a face half turned away, and eyes half 
 closed, affected to be amused at the fond 
 mother's folly. 
 
 St
 
 VICISSITUDES. 47 
 
 St. Herman's constitutional gaiety was 
 also now reduced to fits and starts. He had 
 much increased his acquaintance during my 
 confinement ; but I regretted not the nur 
 merous male visitors who filled our apart- 
 ments, as they left me to the dear delight 
 of watching the improving beauties of my 
 lovely infant. 
 
 One morning the servant announced a 
 visitor to me. I thought he had mistaken. 
 No, the gentleman could not want his 
 master ; for he was a grave, respectable 
 looking person. My health and spirits 
 were still delicate. My observations on St. 
 Herman were becoming more painful ; but 
 nothing aflected me like the malediction of 
 my father — it never was a moment from 
 my thoughts. I trembled. '' Grave, respect- 
 able " Alas ! such was my dear father. 
 
 I recollected no person of that description 
 but himself. I could not go to this in- 
 teresting visitor ; he must come to me. 
 
 The first glance proved my causeless 
 alarm. Faint and disappointed, I could 
 
 not
 
 48 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 not speak. I saw he was also affected. He 
 was himself some time silent ; but after a 
 few moments, he presented a packet. I 
 shrieked in a transport of joy — it was 
 addressed to me ! The writing was Julia's. 
 I motioned to break the seal ; he prevented 
 me. 
 
 " If," said he, '' I could flatter you with 
 the hope of pleasure from that letter, I 
 would not interrupt it ; but I have business 
 I wish to transact vsitli tjou alone, and 
 have waited an opportunity too long, to 
 let It now escape me."' 
 
 Siienr, dismayed^ and astonished;, J 
 attended. 
 
 He proceeded to say, that he had re- 
 ceived seme packages from a correspondent 
 at Paii«, addressed to me, vdiich he was 
 instructed to demand my own personal 
 unbiassed directions about ; that, although 
 the noble family w^ho commissioned his 
 correspondent, had not condescended to 
 enter into any further explanations with 
 him^ yet he was indirectly authorised to say 
 
 they
 
 VICISSITUDES. 40 
 
 they doubted the honour and principle of 
 my husband so much 
 
 I started^ and if my looks expressed my 
 feelings^ they were indignant. 
 
 The gentleman^ after reminding me he 
 was only an agents went on to say his 
 commission was to deliver or retain the 
 whole, or any of what these packages con- 
 tained, agreeable to my present or future 
 commands. 
 
 As my confidence in St. Herman v/asnot 
 yet broken, the suspicion implied in the 
 address of this respectable man, was de- 
 o-radino; to mv husband and mvself : — I burst 
 into tears. 
 
 '' I wait your order. Madam,'' he con- 
 tinued. '* The packages are at my house." 
 
 '' If they are addressed to me. Sir — if 
 they are mine, this is my home, these my 
 husband's apartments, and the proper re- 
 pository for his property and mine.'' 
 
 " Ah, Madam, reilect ; would you leave 
 yourself without any resource, if your 
 hu>:band ^" 
 
 VOL, I. D '' Mr
 
 50 TiCISSITUDESr 
 
 '' If," I interrupted with vehemence, 
 ^^ my husband should be unfortunate^, my 
 resources are his." 
 
 He left me^ overwhelmed with feelings,, 
 I could not explain to myself. Julia's 
 letter^ however, could not be forg^otten ; 
 and here follows a translated copy. 
 
 '■^ After having been solemnly 
 interdicted from writing to you, my mother, 
 in compassion to my despair, rescinds from 
 the severity of her command ; once, only 
 once, she permits me to disobey my father. 
 Ah ! is it poiisible any circumstance can 
 ever happen, that would induce me to dis- 
 obey a parent vriGve than once .^ — Surely no. 
 ""^ Henrietta ! dear ruined Henrietta ! it 
 is too late to ask what was your infatuation, 
 what indeed the infatuation of your hus- 
 band ! — Who, that knew the family of De 
 Verencourt, could a moment doubt that 
 the fortunes of a man to whom the fate of 
 
 their
 
 ViClSSlTtJDES. Si 
 
 their adopted daughter ^vas united, could 
 fail to be their peculiar care ? Eut, Hen- 
 rietta, he knew himself, and dared not 
 trust us. Mamma directs me to say, that 
 had she not been so perfectly acquainted 
 with the character of St. Herman, the 
 fortune always designed for you, would 
 have accompanied your wardrobe, which 
 our banker answers shall be delivered to 
 yourself. 
 
 '' If you know your real situation, I 
 may pity ; but if you do not, I shall love 
 as well as, pity. But I have promised my 
 dear mamma to say, adieu for ever — dear 
 Henrietta for ever ! 
 
 (C 
 
 J. do V.^' 
 
 I have not. Lady N , dwelt on the 
 
 love which subsisted between my Julia and 
 her Henrietta, because you v^^ill find it 
 pourtrayed through every change of our 
 eventful lives; but figure to yourself my 
 D 2 then 
 
 ^mERSlTY OF 
 "^'fi'O^S UB.7ARY
 
 52 .VICISSITUDES, 
 
 then situation — cursed by my father^ ab- 
 jured by my friends^ condemned by my 
 own conscience, and added to those heart- 
 rending reflections^ here was an awful and 
 final parting from the friend of my youth, 
 the sweet companion of all the peaceful 
 and happy recollections of infancy. I 
 thought the whole force of every evil 
 combined to overwhelm me ! My heart 
 was bursting ; no tear relieved the full and 
 aching sensation with which I was oppressed. 
 The letter dropped from my nerveless fin- 
 gers, and I sat down the image of despair. 
 
 From this torpor I was roused by St. 
 Herman. He announced the arrival of the 
 trunks, and wished me to see them opened. 
 
 The sight of the clotlies, of my jewels, 
 of a little purse, in which the surplus of 
 my expenditures had accumulated, pro- 
 duced the welcome relief of tears. 
 
 St. Herman eagerly co!3nted the Louis 
 d'ors, and attentively examined the jewels; 
 while my maid was in transports at sight 
 of the laces and rich wearables. 
 
 I ordered
 
 VICISSITUDES. 391 
 
 1 ordered the trunks to be rccloscd, and 
 was turning awav, ^^hcn St. Herman ha\ ini^ 
 put the little purse into his pockety said, 
 as it would be dangerous- to keej) the jeucls 
 in a lodging, he would, with my leave, 
 deposit them in a place of safety, and im- 
 mediately went out. 
 
 I returned to my chamber, to bathe with 
 tears of anguish every line of Julia's letter. 
 Yes, yes, too well did I know the De 
 Verencourts, to doubt their warm hearts ; 
 lie hiew himself, and therefore feared to 
 trw:t them. — '' Jf I kne-jc mij real situation!" 
 What could these cruel words imply? Yet' 
 what misfortune had I to fear, beyond that 
 I nov/ suffered ? It was true, my husband's 
 reserve, in respect to his fortune and con- 
 nections since our marriage, and finding 
 his remittances came from France, when it 
 was more natural to expect them in this 
 country, seemed odd. But these observa- 
 tions were forgotten as soon as made ; and 
 be Julia's meaning what it would, my fate 
 was bound to St. Herman : he was my 
 D 3 husband.
 
 ♦4 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 Iiiisband^ the father of a son in wboiii my 
 life was wrapped; and I was again in a 
 way to increase those ties that bound me 
 to his fortunes^ however desperate they 
 might be. It was therefore not apprehen- 
 sions of pecuniary distress, nor regret at 
 the withheld fortune that overwhelmed 
 me^ that almost shook my reason — ah, no ! 
 I had always possessed such an uncommon 
 strength of mind, the defection from my 
 duty must have appeared to my father and 
 friends as a cold, premeditated predilection 
 to evil. But have you not observed. Lady 
 
 N , that it is in the strongest minds 
 
 passion takes the deepest root } Alas ! they 
 remembered not how impossible it was for 
 a young creature, whatever native fortitude 
 she possessed, who had lived in the example 
 and practice of honour and sincerity, to 
 penetrate artifice, or suspect deceit, till it 
 reached the heart. 
 
 I reflected, too, that it could not be fof 
 any mercenary or sinister motives, St. 
 Herman had taken such pains to seduce me 
 
 from
 
 VICISSITUDES. 53 
 
 from my duty. If he had deceived me in 
 respect to his fortune, I knew, I thought 
 I kneWj he could have no expectations 
 from mine. 
 
 But I did not long continue in false 
 security. The business that engrossed St. 
 Herman, did not keep pace with his ex- 
 pectations : he complained of the trouble 
 and expence which so often ruffled his 
 temper, that I became anxious to share his 
 uneasiness ; but can I forget the expression 
 of his countenance, as, rising to leave me, 
 he bade me '' beware of changing happt/for 
 wise." 
 
 I was thunderstruck : there really was 
 then that to know that would make me 
 unhappy. Of what nature I , could not 
 guess ; but I became from this period a 
 more close observer of his motions. 
 
 It is an ungrateful task to follow lad 
 hearts through all their crooked ways. 
 
 I discovered with horror that I was the 
 
 wile of a professed gamester; and from the 
 
 uioment he knew I had made that discoverv, 
 
 D 4 exposed
 
 56 ricissiTUDES. 
 
 exposed to all the vicissitudes of circum- 
 stance and temper inseparable from so 
 detestable a vice : and, v/hat perhaps is a 
 paradox^ while I trembled to think my 
 cherub boy, now strong, lively, and, for 
 his age, a little wonder, should owe his 
 being, and depend for subsistence on a 
 father, who, to be a gamester, must have 
 sacrificed his honour, the desperation of 
 mv fate was a stimulus to health of body, 
 and activitv of mind ; but if ever I felt one 
 idea of self-vindication, it was when I re- 
 collected the severity of M. de Verencourt's 
 look, which, if given to words after my 
 first interview with St. Herman, would have 
 saved me. 
 
 My father's malediction, indeed, made me 
 shudder whenever, in spite of all my efforts, 
 it would recur ; which never failed to be 
 the case as often as any fresh instance of 
 depravity in my husband obtruded on my 
 observation, 
 
 One morning, after a week's absence, 
 when I was preparing for my confinement, 
 
 St.
 
 VICISSITUDES. 5T 
 
 St. Herman entered iny apartment in the 
 utmost disorder, and insisted on my 
 writing to my friends at Paris^, to solicit 
 a remittance. 
 
 This was a m.easiire I declared the deepest 
 misfortune should not force me to adopt. 
 
 He persisted to urrj^e, declaring without 
 this resource^ he was undone. 
 
 I doubted not his embarrassments — they 
 were concommitant to his avocations; but 
 sparinsT reproaches^ which I had reasons 
 enouirh to know would irritate without 
 reforming, I merely hinted at the senti- 
 ments of the family. 
 
 How was I acquainted with them ? Had 
 I dared to correspond with them clandes- 
 tinely^ as I had with him ? 
 
 So cruel a reproach dispensed with all 
 delicacy : I mentioned Julia o letter. 
 
 He insisted on seeing d. I repented 
 going so far, and wished to avoid further 
 vexing an angry spirit ; but in vain— he 
 would read the letter himself. 
 
 D 5 W len
 
 5S - VICISSITUDES. 
 
 When finished^ he laid it down before 
 me. He saw nothing to prevent my asking 
 assistance for myself. 
 
 I firmly refused ; but if indeed his affairs 
 were so very desperate, the jewels 
 
 '^ It is in vain to deceive you^ Henrietta/' 
 &aid he^ '^ they are irretrievably gone ; and 
 unless I can raise a sum of money within 
 this month;, I must not appear but w^here 
 only I shall meet better fortune. You may 
 have a return before that period ; there- 
 fore/' putting the inkstand before me^ 
 *' write 1'' 
 
 The scene that ensued, beggars descrip- 
 tion. As I was not to be moved, my 
 remonstrances provoked invectives; the 
 mask dropped ; it v/as not the anger and 
 disappointment of a gentleman — it was the 
 horrid expletives of a ruffian that assailed 
 me. But that spirit which might have been 
 subdued by tenderness, rose superior to 
 brutality. He swore to leave me and my 
 brat to starve, and flung out with this 
 menace. 
 
 .3 The
 
 VICISSITUDES. 59 
 
 The tears of mv son's nurse whom I had 
 retained after he was weaned^ dropped on 
 his face ; while my eyes^ though scorched 
 with anguish^ were dry. 
 
 Necessaries were w^anting in my little 
 family. With visible reluctance^ she asked 
 me for money. My purse wati empty. 
 
 vVhen my husband's absence had con- 
 tinued several days^ the good creature, 
 having expended all her own little stock, 
 asked what was to be done. 
 
 I had pondered over misery in almost 
 all shapes ; but actual poverty was so new, 
 so unexpected an evil, that it not only left 
 my mind vvithout resource, but covered me 
 with confusion. I clasped my boy in my 
 arms. — '' Oh my father !" I cried, '' Is the 
 malediction already falling on the head of 
 this innocent V 
 
 St. Herman at that moment entered.. His 
 salutation was polite, but cold. He ex- 
 pressed some concern at my altered locks ; 
 and taking hi^ son in his arms, almost 
 D 6 smothered
 
 60 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 smothered him ^vith kisses. A mother only 
 can conceive what I felt. We neither of 
 us spoke. 
 
 He sent for our landlord, and in the 
 insinuating v\:y he well could assume, paid 
 all arrears, with an apology for not doing 
 it sooner ; then, laving a pocket-book on 
 the table before me, said it contained 
 sufficient for every thing I could at present 
 want. 
 
 He had still ihe child in his amis. The 
 nurse waited with her eves fixed on him^ 
 fearing, as she afterwards said, all this was 
 a prelude to something very bad. 
 
 He soon after gave the child to her, and 
 saving he would request some serious con- 
 versation with me after dinner, walked 
 out. 
 
 I thought I perceived a smothered sigh ; 
 and, affected by his caresses of our child, I 
 endeavoured to be collected against the 
 serious conversation I was bid to expect. 
 
 After fortifying himself with more wine 
 than he was in the habit of drinking at 
 
 home^
 
 VICISSITUDES. GI 
 
 home, he asked if I were desirous of know- 
 ing his real history^ aiKl without waiting a 
 reply, began. 
 
 '' I am an Irishman bv birth. My father 
 is a man of some rank and fortune, to which 
 I should have been heir ; but he has dis- 
 inherited nie, and perhaps he did right." 
 
 I gasped for breath. He proceeded. 
 
 *' I found it necessary to leave my 
 country, and change my family name.'* 
 
 " Gracious God ! St. Herman then " 
 
 " Is not my real name.'"' 
 
 My soul was in tumults. — '' Monster !" 
 I cried in a voice half choked with 
 astonishment and indignation, '' then I am 
 not a wife, and my child is " 
 
 " As you please yourself to consider it," 
 he answered with a still unmoved coun- 
 tenance. " You remember we w^ei e twice 
 married. You are so much a child of nature 
 yourself, that it would not be easy to make 
 you comprehend how it could be managed 
 without your participation ; but this, note 
 down for i/our oun and your son's sake; 
 
 there
 
 6f VICISSITUDES. 
 
 there are a register and eertijicale, that, when 
 necessary, will 'prove our marriage in my 
 legal naine." 
 
 Never was astonishment equal ta mine; 
 well might he triumph over my childish 
 inexperience. I knew not so much as the 
 Church where the ceremony was performed, 
 I now recollected he had on some pretence, 
 kept the blinds of the carriage drawn up^ 
 and that we rode a long way ; but it was 
 in vain that I implored and adjured him io 
 put it in my own immediate pov/er to 
 prove the legitimacy of his son. He sternl}^ 
 bade me not interrupt him ; and while I sat 
 drowned in tears, and suffocated with resent- 
 ment, proceeded — 
 
 '' I repaired to Paris. There are two ways 
 before every man who enters life — per- 
 severance in what they call virtue, which is 
 troublesome — and plunging into pleasure, 
 which is agreeable. I chose the latter.'' 
 
 '' Ah, my poor husband ! " I exclaimed. 
 He regarded me not. 
 
 '^ The
 
 VICISSITUDE*. 63 
 
 '' The women spoiled me ; and I was for- 
 tunate at the gaming-table. That scoundrel 
 Du B. drained his sister-in-law for the benefit 
 of a set of us, among whom, in spite of ill- 
 fortune, he would assort. My plan was a 
 deeper one than simply to win his money. 
 I challenged a fellow who affronted him, 
 and w^ho I knew w^ould not fight^ and he in- 
 troduced me to the favourite as his rela- 
 tion. I happened to possess agrcmens 
 rather more creditable than the Countess 
 had usually found in her husband's family. 
 
 "^ She patronised and procured me a 
 commission in the Guarcle du Corps ; but I 
 had enemies, whose impertinent whispers 
 threatened to make certain discoveries. I 
 was besides deeply in debt. My good for- 
 tune at the gaming-table forsook me ; and 
 I was on the point of man-ying old Madame 
 Burzet, and her half a million, when I was 
 struck with the project of returning to my 
 own country, in possession of the large 
 fortune there was little doubt of your in- 
 heriting on a petition to the English 
 
 Government,
 
 6i ViCISSlTirDES. 
 
 Government, backed by the interest of my 
 quondam cousin ; and this I learned from 
 two Scotch Noblemen, one of whom seemed 
 struck too, wiio said there was not a doubt 
 but, though your father could not prevail 
 for himself, if his heiress had interest, the 
 estates would be restored to her. My 
 cousin, who I am afraid grew a little tired 
 of her relation, preferred this project to 
 that of old Burzet. She furnished the 
 needful, and here we are." 
 
 Every sentiment of tenderness and esteem 
 thus outraged, you will not wonde^- that I 
 sat petrified. He drank a tumbler of wine., 
 and w^ent on. 
 
 '' I brought credentials that v/ould have 
 given me, with such claims, any other 
 forfeited estate in the kingdon ; but 
 although it would have been a foolish 
 business to object asking for what yoiH* 
 father was refused for himself, and would 
 not resign to me, I suspected you would 
 be that fool ; it was therefore w^ise to pre- 
 vent your exposing youi'^iclf. There is a 
 
 stubborn^
 
 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 65 
 
 stubborn, selfish fellow, your father's bro- 
 ther, whom the English Ministers like ; but 
 my cousin dare not give me up — so the 
 estate will be mine, or rather perhaps 
 your's/' 
 
 '^ Ah mv dear father !" I exclaimed. 
 
 '^ He deserves nothing from me," said 
 he with a provoking nonclialance. 
 
 '' From thee !" cried I with agony. 
 
 '' Don't be in heroics, child," he con- 
 tinued. '' I have very little more to say ; 
 I have given you the worst of myself, to 
 save your friends a great deal of trouble. 
 You are a good sort of quiet little body, 
 too good for me ; and there may be those 
 who think me, a fine handsome fellow, too 
 good for you. I shall take all the care of 
 you I can, till you have your estate, when, 
 as is but right, I shall take care of myself. 
 It has been a cursed long while about; but 
 my agent is now so sure of success, that 
 instead of asking for money as usual from 
 me, he is anxious to be my banker; and as 
 this/' laying his hand on the pockei-book.
 
 66 ^ VICISSITUDES. 
 
 '' is partly your own^ I heartily v^ish yoil 
 joy." 
 
 It would be in vain^ were I to attempt an 
 exact description of St. Herman's manner 
 through the whole of this long torture of 
 my feelings and patience. He proposed 
 remaining with me ; but as I peremptorily 
 declined occupying the same apartment, 
 he sent for a coach and again departed. 
 
 The moment he was gone^ my high spirit 
 evaporated. I was seized with successive 
 faintings^ and continued several days in the 
 most dangerous state of nervous debility ; 
 nor can I to this moment account for that 
 renovated strength that at last restored me 
 to a comparative degree of health. 
 
 St. Herman's interest in my heart cer- 
 tainly decreased with my respect for his 
 character. There was no softening his 
 horrid history, even though^ as he said, it 
 might be ^' the worst of him." To me he 
 had been an entire falsehood, one deception 
 following another, for purposes that all his 
 barbarous story could not develope. What 
 
 could
 
 VICISSITUDES. 67 
 
 could he mean by an estate to become 
 mine, in opposition to my father and my 
 uncle ? Ah, my God ! had then my re- 
 bellious name been opposed to the will of 
 my respectable parent ? — Had I asked for 
 that which he would not resign ? — Was it 
 me who was brought forward among agents 
 before the Ministry, to claim a parent's 
 i^eritage? — and had I dared to insult my 
 lather, by asking his blessing, by announcing 
 the perpetuation of my crime in the off- 
 spring of St. Herman ? Oh ! and was this 
 i\\e cause of the malediction I had so long 
 deplored ? — My brain was on fire ; fits of 
 anguish, and those, succeeded by torpid 
 melancholy, filled up the dreadful space of 
 time, till again I was in arrears to my land- 
 lord and servants. But the nurse reminded 
 me of what she called mv fortune, which 
 were the contents of my trunks. I per- 
 mitted her to dispose of as many of the 
 clothes as would discharge our debts, and 
 reserve a little for present subsistence. 
 
 Still
 
 CB VICISSITUDES, 
 
 Still no husband was heard of; and such 
 ■^vas the state of my feelings towards him^^ 
 that his absence was even a relief. My 
 days were passed in writing exculpatory 
 letters to my father and to my friends^ 
 which I dared not send^ and devising a 
 thousand schemes to learn the true name 
 of St. Herman, and his affairs^ as far as 
 related to myself and my child. 
 
 The accoucheur, to whose recommenda- 
 lion I was indebted for my faithful nursc^ 
 paid me daily visits, though I apprized him 
 of my probable inability to make the liberal 
 payment he had before received. He re- 
 monstrated against my giving way to the 
 various passions by which he saw me 
 agitated; and seriously advised me to 
 change the air, both on account of my 
 son's health and my own. 
 
 My ideas were too occupied, my imagi- 
 nation too fervid, to advert to self-pre- 
 servation ; besides, I was at my post— it 
 was there my husband left me, and there 
 he should find me. 
 
 The
 
 VICISSITUDES. 69 
 
 The doctor persevered ; he pleaded for 
 the unborn, he reasoned, he advised. In 
 opposing his arguments, I insensibly re- 
 verted to my own sad story. The doctor 
 was himself a Scotch Highlander, and per- 
 sonally acquainted with many of our clan. 
 The application of Sir Hector Dunbar's 
 daughter, backed by very powerful interest, 
 in opposition to Lord Broughton, the pro- 
 sent possessor, and even against the con- 
 sent of the proscribed heir of the Dunbar 
 estates, was the talk of all Scotland. Both 
 sides had their partisans ; but you may 
 conceive the doctor's surprise, when I an- 
 nounced myself; and protesting my ig- 
 norance of every step that had been taken, 
 declared my resolution, even at the risk of 
 my existence, to manifest my abhorrence 
 of every opposition to my father's will, in 
 a case where he was, and ought to be the 
 sole judge. 
 
 The doctor applauded my sentiments and 
 
 spirit, but feared they would not avail. 
 
 The cause was considered as lost to the 
 
 4 popular
 
 70 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 popular party ; for though Lord B. was a 
 man of great interest, an equivalent to him 
 was now thought to be the principal bar 
 to the decision in favour of the heiress. 
 Well might my poor father curse his child, 
 and well might the noble De Verencourt 
 despise her. 
 
 The doctor offered me any service in his 
 power. My first wish was reconcilement 
 with my dear deceived father ; the next to 
 trace, if possible, the Church where St. Her- 
 man said his real name was registered with 
 mine. The former he thought not difficult ; 
 the latter required time. If I had for- 
 tunately admitted him to my confidence 
 when, at his first attendence, he saw the 
 anguish of my mind, it might not only 
 have been the means of reconciliation with 
 my friends, but prevented the decision, 
 which, he had reason to believe, only waited 
 for signature. And this too St. Herman's 
 account confirmed. 
 
 " Lord B., who v/as yet a young man, had 
 experienced much mortification, to give it 
 
 no
 
 VICISSITUDES. 71 
 
 no harsher name. He was now out of town ; 
 but at his return^ he would wait on his 
 Lordship. In the meantime '' 
 
 '' Yes/' I answered with spirit^ ^' yes, 
 in the meantime I will take your advice — I 
 will remove from this place, no matter 
 where ; and my child " 
 
 I could not proceed ; I wept in agony. 
 The doctor endeavoured to console me. 
 
 '' In the expected restoration of your 
 fortune/' said he, '' care v.ill be taken no 
 doubt of its alienation, since the grant 
 will be to you, not your husband. As, how- 
 ever, the laws are very favourable to the 
 rights and -authority of a husband^ and as 
 your's do not seem to be incommoded by 
 his feelings, allow me to recommend tem- 
 per ; and since he has so successfully de- 
 ceived, treat him a little in his own way : 
 go into the country, for the ostensible 
 benefit of your health. There is no absolute 
 reason why you should leave your address ; 
 nor, in a furnished country lodging, is a 
 large establishment necessary. l^ your 
 
 husband
 
 72 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 husband returns^ he may be referred t<5 
 
 me; if not But vou can do nothins: 
 
 till your own affair — it now is unquestion- 
 ably your own — is settled. 
 
 My poor nurse^ overjoyed at the idea of 
 going into the country^ said she knew a 
 gardener at Twickenham, who let part of 
 an ejccellent house. He was the best man 
 in the worlds for his wife was her own 
 cousin ; she would go^ and be back in a 
 minute. 
 
 1 was still restless and irresolute. The 
 doctor^ pitying the state of my mind, 
 offered to take me and my son in his 
 carriage to see the apartments. Nurse^ 
 who scarce waited for my consent^ was 
 already gone. 
 
 Tremblings agitated^ grieved, indignant^. 
 now bursting v.ith rage, now melting in 
 tenderness, my child before me^ the image 
 of what his father once was, I left my home — 
 a miserable one it had long been to me — 
 and, drov/ned in tears, became again a 
 w^anderer. 
 
 The 
 
 I
 
 VICISSITUDES. 73 
 
 The active nurse was already returned. 
 Sure as she told her cousin I should like 
 the lodging ; she had given directions^ so 
 that it was completely ready. 
 
 The house commanded a view of the 
 beautiful meadows on the banks of the 
 Thames. The picturesque town of Rich- 
 mond, the number of adjacent villas, with 
 every other charm of prospect and con- 
 venience of accommodation, were assi- 
 diously shewn by my new landlord ; and 
 the doctor, pointing to Charles, w^ho was 
 already rolling on the lawn in front of the 
 house, persuaded me to take immediate 
 possession, and charging himself with every 
 care of my interest, left me at Twickenham. 
 
 I was surprised, and indeed not well 
 pleased, when a small cart of the 
 gardeners brought nurse, and, in the 
 order she mentioned them, all her own 
 boxes, all the child's clothes and mine, 
 and, lastly, the trunks I had received from 
 Paris. She was astonished I did not 
 applaud her. Nobody could expect she 
 
 VOL, I. r would
 
 T4 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 ivoiild leave her boxes behind. Master 
 Charles, poor dear, must have his things ; 
 and hov^ could I, who was so nice, do with- 
 out mine ? 
 
 But the trunks, would not Mr. St. Herman 
 miss them ? and had not the doctor advised 
 caution? 
 
 That was the very thing ; she was certain 
 nobody who had to deal with some folks 
 could act with too much caution ; and as 
 to missing the trunks, no doubt when some 
 folks had no where else to go, he might 
 be glad to come home ; better other 
 bodies missed the trunks than the right 
 owners; and she concluded with her old 
 story, '' they would stop a gap ;** if I did 
 Dot take care of them, her master would. 
 
 You will soon see how Providence 
 ordered for me and mine, through the 
 honest forecast of this worthy woman. 
 
 We had not been at this place eight days 
 before the papers were filled with rumours 
 of the dangerous indisposition of the King 
 of France. 
 
 I had
 
 VICISSITUDES. 76 
 
 I had not seen or heard of St. Herman ; 
 but nothing could be more probable than 
 that this, like most other great events^ might 
 reach the little concerns of little people. 
 If the King died, the reign of Du Barry 
 and all her satellites were at an end ; and if 
 my uncle's estate was not actually and finally 
 acceded, the probability in that case was 
 that it never would. 
 
 My anxiety increased. I dispatched nurse 
 for intelligence, who returned terribly dis- 
 concerted at so late an hour as alarmed me 
 for her safety. 
 
 St. Herman had been at our lodging late 
 the night before. He had brought a man 
 and woman and two coaches with him. His 
 companions v.aited in the hall. He did not 
 enquire for me, but his object was the 
 Paris trunks ; and he raved, the cook said, 
 like a madman when he did not sec them in 
 the usual place. After opening all the 
 drawei-s, and taking several things out, he 
 went away, imprecating me, the nurse, (who 
 he found moved the trunks) and all mankind. 
 K 2 The
 
 76 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 The next morning an execution was put 
 in the lodgings^ and bailiffs so beset the 
 house, that, afraid of bringing me into 
 danger, she had walked from street to 
 street two houi*s to avoid being watched. 
 
 '' Alas ! poor St. Herman !" I exclaimed, 
 '' the King is dead, and all is over/' 
 
 ^' Yes, Madam,'* replied nurse, '' the 
 King is dead ; not our English King, God 
 be thanked! For my part, I never loved 
 the French ; and indeed I believe if the 
 truth was known, my master is no better 
 than a French bite himself, and I can't 
 
 think how any Christian can pity Oh 
 
 God!" she shrieked, " there he is I — we 
 shall be murdered !" 
 
 It was indeed his voice, too well known 
 to be mistaken ; and, had I not perceived 
 he was intoxicated, my heart would at that 
 moment have been open to his distress. 
 
 '' I wish," whispered I, *'" you had left 
 the trunks." 
 
 '^ God be praised, I did not," returned 
 she in the same tone ; '' they will stop a gap." 
 
 His
 
 VICISSITUDES. 77 
 
 His voice became more loiul ; his wife 
 was in the house^ he would not be denied 
 entrance. 
 
 The gardener, with his man, resolutely 
 opposed him. I now distinguished another 
 voice, insisting, in broken English, that 
 Monsieur's lady certainly occupied part of 
 that house. 
 
 The gardener denied. 
 
 '' Let me search," cried St. Herman. 
 
 The landlord called for his gun. An 
 Englishman's house was his castle, and the 
 law his guard : if the intruders searched his 
 house, it must be with a civil officer by 
 daylight ; and if they did not immediately 
 retire, he v/ould send for a constable. 
 
 St. Herman was outrageous ; but his 
 companion advised a retreat. He spoke 
 low and in French ; I could not hear all, 
 but understood thev were apprehensive of 
 some pursuit. They soon after drove oW, 
 and all w^as again quiet. 
 
 The gardener then came up. 1 found 
 
 nurse had forearmed him. He apologized 
 
 E 3 for
 
 TS YlCISSITUDtS. 
 
 for taking the liberty ; but the gentleman 
 himself was so much in liquor^ and^ begging 
 my pardon^ his companion so iil-looking — " 
 
 In that moment a single low rap renewed 
 our alarm. The gardener encouraged us. 
 He had not reached the door^, before it was 
 entered^ by first one man^ then another. 
 They were sheriff's officers^ in pursuit of 
 St. Herman. 
 
 Notwithstanding nurse's repeated assur- 
 ance that she would tell at once^ and glad 
 if her master had been there^ they were not 
 satisfied till the house was searched^ after 
 which they civily left us. 
 
 To expect repose after the occurrences 
 of this evening v/as vain. Spite of my in- 
 juries^ spite of the contempt which the 
 duplicity of rny husband's character in- 
 spired^ my heart bled for the unfortunate 
 St. Herman ; and I felt the most poignant 
 regret, vihen I considered that the provident 
 care of my servant^ in removing the trunks^ 
 had probably deprived him of the means to 
 escape^ not only of confinement^ but what I 
 
 knew
 
 VICISSITUDES, 79 
 
 knew him well enough to feel^ would be a 
 still more bitter affliction^ contempt^ from 
 those with whom he had no longer power 
 to associate ; and insult^ from many who 
 had been slaves to his pride^ and hangers 
 on his purse. 
 
 What;, in the various sensations of this 
 restless nighty, w^ould I not have gi^en to 
 have the power of relieving St Herman; of 
 affording means to leave the scene of 
 distress and mortification ; to have spoken 
 peace and forgiveness to his perturbed 
 spirit — and;, if reformation could be made 
 to result from adversity, to hail with tran- 
 sport a return to virtue^, and to share his 
 adverse fortune. 
 
 These were the objects on which my 
 fancy lingered till day returned; and^ with 
 the sight of my blooming boy, a thousand 
 anxieties for him, for the infant who had 
 not seen the light, and for myself suc- 
 ceeded ; and, as if every rest was to be 
 torn from my sad heart, I received a visit 
 from doctor Inglis, who informed me of a 
 K 4 happy
 
 so 
 
 ncissiruD£S. 
 
 happy reverse in his fortune^ which de- 
 prived me of a skilful and humane medical 
 friend, in whose probaty and humanity I 
 entirely confided. A relation^ to whose 
 fortune he was heir^ demanded his imme- 
 diate presence in Scotland. He had ap- 
 pointed a successor in his practice^ for 
 whose abilities he answered, and whom he 
 recommended to supply his place when I 
 should need assistance. 
 
 To this I readily acceded ; but, alas ! 
 who w\ould be the consoling, the tender, 
 the active friend I had found Dr. Iiio;lis. — 
 " I am fated," 1 cried, '' to be abandoned 
 by every being in whom my misfortunes 
 have made an interest, on v/hom I depend 
 for consolation or advice ? 
 
 That he assured me, in respect to him- 
 self, could never happen ; on the contrary, 
 he should always feel a sensible pleasure 
 when in his power to serve me. 
 
 He had called at the house of Lord B. 
 but had the mortification to find his Lord- 
 ship was not in town, nor could his servants 
 
 exactly
 
 VICISSITUDES. 81 
 
 exactly say where he now was; but he 
 gathered enough from them to believe the 
 report already circulated among his coun- 
 trymen, '' that the hopes of the Dunbar 
 h€iress expired with the interest of Madame 
 Du Barry/' was correct. 
 
 Alas ! my dear Lady N , you who 
 
 nowfvnow that the hopes of the wretched 
 being so described had long, long since 
 expired, may conceive what I felt at this^ 
 I may almost say, register, of an act my 
 very soul disavowed. 
 
 Doctor Inglis^ however, assured me he 
 would not forget my vindication, at the 
 very first interview he could obtain witli 
 tny uncle ; and he enquired with much 
 delicacy if I needed a banker;- but my 
 spirit was not yet enough subdued to be- 
 come a pensioner on ^is generosity : my 
 purse, it is true, was nearly exhausted ; but 
 I had, as my poor nurse said, a fortune in 
 my trunks, and m.y household expenceS^ 
 were now very moderate. 
 
 BL 5 He
 
 8^ VICISSITUDES. 
 
 He thePx earnestly advised me to remain 
 in my present lodging till after my 
 accouchement. 
 
 Such \N'as the variety of my feel- 
 ings at this so interesting crisis of my 
 husband's fate^ and such my strong ideas 
 of the sacred duty that bound me to his 
 misfortunes^ I could not promise^ in this 
 point, to follow the counsel of my respect- 
 able friend. 
 
 HC;, who was perhaps v/ell enough ac- 
 quainted with St. Herman's situation, to 
 know that v/hat was in my estimation a 
 solemn duty, Vvould in his be no ways de- 
 sirable, or even indeed accepted, added to 
 his dissuasive arguments, the policy and 
 wisdom of waiting till St. Herman solicited 
 a blessing of w^hich he was so unworthy ; 
 and after leaving his address, with serious 
 injunctions on me to write to him without 
 reserve^ he departed with a tear glistening 
 in his own eye, while mine overflowed. 
 
 The lassitude natural to active spirits 
 after ujiusual exertion^ affected my nerves
 
 VICISSITUDES. S5 
 
 SO much, that the opening of a door, the 
 sound of a coach, even my child's voice, 
 threw me into an universal trembling. My 
 imagination had ceased to recur to the 
 deceit and treachery, by which I had been 
 betrayed. I had even forgot the rudeness 
 and intoxication of St. Herman's last visit : 
 I now dwelt only on his forlorn hopes, his 
 disappointment, his distress, and personal 
 danger. 
 
 Day after day thus passed in constant 
 expectation of tidings I longed, yet 
 dreaded, to receive ;: but no letter, no 
 message, no enquiry arrived. The daily 
 papers announced the late King to have 
 died of the s^mall-pox ; all else was still, 
 silent, and uninteresting — creation itself 
 seemed in that state of rest I despaired of 
 ever r caching .- 
 
 At length my servant, in her plain, 
 honest, though reluctant way, reminded 
 me of my declining finances. I was draw- 
 ing very near my confinement. She pro- 
 duced an inventory of wants, and ended 
 E ,(> with.
 
 84 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 with the greatest of all wants^ moneij. The 
 trunks^ her old resource for '' stopping a 
 gap/' was resorted to ; and if it had been 
 possible to increase this good woman's 
 respectful attention^ no doubt the display 
 of that which held the best of my ward- 
 robe, and which she had not before seen^ 
 would have had that effect. 
 
 I understood nothing of the means by 
 which she had before raised money on my 
 laces ; but at sight of the rich dress given 
 me by Madame de Verencourt for the 
 presentation^ she recollected having nursed 
 the child of a French dress-maker, who 
 served all the great ladies, to whom she 
 might dispose of this suit to more advantage 
 than depositing it with the laces. 
 
 It was a rich mixture of white and silver, 
 with draperies of fine point lace, inter-- 
 mixed with artificial roses, and fastened up 
 with loops of pearls. 
 
 With two suits of lace and this dress for 
 sale, and with strict injunctions to spare 
 no enquiry, or even cost, to learn, if 
 
 possible^
 
 VICISSITUDES. 85 
 
 possible^ my husband's situation and senti- 
 ments, nurse set off so early, that^ mea- 
 suring time by my impatience, I expected 
 her back before she had probably reached 
 her journey's end. 
 
 My dinner was however served and re- 
 moved — she did not return. My terror 
 and apprehension of I knew not what 
 increased eA^ery moment ; respiration be- 
 came difficult. My son. 
 
 It is. Lady N , with pain, even at 
 
 this distance from the period when the 
 event I am recording happened, that I hold 
 my pen ; if I am incoherent, the story will 
 be its own sad apology. 
 
 My son— — Still I tremble, after so long" 
 a lapse of time> after temporary madness, 
 after sufferings none can conceive who had 
 not my experience ! Why does my heart 
 still palpitate ? 
 
 The vivacity of my sweet Charles was 
 
 Tingovernable ; he might be said to live 
 
 with his nurse in the open air. He had 
 
 hecn all this day shut up with me; my 
 
 5 distraction
 
 86. ViCISSITtDKS. 
 
 distraction of mind so greats as hardly 
 enabled me to attend to his safety, much 
 less his amusement. The child grew fretful ; 
 he explained in lisping eloquence his wish 
 to roll on the grass. To appease him, io 
 fly from myself, I led him to the adjoining 
 meadow. 
 
 It was the season of the hay hanest. The 
 sun was setting, and the chearful labourers 
 had just quitted the field. A few, very 
 few steps were enough to fatigue me. I 
 set down on the hay, while my delighted 
 child bounded round me, and hunted for 
 the few fiowers,^ the scythe had spared. 
 
 The still serenity of the evening,, the 
 dead sileace, only broken by distant voices 
 floating on the passing breeze, no n^oving 
 object near, soothed by degrees the rest- 
 less anxiety af my soul into a quiet and 
 hopeless resignation : I felt as if in this 
 peaceful spot 1 could lay down an existence, 
 insupportable to myself, and of value to 
 no earthly being, save the playful infant, 
 who wa^o indeed all that bound me to the 
 
 earth.
 
 Vicissitudes. 87 
 
 earth. It was long since any roincidence 
 of circumstance had brought to my re- 
 collection the happv harv'^st evenings and 
 beautiful vintages of Loraine^ where Julia 
 and Henrietta were the arbiters of merits 
 dispensed rewards^ and led the dance : re- 
 membrance too of my dear father^ with a 
 thousand recollected instances of his 
 paternal indulgence^ had scarce succeeded, 
 before his malediction filled me^ as it always 
 didj with terror ; the sweet tear that ac^ 
 companied the memory of dear Loraine, 
 suddenly changed to drops of scalding an- 
 guish. I clasped my hands together. — 
 " Ohj my best of fathers !" cried I, '* de- 
 prived of inheritance^ an exile from thy 
 native land^ reduced to dependance^, no- 
 thing left to console thy widowed heart 
 but one beloved child ; was it for her, for 
 thine only child. Oh unhappy Dunbar ! — '' 
 A movement near, a sort of indistinct 
 sound, half sigh and half groan, alarmed 
 me, I hastily arose. A figure, whose air 
 and character of countenance thrilled every 
 
 senile^
 
 8S VICISSITUDES. 
 
 sense, seemed moving to avoid my earnest 
 gaze. I followed ; but had not proceeded 
 many steps before I shrieked — '' My father ! 
 Oh, my father!'' and fell senseless to the 
 ground. 
 
 Merciful God ! what were my sensations 
 when I recavered, and returning sight could 
 discern only '' darkness visible/' I listened/ 
 but heard only the slow lavings- of the 
 river. No star lighted the lirmament^ no: 
 human being w'as near. 
 
 T attempted in vain to rise. A shower- 
 had fallen ; my clothes were w^et ; my 
 limbs v/ere stiffened, T vv^as unable to move. 
 
 It was only by slow degrees I became 
 collected. 1 remembered coming to tliis 
 fatal spot. My fiUher's image was still 
 present; but. Oh, Almighty God \ my boy, 
 my beautiful boy, my innocent cherub, 
 whose auburn curls floating in the air, 
 whose blue eyes, darting the pleased sensa- 
 tion that animated his agile boundings, 
 were my last recollections, what. Oh ! what 
 had become of bjm ? What time can 
 
 eradicate
 
 VICISSITUDES. S9 
 
 eradicate the misery of that hour from my 
 memory ! 
 
 Frightful were the figures that now 
 crowded on mv brain. I had seen^ and no 
 effort of reason^ no argument of religion 
 or philosophy with which the idea has since 
 been combated, admitted the smallest doubf, 
 I had seen my father, living or dead I had 
 seen him, and my child was no longer near 
 me. 
 
 I rent the air with cries so loud, so 
 piercing and deep, as, reverberated by the 
 echo, frightened myself. 
 
 My brain was on fire; I had just re- 
 collection enough to deprecate my father's 
 malediction in the hereafter. — Here my 
 desolation was complete 1 
 
 Again I made an effort to rise, and again 
 rny shrieks resounded through the air. 
 Lights glaring through the foliage, and a 
 confused sound of approaching voices, 
 stopped my breath. Life hovered betwixt 
 a faint ray of hope and deep, deep in- 
 expressible despair, 
 
 I heard
 
 9B VICISSITUDES^. 
 
 I heard my faithful nurse in loud lament- 
 ation — I heard my name repeated ; but, Ob 
 misery^ misery ! I neither heard or saw my 
 son ! 
 
 Wild and incoherent were my demands 
 for my child, and no less so were the 
 replies of his foster mother : she instantly 
 concluded what had hitherto escaped me^ 
 that he was drowned, and running to the 
 bankj plunged into the river. Provi- 
 dentially the tide v^as lov^, and I had not 
 her loss added to my other calamities. 
 
 My m.ind v/as a chaos. I would not be 
 removed. My son, my son ! was the sole 
 object for which I Vvishcd to exist. I im- 
 plored the aid of heaven and earth ; cifered 
 rewards. Heaven knows, above my power ; 
 called for the commiseration of all v/ho 
 had bcrne a child, and so interested the 
 by-standers that the labourinr^ part of the 
 inhabitants v/ere drawn together, torches 
 procured, every part of that and the adjoin- 
 ing meadows searched, and boatmen en- 
 gaged to drag the river; but day broke on 
 
 their
 
 VICISSITUDES. 91 
 
 their unsuccessful zeal ; and pains, which, 
 while there was a ray of hope I had resolu- 
 tion to conceal, now encreasing, I sub- 
 mitted to be carried home, and a second 
 time become mother of a living infant; but 
 ip my weak and supposed dying state, my 
 soul still hanging on my lost boy, she 
 excited no interest in me. If I was pre- 
 vailed on to swallow nourishment, the 
 motive was to regain strength to search the 
 world for my son. If I submitted to medical 
 prescriptions, still it was not life, but my 
 child that was my object. 
 
 Disastrous to me had indeed been that 
 fatal night in all respects. 
 
 St. Herman, though his haunts and con- 
 cerns eluded every enquiry of my faithful 
 nurse, had announced himself. Ke came 
 late in the evening, with, as he pretended, 
 the order of a civil magistrate, to search 
 my lodgings for valuables, his property. 
 
 As the man of the house heard he really 
 was my husband, he did not think himself 
 
 justified
 
 9f 
 
 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 justified in resisting the ordcr^ hov/evter 
 surreptitiously obtained. 
 
 But particulars are sickening and need- 
 less. The barbarian moved my trunks into 
 a carriage provided for the purpose^ and 
 thus deprived an unoHending wife, whom 
 he had reduced to the most cruel despair^ 
 and her innocent offspring of their last 
 resource. But this was too light a calamity 
 to affect me now. In a state that could 
 neither be called life or deaths I languished 
 four months^ principally on credit^ and my 
 poor nurse's assurance^, that I v/as a very 
 great and good lady, who would wrong 
 nobody. 
 
 The neighbours all v/ere sure my child 
 had strayed to the river during my fit ; 
 but although nothing was more probable, 
 among the terrifying visions of my despair, 
 that never occurred to me. 
 
 My nurse, whose love and care was now 
 transferred to the new-born, had acquired 
 more calmness : she could urs^e as well as 
 
 reason ;
 
 VICISSITUDES. 9S 
 
 reason ; and she violently offended me by 
 doubting the fact of my having seen my 
 father, till a sudden light seemed to strike 
 her, and I shall never forget the joy that 
 gladdened her countenance, and the com- 
 fort that found a ready access to my heart, 
 \fe'hen she quite shouted — 
 
 " Well, Madam, you don't believe in 
 ghosts any more than me ; and if you really 
 did see your father, depend upon it it 
 was himself, and master Charles is with 
 him/^ 
 
 " How came I,'' said I, my soul exult- 
 ing in the probability, '' not to think of 
 this before ? But still, how to be certain^, 
 how to find my father? 
 
 The kind-hearted creature fancied she 
 obviated all difficulties by putting my child 
 in my arms, and setting off immediately 
 to make enquiries at Lord B's. 
 
 The hope I indulged was a happy omen 
 to my innocent child. I examined her 
 features, and though they most strikingly 
 resembled a father, from, and for whom I 
 
 was
 
 $4 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 was such a victim^ my heart warmed 
 towards her, and her little face was bathed 
 with tears of maternal tenderness^ when my 
 trusty messenger returned with disappoint- 
 ment in every speaking look. 
 
 Lord B. was gone to the north. To her 
 questions of how long Sir Hector Dunbar 
 had been in England ? how long he meant 
 to stay t and where he was at this time ? the 
 porter, with a stare of astonishment, bade 
 her go about her business, and shut the 
 doer in her face. 
 
 We were, however, not (o be driven 
 from the last station of hope by the im- 
 pertinence of a nobleman's porter. My 
 father might actually be with Lord B. or he 
 might be in England, without imparting 
 his arrival to his brother, or any of the 
 family ; perhaps, indeed, it might not be 
 ,safe for him to appear in public. 
 
 After endless conjectures, I accidentally 
 found a card of direction which St. Herman 
 had torn off one of the trunks, when he 
 took them away. 
 
 This
 
 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 ^5 
 
 This was an accident of the last im- 
 portance. The correspondent of Monsieur 
 de Verencourt's banker would, no doubt, 
 be in my father s confidence. Besides thi^, 
 ^s notwithstanding the offence justly taken 
 ■against me, I knew my friends too well to 
 doubt their protection, now that I was 
 abandoned by St. Herman. Should I not, 
 therefore, hear of my father, I made up my 
 mind to solicit his report to my friends at 
 Paris in my favour ; and thus elated by 
 hope, I determined to make the experi- 
 ment. 
 
 Behold me now before my glass, con- 
 templating the traces of grief and sickness, 
 attentive, for the first time after a long 
 lapse, to the decorations of my emaciated 
 person, and selecting such habiliments as 
 would best conceal the ravages of time and 
 weakness. After changing my last guinea, 
 and dividing it with my nurse, I was ac- 
 quainted with another misadventure of that 
 ever memorable day. When she had carried 
 the dress to town to dispose of, and which 
 
 we
 
 9# 
 
 VICISSITCDES. 
 
 we had both been too sadly occupied to 
 recollect, her late mistress^ struck with its 
 beauty and richness^ could not believe her 
 unconnected account of the owner^, but, 
 suspecting her honesty, insisted on detain- 
 injr it till she was satisfied : and as this 
 provoking fastidity disappointed nurse of 
 part of the power to pay any other person, 
 she disposed of the laces, and passed the 
 whole of the day herself in fruitless en- 
 quiries after St. Herman. 
 
 I was too full of my project, and too 
 confident of success, to bestow a second 
 thought on this circumstance ; so with ten 
 shillings in my pocket, and many " take 
 care, pray," from the gardener, his wife, 
 and nurse, I got into a morning stage, and 
 w^as set down at Charing-Cross. 
 
 Strange that after so many eventful years, 
 a degree of those sensations that then almost 
 annihilated me, should recur ; my head was 
 
 actually giddy, and my heart but there 
 
 is no describing it. 
 
 I intended
 
 VICISSITUDE^^. 97 
 
 I intended to save the hire of a coach, 
 and enquire the way, as the card instructed, 
 to Rivers and Co. Lombard-Street ; but I 
 had been four months the immoveable 
 tenant of a sick chamber, without once 
 breathing the open air : my head w^as 
 affected by the uneasy coach, and I felt 
 myself so extremely weak, as obliged me to 
 give up the saving plan, and take a hack, 
 which conveved me to Lombard-Street. 
 
 Never, dear Lady N , slight the aching 
 
 forebodings of the heart. During the few 
 moments between the announcement of my 
 name, and the letting down of the step of 
 the coach, I was seized w4th such dismay as 
 obliged me to keep the servant a consider- 
 able time at the door; I felt myself besides 
 very unwell, and secretly regretted that, in 
 my weak state, I had ventured so far alone. 
 
 I followed the servant as well as I could 
 into an apartment, where Mr, Rivers was 
 seated at a writing-table. He scarce bowed 
 at my entrance. The servant set a chair, 
 and withdrew. 
 
 VOL. I. F Mr.
 
 98 VlCISSITUDlSc 
 
 Mr. Rivers appeared coldly to wait my 
 addressing him ; but an examination of my 
 countenance produced an instant change 
 in his, and he civilly said he waited my 
 commands. I know not what I answered, 
 nor indeed whether my meaning could 
 be understood at all: something without 
 coherence I believe, of father, child, 
 husband, injuries, and innocence, but 
 nothing connected. 
 
 Mr. Rivers looked at me with pity and 
 surprise. My heart, swelling with its im- 
 portant mission, was too big for utterance. 
 He ordered a glass of water, which having 
 
 swallowed, I could ask for my father and 
 
 my child. 
 
 He now seemed to comprehend. — '' Poor 
 
 thing!'* said he, '^ how you are altered ! 
 
 You have, I suppose, lost a child?" 
 
 " Oh yes,'' I replied, the power of 
 
 speech returning with a flattering hope his 
 
 compassion inspired, '' Oh yes, and he is 
 
 with my father ; my dear father has taken 
 
 my child!'' 
 
 He
 
 VICISSITUDES. 99 
 
 Again he earnestly examined my coun- 
 tenance. He was sorry^ he said^ to see me so 
 affected. These were the inflictions of an 
 all-wise Being, for the best of purposes, 
 which all must learn to bear. — '' You, 
 perhaps/* he added^ '' feel in a peculiar 
 manner. A parent's loss is always grievous ; 
 but Sir Hector Dunbar's health had long I 
 heard been delicate ; and had no such event 
 as your unfortunate marriage taken place, 
 his death " 
 
 ^' Death !'* I shrieked^ '' whose death ! 
 — not my father's V* 
 
 He rung for a female attendant ; mean- 
 while I had left my chair, and grasping his 
 arm, repeated — '' Not my ftther, he is not, 
 cannot be dead ! I saw him, I could not 
 be deceived, I saw my dear father; but his 
 nature is changed— he left me fainting on 
 the ground \" 
 
 '' I am afraid,' said Mr. Rivers, '^ this 
 poor lady's intellects are deranged." 
 
 '' Oh no," I cried in all the bitterness 
 
 of fear and despair, '' no, no, I am not 
 
 deranged. I came here to enquire after 
 
 F ^ my
 
 100 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 my dear father ; my boy, my lovely child 
 is with him — I hope, I think he is, else 
 God have mercy on me ! " and I covered 
 my face. 
 
 Mr. Rivers begged me to be re-seated, 
 and let him comprehend the motive of my 
 visit ; he was perfectly disposed to serve 
 and oblige me. Finding I did not answer — 
 
 '' You have lost a child ;" said he, " well, 
 I have lost children too ; the lovely infant 
 I once saw perhaps is dead }" 
 
 My frenzy, as it appeared to him, re- 
 turned. 
 
 '' How dare you say so," I demanded ; 
 ^^ no, no, he is not, he cannot be dead !'* 
 
 Again I was soothed, and asked if I had 
 corresponded with my father ? 
 
 '' Oh no,'' he believed me a monster, 
 and cursed — the father cursed his only 
 child!'' 
 
 Mr. Rivers shuddered. — "But he rescinded 
 before he died ?" 
 
 A solemn horror pervaded my senses 
 after being told my father was no more ; 
 
 one
 
 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 101 
 
 one short sentence only remained to com- 
 plete the climax of my fate, to prove that 
 I had been visited by a supernatural appear- 
 ance, and that my boy, my darling, was lost 
 to me for ever. 
 
 I demanded, in a hollow sepulchral tone, 
 when my father died ? 
 
 More than a year back at Paris. 
 
 I arose without speaking, and with a 
 solemn, though unsteady step, left the 
 worthy man, and got into the coach. 
 
 The servant finding the coachman's re- 
 peated demand, where he was to drive, not 
 attended to, nor apparently heard, in- 
 formed his master, who came out and gave 
 the coachman directions to our lodgings in 
 Pall-Mail, where he had visited me when 
 he received my trunks from Paris. 
 
 The usual rap brought Mrs. Furnish her- 
 self to the door. Astonishment probably 
 prevented her speaking ; while my vague 
 ideas reverting to the past, I suppose I 
 thought it was my home, and was proceed- 
 ing to our apartment, when she pushed 
 F 3 herself
 
 10^ VICISSITUDES. 
 
 herself betwixt me and the stairs^ demand- 
 ing what I wanted ? where I was going ? and 
 hoWj after mi/ husband swindling her's I 
 dared to shew my face in her house ? 
 
 I attended not to her. — ^'^ I was going/* 
 I calmly said^ " to my child ; and I wanted 
 also to consult Mr. St. Herman about the 
 funeral of my father. 
 
 My cook^ who St. Herman had left un- 
 dischargedj and who was now in the service 
 of our successors in the lodgings^ heard 
 my voicCj calmly expostulating with the 
 vvToman, and insisting on going to my child 
 — '' I could not remain with ghosts^ and must 
 go up stairs — Oh^ where was my husband ?*^ 
 
 Although my language was as unintelligi- 
 ble to the servant as to the enraged land- 
 lady^ yet she saw that I was in distress^ and 
 very kindly came towards me. 
 
 The coachman now demanded his fare ; 
 but it was imposbible to make me under- 
 stand either that or the coarse allusions to 
 ''^shabby genteel/* ''scumof the earth/' with 
 which the woman assailed both him and 
 
 me.
 
 VlCISSlTUDESv 103 
 
 me, till she insisted he should take me 
 again into his coach^ and on his peremptory 
 refusal, she declared her resolution to turn 
 me out of doors. 
 
 " And if you do/' replied the cook, '' I 
 will go with her, poor dear lady ! don't 
 you see her brain is turned ? and na 
 wonder.' 
 
 Bedlam, then, and not such genteel 
 apartments as her's was the fittest place, 
 and let the parish send me there, for out 
 of her house I should go ; and spite of my 
 shrieks and feeble resistance, out your 
 poor friend w^as actually turned, followed' 
 by the cook. 
 
 A crowed w^as gathering round, who 
 judging perhaps from my youth and now 
 disordered dress, that I was of the descrip- 
 tion of unhappy females, who, it is the 
 established privilege of verij good sort of 
 zvoman to maltreat, seemed well enough 
 disposed to be amused at my expense ; but 
 the vociferations of my cook in the first 
 instance, and in the next tw^o rival 
 F 4 apothecaries:
 
 104 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 apothecaries^ who had entered into a rather 
 warm dispute about the cause of an in- 
 sanitj;, which admitted none as to effect^ 
 authoratively made the gapers give way to 
 them. The most violent of the tw^o in- 
 sisted I was raving niad^ and must have 
 escaped from confinement. The other^ 
 after feeling my pulse, declared I had a 
 sudden access of fever on the brain^ which 
 would probably have a fatal crisis in a few 
 days^ perhaps hours. 
 
 The cook knew nothing about me since 
 I had left my lodgings in Pall-Mall ; so 
 cautious had my poor nurse been of betray- 
 ing me^ she had not even told her fellow- 
 servant that she remained in my service. 
 
 Some person in the crowd advised 
 searching my pockets^ to see if they con- 
 tained any address. A few shillings, an 
 eau de luce bottle, and a cambric hand- 
 kerchief were found; but no w^atch, no 
 ring, no other article of the least value^ 
 nor scrap of vfriting of any kind. 
 
 The
 
 \rrcissiTVDES. 105 
 
 The crowd began to drop away from so 
 poor and uninteresting an object ; even 
 the cook's fit of humanity evaporated at 
 sight of my poverty^ and I should have 
 probably been left in the street alone, 
 had not the contest of the medical 
 men still continued^ one pertinaciously 
 adhering to the fever on the brain^ the 
 other as possitive of my escape from a mad- 
 house. The former would prove his in- 
 fallibility by sending me to Hyde-Park 
 hospital. The latter would lay any wager 
 as I was only fit for St. Luke's^ I should not 
 be received at St. George's. — '' We shall 
 see/' said his adversary^, putting me into a 
 chair^ and paying two chairmen out of my 
 few shillings for carrying me to the 
 hospital. 
 
 The poor cook was in too much haste 
 to get out of the scrape to ask unnecessary 
 questions; the gentleman said I should be 
 taken care of, and that satisfied her. 
 
 The advocate for the fever was correct. 
 
 I was admitted; and immediately put to bed, 
 
 F 5 Who,
 
 106 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 Whoj my dear Lady N , that observes 
 
 at all on the real events of life^ shall dare 
 to '' boast of to-morrow." Had I been told, 
 when living in a superior style of grandeur, 
 in the Hotel de Verencourt, treated and 
 indulged as a daughter of one of the first 
 families in France ; or when lost to the 
 world's most important duties^ in the arms 
 of my husband — had I been told, had it 
 been sworn to me, could I have believed 
 it would be my fate to be carried, deprived 
 of reason, out of the streets into an hospital, 
 a common receptacle for the vulgar, the 
 diseased, and the maimed, who, in the 
 helplessness of poverty have no other 
 resource, but who yet in their extreme had 
 some friend, at least to comfort, if not 
 assist them, v/hile /, forlorn, friendless, 
 unknown, should lay at the mercy of those, 
 whom practice rendered callous to the 
 agonies of which they were hourly witness ; 
 had I believed this, should I have survived } 
 Ah no, no ! yet let me never cease to 
 bless the Christian charity by v/hich these 
 
 asylums
 
 VICISSITUDES. 107 
 
 asylums are supported; for is it not to 
 them I owe^ that I was not exposed to, 
 perhaps the victim of an unfeel ng rabble ; 
 that my life, and the far dearer attribute of 
 reason was preserved ; that I was restored 
 to friendship and peace, and that I am now 
 blessed with power calmly to retrace the 
 storms so passed. The medical aid of this 
 asylum far exceeded my power to have 
 procured, and if I had not my poor nurse to 
 distract and weep over me, I had careful 
 women, v^ho amply made up for the 
 absence of sympathy, by an exact ob- 
 servance of the order, and infle?iible punc- 
 tuality in administering the prescriptions 
 of the doctors, regardless of that reluctance 
 in the poor patients, which, in other cir- 
 cumstances, may be indulged at the risk of 
 existence.- 
 
 Mr. Asgil's judgement of my disease did 
 him credit : it was a brain fever of the most 
 virulent kind ; but he mistook in the cal- 
 culation of an early crisis. Twenty davs 
 passed^ during which my hair was cut off, 
 F C my
 
 108 
 
 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 my head, back, breast^ arms and legs blis- 
 tered, and cataplasms put to my feet, when 
 my dissolution being hourly expected, I 
 opened my eyes with a faint ray of reason 
 for one moment, but closing them imme- 
 diately, lay without motion. 
 
 The women, influenced by some innate 
 power stronger than interest, for I had 
 nothing to give them, paid me particular 
 attention. They now thought I had ex- 
 pired ; buf it was the effort of reviving 
 nature. I fell into a deep sleep, in which 
 I continued five hours, and awoke per- 
 fectly sensible, though weaker than a new- 
 born infant. A medicine ready prepared, 
 was offered me by a woman whose heart 
 was in no unison with her rough coun- 
 tenance, I turned my eyes from her in 
 disgust ; but it is impossible to conceive 
 my astonishment, when I beheld the vulgar 
 and pallid faces that occupied the various 
 beds in a room to which I could see no end, 
 and when, after trying in vain to discover 
 one feature, or distinguish one sound of 
 
 voice
 
 VICISSITUDES. 109 
 
 voice to ^vhich my heart was familiar^ I 
 found myself literally in a new worlds 
 among people as strange in manner as in 
 face ; and too weak to articulate^ could 
 only mentally ask myself^ what I had done 
 to deserve being condemned to a residence 
 in such a place^ among such companions. 
 
 1 was not^ however^ left long to wonder. 
 Mr. Asgill^ the person by whom I was sent 
 to the hospital^ paid me daily visits as soon 
 as I was able to speak^ and informed me of 
 the important service he had rendered me. 
 
 Heavens ! how I trembled at his recital ! 
 how fervent my devotion^, how lively my 
 gratitude ! The dismal scene that happened 
 previous to my delirium^ recurred clearly 
 to my recollection ; and with these, the 
 awful certainty that I had seen my father's 
 spirit, announcing, as I thought, the full 
 completion of his malediction ; how, there- 
 fore, could I doubt the extravagant frenzy 
 which might well follow so awful a convic- 
 tion ? 
 
 As
 
 110 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 As mv return to convalescence advanced^ 
 Mr. Asgill continued to entertain me on 
 this subject^ omitting no circumstance, 
 however minute, to which obligation 
 could be attached. But for Ms superior 
 skillj I had been sent by an ignorant 
 practitioner, not to an hospital for the 
 sick, but to a public receptacle for 
 lunatics, where my temporary delirium- 
 might have ended in incurable madness. 
 Good God ! how this poor man delighted 
 to terrify ! The pictures he drew over- 
 whelmed me. Tears dropped on my 
 pillow while he continued to explain, that 
 he had not only preserved my life, but 
 bound himself to pay the expense of my 
 funeral if I died, and actually had advanced, 
 his own money to buy such nece:>saries as 
 the rules of the hospital required; besides 
 which, and he called the nurses to witness 
 his liberality ; he had supplied them with, 
 tea and other indulgencics for my use, 
 which the charity did not afford. 
 
 If
 
 Vicissitude?. Ill 
 
 If this person meant to sink me lower 
 than the lowest, he could not have better 
 succeeded, than by these notable inventories 
 of his charity. 
 
 My child, however, was in safe and 
 trusty hands ; and I thanked God her faith- 
 ful and tender nurse had not witnessed my 
 calamity : no doubt she would be alarmed 
 at my absence ; but this was one of the few 
 cases where suspense was less distressing 
 than certainty. Besides, what could I have 
 done for myself in such a dreadful illness ? 
 or what could she have done for me ? — 
 Without money or friends, I could only 
 have been an helpless burden on the hum- 
 ble and single friend my fate had left ! I 
 remembered the very few shillings I had 
 left with her ; and my own pockets were 
 emptied of all their contents : neither was 
 it possible, when so often reminded, to 
 forget the pecuniary obligations of Mr. 
 Asgill. 
 
 In this state of hopeless despair I formed 
 the desperate resolution of writing to Lord 
 
 C .
 
 lis VICISSITUDES. 
 
 B . It was the thought of a moment;, 
 
 liastily conceive^ and as hastily executed. 
 It appeared to me impossible that a man. of 
 rank and wealth could know the distress to 
 w^hich his nearest blood was reduced^ with- 
 out feeling her claim, at least upon his 
 humanity. 
 
 As the history of my misfortunes was 
 strictly true, 1 believe it was such as would 
 have moved any common heart ; but as no 
 such thing as a heart of any description, can 
 be traced in his Lordship's answer, the capy 
 is left to your Ladyship's comment. 
 
 '' Dear Madam, 
 
 ^' I had the honour to receive 
 your letter, too well penned, I confess, for 
 any answer I can make. 
 
 " I am extremely sorry to hear of your 
 distress, on w^hich I cannot enlarge, having 
 for some days been menaced v/ith my an- 
 nual gouty attack. 
 ^^ , " '* Certainly,
 
 VICISSITUDES. 113 
 
 ^' Certainly^ Madam^ it is not in my 
 power to disclaim you as a relation ; but it 
 does not strike me^ as I perceive it has you^ 
 that I can be of any particular service. I 
 believe^ if I may judge from your letter^ 
 you have too much pride to degrade your- 
 self by disgracing your family ; but I beg 
 you will not neglect application to your 
 other friends^ on my account. 
 
 *' I am^ dear Madam^, most respectfully^ 
 '' Your faithful humble servant^ 
 
 " Braughton." 
 
 Low as it had pleased Heaven to reduce 
 me^, humble as my situation^ and desperate 
 as my hope^ I felt in the moment of read- 
 ing Lord B's letter, that the pride, may I 
 not say the dignity of my nature, though 
 suspended by sorrow, still retained a latent 
 influence over my feelings ; for I really 
 exulted that I had no obligations to Lord 
 
 B . 
 
 Mr.
 
 114 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 Mr. As2:i]l entered before the faint i>low 
 of resentment on mv cheek subsided. He 
 no longer spoke of what he had done, but 
 of what he intended to do, that is, if I w^as 
 not my own enemy. 
 
 The man's vulgar manners and hard 
 countenance, with his little profession of 
 feeling for any thing but his own con- 
 venience, rendered it impossible for m.e to 
 comprehend the condition o^ the coming 
 ©bligation. As to that sort of hardened 
 audacity that impelled bad men to insult 
 virtuous wom.en, it had never happened to 
 occur "within my small sphere of ex- 
 perience, so that I remained a passive 
 listener ; v/hile he, resting his red coarse 
 hand on mine, asked what I w^as going to 
 do with myself when I left the hospital ? 
 
 I withdrew^ my hand, and he looked con- 
 founded ; but soon recovering, hoped we 
 should be better friends by-and-bye. A 
 good woman, one of his patients, had two 
 snug rooms to let. He might passtw^enty, 
 
 ay, and twenty times without being seen. 
 
 Tiic
 
 VICISSITUDES. 115 
 
 The windows overhung the garden ; and 
 they were exactly calculated for the restora- 
 tion of health. 
 
 You will smile at my simplicity^, L^dy 
 
 N ; but caught by the last consider- 
 
 ationj I was in that moment respecting a 
 charity^ that marked the contrast between 
 
 the great Lord B , and the simple 
 
 apothecary : it opened my heart. I men- 
 tioned my nurse and my child^ with the 
 situation in which I had left them, but 
 without adverting to any other particulars 
 of my family or connections. 
 
 His countenance fell. '' That was unlucky : 
 he had no objection to a maid-servant ; but 
 had not thought of burdening himself with 
 a child. Could I not part with it ? lie 
 would pay for nursing.'* 
 
 JVfrj countenance, I believe, did not fall, 
 for the man started several paces. Some- 
 thing like the idea of a gross afli-ont struck 
 like lightning on my feelings. His hideous 
 eyes avoided the fire of mine, and he still 
 
 retreated.
 
 116 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 retreated as I^, now insensible to weakness, 
 advanced. 
 
 *"' Let me comprehend yoii^ Sir/^ said I : 
 *' you have a meaning, I suppose^ though 
 I have not skill to develope it ; but beware 
 how you treat a woman i/ou cannot know !" 
 
 He turned pale with rage. 
 
 '^ What a vixen have I escaped ! " he 
 stammered:, making all possible haste to 
 leave the place. 
 
 '' In the name of God !" said I, return- 
 ing to my seat, '^ what can this man mean .^"' 
 
 An elderly female patient who was sittings 
 near, quietly closed the Bible in which she 
 was reading, and looking earnestly in my 
 face through her spectacles — " Is it possi- 
 ble," said she, '^ you do not understand 
 him?" 
 
 I had not meant to address her ; but as 
 she spoke with more than common earnest- 
 ness, I attended. 
 
 '^^ You are either very cunning or very 
 ignorant,'* said she, " not to perceive he 
 means to take you into keeping." 
 
 Oh
 
 VICISSITUDES. 117 
 
 Oh that some just spirit had in that 
 
 moment publicly pictured to Lord B 
 
 his brother's only child so situated, and so 
 insulted ! 
 
 '' Take me into keeping V* — What a tu- 
 mult was raised in my soul. I wore at that 
 time a coarse loose dress, called a bed-gown, 
 I believe a purchase of Asgill's; but I 
 thought not of tha«t : I reached the hat and 
 muslin cloak from the head of my bed, in 
 which I had been brought to the hospital, 
 and repeating — '^ Take me into keeping !" 
 hurried out from the room and the house. 
 
 All confidence in my fellow mortals was 
 now abandoned ; interested for one only 
 object, my child — to that I longed to be 
 united, and die. I attracted the attention 
 of all whom I passed; but that did not 
 affect me ; I knew I was in the road to 
 Twickenham, and tottered on, regardless 
 of passing objects, till I had almost reached 
 Kensington. 
 
 It was a cold autumnal^evening : my thin 
 covering was already wet, and indignation 
 
 was
 
 118 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 vas fast sinking into helpless weakness. 
 The day closed. I could not proceed. I 
 sunk down at the entrance of a large house. 
 
 " Oh/* I exclaimed, '' I can go no 
 further ! — I must die without seeing my 
 child!" 
 
 ^' And that would be a pity/' said a foot- 
 man, who rung the door bell ; '' but you 
 must move from hence; our carriage is 
 drawing up.** 
 
 The door against which I was leaning 
 opened. I fell back. 
 
 " What have we here ?" said another 
 domestic. '' Come, come, mistress, get 
 up." 
 
 My eyes were closed : the lights pained 
 my eyelids; I covered them with my hand, 
 and again leaned back, resigned to that 
 death, which I now hoped was near. 
 
 *' Oh, take care ! do not hurt the poor 
 creature !" reached my ears in a tone so soft, 
 so sv/ect, so melting- — Almighty Power ! it 
 was familiar to my soul — it would have 
 raised me from the grave ! I no longer 
 
 felt
 
 VICISSITUDES. 119 
 
 felt the hand of death. I attempted to 
 rush forward, but was no more than one 
 moment all soul. My weakness returned ; 
 and, but for a charitable domestic, who 
 caught me in his arms, I had fallen prostrate 
 on the ground. But I could still see. My 
 eyes were starting from their orbits, for 
 there, radiant as a descended angel, stood 
 Julia de Verencourt, bearing in her arms 
 a female infant. I felt, my heart, my pant- 
 ing heart told me it was mine ! and behind 
 her my faithful nurse ! I saw, I knew, my 
 soul recognised them all ! But who, in 
 such a wretched plight, the deplorable 
 wreck of what once was Henrietta Dunbar, 
 could have known me ?" 
 
 It was in vain that 1 tried to speak, that 
 I extended my emaciated arms towards the 
 sister of my heart, that I made every effort 
 my weakness permitted to disengage myself 
 from the person who supported me ; while 
 Julia repeated with encreasing compassion 
 *' Oh^ take care of the poor creature !" 
 
 The
 
 120 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 The music of the spheres was in hei* 
 voice ; and pity's softest expression in her 
 lovely countenance. 
 
 '^ Be gentle^ I implore you/* she added, 
 as they attempted to lift me out of her 
 way^, and she was passing on. 
 
 Desperation enabled me to make one 
 effort^ like the last struggle of exhausted 
 nature. Again my feeble arms were 
 extended ; and I rather groaned than 
 articulated — '' Julia;, Oh, Julia V 
 
 I saw her fall back. The child was 
 caught from her slackening arms. I heard 
 my nurse, my faithful Willis — shriek — 
 *' It is my mistress !" — I heard no more ; 
 but I revived to bless and be blessed, 
 to be received into the sanctuary of noble 
 friendship, to be protected from insult, 
 to be rescued from want, to share the 
 happiness, the rank, the respect of th^ 
 noble family by whom my youth was fos- 
 tered, to give my daughter another mother, 
 to connect her with beings as rich in virtue 
 as in fortune, to reward those to whose 
 5 benevolence
 
 VICISSITUDES. l'^\ 
 
 benevolence I had been obliged, and make 
 those whose hard hearts were inaccessible 
 to misfortune feel that charity^ like virtue, 
 is it own reward. 
 
 And now^ my dear Lady N , little 
 
 more remains of this period of my life^ 
 you will be relieved from the egotist^ 
 when you know how Juliet de Verencourt 
 came to be in England with Madame 
 Soubise and the Abbe Ricobini^ how she 
 obtained permission to search for and pro- 
 tect the discarded Henrietta, and how Pro- 
 vidence conducted my infant to that only 
 bosom in the world, except my own, where 
 she would be received and protected. 
 
 I told you, when the trunks were brought 
 by my nurse to Twickenham, '' it was the 
 work of Providence; and you will recollect 
 the dress Willis carried to a woman she had 
 formerly served for sale, and its being 
 detained. 
 
 When, after watching every carriage, and 
 taking her anxious station at the window 
 till objects were no longer visible, after 
 
 VOL. I. G wcarv
 
 12^ VICISSITUDES. 
 
 weary days and sleepless nights, after ex- 
 hausting her small stock of money, and 
 walking with the child in her anns three 
 times to town, she could learn no tidings 
 of me, you will conceive her consterna- 
 tion. 
 
 The cook, who had like to have lost her 
 place by her transient fit of humanity, was 
 dumb, and Mrs. Furnish, though she did 
 not deny having seen me, either ashamed 
 of her barbarity, or enraged at her loss, 
 would make no other answer to the im- 
 portunate enquiries of my servant, than 
 that my business there was to ask after my 
 husband; so that at length concluding I 
 was taken away by him, or detained by 
 force, she consulted the honest gardener, 
 be^sed his advice, and declared she would 
 go to the parish with the child, rather than 
 part with it. 
 
 I owed four months rent, besides many 
 little articles supplied to my family, and 
 though Willis protested she knew my 
 absence was forced, many circumstances 
 
 concurred
 
 VICISSITtJ&BS. I'^l 
 
 concurred to suggest the probability of a 
 concerted scheme to defraud him ; and hr 
 particularly mentioned the removal of thte 
 trunks^ in which manoeuvre he thought it 
 likely I might be concerned. 
 
 The poor man^ in his vexation, at a loss 
 he could not afford, forgot how dreadfully 
 I was engrossed at that period. 
 
 The mention of the trunks, however, 
 reminded nurse of the valuable deposit at 
 Madame Corsett's ; and the gardener, a 
 little mollified at the prospect of at least 
 getting part of his debt, accompanied her 
 thither^ to vouch for her honesty, and 
 prove that she was properly authorised to 
 dispose of the dress. 
 
 '' How came you, Willis,'' said the 
 milliner, " not to answer these advertise- 
 ments?'' shewing a bundle of newspapers, 
 offering a reward to Ann Willis on applica- 
 tion to . .iadame Corsett, dress-maker, in 
 Street. 
 
 " How could I answer what I never saw ? 
 Do you think I have nothing better to do 
 than reading newspapers ?" 
 
 G 2 Madame-
 
 124 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 Madame C knew, she replied, what 
 
 she had to do herself, and they must both 
 wait till she sent to some ladies, who, she 
 believed, were the real owners of the dress. 
 
 '' That must be my mistress," said nurse 
 with joy and confidence. 
 
 Madame C shook her head ; and as 
 
 I was now falling very fast in the estima- 
 tion of the honest gardener, he also shook 
 Ms head, and began to fear, he said, he 
 should find it a troublesome business. 
 
 Two ladies at length arrived, one of 
 whom eagerly demanded of nurse, as soon 
 as pointed out by Madame C orse tt, where 
 the owner of the dress was to be found ? 
 
 As this demand was no impeachment of 
 my honour, and as she perceived the ladies 
 were foreigners, she answered boldly, that 
 perhaps they could tell her, much more 
 than she could tell tliem, because why, they 
 were of her master's country, who was no 
 better nor worse than a French bite, and 
 as great a rogue as ever was hanged ; and 
 to be sure, after robbing her dear mistress, 
 
 who
 
 VICISSITUDES. 125 
 
 who ^vas a real lady^ and no sham^ of every 
 thing, he had now robbed her of herself 
 and left that dear sweet baby to want : but 
 please God 
 
 I need not say one of the ladies was Julia 
 de Vereneourt, when you know that poor 
 nurse was almost thrown into convulsions 
 at her attempting to take the child from 
 her, nor that the immediate explanation^ 
 while it drew the veil yet closer over the 
 mystery of my fate, gave to the honest 
 gardener a liberal discharge of his debt, 
 that my child found a mother, and my 
 nurse the kindest home, at a ready-furnished 
 house, where Julia and her suite resided, 
 near Kensington. 
 
 A relapse of the fever succeeded the 
 happy termination of my distress. I felt 
 its approach; but life had now its valuer 
 and you may conceive the surprise of the 
 same medical gentlemen who had given me 
 such indisputable proofs of skill and hu- 
 manity in the hospital, when they discovered^ 
 in a iuperb bedchamber, surrounded with 
 G 3 elegant
 
 1^ VICISSITUDES. 
 
 elegant profusion, and attended with ten- 
 derness, affection, and respect, the misera- 
 ble runaway patient, who was said to hav£j 
 perished in the road. 
 
 Julia made my physician the bearer of a 
 munificent benefaction to the hospital; and 
 my faithful nui-se, at her own particular 
 recjuest, carried a remembrance to the 
 wom.cn who attended me there. 
 
 Impatient to return to France, now tiie 
 object of her travel was comjDleted, Juli^ 
 ordered preparations for a journey that, in 
 my then fond idea, would transport me and 
 mine from a country inimical to all repose, 
 and place us where we were sure to enjoy 
 profound tranquillity ; but before we left 
 England, she insisted on stopping her 
 carriage at the door of our lodgings in 
 Pall-Mall, to thank Mi^s. Furnish for her 
 humanitij, and to give the cook ten guineas 
 in her presence. 
 
 We afterwards stopped at Mr. Asgell's. 
 He occupied a small house in an obscure 
 street near Piccadilly ; and I only wish Lady 
 
 Charlotte^
 
 VICISSITUDES. 127 
 
 Charlotte^ your pretty caricaturist, could 
 see such a face as that which recognised me, 
 when I put a bank-note of twenty pounds 
 into his hand, as repayment of his trouble 
 and expence. 
 
 I had no leave to take, no conges to 
 friends, for I literally had none ; Julia, 
 however, had many, and Madame Soubise 
 was universally known to the first people. 
 
 It was to the difficulty of pleasing her in 
 the ornaments of a dress for court, that I 
 owed the happy termination of my mis- 
 fortunes. Madame Corsett produced my 
 dress, as a specimen of her own taste and 
 skill ; she had made it, she boasted, for a 
 Princess. 
 
 As Julia instantly knewnt, Madame C 
 
 explained in confusion how^ it came into 
 her possession ; and thus the accident of a 
 moment did that, which the indefatigable 
 zeal, the enquiries^ ard rewards of Mr. 
 Rivers and his agents had failed to compass. 
 
 Madame Soubise was the widow of a 
 
 general officer of high rank, gay turn, and 
 
 G 4 expensive
 
 1 28 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 expensive manners : his table was open to 
 every officer of character who had dis- 
 tinguished himself in the service of his 
 country ; and his house the resort of all the 
 gay and fashionable. 
 
 Madame Soubise had^ on her part, every 
 ngrement to attract and amuse, except 
 beauty : the cruel ravage of those timesy 
 the small-pox, had scarred a very pretty 
 round face, injured the natural ornament 
 of brows and eye-lashes, and totally changed 
 the tint of a fine complexion, just at the 
 period when she was removed from a con- 
 vent to be married. 
 
 Soubise was, however, a man of feeling 
 as well as honour ; and he found in the 
 wife of his parent's selection, a companion 
 whose cheerful vivacity, wit, and good 
 humour banished ennui from their fev/ 
 hours of retirement, and whose propriety 
 of conduct, line sense, selection of friends, 
 and repartee, rendered his table the most 
 attractive, and their parties most crowded 
 of any in Paris. 
 
 The
 
 VICISSITUDES. 129 
 
 The General lost his life in the service of 
 his country ; and his magnificent spirit 
 having exposed him to every kind of im- 
 position, he died so deeply in debt, as left 
 Madame Soubise only her jointure and 
 jewels, to console her for the loss of a 
 husband to whom she was attached on 
 principle, and for those reductions in her 
 establishment which were necessary to her 
 own future comfort. 
 
 But the vivacity of Madame Soubise was 
 invincible. She obtained a pension from 
 the King ; and accepted a handsome suite 
 of apartments in the Castle of St. Vincennes, 
 where she was visited, and lost nothing of 
 her former respect, during the part of the 
 year she chose to remain at Paris, and from 
 whence she was always invited to pass the 
 summer months at the chateau of one or 
 other of her friends, to whom her charming 
 spirits, excellent heart, and high character, 
 rendered her an ever-welcome guest. 
 
 Her near affinity to Madame de Veren- 
 
 court was indeed the least of her recom- 
 
 G 5 mendations
 
 ISO ViaSSlTUDES, 
 
 mendations to that lady^ who could not 
 give a higher proof of respect for her 
 character^ and confidence in her friendship, 
 than requesting her to matronise a daughter 
 so dear^ and of so much consequence in the 
 worlds as the heiress of Monsieur de Veren- 
 court^ into a foreign country^ in search 
 of such an unfortunate insignificant as 
 Henrietta St. Herman. 
 
 Without anticipating events^ I must 
 here note from my journal^ now cheerfully 
 recommenced, that when my fever left me;» 
 and I was able to sit at ihe dinner table^ 
 not only the sadness deeply imprinted on 
 every lineament of Julia's face, but her 
 appearance, and that of her suite in deep 
 mourning, for the first time that I observed 
 it, struck me with surprise and dismay. 
 My kind considerate Julia had hitherto 
 worn a dishabille of white cambric ; and 
 perhaps the sudden change in my own 
 fiite, might, if she had not, have rendered 
 me inattentive to outward appearance^ 
 where the heart was so open to all emana- 
 3 tions
 
 VICISSITUDES, 13 1 
 
 tions of kindness and affection ; but at this 
 instant my eye glanced round the splendid 
 table, and rested with an expression of 
 ffrief and terror on the tears that now fell 
 from Julia. She did not, and / could not 
 speak. 
 
 As soon as the covers were removed my 
 friend withdrew^ and Madame Soubise, 
 after at first, in her lively w^ay, lamenting 
 that the whole w^orld would not be governed 
 by her, said she thought an apology w^as due 
 to me for surprising me, as it were, into 
 events as painful as irremediable. 
 
 " You have no doubt," she added, " often 
 exclaimed against the rigour of that fate 
 which seemed so peculiarly to persecute 
 yoii. Every body does the same ; but while 
 the fancy of one little atom out of myriads 
 and myriads of created nature, is intensely 
 fixed on its own diminutive grievances. 
 Almighty wisdom is immutable, and its 
 decrees, no less just than wise, dispenses an 
 equal proportion of real good and evil 
 to all. 
 
 G 6
 
 132 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 '' From what other source than a rateful 
 convictionof this fact could that involuntary 
 feeling spring which animates our devotions 
 to the great Creator, and what, deprived 
 of this conviction, could give us fortitude 
 to endure those trials which are meant to 
 wean us from the transient good of mortal 
 existence, and prepare us for that which is 
 immortal 9" 
 
 The well-meant exordium prepared me 
 for the worst. 
 
 My Julia too had lost her father ; the 
 noble and respectable Monsieur de Veren- 
 court was no more ! 
 
 Oh ! how I wept for him, for my second, 
 now more than ever-beloved mother, for 
 my sister, my Julia ! 
 
 Madame Soubise, however, had a con- 
 solation in store for me that surpassed 
 hope. It was by permission given in the 
 last moments of the revered father of my 
 friend, and acceded to by her sorrowing 
 mother, that I was restored to the honour 
 and happiness of their protection. 
 
 St,
 
 VICISSITUDES. 133 
 
 St. Herman^ the wretched St. Herman, 
 had also, Madame Soubise informed me, 
 paid the great debt of nature : I trembled 
 to retrace the crimes, that, signed with his 
 blood, obtruded on the last moments of 
 the good M. de Verencourt. 
 
 A draft to a very considerable amount, 
 from the banker of M. de Verencourt, in 
 fiwour of Henrietta St. Herman, had been 
 presented to, and paid by Mr. Rivers, with- 
 out the smallest suspicion of a forgery. 
 But the success that renders villany bold, 
 led to detection. 
 
 A second draft within a few days, for a 
 larger sum, begat suspicion. The signature 
 was exactly executed ; but Mr. Rivers 
 stopped the draft, and would have done the 
 same by the presenter, had he not made a 
 precipitate escape. 
 
 As this amounted to presumption of 
 guilt, his suspicion fell on St. Herman, and 
 information of the transaction, with a de- 
 scription of his person and mi?ie, were sent 
 
 to
 
 134 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 to the officers of the police. St. Herman 
 had not since been heard of. 
 
 A crime of such an atrocious nature, in 
 which, ignorant as my friends were of my 
 sufferings and situation, I could not fail to 
 be implicated, finished, in their estimation, 
 the depravity of my character; and even 
 Julia no longer needed the injunctions of 
 her parents to give me wholly up. 
 
 But a letter from the guilty, unfortunate 
 St. Herman, which arrived while the pious 
 Abbe Riccobini was in an act of devotion 
 with the dying M. de Verencourt, signed 
 with his blood, and enclosed in the 
 envelope of a merchant of well-known 
 responsibility at Hamburg, proved to them 
 " that dying men speak truth." 
 
 It contained the most pointed con- 
 demnation of all his own actions, which 
 were made public, and an unreserved con- 
 fession of many that were not; acknow- 
 ledged the forgery, but added so particular 
 and true a history of himself and me from 
 
 our
 
 VICISSITUDES. 1S5 
 
 6uY first interview, as proved my innocence 
 and his own guilt. He lamented the dis- 
 tress to which he had exposed^ and the 
 misery in which he had left his wife and 
 helpless offspring. He adjured the De 
 Verencourts, as they hoped for mercy 
 themselves, to extend it to me ; and, 
 tJiough ignorant where I was to be found, 
 called on them in the name of God to lose 
 no time, least their repentance, like his, 
 should be too late ; and added that his 
 signature is in his own blood. 
 
 The envelope of this terrific letter was 
 written by the merchant. St. Herman, he 
 wrote, came to Hamburg in an English 
 packet, and passed for an Irishman of 
 fortune. 
 
 His associates, however, announced him. 
 He was found no where but at the gaming- 
 table, otherwise this merchant, on whom 
 he brought bills, would perhaps have 
 been known to him before a challenge 
 from a person, who suspected the fairness 
 of his play, induced a Frenchman, with 
 
 whom
 
 1 36 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 whom he lodged, to request the merchant to 
 inspect the papers and effects of his lodger, 
 who had died that morning, after writing a 
 letter, which, being directed to M. de Veren- 
 court, he had the honour to enclose. 
 
 The merchant added, that however just 
 the accusation of the adversary of St. Her- 
 man in respect to the unfairness of his 
 play, it did not appear that he had been 
 successful ; for although bills to the amount 
 of near a thousand pounds had been cashed 
 three days before the duel, there did not 
 remain enough to pay for his interment, 
 which, however, on the credit of such high 
 connections, he had himself discharged, not 
 doubting a reimbursement. He inclosed 
 some letters from the agent of St. Herman, 
 at the time he was applying for the Dunbar 
 estate, which proved my ignorance of the 
 transaction, and one from Mr. Furnish, our 
 landlord, informing him of my departure, 
 with mychild and nurse, with the account 
 of the funeral, and other expenditures, and 
 these were the whole contents of the packet. 
 
 .\J1
 
 VICISSITUDES. 157 
 
 All the former confidence and affection 
 of the good M. de Verencourt returned : 
 he exhorted Madame de Verencourt to be- 
 lieve the report of an hour so awful. My 
 dereliction from virtue had often^, he said, 
 struck him as an instance of the perversion 
 of human nature, which sometimes ex- 
 ceeded credibilit}^ He directed the mer- 
 chant's account to be paid, and the amount 
 of the forgery to be made good to the 
 banker; and he enjoined the Abbe Ricco- 
 bini to omit no means of restoring the 
 poor fugitive to her proper home, the 
 protection of Madame de Verencourt. 
 
 The double relief I felt, as Madame 
 Soubise proceeded in this relation, from 
 the vindication of my innocence, and the 
 retrieved good opinion of so upright a 
 character as M, de V. could not, however^ 
 console me for his loss, nor relieve my 
 mind from the melancholy that pervaded 
 it on this new and atrocious proof of my 
 husband's depravity, though the truth of 
 the exordium, with which Madame Soubise 
 
 prefaced
 
 138 TICISSITUDES. 
 
 prefaced the communication;, could never 
 be more fully exemplified ; for had I 
 not fallen into that calamity thei^ made 
 me the inmate of a house of charity^, 
 implicated as I appeared in my husband's 
 guiltj I should perhaps have been in a 
 prison, the companion of felons; andthus^, 
 what I then lamented as the severest mis- 
 fortune, was in fact an escape from the 
 most dreadful of evils. 
 
 Madame and Mademoiselle de Veren- 
 court were carried from the bed, where the 
 best of husbands and fathers resigned his 
 great soul, to the Convent I have before 
 mentioned, where Madame de Verencourt 
 was still remembered with enthusiastic 
 respect. 
 
 In the solitude of this Convent, while 
 her mother attended in the deepest grief 
 and most religious fervour the daily masses 
 performed for the soul of her departed 
 husband, and while devoting herself to 
 sacred duties, from which even her daugh- 
 ter was excluded, Julia expatiated with 
 
 fond
 
 VICISSITUDES. 130 
 
 fond regret on the support we had from 
 infancy mutually been to each other. She 
 considered the reunion with a friend so 
 loved and so unfortunate, as the most valu- 
 able acquisition of the splendid fortune 
 which she now possessed ; and reminding 
 the Abbe of her father's dying injunctions^ 
 ventured to breathe a wish, to whichj how 
 ever she dared not attach hope. 
 
 The x\bbe well knew that Madame de 
 Verencourt's seclusion was the effect of 
 that grief which passeth shew; that her 
 return to tranquillity depended on a con- 
 scientious discharge of the last respectful 
 duty to her husband's memory ; and that 
 diverting the attention of her daughter 
 from subjects which had already affected 
 her health, would be the most dear and 
 acceptable service he could render her. 
 
 Without appearing to attend to the half- 
 expressed wish of Julia, he proposed it to 
 Madame de V. with the extremest caution, 
 delicately adverting to circumstances that 
 could not but corrode on her daughter's 
 
 mind
 
 140 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 mind in the solitude where she now was 
 placed^ and from which^ except in the 
 adoption of her favourite wish, it would 
 be indecorous to desire her removal ; and 
 she promised that Julia should accompany 
 him to England, provided Madame Soubise 
 consented to chaprone her : and the Duke 
 de Verencourt's permission was obtained. 
 
 Had motives been wanting to persuade 
 Madame Soubise to accept so sacred a trusty 
 she would have found many in the recollec- 
 tion of the English people of rank who had 
 been hospitably received at her hotel, with 
 some of whom she still corresponded ; but 
 Madame de Verencourt's request would have 
 tJien carried her to Siberia, as the wish of her 
 daughter, now induced her to leave a coun- 
 try she admired, before she had visited half 
 the friends who were anxious to return her 
 former civilities. One family, however, the 
 Earl of Preston's, would not give up her 
 promise to pass the Christmas at their seat. 
 
 At my earnest request, I was left at 
 Kensington; but I saw enough of this 
 
 family
 
 VICISSITUDES. HI 
 
 family to perceive that the heart of the 
 Earl did homage to the charms of my 
 friend. But her's was the grace of de- 
 clining with more fascination than many 
 would have accepted his offered hand. 
 
 At last we left the scene of such sorrows 
 as had fixed in me an hatred of what was 
 in fact my own country ; and I can never 
 make you^ who have such a dislike to Pciris, 
 conceive the sensations of joy with which I 
 approached its barriers. 
 
 Madame de Verencourt had directed her 
 Maitre dliotel to prepare for our reception 
 at the apartments of Madame Soubise. 
 
 " The poor child !" said she^ '' this dear 
 penitent Henrietta, how could she support 
 a return to that house, and those apart- 
 ments, where her reflecting mind must re- 
 cognise so many scenes of happiness, 
 reversed by one wrong act; where both her 
 natural and adopted father had, during an 
 absence, at first criminal and voluntary, 
 breathed their last. 
 
 Madame
 
 142 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 Madame de Verencoiirt was in all things 
 herself. Well did she know the heart 
 formed by her precept^ and animated by 
 her example ; but there was a solemn 
 weighty an internal awe on my mind, of 
 which she could have no conception or 
 belief, and which no time could weaken. 
 One dreadful occurrence \,as always pre- 
 sent — from one av/ful vision memory could 
 not escape ! — I had seen my father more 
 than a year after he was consigned to the 
 mansions of the dead, and how could I, in 
 the then state of my mind, become familiar 
 with objects where a wounded spirit might 
 shudder at the idea of a second super- 
 natural visit ? where, if fancy blended the 
 mortal, with the immortal, the loss of reason 
 might be the consequence. 
 
 The kind arrangement of Madame de V. 
 spared me these trials. We were not her 
 guests till the spring was far enough ad- 
 vanced for our removal to Loraine, and 
 her voluntary probation expired. 
 
 Willis,
 
 VICISSITUDES. 143 
 
 Willis, my faithful Willis, was still my 
 Jittendant, notwithstanding her natural dis- 
 like of the French, with her dear charge, 
 growing all a fond mother could wish ; and 
 I was again restored to the love, the con- 
 fidence, and protection of my more than 
 mother, again allowed to share the apart- 
 ment, the avocations, the amusements, and 
 the heart of her daughter. 
 
 Madame Soubise, the elegant, lively, un- 
 affected friend, the soul of society, and the 
 favourite of all, accompanied us ; and here, 
 wandering round the beautiful close, or 
 loitering in the shade of an artificial wilder- 
 ness, I heard from her a history of the 
 events that had cast a gloom over the be- 
 loved familv, who, if ever mortal beings 
 deserved it, should -have been happy. 
 
 Here then ends my second packet, con- 
 cluding, for the present, the tale of the 
 egotist. My next will give you the more 
 interesting memoirs of my friends, from 
 the period of my ill-fated marriage to the 
 death of M. de V. 
 
 It
 
 lAi VICISSITUDES. 
 
 It is a tale of other times ; but whatever 
 the changes in mode, custom, or manners, 
 the human heart is still the same ; inspired 
 by the same virtues, seduced by the same 
 weakness, as far as^ they respect a natural 
 impulse, in all ages and countries. But 
 need the sensible, accomplished, well-in- 
 formed Lady N. be told this by her 
 
 Affectionate 
 
 Henrietta. 
 
 PACKET
 
 VICISSITWDES. 145 
 
 PACKET III, 
 
 To Lady N- 
 
 HEN the handsome, gay^ thoughtless 
 De Courville bade adieu to his contracted 
 bride, he had the world before him, and 
 every possible disposition to enjoy it. 
 
 The Marquis, deeply regretting that he 
 had suffered any consideration to divert his 
 attention from the dear and important 
 duty of forming the mind and manners of 
 his only son^ had quitted his employment 
 at Court, parted from a wife to whom he 
 
 VOL. I. H was
 
 146 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 Tvas much attached, and left his naii^e 
 country^ resolved^ while witnessing the in- 
 formation a young man could not fail to 
 receive from travel, to omit no means of 
 restraining his unbounded levity^ and im- 
 pressing on his understanding the necessity 
 of devoting some time to the attainments 
 indispensible to the chai*acter of a finished 
 £:entleman and a man of honour, such as 
 ought to succeed to the ancient dignity 
 and fortunes of the House of Be Cour- 
 vilie^ and such as should be worthy to 
 possess the lovely heiress of Monsieur de 
 Verencourt. 
 
 The Abbe Riccobini, no longer officially 
 attached to the suite of his beloved and 
 accomplished pupil^ had voluntarily re- 
 signed an handsome establishment in the 
 Castle de Verencourt, rather than remain 
 a painful witness of the disagreements that 
 were growing into habit between the Duke 
 and his ill chosen bride. He was now in 
 Paris, a prey to ennui, and cheerfully 
 acceded to the Marquis de Courville's 
 
 proposal
 
 vicrssiTUDES. 147 
 
 proposal of placing him in the situation 
 which Rocquelar submitted to abdicate. 
 
 The travellers stopped wherever informa- 
 tion or improvement could be obtained ; 
 and the fond father hoped that the eager- 
 ness of his son to see cverij thing was a 
 favourable traits lill he perceived that it 
 ended in remembering nothing, and till he 
 was detected in a correspondence^ solemnly 
 intcraicted, \v^ith the Abbe Rocquelar^ who, 
 in a vein of affected humour^ gave him the 
 epithet of " pr'^tty child/' a mode of 
 piquing his pride the cunning Abbe well 
 underslocd. 
 
 Fadgiiedj but not discouraged^ the good 
 father^, with his coadjutors^ would have 
 persevered ; but the undertaking was fatal 
 to himiselC without benefitting his son. He 
 caught cold in a visit to the Glaciers^ which 
 brougii on a pulmonary fever, and in three 
 days ended his- -Juable life. 
 
 After the firbt burst of natural sorrow^ 
 
 the young Marquis was consoled. Ke 
 
 found himself uncontrolled heir to a large 
 
 u 2 fortune,
 
 148 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 fortune, and perfect master of his own 
 actions. This enfranchisement, so unex- 
 pected, and indeed I must in justice own 
 undesired, gave a complete turn to his 
 ideas. In the moment that he longed to 
 ride post over half the globe without 
 stopping, he remembered the amusing 
 talents of the Abbe Roquelar, and resolved 
 to make all possible haste back to Paris, 
 pay a flying duty to his mother, settle w^ith 
 his stewards, and with the lively Abbe com- 
 mence a fresh tour. 
 
 My unhappv marriage, followed by 
 letters from Lord Broughton, charging m.y 
 father with confederating with a base ad- 
 venturer to deprive him of his estate, had 
 so affected his weak health, that he w^as left 
 at Lausanne during the unfortunate excur- 
 sion of the Marquis to the glaciers. The 
 sudden loss of his friend at this period was 
 a trial his broken spirit could not s^ipport. 
 From the hour of the Marquis's death he re- 
 signed himself to his own fate ; and having, 
 in the first paroxism of anger, sent me his 
 
 malediction.
 
 VICISSITUDES. 149 
 
 malediction, prayed only that his life might 
 be spared till he had attended the remains of 
 his friend to the mausoleum of his ancestors, 
 and till he could sign an instrument, pro- 
 perly authenticated, and witnessed by the 
 English Ambassador, disclaiming all know- 
 ledge of, or consent to the application, in 
 his daughter's name, for the Dunbar estate. 
 His prayer was granted. The Marquis 
 had very gracefully gone through the suc- 
 cessive ceremonies of condolence and gra- 
 tulations; he had paid due attention to the 
 weeds of the Marquise ; he had settled 
 with the stewards ; and he had filled a 
 whole sheet of paper to his beautiful 
 cousin, then absent from Paris, so that 
 both the AbbeRocquelar and himself would 
 perhaps have set out on their travels before 
 high mass had been said at Notre Dame, 
 over the remains of his worthy father, had 
 it not been for the attractive society of 
 a German, Count Bergen, who, a great 
 favourite at Vienna, was charged with a 
 private commission from the Empress to 
 H 3 the
 
 150 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 her daughter, the Dauphiness of France. 
 This Nobleip.an not only added to the 
 vivacity of youth the prudence of age^ but 
 he possessed an art little understood by the 
 Marquis^ which was that cK' concealing, 
 under the enchantments of the former, all 
 the repulsive qualities of the latter. 
 
 The acquaintance of these Nobles began 
 at a sorry miberge on the frontiers, where 
 they were detained, waiting for horees, and 
 where the open report of the young Mar- 
 quis, relative to his father's recent death, 
 his mother's rich jointure, besides her own 
 personals, the large fortune to which he was 
 heir, the beauty of his contracted bride, 
 and the tour he intended to commence 
 previous to his marriage, with other par- 
 ticulars of his family, fortune, and con- 
 nections, was returned with such appear- 
 ance of interest, such acknowledgments of 
 the honour thus frankly conferred, and 
 such apparently sincere professions of re- 
 gard, that the Marquis forgot to remark, 
 while Count Bergen contrived, on whatever 
 
 subject
 
 VICISSITUDES. 151 
 
 subject their conversation bcgan^, it should, 
 end in the concerns of the De Courville 
 family, that he was dumb on every subject 
 relative to his own. 
 
 The Marquis introduced this new friend 
 to his mother; and the Count not only 
 rendered some very acceptable services to 
 Madame^ the Marquise^ but peisuaded her 
 son that he could not begin his tour more 
 agreeably than making Vienna a first ob- 
 ject, whither, when his commission to the 
 Dauphiness was completed, he would have 
 the honour to accompany him. 
 
 The Dauphiness, at that period the most 
 beautiful and adored Princess in the world, 
 was entirely governed by the Empress her 
 mother. Had not Louis XV. been so 
 very far advanced in age, most likely that 
 politic woman would have advised her 
 daughter's passive respect to a favourite 
 whose influence was so complete ; but she. 
 left the Dauphiness at her own discression 
 in respect to Du Barry, in consequence of 
 whichj she formed her own Court, as far 
 H 4 as
 
 15^ VICISSITUDES, 
 
 as the established etiquette permitted^, of 
 those ladies who were least in the favourite's 
 good graces. In this number, among many 
 others, were the Duchess de Gramont and 
 Madame de Verencourt. 
 
 But though the Marquise de Courville 
 had also in the wisdom of her calculation 
 presented herself, she had been very little 
 noticed ; and she, whose pride was her 
 strongest passion, looked forward to an 
 era which could not be far distant, when 
 she must take herself from the intoxicating 
 delight of Court adulation, to prevent its 
 being taken from her. 
 
 But the acquaintance of Count Bergen 
 made a sensible alteration in her favour. 
 He attended her to the Court of the 
 Dauphiness, who honoured them both with 
 her conversation a full half hour. 
 
 The introduction of the Marquis, too, 
 who carried in his handsome person, and 
 prepossessing countenance, an irresistible 
 letter of recommendation, was also attended 
 with great eclat. 
 
 The
 
 \ICISSITUDES. 153 
 
 The Dowager, no longer a cypher in the 
 magic circle of the rising sun, did not, 
 however, desert that in which she had long 
 been conspicuous ; but the management 
 necessary to preserve a respectable foot- 
 ing, where the interests were so opposite, 
 would have been too much for her, had 
 she not been, as he said, humbhi advised, 
 but as, in fact, a bystander would say, 
 directed by Count Bergen. 
 
 The Count was a handsome middle aged 
 man. You have been told of his natural, 
 reserve, and the art he possessed of con- 
 cealing that reserve under its opposite 
 appearance — frankness. No penetration of 
 the Marquise could possibly suggest the 
 smallest design in all his attentions, except 
 friendship for her son ; but the Dowager 
 had reasoned herself into a sort of gratitude, 
 not very uncommon to widows at her time 
 of life, when the object of it happens, 
 besides rank and respect, to possess a grace- 
 ful figure and insinuating address. 
 
 H 5, The
 
 154 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 The day and hour were fixed for the de- 
 parture of the two friends^ with the Abbe 
 Rocquelar^ when the Marquise took a sum- 
 mary method of postponing the arrange- 
 ment^ whichj whatever surprise it might be 
 to her son, was none to Count Bergen^ 
 who^ on being summoned to the lady's^ 
 toudoir, was^ with many vain attempts to 
 blush, informed that she was a Dowager of 
 quality. 
 
 The Count bowed; it vras what every 
 body knew. 
 
 She had a large jointure, and possessed, 
 in her now right, 30,000 Louis d'ors, and 
 very valuable jewels. 
 
 All this the Count knew extremely well ; 
 but he bov. ed still lower. 
 
 Her hand, and all she possessed were his, 
 if he thought proper to accept them as the 
 reward of his gallantry and attention. 
 
 The Count threw himself on his knees^ 
 and remained at the feet of the Marquise 
 with as much perseverance as if he meant 
 to grow there, till she, with ail the melting 
 
 tenderness
 
 VICISSITUDES. 155 
 
 tenderness of a widoW;, determined to 
 shower favours on her second choice, 
 obliged him to be seated on her sofa, and 
 they were the very next morning married. 
 But though the ceremony was so private 
 and hasty, the leaving Paris at the time 
 appointed by the Count, was not the most 
 agreeable thing in the world to Madan^e la 
 Comtesse. She must shew a vast deal of 
 bridal finery — she must be presented at 
 both Courts — she must give and receive 
 the conges of her friends — and, finally, 
 she must leave Paris with eclat. 
 
 The Marquis was not so volatile as to 
 remain an uninterrupted spectator, while 
 so large a part of a fortune, he had 
 reckoned on as his own, was alienated in 
 favour of an actual stranger ; nor could he 
 feel any very great respect for a womaix. 
 who had given up his father's name before 
 her first change of mourning. But vive la 
 hagateUe was his motto ; and as Rocquelar 
 humbly painted to him, that " as Madame, 
 his mamma, had the 'penchant for marrying, 
 H 6 it
 
 156 VICTSSITUDES, 
 
 it was extremely fortunate she had fixed 
 on a Nobleman so respectable as Count 
 Bergen." 
 
 '' But the Count/' said the Marquis, 
 '' him who I thought the most frank of 
 meUj his duplicity ! " 
 
 The Abbe undertook to prove duplicity 
 was a vice of which the Count could not be 
 accused — '' For see. Marquis/' said he^ 
 '' ycu were not at home : the Count was 
 only informed of xhii interest taken in his 
 fortune by Madame, your mother, at icn 
 o'clock in the evening. At eight next 
 morning she had arranged every thing for 
 the marriage. You were still not at home ; 
 you did not return till all was over. But 
 how is my Lord the Count to blame ?" 
 
 The Marquis could not precisely say at 
 t\\Q, instant ; and it was not in his way to 
 reflect. 
 
 *' Besides/* continued the Abbe, '' had 
 the Count refused the hand of the Marquise 
 de Courville, the Marquis, her son, must 
 have avenged her quarrel on his good 
 
 friend ;
 
 VICISSITUDLT. 15t 
 
 friend ; aiid would not the Count then have 
 been to blame ?" 
 
 This was deep rcasonino;, which the 
 Marquis could not, or would not, take the 
 trouble to answer. 
 
 Madame de Verencourl Y:ho, in the 
 deepest mourning, grieved for a brother 
 already forgotten in his own house, was 
 anicng the ftrst who heard, and the last who 
 forgave, an act which she reprobated, as 
 no less degrading to the rank and sex of 
 the bride, than disrespectful to the memory 
 of her husband. 
 
 Meanwhile the kind bosom whereon all 
 her sorrovrs rested, was too paiiifiilly engaged 
 to attend to the conduct of the ci-divant 
 Marqui:^. He v/as stationed by the couch 
 of my dying father, and wholly occupied in 
 ratifying a deed which renounced all claim 
 to the Dunbar estate in favour of my uncle. 
 Lord Eroughton, and his heirs, which, though 
 it would have availed little against the 
 powerful interest that supported St, Herman^ 
 proved his sentiments. Ah! howMniserable 
 3 should
 
 158 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 should I have been had the estate been 
 forced on me after such an inhibition. 
 
 When this deed was completed^ my poor 
 father said^ he had now nothing to do but 
 prepare to join his friend^ " xvhere the 
 wicked ccas: to trouble/' 
 
 But the good, the pious^ the charitable 
 Riccobini reminded him of a previous duty ; 
 he pleaded the cause of an offending child 
 to the dying father. 
 
 Blessed for ever blessed be the charity that 
 inspired, and the eloquence that prevailed. 
 My father recalled the malediction uttered 
 in his wrath ; and, having prayed for 
 forgiveness on his poor child, expired. 
 
 For this consolation alone, without which 
 my soul could never have known peace, can 
 I ever cease to bless the Abbe Riccobini. 
 
 The DeVerencourts were among the few 
 independent Nobles who did honour to the 
 Court of the Dauphiness ; their high cha- 
 racter, and splendid appearance, added 
 brilliancy to the galas which were graced 
 by their presence ; but while they were 
 
 in
 
 VICISSITUDES. 159 
 
 in the habit of paying the Daiiphiness all 
 possible respect^ Madame de V. would not 
 dispense one day with her moiirnino-, 
 though it was on the birth day of the 
 Empress that Count Bergen presented his 
 bride. No family visits passed on the 
 occasion ; and this disgraceful conduct^, 
 as Madame de V. thought it^ in her sister- 
 in-law^ did not help to veil faults of her 
 son, which, though not perceived by the 
 innocent Julia, gave both her parents many 
 uneasy hours. 
 
 The marriage was considered by the 
 v/orld, and the parties themselves, as cer- 
 tain ; and, though now, all connection w^as 
 at an end between his mother and aunt, De 
 Courville had free access to the hotel De 
 Verencourt, vvhcre his good humoured 
 rattle, partly palliated the nothingness of a 
 character, which, in all his actions and 
 connections, betrayed a frivolous, if jiot 
 dishonourable turn ; nor could it be con- 
 cealed from M. De Verncourt, that tlie 
 Marquis, when not with his beautiful 
 
 cousin.
 
 160 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 cousin^ was the constant attendant of that de- 
 scription of married women with whom the 
 females of his family could not assort ; nor 
 that he was more constantly in the parties 
 of young m.en, who, like himself, devoted 
 their lives to gallantry, and their fortunes 
 to dissipation^ than exactly became the 
 contracted bridegroom of one of the most 
 beautiful women in France. 
 
 It is, unfortunately, no uncommon thing 
 for young men of fashion to be thought 
 more agreeable as they become less worthy. 
 Julia observed the pleased eye of all her 
 friends fixed on a lover, in whom she saw 
 no fault, and no one could be so cruel, or 
 indeed impolitic, as to point out defects 
 that would wound, without; perhaps being 
 believed. 
 
 Although the Marquis loved his cousin 
 as well as ever he did, or could love ary 
 thing, his visits, though frequent, were by 
 some accident becoming very short, at 
 the Hotel de Verencourt ; but he had an 
 insuperable objection to the keen, pene- 
 trating
 
 VICISSITUDES* 161 
 
 trating glance of his future father-in-law ; 
 and the mournful visage of his aunt was such 
 a severe comment on his own gaiety^, that 
 he was reduced to the constant habit of 
 execrating, those cruel engagements^, that 
 prevented his passing his whole time at the 
 feet of his beautiful Julia, who was, in 
 truth, so fond of his company, she would 
 have been ready to execrate them too^ had 
 she, or any other mortal, been able to 
 divine what they were. 
 
 Madame de V. received these excuses 
 with good humour, and though she could 
 not help sometimes suspecting their sin- 
 cerity, there was the ready apology of 
 youth — and time might do much, where in 
 truth it had much to do. 
 
 But M. de Veren court, a less partial, and 
 consequently a more just observer, was only 
 kept from breaking with the wild Marquis, 
 by consideration for his spouse and 
 daughter; his volatility was not checked 
 by this severe observer, although knowing 
 the tenderness of her parents, so well- 
 deserved
 
 162 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 deserved by Julia; he could not flatter 
 himself that his conduct was not known^ 
 and^ if known, not condemned; but if the 
 Marquis had any real business in existence, 
 it was to kill thought, and as in the presence 
 of the virtuous De Verencourts and their 
 lovely daughter, this was an achievement 
 not always to be conquered, he felt more 
 and more awkward every visit. 
 
 He now seldom mentioned marriage — 
 expressed no anxiety about its taking 
 place — and spoke no more of the beauty 
 that excited the admiration of the world, 
 than if she had been his wife from the hour 
 of signing the contract. 
 
 Even Madame de V. acknowledged to 
 her husband, that she feared the conduct of 
 his mother had a baneful effect on her son; 
 "but Julia's pride was yet unhurt by distrust, 
 her temper unruffled by discontent, and 
 her tenderness not wounded by doubt of 
 her lover, or anticipating a disappointment 
 which had not yet occurred to her as 
 possible to happen. 
 
 Whea
 
 VICISSITUDES. 163 
 
 When the wonder of the day ceased^ the 
 Countess Bergen, by degrees, retrieved the 
 lost credit of the Marquise deCourville; and 
 very well pleased would she have been to 
 remain at Paris, wife to so great a favourite 
 of the future Queen, had not the Count re- 
 minded her of a voluntary promise, made in 
 one of her tender moments, to return with 
 him to Germany, and fix her future principal 
 residence at his castle. 
 
 The Countess had sense enough to see 
 and feel, that, having lost the respect, not 
 only of her former husband's family but 
 her own, she owed all her present eclat to 
 the Count; and, not to rob her of one of 
 the few good traits in her character, she was 
 really fond of him, and therefore made the 
 preparations for their departure, with an 
 alacrity as flattering to the Count, as cre- 
 ditable to herself. 
 
 Whether in the moment of bidding adieu, 
 perhaps for ever, some recollection of 
 regret actuated the Countess, or whether 
 she considered it a sort of duty to part 
 
 amicably
 
 164 VICISSITUDES^ 
 
 amicably with people who v/ere to be the 
 future parents of her son^ she wrote a civil 
 letter to Madame deVerencourt, requesting 
 a parting interview, which that lady was too 
 much out of humour, both with the Marquis 
 and his mother, to grant ; but as it was a 
 request on the part of the Countess, highly 
 agreeable to Madame Soubise, Madame de V,, 
 now considered as the head of the family of 
 De Courville, consented to her accom- 
 panying the Countess to Germany. 
 
 When the day was fixed for the final 
 departure^ the Marquis conducted himself 
 with a composure no less grievous to the 
 Countess, than disgusting to the Count; 
 but he made an amende equally delightful 
 to both, when he announced his readiness 
 to attend his mother to Germany. 
 
 The sober face of the agreeable Count 
 was turned into smiles ; he talked of home, 
 as who does not, in a flow of eloquence^ 
 and drew such a picture of German castles, 
 German wine, and German women, as both 
 intoxicated the young Marquis and his 
 
 companion.
 
 VICISSITUDES. 16$ 
 
 companion, the Abbe Rocquelar, who, as 
 perhaps you already guess, was high in the 
 good graces of Count Bergen. 
 
 The hurry of leave taking succeeded; and 
 though, whenever Julia de Verencourt was 
 the subject, thought was too painful to be in- 
 dulged, yet the Marquisresolved to announce 
 his journev, and the motives for taking it, 
 at the hotel De Verencourt, with the agree- 
 able addition, that as sgon as he had attended 
 the Count and Countess to their castle, he 
 would make the tour of Germany — pass into 
 Holland — from thence cress over to Eng- 
 land — from thenre . 
 
 " You will be much improved. Marquis,'' 
 vsaid M. de Verencourt, his black brows 
 almost drawn down to his severe eyes. 
 
 " You will miss Sir Hector Dunbar/* 
 sighed Madame de Verencourt, 
 
 '' Pray tell me, cousin,'* said Julia, casting 
 down her eyes and deeply blushing, '' how 
 long a time will this immense tour take to 
 accomplish it?" 
 
 <' Oh !
 
 166 VICISSITUDSS. 
 
 '' Oh ! that depends on an infinitude of 
 chances ; perhaps a year — possibly two — 
 or three — or /' 
 
 " How^ Marquis! do you mean to be 
 absent years?" faltered Julia. 
 
 Her mother crimsoned at the answer. 
 
 " Ah no! bynomeanscouldheexist in the 
 idea, certainly not/' he merely mentioned 
 at random, what was in fact uncertain. 
 '' So servitciir Monsieur — adieu, ma cJiere 
 tant — adieu, inon adorable Coiisine ;*' and 
 away skipped the contracted bridegroom, 
 leaving Monsieur and Madame deV. reading 
 each other's sentiments in looks, and Julia 
 endeavouring to conceal her tears. 
 
 The Duke de Verenccurt was in that 
 moment announced ; he entered with a 
 countenance that betrayed as much ill 
 humour as M. de V.'s own. He told his 
 uncle that he was one of the number of 
 unhappy beings ^vho considered matri- 
 monial separation as the ne plus rdtra of 
 human felicity.; and, in bitterness of soul, 
 
 impricated
 
 VICISSITUDES. 167 
 
 imprecated that custom which united young 
 people of rank, without taking the trouble 
 to enquire whether the dispositions were 
 in the smallest degree cons^enial ; and, cast- 
 ing a reproachful glance at Julia, scarcely- 
 articulated — 
 
 *' Ah, cousin \" 
 
 " Yes/' replied M. de Verencourt, 
 observing his nephew, '' and Mademoiselle 
 Julia has, or will have, exactly as much 
 reason, was cursing a female privilege, 
 to bestow her's on me, for having, au 
 reverse, indulged her caprice at the expence 
 of my own judgement, without considering 
 my brother was mortal ; Sir Hector Dunbar 
 an invalid; and that there were, who would 
 prefer the trifling Rocquelar to the good 
 Kiccobini : or, which indeed is the demon- 
 stration of all three, that young De 
 Coui-ville would, with all imaginable self- 
 complaisance, discard the character of a man 
 of sense, and sink into that of a mere 'petit 
 tnaitre." 
 
 The
 
 168 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 The Duke either did not, or would not, 
 understand : a separation from his Duchess 
 was much nearer his heart at present, than 
 solving mysteries ; he requested his uncle 
 to meet the uncle of the Duchess on that 
 occasion ; then, with another ' ah, cousin !* 
 made his conge. 
 
 The Duchess de Verencourt was not an 
 iota less earnest in the affair of the separa- 
 tion than the Duke himself; she had, as she 
 represented, conferred infinite obligations 
 on the De Verencourt family, by giving the 
 Duke two sons within the first year of her 
 marriage, and that, even before she betrayed 
 the smallest disposition to indulge in the 
 innocent freedoms approximating to her 
 rank; she was, therefore, quite enraged, 
 that only playing deep — exhibiting her 
 person to the best advantage every where, 
 except at home — entertaining a few lovers 
 ' — staying with her friends all night, as well 
 as day — and a few other Court privileges, 
 should subject her to such an insult, as the 
 
 interference 
 
 I
 
 VICISSITUDES. 169 
 
 interference of her husband Boulevards, 
 who had actually attempted to abridge her of 
 liberties which were the absolute right and 
 appendages o^ her rank. 
 
 Every atom of the propriety and pride^ 
 imbibed in the Court of Louis XV. thu^ 
 outraged, the young Duchess pleaded as 
 vehemently for a separation as her Lord ; and, 
 as in the union of these young persons, there 
 was nothing wanting to secure happiness, 
 but attachment on his side^ and virtue on 
 her's. The two uncles having before 
 signed the marriage contract, had now little 
 more to do than put their signatures as 
 witnesses to its dissolution. 
 
 The affair thus concluded to the satisfaction 
 of both parties, the Duke de Verencourt 
 retired to his castle in Languedoc ; and the 
 gilt carriage, fine horses, and tall laquais of 
 Maname, the Duchess, to say nothing of 
 henelf, were more the admiration of the 
 Boulevards than ever. 
 
 '' I despaired," said M. de Verencourt, 
 '^ of any good that could possibly result 
 
 VOL. I. I from
 
 170 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 from the arrangements of the Marquis de 
 Courville ; but I see the worthy Riccobini 
 accompanying my nephew to his retire- 
 ment — he will sooth the angry passions of 
 his patron; when the boys are old enough 
 to receive his instructions, he will be to 
 tliem what he has so ably be^n to their 
 father; and I no longer blame De Courville 
 for preferring the trifier, Rocquelar, to the 
 Abbe Riccobini/' 
 
 When the Marquis before parted from 
 his cousin, he actually felt regret for more 
 than two posts ; but as his plans, under the 
 guidance ofhis father, wanted the brilliancy 
 of a flight over h«ilf the globe, that was 
 accounted for. 
 
 Now he had indirectly affronted one of 
 the first families in France, his own near 
 relations, and he left the most charming 
 creature in the w^orld vvith perfect ease to 
 himself; but as his object was to make the 
 tour of Germany, pass into Holland, cross 
 over to England, with the bbe Rocqu lar 
 -^so that too was accounted for. 
 
 He
 
 VICISSITUDES. 171 
 
 He promised, and having so done it 
 certainly was incumbent on him, to attend 
 his mother to her new residence. 
 
 Nothing could be, he thought, more 
 magnificent, more grand or more frightful, 
 than the first sight of Count Bergen's castle; 
 but all its dismalitij, as well as the pleasure, 
 improvement, and whim of the projected 
 tour, were expunged from the tablets of his 
 mind the instant he entered, at the sight 
 of a beautiful auburn-haired girl, of 
 eighteen, the Count's daughter, by a 
 former wife, of whom, nor of this young 
 Lady, neither the Countess or her son had 
 ever heard one syllable. 
 
 Although the lady had, in this case, an indis- 
 putable right to be very angry, it was the 
 first unpleasant sensation of any kind she 
 had felt since obliged to tear herself from 
 dear Versailles ; and, whether from in- 
 dolence or want of practice, she only 
 gently remonstrated with her eyes ; io which 
 the German, without altering a muscle of his 
 inflexible face, answered — ^' I forgot,'* and 
 I 2 immediatelv
 
 172 
 
 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 immediately ordered dinner^ while Madame 
 Soiibise commenced acquaintance with the 
 auburn-haired beauty. 
 
 Count Bergen was of an ancient, noble, 
 though not rich, family; pride, or rather 
 the desire of independence, was his ruling 
 passion ; he married his first wife because 
 he could not resist an impulse his judgement 
 condemned — for she, though no])ly born, 
 was portionless. He would not stoop to 
 incur a pecuniary debt, and he almost 
 despised himself for the servility which his 
 attendance at Court obliged him to practice. 
 He left his children at his Castle, because 
 he wanted power to form their establish- 
 ments agreeable to his pride, and he had 
 passed his life in schemes for the attainment 
 of what, a chance meeting with the 
 Marquis de Courville, had now so happily 
 accomplished. 
 
 The fortune of the Marquise, added to 
 his own patrimony, exceeded his hope, 
 and left him the free agent of his own 
 
 I 
 
 actions. 
 
 Bergen
 
 VICISSITUDES. 173 
 
 Bergen Castle was a grand structure of 
 many centuries, retaining the exact form in 
 which it was orioinallv built, and kept in 
 proud and complete repair ; the approach 
 to it is round a sheet of transparent water, 
 under a double row of venerable trees, 
 whose luxuriant branches seem to over- 
 spread and encircle the numerous fountains, 
 which, spouting from grotesque figures in 
 the water, enlivened the otherwise sombre 
 scene. 
 
 The furniture is correspondent to the 
 quality of a Noble of the first rank — the 
 attendant domestics numerous, neat, and 
 obedient; so that, on the whole, the 
 Countess and her friend, who had been 
 taught to expect nothing like Bergen 
 Castle, in a country which the French, as 
 much from vanity as hatred, represented as a 
 contemptible mixture of pride and poverty, 
 found themselves agreeably deceived; and 
 the cloud was gradually disappearing from 
 the features of the new mistress of the 
 mansion, when a tall handsome young man 
 I 3 entered^
 
 174; VICISSITUDES. 
 
 entered^ leading another beautiful young 
 woman, whom the County with the same 
 inflexible countenance, announced as his 
 son and daughter-in-law. 
 
 The astonishment and resentment of the 
 Countess was now, however, too much for 
 the nonchalance of her husband. Madame 
 Soubise, w^ho expected nothing more than 
 the introduction of a train of grand-children 
 and their nurses, partook in some degree 
 of the angrv emotion of her friend; but as 
 war was not quite so plainly denounced by 
 her looks, as in that of the Countess, the 
 Count, addressing her, stammered — 
 
 " You are surprised. Did I not mention 
 my son to you, Madame ?'' 
 
 Madame shook her head w ith a decided 
 negative. 
 
 This was certainly the very first time the 
 Countess had heard a syllable of such a 
 division of tenderness and property ; it was 
 also the first time the Count had occasion 
 to remark, how very ill passion became his 
 wife— and the discovery was not pleasant 
 on either side. 
 
 When
 
 VICISSITUDES. 173 
 
 Wlhen the Countess could speak, which 
 was not very soon, she proved the volu- 
 bility of her son was an hereditary 
 accomplishment. The Marquis indeed was 
 seldom enough interested to raise a single 
 key in the tone of the nothings he uttered; 
 but Madame, the Countess, was now in a 
 royal rage, and having, like most people in 
 a passion, said many things that had better 
 been unsaid, she, in a loud and discordant 
 voicej haughtily demanded to be shown to 
 another apartment, whither she was followed 
 by Madame Soubise. 
 
 Count Bergen, agitated, and even aiTected^ 
 felt all the importance of this moment, to 
 the future domestic peace of his family ; 
 he admitted the full value of the generosity 
 that put him in possession of thirty thousand 
 Louis d'ors ; how then could he be an 
 unconcerned witness of the uneasiness of 
 a woman who certainly loved him, and 
 who, in the confidence of her affection, had 
 rescued him from that most excruciating of 
 I 4 tortures
 
 176 VICISSITUDES, 
 
 tortures — '' the sacrifice of pride to ne- 
 cessity?" his feelings impelled him to 
 follow andsooth her : but, sober judgement 
 adhered to^. the point that must establish 
 his amiable children in the rights of their 
 father's house and affection, the conflict 
 might be hard, but it was inevitable ; he 
 stalked into the garden to compose himself 
 for the trial, leaving the Marquis, his son, 
 his son's wife, and his own pretty daughter, 
 regarding each other with a sullen, yet 
 ardent curiosity. 
 
 Often as the attentive glance of the 
 Marquis fixed on young Bergen and his 
 wife, it still more often returned and 
 rested much longer on the blooming 
 Antoinette; the silent intercourse of eyes 
 continued, till the Marquis, recollecting 
 every particular of the family generalship 
 of the Count, burst into an immoderate lit of 
 laughter, to the astonishment of the rest of 
 the young group, who, Bergen in particular, 
 
 were offended as much as surprised. 
 
 But 
 
 I
 
 VICISSITUDES. 177 
 
 But the good humour of the Marquis was 
 invincible; the more he reflected on the 
 situation of all parties, the more impossible 
 he found it to govern his risible faculties. 
 
 What is so delightful or so contaorious in 
 the season of youth as the spontaneous 
 emotion of a cheerful heart? From astonish- 
 ment and anger, the Bergens suddenly fell 
 into the opposite extreme; they could not 
 resist the example of the lively Marquis, 
 and, though not exactly certain of the cause, 
 tl^ effect was general — the laughter was 
 loud and almost convulsive. 
 
 The Marquis swore, embracing young 
 Bergen, and saluting the Ladies, he was 
 happy in having such a fine fellow for a 
 brother, and such angels for sisters; and, 
 moreover, delighted to find, in that dismal 
 hall of ancients, such charming companions 
 for his mother. 
 
 If the young Bergens did not accord in 
 his dislike of their Castle, they were, 
 nevertheless greatly pleased with himself. 
 
 The ease, good humour, and pleasantry of 
 1 5 the
 
 178 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 the Marquis was certainly charming, to say 
 nothing of hishandsome countenance, which 
 we, however, presume was not overlooked, at 
 least, by the Ladies ; he became as familiar 
 with Joseph Bergen and his wife, in a 
 quarter of an hour, as if he had known 
 them all his life ; and though the pretty 
 Antoinette had a silly habit of blushing 
 every time he addressed her, they were not 
 the worse friends — it was an imperfection 
 inherent to the old Castle, which enlarging 
 her acquaintance would cure, and every 
 thing new was delightful to the T^Iarquis de 
 Courville. 
 
 The dinner was announced, The Berge^s 
 looked at each other. 
 
 *' I really can't understand," said the 
 Marquis, " why, if my Lord, the Count, 
 your father, and Madame, the C^ountes*^, my 
 mother, chuse to amuse themselves with 
 their own fine feelings, we," bov^ing, '' I 
 speak for myself, who have a tolerable ap- 
 petite, should not eat our dinners; there is, 
 besides^ my little Abbe, who never had a 
 3 - feeling
 
 YICISSITUDES. 
 
 in 
 
 feeling in his life to compensate for a 
 good dinner^, will be in despair if he does 
 not eat. 
 
 The Bergens admitted nothing could be 
 more reasonable, if the Count and Countess 
 chose to turn a feast into a fast, they should 
 impose no such regulation on their 
 children. 
 
 The Abbe was already in the eating 
 room, ignorant, as he said, of all that had 
 passed ; but the young group still amused 
 by the particular circumstances of their 
 meeting, and the idea each party had formed 
 of the other, at the moment of introduc- 
 tion, with the conclusions of the Marquis, 
 in which he neither spared their father 
 nor his own mother, picturing the agree- 
 able surprise of the latter at finding 
 such tall well-grown children ready made 
 for her service, and adverting, with 
 affected admiration, to that profound 
 modcstij of the County which entirely 
 concealed* a circumstance so much to hi.^ 
 own honour^ with so much humour, and 
 i^Q' elegant
 
 180 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 elegant satire, as " set the table in a roar;** 
 in which the servants, who looked, as he 
 told them, like carved statues, relaxing by 
 degrees their German features, could not, 
 with all their efforts, help joining, notwith- 
 standing the Abbe's remonstrances, and 
 the fearful glances which, when he could 
 withdraw his eyes from a face that appeared 
 to him the masterpiece of nature, he turned 
 to the entrance-door. 
 
 The Countess, whom all the efforts of 
 Madame Soubise had failed to appease, ^\as 
 still with that Lady, shut up in the apart- 
 ment to which she had retired ; her women 
 were commanded to replace the few things 
 they had removed from the packages, and 
 she sent positive orders to her own 
 domestics to get her carriage ready for her 
 immediate departure. 
 
 Her son, whom she had not seen, had no 
 doubt left the Castle in high resentment of 
 the affront offered his mother, and Heaven 
 knew what would be the consequence of 
 the Counts barbarous duplicity! What 
 
 feeling
 
 VICISSITUDES. 181 
 
 feeling it was, that at this precise moment 
 filled the eyes of the Countess with such 
 strangers as tears, is doubtful ; but one 
 door of the apartment to which she had 
 retired, opening into the eating-room, the 
 loud, and even boisterous mirth, of the 
 party there assembled, burst on her ear, 
 vanquished the tender emotions, and, if 
 possible, encreased the rage and indigna- 
 tion which so powerfully overcame her at 
 the introduction of the Count's children. 
 
 What ! was it a concerted plan to insult 
 her ? Did Count Bergen imagine a woman 
 of her rank, her fortune, her family, was 
 to be treated with contempt, laughed at, 
 made a jest of, and all with impunity ? 
 But he would find himself mistaken ; she 
 would go, yes, that moment she would 
 leave the Castle ! 
 
 Again a loud and general laugh of mixed 
 voices struck her speechless with rage ; she 
 turned indignantly to the bell, and rang 
 violently for her Major Domo. 
 
 Madame
 
 18^ TICISSITUDES. 
 
 Madame Soubise^ though ignorant of 
 the cause of the mirth^ was nevertheless 
 amused and curious. She tiptoed to the 
 door^ and^ after just opening it^ returned 
 laughing to the Countess, 
 
 '' Do/' said she^ '' let me implore you^ 
 take one look at those children/' 
 
 '' If my eyes had the power of " 
 
 basilisks^ she might perhaps mean to say ; 
 but another peal of mirth stopped her. — 
 '^' Yes/' continued she with affected calm- 
 ness^ '' r will be gone immediately. My 
 people will learn the routs taken by my 
 son ; I will follow him /' and with a very 
 fvdl share of pride glowing in each inflated 
 feature^ her erect mein and solemn step 
 approached the door where Madame Sou- 
 bise had again posted herself. 
 
 The Count, on his part, had been weigh- 
 ing all the 'pro's and con's of his situation. 
 His principles were certainly of the highest 
 order of integrity ; but was he the first, 
 or will he be the last, whom stern necessity 
 compels to deviate from that order ? Yer, 
 
 kowever
 
 VICISSITUDES. IS^f 
 
 however lenient the world to offences it 
 considers as venial, the Count's heart 
 arraigned itself. It is true, he never denied 
 his being a widower, the Marquise being 
 content to take hirn on his own silent 
 report, perfectly satisfied with- the pro- 
 fession of attachment and vov.s of con- 
 stancy which so well became his agreeable 
 ft^atures and fine person, all of so youthful 
 a cast, it was wot m nature to suspect he 
 was already a grandfather; but he could' 
 not help feeling that he had varied from 
 the plain onward path of sincerity, added 
 to self-reproach. He had also no small 
 affection for a woman whose fondness v/as 
 so productive ; and after all lids stern 
 resolves, he returned to the Gastle^ half 
 inclined to part with his children, if by 
 that sacrifice of Ixis own repose he could 
 restore her's. 
 
 To reach the apartment in which the 
 Countess now was, he had to pass a door 
 of the eating-room, correspondent to that 
 
 where
 
 ] 8i VICISSITUDES. 
 
 where Madame Soubise discovered the 
 young party at dinner. 
 
 Sounds of such ungovernable mirth was 
 not less offensive to him than to the 
 Countess^ he had no doubt ; but the Mar- 
 quiSj as well as his own children^ sharing 
 the disquietude of their parents^, had re- 
 tired to their respective apartments. He 
 threw open the door^ and^ expecting to see 
 only domestics, appeared with an inflamed 
 countenance. At the same moment the 
 Countess advanced from the other en- 
 trance. 
 
 The Count^s German wine was not spared 
 at this dinner: the two young men had 
 " hrotliered" each other in frequent liba- 
 tions ; and the Marquis was at this moment 
 whispering across the table " to the speedy 
 appearance of a third brother/' which was 
 followed by the loud laugh of the do- 
 mestics, who, emboldened by the general 
 good humour of the young party, no 
 longer restrained themselves ; but the 
 
 goblet
 
 VICISSITUDES. 183 
 
 goblet dropped at the petrifying sight of 
 the Count and Countess^ entering at 
 separate doorSj with all the i/z67g7za'5 of anger 
 and resentment in their faces. 
 
 '' Is it thus then/' thought the Count, 
 '' my children feel the pain I have for 
 them inflicted on my o-ucn heart, and that 
 of my benefactress?'* 
 
 '' And is it thus,'* thought the Countess, 
 '^ my son resents the affront offered his 
 mother ? — is it thus he avenges my in- 
 juries ?" 
 
 These disapproving reflections on the 
 conduct of their children, were perhaps 
 the most certain prelude of approaching 
 reconcilement to each other. 
 
 The incorrigible Marquis, having viewed 
 for a moment the astonished and motion- 
 less position of the Count and Countess, 
 was again seized with an irresistible pro- 
 pensity to laughter ; and though young 
 Bergen, who loved and respected his father, 
 was awed by his severe look, he was not 
 
 only
 
 186 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 only joined by the two ladies, but Madame 
 Soubise. 
 
 The Countess turned pale^ and burst 
 into tears. Her husband had turned towards 
 her, and embracing her with great tender- 
 ness in spite of a resistance which grew 
 every moment more feeble, cast an in- 
 dignant glance on his children, and was 
 leading^ her awav. 
 
 '' Stop, Count/' said the Marquis, '"and 
 you, my honoured mother. The little 
 Abbe, who knows men and things, will 
 inform you how seemly and good it is for 
 us children to be blessed by our parents^, 
 humbly craving their pardon for the un- 
 fortunate relationship.'* — So saying, with 
 Mrs. Bergen in one hand and Antoinette 
 in the other, down kneeled the Marquis. 
 
 Young Bergen, with a serious and in- 
 voluntary m.otion, knelt also. The Countess 
 turned away. 
 
 ^' Oh, come, my charming mother V* 
 cried the Marquis, ^' forgive us all. How 
 
 can
 
 VICISSITUDES. 187 
 
 can you be angry with a husband who has 
 given me two such sweet sistei*s ; nay, if 
 this face/' tapping the cheek of Antoinette^ 
 " won't move you^ look at that fine hand- 
 some brother : faith, the Count was very 
 right to keep him in the back ground ; he 
 would have been a formidable rival. 
 
 If any thing could have stopped the 
 rattle of the Marquis^, it would have been 
 the stern frown of Count Bergen, added 
 to the efTect it viiiibly had on his children, 
 when he again motioned to conduct the 
 Countess out of the room. 
 
 Madame Soubise^, whose good heart and 
 good nature were proverbial, felt, not- 
 withstanding her constitutional gaiety, as 
 much inclined to cry as to laugh at a scene 
 so noiivelle. 
 
 '' You and \/' said she to the Abbe 
 Rocquelar, who was beautifying his fine 
 nails at a window at the further end of the 
 room, '' seem to have no sort of employ- 
 ment among these busy folks. You, I know, 
 w^ear the pavement bare with continual 
 
 kneeling.
 
 188 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 kneeling. For my part^ I pretend to no 
 such excellence ; but come, for once 1 will 
 kneel uith, though not to you/' and she hu- 
 mourously dragged him down by the side 
 of Antoinette, and folding her own white 
 hands, cried in a voice which spoke real 
 emotion — '' Pray, pray, to the Countess/' 
 
 The Count's looks were not now merely 
 stern, they were fufious. 
 
 *' Are we your jest?" said ha, opening 
 the door with one hand, as his other 
 encircled the waist of the Countess. 
 
 '' Very well. Count Bergen," replied the 
 Marquis, with an air of pique : '^ no one 
 doubts your influence over the Countess ; 
 but her son implores her to embrace his 
 sisters, and to accept his brother. If he 
 fails, he has nothing more to ask ; and we 
 shall now see which predominates, the 
 angry wife or the affectionate mother." 
 
 '' A second Daniel !" exclaimed Madame 
 Soubise. 
 
 ^^ A Cicero !" joined the Abbe. 
 
 My 
 
 I
 
 VICISSITUDES. 189 
 
 "^ My son!" said the Countess, falling 
 into his arnis^ and shedding tears on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Victory, victory !" cried the Marquis, 
 presenting the ladies and Bergen, who, 
 filled with admiration, knew not whether 
 most to love or respect the light heart and 
 enchantinof manner of their new brother, 
 w^ho then catching his mother in his arms, 
 carried her to the head of the table, where, 
 having seated her, he called for a napkin, 
 and insisted on waiting on the bride, not 
 only in respect to a bride y but because, 
 though now a German, she had proved her 
 attachment to the custom of her own coun- 
 try, by taking his advice in preference to 
 her husband's. — '' 'Tis our way in France," 
 he added : " the ladies there have too much 
 wisdom to disturb their repose by caring 
 for any man, and least of all a husband." 
 
 '' Oh fie, brother!" said the delighted 
 Antoinette. '' If what you say be true, I 
 Will not have a French husband." 
 
 '' And
 
 '' And Oh fie, sister !" replied the Mar,- 1 
 ■^uis, '' I shall beat you. Miss, for talking 
 without understanding yourself: French Jj 
 husbands are the prettiest playthings in 
 the world ; you mean you will not be a 
 French wife/' 
 
 '' Well, if you won't beat me,"- an- 
 swered Antoinette, '' I believe that was my 
 meaning." 
 
 '' Wrong again, child : no women in the 
 world so absolute, are they, Madame ?" 
 
 The appeal to the Countess a little em- 
 barrassed her. 
 
 '' My mother," continued the Marquis, 
 '' will explain the whole business when 
 you are better acquainted ; but I pledge 
 myself no French husband would dare to 
 produce such a pretty child as Antoinette 
 Bergen without a previous arrangement 
 with his wife, would he Count ?" 
 
 The Count was not better pleased with i 
 the appeal to him ; but as his spouse had 
 began to smile, and accepted the assistance 
 of Mrs. Bergen to replace some ornament 
 
 discomposed
 
 VICISSITUDES. - 191 
 
 discomposed by her recent agitation, he 
 could not be offended with such a success- 
 ful pleader. 
 
 Peace was restored. The day that had 
 so inauspiciously lowered on the return of 
 the Lord of the Castle to his family and 
 demesne, concluded with an evening of the 
 most perfect amity. 
 
 '^ The carved statues/' as the Marquis 
 would still call the domestics, were per- 
 mitted to laugh, to dance, and what , is- 
 better than either in the estimation of a 
 German, to smoke and drink as much as 
 they pleased. 
 
 The good-humour of the Countess jn- 
 creased with the incense offered at the 
 shrine of her vanity. All the neighbour- 
 ing Nobility crowded to the Castle, and 
 the Empress, ever attentive to the sub- 
 jects of France, honoured her with an 
 invitation to Vienna, too agreeable to her 
 habits and taste to be declined. 
 
 At Court she was distinguished in a 
 manner that completely reconciled her to 
 
 German V.
 
 199 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 Germany. The Marquis was honoured with 
 the Order of the Eagle. One elegant en- 
 tertainment, made solely to compliment 
 her, succeeded the other so fast that what 
 she never expected would happen, did. 
 
 Madame Soubise was already obliged to 
 keep her apartment from fatigue, when it 
 became absolutely necessary to recruit her 
 own health and strength by returning to 
 Bergen Castle. 
 
 Thither also returned the idle Marquis, 
 who, notwithstanding he had been the 
 general flirt of the Empress's Court, some- 
 times thought of the black eyes of Julia de 
 Verencourt, and sometimes on the auburn 
 tresses of Antoinette Bergen. 
 
 The young ladies had not attended the 
 Countess to Vienna ; Antoinette v^as, there- 
 fore, again a new object ; and the Abbe, 
 who had also been left at the Castle, was 
 become her miost rapturous panegyrist. 
 
 The Marquis had himself no direct plan 
 in the attention he paid her, but the Abbe 
 had many : he continued to talk of nothing 
 
 but
 
 VICISSITUDES. 193 
 
 but the charms of Antoinette, till his pupil 
 thought of nothing so much; so the tour 
 was again put off; while the mornings 
 were loitered away in the garden, making 
 wreaths for Miss Bergen's hair, and bouquets 
 for her bosom, and the evenings in dancing, 
 singing, duets, and making charades. 
 
 In the visits paid and received, it would 
 have been dangerous for any other man to 
 ask her for a partner : he was furious at 
 the slightest attempt to peep under her 
 long eyelash ; and allowed that in all 
 Germany there was nothing comparable to 
 Antoinette Bergen, though he still main- 
 tained an obstinate argum.ent with the Abbe^ 
 that the beauty of Julia de Verencourt 
 was more commanding and sublime. 
 
 If, however, the Marquis was in love, it 
 was that sort of love which is more a 
 pleasing than a painful sentiment, since, 
 like Zadig, he eat and drank heartily, slept 
 extremely well, and was never heard to 
 sigh, or seen to retire, even to the solitude 
 of the garden, alone. 
 
 VOL. I. K " Have
 
 194 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 '' Have you heard from Mademoiselle 
 de Verencourt lately, Charles }" asked the 
 Countess one day, while the Marquis was 
 placing some white roses in the auburn 
 tresses of Antoinette. 
 
 The Marquis coloured. 
 
 '' Oh, Marquis!'* exclaimed Miss Bergen, 
 '' you have twisted that lock too much, 
 you hurt me ; and pray who is Ma- 
 demoiselle de Verencourt }'' 
 
 The Marquis was not yet prepared to 
 answer. The Countess had made a wonder- 
 ful effort for her. She complained of her 
 nerves ; and equally uninterested in the 
 question, as in any answer the Marquis 
 could have criven, drair^ed her fine limbs 
 into another apartment, to receive some 
 more important information from her 
 woman, respecting a new fashion just 
 received from Paris. 
 
 '' Mademoiselle de Verencourt/* said 
 Madame Soubise, addressing Antoinette, 
 " is just the most beautiful creature in the 
 world.'* 
 
 The
 
 VICISSITUDES. 195 
 
 The Marquis appeared still occupied 
 with the white roses. 
 
 " And/' continued Madame Soubise, 
 '' as good as beautiful/' 
 
 Antoinette blushed. Madame vSoubise^ 
 busied with her embroidery^ added^ '' And 
 as rich as good.'" 
 
 Miss Bergen felt a new^ and indescribable 
 alarm : she complained of a thorn that 
 hurt her head^ and fixing her eyes on the 
 Marquis full of tears^ with an expression 
 peculiarly soft and interesting, internally 
 renumerated the beauty^ the goodness^ and 
 the riches of Mademoiselle de Verencourt ; 
 while the Marquis^ for the first time in his 
 life^ was dumb. 
 
 Antoinette took the roses out of her 
 hair, and coldly laid them down. 
 
 '' They are very pretty/' said Madame 
 Soubise. ^' I remember^ Marquis, when 
 you once at the Hotel de Verencourt " 
 
 As Antoinette was retiring, the Marquis 
 found his tongue. 
 
 '' You are not going. Miss Bergen !" 
 
 K 2 Madame
 
 19G VICISSITUDES. 
 
 Madame Soubise observed, with no«mall 
 surprise, the rare appearance of feeling in 
 the '' You are not going !" 
 
 Miss Bergen said she was indisposed, and 
 so said her woman, when the reason of 
 her absence at dinner was asked by the 
 Countess. 
 
 The Marquis's place at table was oppo- 
 site Miss Bergen's. Her vacant seat was 
 awkward ; but it did not spoil his dinner. 
 
 Miss Bergen's indisposition continued ; 
 it V7as not indeed noticed : the Countess 
 made no enquiries at table ; and the Count 
 never expressed the least interest in his 
 children before her. 
 
 The Marquis disliked the vacant seat ; 
 but he eat his supper. 
 
 Retired to his own apartment, contrary 
 to any thing that had ever happened 
 before, the Marquis gave himself up to 
 meditation. 
 
 '' What an odd whim/' thought he, '' in 
 the Countess to stumble on Julia, of all 
 people in the world for her enquiries i 
 
 Madame
 
 vicrssfTUDss. 197 
 
 Madame Soiibise might as well have at- 
 lended to her embroidery. Certainly Julia 
 was beautiful and good^ too good; but 
 knowing Antoinette was not rich^ it was 
 not in her usual delicate way to mention 
 such a paltry addition to the charms of 
 Julia de Verencourt. It had affected An- 
 toinette^ poor Antoinette !" 
 
 He paused : regret for her indisposition 
 and his own present feelings^ betrayed not 
 only her secret^ but his own. He repeated 
 — '' Poor Antoinette V for what could the 
 Marquis do for her after having engaged 
 himself, and even signed a contract^ which 
 just now very mal-apropos recurred to his 
 recollection. 
 
 He was the most unhappy^ the most un- 
 fortunate of men ! He cursed his stars; 
 and protested he had every possible dis- 
 position to put an end to his miserable 
 existence. — '' Yes," he exclaimed, taking 
 a gold mounted pistol out of its case, '' if 
 this pistol was loaded, I would instantly 
 shoot mvself !" 
 
 K 3 As
 
 IDS 
 
 VICISSITUDES, 
 
 As it was not, he quietly stepped into 
 bed^ slept well ; and^ not to take from the 
 dignity of his passion^ the first object of 
 his wakinor reverie was Miss Bero^en and 
 her indisposition ; the next Mademoiselle 
 de Verencourt and the contract ; and as in 
 these rival interests much might be said on 
 both sldes^ he repeated that he was the 
 most unhappy and unfortunate of men. 
 He again cursed his stars^ and protested if 
 his gold mounted pistol was charged, he 
 certainly should shoot himself. 
 
 This miserable Marquis was now in the 
 clear possession of a great estate : he had 
 in the hands of his banker thirty thousand 
 Louis dors, the moiety of his father's per- 
 sonal fortune. He had hotels at Paris and 
 Versailles, a retirement near Marli, and 
 chateaus in different provinces ; but he had 
 no friend. This was indeed of less im- 
 portance, as his obliging confident, the 
 Abbe Rocquelar, was ever disposed to hear, 
 anxious to advise, and ready to assist. For 
 these convenient purposes he was indeed 
 
 particularly
 
 VICISSITUDES. 1^9 
 
 particularly well qualified by inclination, 
 by interest, and by a thorough knowledge 
 of his pupil's heart;, which he had taken as 
 infinite pains to study as to form. 
 
 If the stern virtue of Monsieur de Veren- 
 court inspired the Marquis with that sort 
 of awful respect which in his light mind 
 was incompatible with affection, how much 
 stronger the effect on a libertine in prin- 
 ciple, a hypocrite in practice, secretly 
 thankless for favours at the moment when 
 he servilely cringed to the hand that be- 
 stow^ed them ! Mercenary, ambitious, vin- 
 dictive, designing, incapable of friendship, 
 scorning gratitude as a cowardly sentiment, 
 solicitous to mask himself, not as ashamed 
 of depravity, but as his interest pointed;, 
 such w^as the Abbe Rocquelar, and being 
 such, the rooted hatred he bore M. de 
 Verencourt w^as a natural sentiment. He 
 saw that the marriage of the Countess 
 would break the harmony of the two 
 families ; and the folly of the Marquis, 
 which thrived under his precept and 
 K 4 example.
 
 ^00 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 example, gave hope that a match so ini- 
 mical to his influence and interest^ far as 
 it had advanced^ might never take place ; 
 but in his most sanguine moments he had 
 not dared to expect what was now on the 
 point of happening. He saw the Marquis 
 was taken by the heart as well as eye. He 
 was greatly in the favour of Count Bergen 
 already^ and could the beautiful Antoinette 
 become Alarquise . de Courville by his 
 management ? And yet — yes^ there was a 
 demur in the business. The auburn-haired 
 beauty had mad© a deep impression on his 
 heart. His order, his rank, his poverty, 
 forbade a legal hope ; but he was the con- 
 fident of her husband, and what might not 
 gratitude, opportunity, and flattery do in 
 their hotel at Paris ? There his vigilance 
 and his constancy might be rewarded ; and 
 yet to give her up without one artful essay 
 to coiTupt her mind, and seduce her 
 person, was the hard law of necessity, but 
 it mu»t be endured. 
 
 Long
 
 VICISSITUDES. fOl 
 
 Long since master of a secret, but just 
 suspected by the parties concerned, he had 
 predesigned the most terrific astonishment, 
 when the Marquis, in strict confidence, 
 asked the advice of his friend. 
 
 '' Good Heavens, my dear Marquis !'* 
 exclaimed the Abbe, '' what do you tdl 
 me ? I indeed suspected that the enchant- 
 ing Antoinette loved; but you, ah! is it 
 possible ! you, who are contracted to Ma- 
 demoiselle de Verencourt, can that be ffot 
 over? The King is to be sure the in- 
 dulgent; father of his people, but can " 
 
 '' No," replied the Marquis, '' I do not 
 think the contract can be got over with— • 
 honour/' 
 
 '• And yet the loving and lovely An- 
 toinette," the Abbe was ' pitiful, wondrous^ 
 pitiful,' '' Ah, poor girl ! I am very 
 sorry!" 
 
 '' But -svhat can be done ?" asked the. 
 Marquis. 
 
 K ^ Mademoiselle
 
 202 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 '' Mademoiselle de V." said the Abte 
 with an air of reflection^ '' is certainly a 
 most lovely creature/' 
 
 ^' She is without a faulty a perfect 
 being. What do you smile at. Abbe ? she 
 
 really is " 
 
 '' A terrestrial angel. Marquis, to be 
 sure; but to say truth, were I the Mar- 
 
 quis de Courville " 
 
 '' Well, and if you were." 
 '^ It is a delicate point ; but I entreat 
 your pardon. Marquis. Mademoiselle de 
 V.'s beautv is so much in the stvle of her 
 father's virtue, that I confess it would pain 
 me to look up to a wife so very perfect. 
 Kow a little hcuUnage with Miss Bergen — " 
 " Is enchanting ; but the contract. Abbe, 
 the contract.'' 
 
 ^' Very true. Marquis; and indeed Miss 
 
 Bergen's marriage to a German Baron " 
 
 " What the devil are you saying .^" 
 " Is much talked of in the family." 
 ^' No such thing can or ever shall take 
 place, so pry'thee dear Abbe advise me." 
 
 The 
 
 I
 
 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 203 
 
 The more importunate he became for 
 the Abbe's advice, the more reserved that 
 Machieval appeared. But the Marquis was 
 not in the habit of asking that as a favour 
 which he had a right to demand as a duty ; 
 and not being besides remarkable for 
 patience, he grew very angry. 
 
 This greatly embarrassed the Abbe, how 
 could it do otherwise ? He was at length, 
 however, prevailed on to say he would 
 consider the subject, and lay his sentiments 
 before his patron, as soon as he had satisfied 
 his own mind. 
 
 '' Do," said the Marquis; '' but don't 
 let it be long. Come to my chamber to- 
 morrow evening at nine ; I am going to 
 play a sonata under Miss Bergen's window.*' 
 
 The valet, who had been dressing the- 
 Marquis's hair during this conversation, 
 and w^ho, next to the Abbe, was his chief 
 counsellor, had a penchant for the femme 
 de chambre of Madame Soubise, he of 
 course entertained her with the conversa- 
 tion he had just witnessed. 
 
 K 6 '' Jesu
 
 S04 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 '' Jesu Maria \" cried Babet^ '' Miss Ber- 
 gen is no more to compare to Mademoiselle 
 de Verencourt than " 
 
 '' Than her German waiting woman to 
 a Paris femme de charnbre," replied the 
 gallant Pierre ; " but my master will marry 
 her notwithstanding/' 
 
 '' He will deserve the Bastile if he 
 does !" and Babet exalted her voice. 
 
 There were certain ideas annexed to the 
 mention of the Bastile^ which, conscious 
 that he was betraying the private conversa- 
 tion of his master, did not perfectly accord 
 with Monsieur Pierre's nervous system. He 
 begged Babet to lower her tones^ and 
 bound her to an oath of secrecy, which 
 oath she not only broke the moment she 
 reached her lady's apartment, but avowed 
 the resolution to acquaint herself with the 
 advice of the ugly Abbe, without the 
 assistance of Monsieur Pierre. 
 
 Madame Soubise was not astonished : it 
 
 required no great depth of penetration to 
 
 discover the growing attachment of two 
 
 3 y<^^ii^g
 
 VICISSITUDES. 205 
 
 young persons living in the same house, 
 but she Avas sensibly concerned for her 
 friends at Paris, who it would mortify, if 
 not grieve ; nor, indeed, could she under- 
 stand how a contract, sanctioned by the 
 King, and signed by the heads of two such 
 families as the De Courviiles and De 
 V'erencourts, could be lightly broken ; 
 however, as the wish to do so, must be 
 considered by e\cry person of honour 
 tantamount to the act, she was consoled in 
 the reflection, that the amiable Julia had 
 escaped a husband totally unworthy, and 
 Tcsolved not to interfere. 
 
 Punctual as the dial to the sun, was the 
 Abbe Rocquelar in the chamber of the 
 Marquis, and no less punctual was Babet in 
 the adjoining closet. 
 
 It was with an equivocal sort of satis- 
 faction that the Marquis heard the Abbe's 
 scruples v/ere got over, for malgre the 
 pride which his confident had piqued in 
 the comparison of the two ladies, certain 
 recollections of Julia de V, even whea. 
 
 arranging
 
 206 VICISSITUDE3^. 
 
 arranging the auburn hair of Antoinette, 
 pleaded the cause of honour ; but to those 
 pleadings, or that cause, he had now no 
 leisure to attend, for it was the Abbe 
 Rocquelar's turn to be heard. 
 
 It was the opinion of that able casuist, 
 that a breach of his pupil's contract with 
 Mademoiselle de Verencourt, and of course 
 his espousal of Miss Bergen, were not only 
 the most natural and easy, but the most 
 lionouraUe things in nature. 
 
 The Marquis thought this a paradox ; 
 but among other new traits in his character, 
 he was become extremely anxious to receive 
 instruction. 
 
 The Abbe stated the case ; he reverted to 
 the circumstances under which the contract 
 was signed. 
 
 " M. de V.'* he said, ^' as greedy as an 
 Hollander, as stiff as a German, as jealous as 
 a Spaniard, and as proud as the devil !" 
 
 *^ Alisericorde!" in a whisper ejaculated 
 Babet, crossing herself, ^' the very best man 
 in the world!'' 
 
 '' To
 
 VICISSITUDES. SOT 
 
 '' To avoid giving his daughter^ and her 
 immense wealth, to a person of the King's 
 choice /' 
 
 " The King's!" repeated the Marquis^ 
 indignantly ; '^ It was Dii Barry who pre- 
 sumed to arrange for the house of De 
 Verencourt." 
 
 The Abbe bowed. 
 
 " To avoid a marriage, hov/ever, he did 
 not approve ; M. de V. offered his daughter 
 to his nephew, the Duke de Verencourt, 
 who declined." 
 
 '^ You are misinformed. Abbe,'"* in- 
 terrupted the Marquis, angrily ; " It w^as 
 Julia who declined." 
 
 The Abbe again bowed. 
 
 " She was then proposed to the nephew 
 of Madame de V. who, in obedience to his 
 father, and Mademoiselle to her's, signed a 
 contract, from which both parties wish 
 10 be relieved, if that can be done with- 
 out oITending the King, or mortally 
 disobliging Monsieur and Madame de V. ; 
 
 as
 
 208 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 as to the former, if Mademoiselle did not 
 accept the choice of his Majesty^ or say 
 Madame Du Barry^ it would be indifferent 
 to them on whom she bestowed her hand ; 
 andj in respect to her parents^ an event that 
 put half the kingdom in mournings would 
 reconcile them to the disappointment of 
 one favourite scheme^ by opening the way 
 to another still more desirable/' 
 
 The Marquis, who, lost in reflections, he 
 could not well explain to himself, had not 
 digested all the Abbe's profound arguments^ 
 now listened with renewed interest. 
 
 " The young Duchess de Verencourt^ 
 expired suddenly, after heating herself at a 
 Court ball; and the Duke, though his 
 pre-engagement prevented his accepting 
 Mademoiselle de V. when^ ." 
 
 '' Have not I told you," interrupted the 
 Mai-quis, '' that it was Julia who rejected 
 himr 
 
 " Indeed!^' and the Abbe bowed with 
 {he air of having just understood an 
 
 important
 
 VICISSITUDES. 209 
 
 important Tact. '' It is true then that the 
 Duke always admired Mademoiselle de 
 Verencourt?" 
 
 " Yes — he had from infancy that im- 
 pertinent whim/' 
 
 " Then the Marquis must perceive that 
 M. de V. would not extremely regret the 
 breach of the engagement^ if his daughter 
 now accepted the Duke/' 
 
 " She will do no such thing ; she will, 
 a second time^ refuse him/' 
 
 The Abbe smiled incredulous, and the 
 Marquis coloured. 
 
 ^' It will^ however/' continued the 
 former, '^ restore you to the liberty of 
 making your own election, which your 
 worthv father's doubts of your competency 
 to judge for youi'self — /* 
 
 '' Yes, truly," interrupted the Marquis, 
 disdainfully, ^' it would have been very 
 dreadful if Master and Miss had presumed 
 to judge for themselves/' 
 
 The memory of the poor Marquis must 
 have been very defective at this moment, 
 
 or
 
 SIO VICISSITUDES. 
 
 or he would have remembered that Master 
 and Miss actually had judged for themselves, 
 
 " Is that Miss Bergen's sylph-like figure 
 crossing the parterre?'' asked the Abbe. 
 
 It was a moonlight night. The v/hite 
 robe of Antoinette floated on the green 
 sward ; she walked very slow^ and heaved 
 an audible sigh as she passed the window^ 
 from whence she was observed by the 
 Marquis and his adviser ; the latter echoed 
 her sigh with a commiseration that did not 
 escape the Marquis. 
 
 Antoinette had scarce turned into the 
 shrubbery before she was joined by the 
 Marquis. 
 
 As this was an accident that forwarded 
 the Abbe's plan more than his most 
 eloquent arguments^ he retired to his own 
 chamber, perfectly satisfied with the pro- 
 babilities of the evening; and Babet, in 
 tears, repeated the conversation to Madame 
 Soubise. 
 
 The delicate alarm of Miss Bergen, when 
 she heard a footstep following her's, and 
 
 when
 
 VICISSITUDES. 211 
 
 \vhen turning rounds she beheld the object 
 of her lonely meditations^ was mingled v;ith 
 conscious shame^ as she had declined ac- 
 companying the Marquis into the garden 
 on the plea of indisposition^ and he was 
 now blaming her for so late a ramble^ in 
 accents of extreme tenderness. 
 
 But this Mademoiselle de Verencourt^ 
 so heautiful, so good, so rich, was rising 
 from a beating heart to her lips, when 
 the bold encroacher seized her in his arms, 
 and pressed her with an ardour that in a 
 moment restored her to herself. It was not 
 Mademoiselle de V. but the affronted 
 Antoinette Bergen, that now swelled her 
 bosom — to disengage herself — to rush from 
 the covert of the wood — to stop with 
 dignity, when in the sight of the house, at 
 his humble and earnest entreaty, were the 
 actions of a moment. 
 
 The Marquis no longer saw the playful, 
 timid, blushing, Miss Bergen ; it was 
 offended modesty, inherent pride, and 
 
 graceful
 
 212 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 graceful resentment^ before which hekneit^ 
 and so swore^ and so vowed^ that Antoinette 
 was soon angoddessed. Mademoiselle de 
 Verencoiirt^ her beauty^ goodness, and 
 riches, vanished ; and the succeeding con- 
 versation, not in a wood, became too 
 interesting to themselves, though too un- 
 important to any soul beside themselves> 
 for repetition. Nothing in the worlds nay 
 the world itself, was forgotten by both, 
 when the Marquis swore, among a thousand 
 other pretty things, some false and some 
 true, that he would demand her in marriage 
 as soon as the Count, who was now from 
 home, returned. 
 
 But, though Miss Bergen's rest was no 
 longer disturbed by a Mademoiselle de 
 Verencourt, the Marquis no sooner returned 
 to his chamber, than certain remembrances 
 would intrude which impeached the infalli- 
 bility of the Abbe Rocquelar's arguments. 
 He did, and did not, admit the facts, and 
 lie doubted, without being able to deny the 
 
 conclusions. 
 
 i
 
 VICISSITUDES. 215 
 
 conclusions. He went to bed^ and though 
 the expedient of shooting himself did not 
 occur — never rested worse. 
 
 The next morning he walked in the 
 garden, to cure a ' confounded head-ache.' 
 He met Miss Bergen, more beautiful and 
 blooming than ever ; the modest yet 
 passionate expression of her down-cast eye, 
 the eloquent blood mantling in her cheek, 
 when, in the voice of love, she asked for 
 the customary oblation of flowers. The 
 world again receded — the wreath was in- 
 stantly entwined — the 'bouquet placed in her 
 bosom. The spot where the chaste moon 
 had witnessed their vows led to a repetition 
 of them ; and the hour of dining found the 
 two lovers every thing to each other, but 
 not dressed for the table. 
 
 In the e\ ening the Marquis, finding him- 
 self in the worst of all possible company, 
 alone! sent for the Abbe. 
 
 The Abbe, doubtful how the affair would 
 end, chose to be out of the way. 
 
 The Marquis paced his chamber; 
 
 dissatisfied
 
 Si4 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 dissatisfied with himself, he discovered a 
 thousand faults in every body and every 
 thing else, excepting only Julia de 
 Verencourt and Antoinette Bergen. 
 
 Half repenting his hasty vows, he assumed 
 an air of tragedy ; he recollected a few 
 lines of poetry, and repeated — 
 
 Ah, cruel love! thou bane of every joy, 
 Whose pains or sweets alike destroy ; 
 Still equal woes from thee mankind endure— 
 Fatal thy wounds, and fatal too thy cure ! 
 
 Repeating the tag of the verse, he seized 
 a pen, and strusk off a brilliant billet to 
 Julia de Verencourt. 
 
 ( copy. ) 
 
 '' I am an idle, capricious 
 fellow, Julia, unworthy of your smallest 
 consideration. I have signed a contract 
 w^ith you, and have since sworn to marry 
 another ; I repent the contract, and before 
 this letter reaches Paris, I know I shall 
 
 repent 
 
 i
 
 VICISSITUDES. 215 
 
 repent the repentance. When you com- 
 prehend, you will despise me, that I may 
 easily believe, because there are, at this 
 moment, very few beings whom I more 
 despise than myself. I hope you are too 
 wise to regret one so totally unworthy, 
 and who, without doubt, will be a husband 
 whose wife will not be envied. 
 
 '^ Here is a Miss Beroren, whose £f olden 
 hair I tie in knots and dress with flowers. 
 Her blue eyes have not half the radiance 
 of your black ones, but thev are more 
 tender, and say an hundred times a-day — ' I 
 love.' 
 
 " To hate oneself is an unpleasant senti- 
 ment, it is what Julia de Verencourt will 
 never know. Since I have bound myself to 
 marry another, I have a feeling at my heart 
 more tender than love, more respectful 
 than admiration, more painful than despair. 
 
 '^ I fear I have been guilty of three 
 crimes, either of v;hich singly ought to 
 annihilate me — Do I grieve my respectable 
 aunt.? Do I offend Monsieur de Verencourt? 
 
 And,
 
 216 VLCISSITUDES. 
 
 And, above all, is the repose of my dear 
 cousin Julia hurt? — In her hand is the 
 fate of 
 
 " D'E Co-Urville/* 
 
 To judge of the effect this dishonourable 
 billet had on Mademoiselle de Verencourt, 
 you must have known her — you must have 
 witnessed her early, fond, and confiding 
 attachment to the object of her own, and 
 her parent's choice. Alas! how unfit were 
 the young inmates of the hotel De 
 Verencourt to judge of the crooked policy 
 of the world, or suspect the unqualified 
 latitude it allows to modern manners. 
 
 The natural levity of De Courville, which 
 offended her father, had ahvays a ready 
 advocate in the affectionate Julia ; it was 
 impossible for a creature so innocent and 
 candid, to doubt a truth which was so con- 
 nected with happiness, as well as honour. 
 
 His miniature rested on her fair bosom — 
 his portrait hung in her saloon — and her 
 
 portefeuille
 
 nrissiTUDES. 217 
 
 portefeuUle was filled with sketches of De 
 Courville. 
 
 In every picture of future felicity, De 
 Courville, the elegant, the contracted De 
 Courville predominated. 
 
 The few letters she received since the 
 commencement of his last tour, did not, 
 indeed, breathe those genuine sentiments 
 of affection, w^hich, if not repelled by his 
 example, and repressed by female modesty, 
 would have animated her answers; but love 
 framed an excuse, it w^as respect, the 
 certain companion of an honourable at 
 tachment, that constrained his pen ; and 
 when even those became less frequent, it 
 was anxiety for his safety, not doubt of his 
 honour, that alarmed her; he might be 
 indisposed — some accident miight have 
 happened to him: were there not forests 
 to pass, rivers to cross ? — ah, might he not 
 be exposed to danger, sickness, death ? 
 
 Monsieur de V. not more tranquil than 
 his daughter, made no comments on a 
 silence that deeply auected her, and 
 
 vol.. I. L , surpii.^d
 
 218 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 surprised her mother ; biit^ with a letter 
 from Madame Soubise in his hand^ hastened 
 to Versailles, and obtained a private 
 audience of theKing; besides thatMonsieur 
 de Verencourt was not a favourite at Court, 
 nothing is more difficult than to eradicate 
 the strong impressions of age. The King 
 did not choose to admit the possibility of 
 a departure from rectitude, in the son of his 
 late friend and faithful servant ; all that 
 Monsieur de V. could obtain was a con- 
 ditional consent to annul the contract, if 
 the Marquis de Courville did not justify his 
 conduct, and if it then proved to be the 
 >vish of Mademoiselle de V. as much as it 
 now was that of her father. 
 
 At length, after anxious days and sleepless 
 nights, after secretly murmuring at that 
 apathy in her parents, which rendered them 
 indifferent to the German post, after 
 various plans to inform herself of the 
 existence of the Marquis, which she began 
 in terror to doubt, she received that packet 
 with transports of joy, which was destined 
 
 to
 
 VICISSITUDES. 219 
 
 to overwhelm her with astonishment, grief, 
 and confusion. 
 
 Scarce could she believe the characters of 
 the cruel billet were traced by the hand of 
 one so dear. vShe shut herself up in her 
 apartment, examined every letter of the too 
 well known hand, compared them with the 
 billets of past days ; and if tears could 
 have expunged that cruel, that trifling, and 
 dishonourable one, which rent her soul 
 with anguish, it would not have now reached 
 Lady N. as a memento of the perfidy of 
 man. 
 
 M. de V. felt his own and his daughter's 
 honour insulted, but the death of the vounaf 
 Duchess de Verencourt so renovated the 
 hope, most dear to his heart, as almost 
 reconciled him to the unworthy conduct of 
 the Marquis; he flattered himself that the 
 amiable Duke could not be a second time 
 rejected by his daughter, whose pride, he 
 had no doubt, would be her cure. 
 
 lie v;as so far correct; pride! injured 
 
 WQn\ans best shield against that bitter foe 
 
 1^ 4 io
 
 $20 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 to peace — herself! ! ! swelled Julia's heart 
 almost to bursting. 
 
 " Barbarous!'' she exclaimed^ looking, 
 for the last time, at the billet, '^' he knows 
 not, he feels not, he cannot feel, the un- 
 utterable anguish of passing from love to 
 contempt ! How have I murmured at my 
 father's coldness? My dear father! his 
 judgement was impartial ; superior to the 
 error of self-delusion, he foresaw an affront 
 that overwhelms me with shame and indig- 
 nation, but I will spare him the humiliating 
 recital — De Courville's triumph shall not 
 wound my father — he shall not amuse his 
 Miss Bergen, or perhaps excite her com- 
 passion, for the disappointment of my 
 mother — no ! he shall not dare to consider 
 the peace of the DeVeren courts' dependant 
 on a thing so light, so vain, so capricious ! 
 I not only despise but pity him ! I will 
 think on him no more !" 
 
 Nothing could be objected to these fine 
 sentiments, but that they were imj rac- 
 ticable. Julia 4id, indeed^ make one effort 
 
 to
 
 VICISSITUDES. S2l 
 
 to appear composed before her parents — it 
 was^ however;, but an effort. 
 
 A nervous fever was the consequence of 
 the constraint pride imposed on itself. Her 
 illness^ and her danger^ excited general 
 interest — nothing was talked of but the 
 indisposition of the beautiful and fascinating 
 Mademoiselle de Verencourt. 
 
 In one of these sad moments^, when a 
 beloved object is more than ever endeared 
 by the fear of a final separation^ and the 
 heart swells with grief too big for utterance, 
 Madame de V. turned away her despairing 
 eyes^ while her husband's fond paternal 
 tears dropped on the burning hand of his 
 only hope. 
 
 V/eak^ and almost expiring, Julia desired 
 to be raised;, and, in her father's supporting 
 arms, only able to speak at intervals^ im- 
 plored him to annul the contract. 
 
 He promised without hesitation. 
 
 '' M)w, my papa then, this very now, 
 
 indulge your Julia, give me this hated 
 
 contract, and promise, however Heaven may 
 
 L 3 dispose
 
 §2g VICISSITUDES'. 
 
 dispose of mCj that you will consider mt as 
 the defaulter of its performance." 
 
 In spite of Monsieur and Madame de 
 Verencourts struggles to conceal their 
 sentiments^ Julia perceived the repressed 
 resentment of her father, and the secret 
 agony of her mother. 
 
 ^' Ah, my mamma!" she continued, as 
 soon as replaced on her bed, " be not 
 angry — let all this pass as if it had never 
 been — you will not, I hope, have reason to 
 think worse of your nephew.'* 
 
 '' Ingrate ! " passed Monsieur de V/s lips^ 
 in a low accent; and Julia gasped for 
 breath. 
 
 '' If I am dear to you give me the 
 contract, and do not blame De Courville.'* 
 
 The ca;>er arixiety of her look frightened 
 the fond father ; he instantly fetched the 
 important paper, and erased his signature. 
 
 Madame de V. did the same, and Julia, 
 too weak to hold the pen Vt^ithout assistance, 
 has in o' at Icnoth scratched it across her 
 name, reclined her head on her mother's 
 
 bosom.
 
 VICISSITUDES. 2!^S 
 
 bosom^ with the resignation of one satisfied 
 that the business of existence is finished — 
 lain tings and excessive weakness succeeded, 
 but the crisis Avas favourable, and followed 
 by a slow return to convalescence. 
 
 The physicians prescribed instant change 
 of air ; but before the family left Paris, 
 Jidia vvrote in the envelope which enclosed 
 the contract — 
 
 " You receive the contract. 
 Marquis — my father annuls it without being 
 offended — my mother is not grieved — and, 
 as for me, have the complaisance to accept 
 the good wishes of, 
 
 '' My Lord Marquis^ 
 '* Your humble servant, 
 ^^ Julia D£ Verencourt." 
 
 *' Very w^ell,*' said the Marquis de 
 
 Courville, on Pierre's presenting the packet. 
 
 L 4 '' Yes
 
 224 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 ** Yes, the Abbe Rocqiielar was perfectly 
 right — Mademoiselle de Verencourt is 
 enchanted with her freedom — she feels 
 no regret at the dissolution of an en- 
 gagement in which her heart was not 
 interested/* 
 
 Pierre considered this soliloquy as 
 addressed to him, and thought it a 
 favourable moment to concentrate his own 
 influence with that of the Abbe Rocquelar ; 
 with great humility he adverted to that 
 person's amazing penetration, which was, 
 in every respect, confirmed by a packet he 
 had himself just received from Mademoiselle 
 Couthon, a very pretty waiting gentle- 
 woman belonging to the family of the late 
 DuchesS; 
 
 As Pierre laid a particular emphasis on 
 the late, the Marquis hastily demanded, if 
 there were another already Duchess de 
 Verencourt ? 
 
 Not yet — but with the Marquis's leave he 
 would read Couthon's letter. 
 
 That, the Marquis was in too ill a humour 
 to permit, but Pierre was commanded to 
 
 repeat
 
 VICISSITUDES. 225 
 
 repeat the passages which related to the De 
 Veren courts. 
 
 '' The Duchess de V. then ." 
 
 '' The late?'* interrupted the impatient 
 Marquis. 
 
 Pierre bowed, and was proceeding. 
 '' I want to hear nothing of her." 
 Pierre closed the packet^, if his master 
 w^ould not hear of the beautiful dead 
 Duchess, nor of her more beautiful suscessor, 
 he had no other subject to speak on, from 
 the billet of x\\e pretty Couthon ; and, if 
 Pierre did not tell his story his ow^n way, he 
 could not tell it at all, so he was again 
 permitted to resume the packet. 
 
 Couthon most pathetically lamented a 
 mistake more fatal to her Duchess than even 
 the ice, taken when she was heated by 
 dancir.g ; — one of her v/omen had unfor- 
 tunately scented her linen with essence of 
 bergamot, which shedisliked, instead of otto 
 of roses, which agreed with her nerves. The 
 Duchess, indisposed before^ abandoned 
 herself to pasi^lon, and, it was feared, broke 
 L 5 a small
 
 226 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 a small blood vessel, for she expired in half 
 an hour after. Fortunately, however, the 
 Duke could not be without consolation, 
 since an early engagement with his cousin, 
 the heiress of his uncle M. de V. broken, as 
 reported by some caprice of the Lady, was 
 now again en train. 
 
 '' Really,'' replied the Marquis with an 
 air of chagrin, ^' you have a volume of 
 intelligence from the pretty Couthon ; 
 pray what is the date of her dispatches?" 
 
 Pierre having examined the demoiselle's 
 letter, with the most assiduous scrutiny, 
 observed, that though Couthon wrote like 
 a Ninon, she seldom had time to attend ta 
 such trifles as dates. 
 
 '' So then you are left to guess the when,- 
 and where, of her fine letter ?" 
 
 That Pierre did not deny to have often 
 happened; but, in the present instance, he 
 could calculate with great precision ; for 
 see, another billet, wherein Mademoiselle 
 Couthon v;as much morticed. Madame, 
 the Duchess, v/ould not wear a dress she had 
 
 made
 
 VICISSITUDES. 227 
 
 made for the purpose of a gala, on the 
 King's birth day^ but preferred another 
 not half so beautiful. 
 
 Couthon had begun this billet during 
 Madame, the Duchess's absence at the gala^ 
 but was obliged to conclude it without 
 her usual expressions of esteem, regard, 
 and 
 
 " Pshaw!'' 
 
 The Marquis's ' pshaw' disconcerted 
 Pierre^ who^ in a few low words^, added that, 
 as the Duchess returned from the gala 
 indispo^3ed^ and died three days after^ the 
 Ciatt of her death was easily ascertained, 
 for (and Couthon's letter was displayed) 
 the Marquis would see Mademoiselle wrote 
 on mourning paper. 
 
 As i\\Q Marquis had no doubt of the 
 event having taken place, it was the exact 
 period he wished to fix ; 4)robably the 
 billet from Mademoiselle de Verencourt was 
 written about the same time, 
 
 " Certainly/' and Pierre's vivacity re- 
 
 tarned^ '' nothing could be more natural; 
 
 L 6 for
 
 228 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 for all the world knew the Duke de 
 Verencourt was one of the most elegant 
 and accomplished nobleman in France." 
 
 ^' Is thatj too^ from the pretty Couthon ?" 
 
 Pierre bowed^ again confounded at the 
 visible displeasure in the countenance of 
 his master. 
 
 '' She has an admirable taste/* continued 
 the Marquis ; but go^ Sir^ you and your 
 correspondence. Send the Abbe to me 
 immediately.'' 
 
 '^ Certainly/' said Pierre toBabet^who 
 he met in the corridor^ shrugging his 
 shoulders^ '' the Marquis still adores Made- 
 moiselle de Verencourt ; and certainly^ too^ 
 he adores Miss Bergen — but^ ii'importe, he 
 cannot marry them both." 
 
 '' Very true/' replied Babet^ '' they are 
 both too good for ." 
 
 '' Whatj charming Babet?" and Pierre^ 
 who, malii;re his correspondence with the 
 pretty Couthon, had sense enough to like 
 the modest Babet, would have taken her 
 hand. 
 
 '• For
 
 VICISSITUDES. 229 
 
 '^ For some folks, I know, who deserves • 
 the Bastile, Mr. Pierre/' and Babet walked 
 away with dignity. 
 
 Pierre instantly hastened to summons the 
 Abbe to the Marquis. 
 
 The Marquis was however just now too 
 restless and dissatisfied to know precisely 
 what or who he did want ; but as he caught a 
 glance of the Countess crossing the parterre, 
 followed by her seven little and one great 
 dog, he just recollected she was his mother, 
 and hastily joined her with the annulled 
 contract in his hand. The Countess was a 
 lady who it was easy to astonish, without 
 interesting her feelings. This, however, 
 did not exactly happen. If she was not 
 the fondest, she certainly was one of the 
 proudest of mothers ; and the establish- 
 ment of her son could not fail to be of 
 some importance. As Mademoiselle de 
 Verencourt's billet had no reference to the 
 one it answered, and as the Marquis had 
 never confided a syllable of the decrease 
 of one passion, or the increase of another, 
 
 to
 
 f30 VICISSITUDES, 
 
 to the Countess^ she was not only as- 
 tonished^ but indignant. 
 
 '' The Kingj however/* said she^ " will 
 enforce respect to his signature/' 
 
 The only trouble the Marquis would 
 give his Majesty, was to have the contract 
 completely annulled, 
 
 '' How ! relinquish so great a fortune^ 
 so beautiful a creature, his father's choice !" 
 
 '' Relinquish !" the Marquis's pride was 
 gratified; yes, if Julia did marry the Duke 
 de Verencourt;, it was himself who re- 
 linquished lier, '' all, every thing, but the 
 affection of my dear mother/' replied he^ 
 alfecting a gaiety not quite genuine. 
 
 '' I don't comprehend you, Charles,'* 
 answered the Countess, softened by the 
 compliment to herself. " You resign great 
 advantages, which the caprice of the De 
 Verencourts ought no^ and I believe can- 
 not deprive you of, and f jr what ?" 
 
 " For Antoinette Bergen," he replieA 
 v;ith vivacity : '' my mother's approbation 
 
 and
 
 VICISSITUDES. 231 
 
 and her interest, will establish the happi^ 
 ness of her son/' 
 
 This second surprise on the same morn- 
 ing, almost in the same hoiir^ was too much 
 for the Countess ; she insisted on returning 
 to her loudoir, to reflect. 
 
 The Marquis in vain followed her to the 
 door. 
 
 '' Go, Sir/' said she ; '^ v/hen I promise 
 to consider so extravagant a proposal^ I do 
 perhaps more than I ought/' 
 
 The slightest opposition v/as a stimulus 
 to the Marquis nothing could v/ithstand. 
 He flew to the chamber^ where finding the 
 Abbe waiting his commands^ he uttered a 
 confusion of words, swore a number of 
 pretty oaths, ga\e all the De Vcrencourts 
 to the devil, and finally resolved, if his 
 marrying Antoinette was opposed, to carry 
 her ofi^^ with or without her own consent. 
 
 The AbbeRocquelar was not the man to 
 disconcert this fine scheme. The De Vcren- 
 courts were objects of hi& hatred ; and 
 
 Miss Bergen no matter what. It was 
 
 5 as
 
 932 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 as much at least his wish as it could be that 
 of the Marquis to forward the marriage. 
 
 But though the Countess had made great 
 merit of consenting to consider the affair^ 
 there were so many reasons for^ as well as 
 against, that the Marquis was not reduced 
 to the dishonourable alternative of an 
 elopement. 
 
 Mademoiselle de V. was, it is true, ex- 
 tremely rich. On the contrary. Miss Ber- 
 gen's dower must, the Countess now under- 
 stood, be supplied from, a part of her's.; 
 and however improbable, it still was not 
 impossible she might a second time be 
 left a disconsolate widow, in which case 
 the defalcation in her dower would be a 
 serious misfortune ; but, what would the 
 most able logician do without the auxiliary 
 '' but?" 
 
 The beauty, bloom, and sweetness of 
 Antoinette formed a combination so pro- 
 vokingly attractive, as constantly put her 
 out of conceit with her glass, and, what 
 was still worse, with her cosmetics. 
 
 Mademoiselle
 
 VICISSITUDES. 233 
 
 Mademoiselle de Verencoiirt was indeed 
 the bride her former husband approved 
 for his son ; but her present spouse would 
 be better pleased to see his own daughter 
 share the honours and fortune of De 
 Courville. 
 
 Tl>e Countess did indeed a little marvel 
 how her son could prefer Miss Bergen 
 to Mademoiselle de Verencourt ; but the 
 strongest argument against the removal of 
 a rival, who, as a rival, she could not love, 
 was the unlucky consideration of the 
 dower. 
 
 The Marquis, however, soon made her 
 easy on that score. It was Antoinette, not 
 a dow. r he was determined to have ; there- 
 fore, without waiting the result of the 
 Countess's deliberation, he commissioned 
 the Abbe to demand her of the Count. 
 
 The Count referred the Abbe to the 
 Countess with an air of becoming gravity, 
 and without a single objection on his own 
 part, 
 
 " What
 
 "234 Vicissitudes. 
 
 *' What does Count Bergen say ?" asked 
 the Countess, when informed by the Abbe 
 of his commission. 
 
 '^ The Count/' replied \\\g. Abbe pro- 
 foundly bowingj '' would certainly be 
 highly flattered to see his daughter fdling 
 that rank in the world which had been so 
 adorned by his own Counicss ; but he sub- 
 mitted every thing relative to his children 
 to her who had conferred such transcendent 
 happiness on himself." 
 
 The Countess could not stand this^ and 
 even if the dower must be given, could too 
 much be done for so delightful a husband ? 
 
 The Count him.self, not having heard 
 any thing about dower from the Marcjuis^ 
 did not think it necessary to obtrude the 
 subject. 
 
 Every thing was therefore settled to the 
 satisfaction of all parties ; and as soon as 
 the magnificence with which the Count 
 chose to grace the nuptials were complete, 
 the Marquis led his blushing bride to the 
 
 altarj
 
 VICISSITUDES. 235 
 
 altar^ with only one drawback on the 
 general joy. 
 
 Although no two persons of equal rank 
 could be less suited to be the exclusive 
 friend of each other than the Countess 
 Bergen and Madame Soubise^ it was with 
 great regret the former heard the latter 
 announce her instant departure^ 
 
 The Marquis was piqued^ and the Abbe, 
 who penetrated her motives, affected a 
 shrus: of astonishment; but Madame Sou- 
 bise would neither stay to share the fes- 
 tivities, or witness the magnificence of the 
 marriaore fete, neither did she feel inclined 
 to be the cJiaperone of the young Marquise 
 to Paris. The refusal was indeed a point 
 of some prudence. It was impossible to 
 know exactly how far the King might 
 resent the conduct of her relation ; nor 
 what degree of censure might in con- 
 sequence be attached to herself, as having 
 been present. 
 
 This was the apology she opposed to the 
 serious displeasure of the Marquis, though 
 
 not
 
 236 VICISSITUDE^. 
 
 not perhaps proper to be offered to the 
 Bergen family. 
 
 But however natural it was for a pen- 
 sioner on the crown to be delicate in 
 matters tliat admitted of certain construc- 
 tions^ Madame Soubise entered too sin- 
 cerely into the feelings of a family, to 
 whom she was attached by near ties of 
 bloody by gratitude^ and by that inde- 
 feisiable and durable impulse by which good 
 and great minds are gravitated to each 
 other, to sanction the Marquis's conduct 
 by her presence. 
 
 She left the Bergen Castle family highly 
 ofTended at her abrupt departure, and 
 returned to Paris, and having paid her 
 duty at Versailles, she followed the De 
 Verencourts to their chateau, where soon 
 after the King's death was announced. 
 
 Monsieur de Verencorirt was less in- 
 terested in this e\'ent than Madame Sou- 
 bise ; and the probable sacrifice of her 
 interest to the situation of iils family at so 
 
 critical
 
 VICISSITUDES. 237 
 
 critical a period was of course highly 
 appreciated by them all. 
 
 The news of the marriage of the Marquis 
 had preceded her arrival eight days in an 
 official letter from Countess Bergen. 
 
 The Marquis^ having no longer any op- 
 position to encountef:, became extremely 
 fatigued with the insipidity of Bergen 
 Castle, its inmates, and neighbourhood. 
 
 The vanity of Madame, his mother, 
 which he had before so many oppor^ 
 tunities of witnessing, became absolutely 
 insufferable. The Count was as stiff and 
 as formal as the portrait of his great-grand- 
 father ; the domestics vulgar and ill- 
 assorted ; the neighbouring Barons as 
 ignorant as presuming ; and even An- 
 toinette would have ceased to interest her 
 capricious husband, had not the Count 
 opportunely reminded him, that not only 
 the rank of the family into which he had 
 married, but that which he held in his own 
 country, demanded his appearance at 
 Vienna on the occasion of his nuptials. 
 
 " With
 
 S5» VICISSITUDES. 
 
 '' With all my heart/' answered the 
 Marquis ; " any where from this den of 
 dismals.'* 
 
 Vienna for a short time afforded some- 
 thing new. There^ at this period, a French 
 Nobleman was sure to be treated %vith 
 peculiar distinction ; and as the Marquis 
 was found to possess agremens well cal- 
 culated for the meridian of a Courts he 
 had but just began to complain of ennui, 
 when the death of the King of France 
 caused such a migration of Germans to that 
 country, as entirely thinned the circle bf 
 the Empress, and gave our Marquis an 
 exercise of his patience, by even more 
 difficulties than he could reasonably desire, 
 in procuring means of travelling post. The 
 tour, which had more than once recurred 
 tiince his marriage, was now given to the 
 winds ; he burned with desire to join his 
 gay companions at Paris, to shine at Ver- 
 sailles, and to figure as a favourite either 
 of the Minister or the ladies, it was a per- 
 fect matter of indifference to him which. 
 
 The
 
 VICISSITUDES. 239 
 
 \ 
 
 TheQ.iieen was rejoiced to receive nt Ver- 
 sailles a young beauty of her own country, 
 to ^s'hose family her mother was warmly 
 attached^ and she instantly arranged a 
 vacancy for the Marquise among her prin- 
 cipal attendants with more zeal than policy, 
 considering the jealousy already dissemi- 
 nated on account of the consideration 
 shewn to Germans of all description. 
 
 The King, ever passionately devoted to 
 his charming wife, with equal disregard^, or 
 indeed perhaps ignorant of the clamours 
 of envv, adopted her friendships, her 
 politics, and even her dislikes. Young, 
 thoughtless, gav, and ill qualified for busi- 
 ness, as the Marquis confessedly was — - 
 *^^ We must have the pretty Marquis," said 
 the Queen. — He was accordingly appointed 
 to a post in the ministry, and retained the 
 mock appellation of the ^' Queen's pretty 
 Marquis/' 
 
 If there were among the fastidious some 
 w^ho denied the mental claim of the Mar- 
 quis to this distinction, none could pretend 
 
 to
 
 §40 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 to dispute it on the account of birth, rank^ 
 or fortune ; and as he had the address to 
 invite to his public dinners all the savans 
 of the age, they were extremely crowded. 
 The Hotel de Courville indeed became a 
 rendezvous of most persons who v/ished 
 to be well received at Court, which, with 
 many of the French Nobles, included a 
 great number of foreigners, so that the 
 levee of the Marquis, and the toilette of the 
 Marquise were almost as well attended as 
 those of their Majesties themselves. 
 
 As I leave this young couple in such 
 good company, better perhaps, at least 
 one of them, than your Ladyship may think 
 they deserve, I close this packet, and have 
 the honour to remain, 
 
 &c. Sec. ' 
 
 H. St. Herman, 
 
 PACKET
 
 YICISSITUDES. 2^1 
 
 PACKET IF, 
 
 To Lady N- 
 
 IVAaDAME Soubise's sudden desertion of 
 people, destined to fill such high situations 
 at Court, might have caused some regret in 
 a mind less happily turned than her's ; but 
 the objects to which she was devoted at the 
 Chateau de Verencourt, had an higher in- 
 terest in her feelings, than a Court pension, 
 notwithstanding her moderate fortune. 
 Although nearly related to the De Cour- 
 ville^, it was to Monsieur, not INfadamc de 
 V. she expressed her disgust at the frivolous 
 character of the Marquis; and Monsieur 
 de V. did not conceal from her the little 
 VOL. I. M regret
 
 242 vicissitudes: 
 
 regret he felt at the loss of a son so un- 
 worthy of his Julia. It was during these 
 confidential conversations that she became 
 acquainted with M. de V.'s secret hope in 
 respect to his nephew ; and it was then also 
 that she remarked with deep regret his 
 own declining health. 
 
 The constitution of Monsieur de Veren- 
 court had received such injury from the 
 hardships he had shared with Charles Stuart 
 and his friends^ while they were concealed in 
 the Highlands of Scotland, as obliged him 
 very early in life to relinquish his rank in 
 the army. 
 
 He was subject to frequent indisposi- 
 tions; but as the family had witnessed his 
 as frequent recovery, the change so obvious 
 to Madame Soubise, had been too gradual 
 to be remarked by them, and, added to the 
 pain, she did not dare to disclose respect- 
 ing himself, was that of becoming every 
 hour more and more assured that the tran- 
 quillity, the fortitude, and resignation so 
 apparent in Julia, when in the presence of 
 
 her
 
 VICIS9ITVDES. 243 
 
 her parents, were the assumed disguise of 
 filial duty. 
 
 M. de V. observed a profound silence on 
 a subject so painful as the dishonourable 
 conduct of his wife's nearest relation : but 
 although Madame de V. could not conceal 
 from herself, that the head of her family- 
 had acted very much like a 'petit maitre, 
 neither could she help exulting in his 
 public advancement, more especially as M, 
 de V. could not more wish to see his 
 daughter wedded to the Duke de Veren- 
 court, that she herself did : there was not 
 indeed, even in her partial opinion, any 
 comparison between the trifling De Cour- 
 ville, and the constant honourable De 
 Verencourt. 
 
 But although no sentence dropped from 
 her lips, no sigh burst from her bosom, 
 nor tear stole from her eye in their pre- 
 sence, the anguish of Julia was intolerable. 
 — '' You see,*' said she to Madame Soubise, 
 *' with what visible satisfaction my papa 
 and mamma persuade each other that 1 am 
 M 2 worthv
 
 244 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 worthy to be their daughter ; and you also 
 see how they are deceived. Alas ! the 
 heart gives laws to itself I They think the 
 barbarous De Courville no longer occupies 
 my thoughts : thev praise^ they embrace 
 
 me ; while I Ah ! my dear Soubise, you 
 
 cannot have felt the misery of despising 
 yourself; but never, never let me be so 
 v^Tetched as to awaken the resentment of 
 my honourable father ! Ah ! I would 
 rather die than shev/ to my mother^ the 
 head of a family so dear to hcr^ in his real 
 character." 
 
 Madame Soubise^ more the senior of 
 Julia in experience than years, did not 
 aflect to combat the anguish of disappointed 
 love with the cold precepts of reason, while 
 it rested for the first time in confidence on 
 the sympathy of a friend. 
 
 '' If," continued Julia, '' I had respected 
 the opinion of others, if my confidence in 
 him had been in the smallest degree abated, 
 if instances of such cruel depravity had 
 been familiar to me, if I could but have 
 
 suspected
 
 VICISSITUDES. 245 
 
 suspected it was in the heart of any man, 
 and least of all in his, I might have been 
 prepared ; but it was a blow without a 
 menace, so incomprehensible, so unex- 
 pected as leaves me defenceless and as- 
 tonished, and at the same 'moment when I 
 feel most acutely what I owe to my family, 
 my rank, myself, it is of him I only think. 
 In vain I vary scenes, occupations, and 
 company. If I read, it is of De Courville. 
 Oh ! is there a tender chord in music not 
 full of him ! In solitude, dear solitude, it 
 is there I feel De Courville l" 
 
 Madame Soubise perfectly comprehended 
 that relief to a young untravelled heart 
 which is the result of unreserved confidence; 
 and it was not till after many private inter- 
 views that she ventured to offer consola- 
 tion in the garb of experience, by pour- 
 traying the certain misery of ill-paired 
 marriages. 
 
 " Suppose," said she, "a woman, possess- 
 ing all the refinements of virtue, actuated 
 by sentiments of inherent honour, holding 
 M 3 every
 
 ^46 vrcissrruDEs. 
 
 every deviation from rectitude in ab- 
 horrence> adoring truth, however harsh its 
 dictates, despising falsehood; however fal- 
 lacious its disguise, faithful to friendships 
 true to attachment, dignified in resentment^ 
 but too noble for revenge ; — suppose, too^ 
 a man weak and indecisive, careless of 
 Jionour, and forgetting the example of 
 virtue, too thoughtless and too selfish to- 
 sufier the grand '' meum and teum" of moral 
 ties to restrain one vagrant wish, holding 
 light every engagement, however sacred, 
 if inimical to whatever gratification strikes 
 his varying fancy, unsteady in friendship, 
 inconstant in attachment^ and ignorant of 
 the medium between resentment and re- 
 venge. Unite these characters, and calcu- 
 late accordingly : the pictures are from 
 life ; they are Julia de Verencourt and the 
 Marquis de Courville : your cousin and 
 his dissipated Duchess were not a more 
 ill-matched pair/* 
 
 Julia had nothing to oppose against the 
 well-meant arguments of a friend, w^ho 
 
 knew
 
 VICISSITUDES. 247 
 
 knew her mind was too truly the resort of 
 virtue in its most sublime sense, to leave 
 her always the victim of a passion for so 
 unworthy an object. 
 
 The Duke de Verencourt, though ig- 
 norant of the most flagrant part of the 
 conduct of the Marquis, could never be 
 prevailed on to renew the intimacy of tjieir 
 early years. He appeared at Court only 
 as the steady and independent friend of his 
 King ; and forbade by decorum to present 
 himself as a lover to the second wife his 
 heart selected, before mourning for the first 
 expired, he urged respect to the grand 
 Monarch as a motive for hastening his 
 imcle's return to Paris, with such earnest- 
 ness, that Monsieur at length proposed it to 
 Madame de V. and her daughter. 
 
 '' And, a-propos/* said Madame Soubise, 
 " I must look after my pension.'' 
 
 '' We shall see," said M. de V. kissing 
 her hand, and, looking at Julia, '' my 
 daughter is a philosopher." 
 
 M 4 Yesj
 
 248 TICISSITUDES. 
 
 Yes, but Julia's philosophy was of the 
 head, not of the heart ; for notwithstand- 
 ing the arguments of her friend accorded 
 with her own reason^, she was still regretting 
 with poignancy a deprivation her judge- 
 ment despised. Change of place had not 
 power to dissipate the painful retrospect 
 that tormented her ; it was therefore of 
 little importance where she existed ; the 
 mask on her feelings could not be dropped 
 without covering her with shame^ and per^- 
 haps it would be worn with less difficulty in 
 a crowdj than under the immediate eye of 
 her parents. The penetration of her father 
 filled her with dread ; and the tender soli- 
 citude of her mother was still more distress- 
 ing. There was indeed one consideration 
 more trying than either. Could she be at 
 Paris, could she go to Versailles without 
 meeting De Courville and his happy wife ? 
 — " Well, and what then^ why should the 
 injured fear 2l rencontre with the injurer? 
 The Marquise was no doubt very lovely 
 
 with her golden hair^ but no m.atter '' 
 
 Curiosity
 
 VICISSITUDES. 249 
 
 Curiosity, pride, and pique had at this 
 moment their alternate sway in the heart 
 of poor Julia. — '' Yes/' said she, bursting 
 into tears, '' my father shall indeed find me 
 a philosopher." 
 
 At Paris, every visitor spoke of the in- 
 fluence, the vivacity, and liberality of the 
 Marquis de Courville, to say nothing of 
 his superb dinners ; nor was the tongue of 
 rumour less eloquent on the beauty and 
 sweet manners of the Marquise, both no 
 doubt heightened by the particular favour 
 of the Queen. 
 
 M. de Verencourt was ill disposed to be 
 so entertained. He had \ch his chateau in 
 ill health, which the journey increased; and 
 he considered the hasty marriage of the 
 Marquis, notwithstanding the erasures of 
 the contract, as an insult, which was 
 aggravated by the publicity of his situa- 
 tion. 
 
 Next to her husband and daughter, the 
 
 dearest concern of Madame de Verencourt 
 
 was the pride of family ; and she could not 
 
 M o hear
 
 950 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 hear with indifference of circumstances that 
 rendered it probable her nephew might 
 emulate the greatness of her grandfather^ 
 who had been created Marcschal of France 
 by Henry IV. The consequence of the 
 representative of the House of de Cour- 
 ville was a most flattering oblation to 
 the only vanity that had access to her noble 
 mind. If considerations for her feelings 
 induced M. de V. to repress his sentiments 
 when the conversation turned on the De 
 Courvilles^ she, who knew he looked for- 
 vv^ard to an union more acceptable to his 
 wishes, had no such motive for concealing 
 the triumphant satisfaction of her heart, 
 whenever the Minister de Courville was 
 mentioned. 
 
 Mistress of every point of etiquette, and 
 a ri<rid observer of all the decorous jrrada- 
 tions of ceremony herself, she began to 
 feel a little hurt at the delay of that intro- 
 duction of her niece, which consanguinity, 
 rank, and age entitled her to expect, when, 
 ■iftcr her arrival at her hotel was announced, 
 
 De
 
 VICISSITUDES. 251 
 
 De Coiirville took no step for that pur- 
 pose. 
 
 The Marquis had long since determined 
 on his conduct in respect to his aunt's 
 family. The great coward-maker, " guilt/* 
 was sometimes very busy with him, malgre 
 all his greatness. It was not that the peace 
 of the Marquise w^as of immense im- 
 portance ; but people may sometimes 
 suspect the lenity of others, to actions their 
 own hearts condemn. He knew well enough 
 that his wife was of that sort of women his 
 aunt would not need the tie of consan- 
 guinity to approve ; but the timid in- 
 nocence which in Miiss Bergen seemed to 
 demand protection rather than respect^ 
 was now only so understood by those who 
 did not know how important conscious 
 rectitude could render her, nor the high 
 estimation in which the world would hold 
 the Marquise de Courville. 
 
 The Marquis was not indeed among the 
 
 fii-st who found this out, and he would 
 
 l>.crhaps have rather dispensed with traits 
 
 >i 6 in
 
 252 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 in her character which distanced his ; at 
 all events, after having introduced her to 
 the rest of his family, he resolved not 
 to mention his aunt, till he knew the 
 ultimate sentiments of M. de Verencourt's 
 family respecting an affair on which he had 
 not considered it necessary to consult his 
 wife. 
 
 Regarded as Mademoiselle de Veren- 
 court had always been by the Dauphin ess, 
 it was proper she should be presented to 
 the King and Queen, as well as her father 
 and m.other. 
 
 The rank and character of the De Veren- 
 court family gave them eclat every where. 
 The Court was uncommonly crowded. 
 Monsieur and Madame de V. were received 
 with the most flattering consideration ; and 
 notwithstanding a paleness and langour 
 which had not entirely left her since the 
 fever, Julia never looked more beautiful. 
 
 The buzz of admiration soon gave a charm- 
 ing Jrlow to her features ; and the debate 
 vhether her face, shape, or exquisite taste 
 
 in
 
 VICISSITUDES. 95S 
 
 ID dress were the most enchantingly attrac- 
 tive, was undetermined when the Marquise 
 de Courville entered the circle. Her at- 
 tention was immediately fixed on the grace- 
 ful figure about whom every one seemed 
 interested, and she heard with surprise that 
 the lovely creature was nearly related to 
 the Marquis ; but the name affected her 
 with something more than surprise. — 
 '' Julia de Verencourt ! \" '' the good!/' 
 '' the rich!" '' the beautiful !"— There 
 could be but one Julia de V. of that de- 
 scription, and this was unquestionably her. 
 A transient blush, Avhich in such a heart as 
 Antoinette's, could neither be considered as 
 envy or jealousy, crimsoned her cheek; but 
 altera few moments^ her eye following every 
 movement of the interesting Julia, she was 
 only sensible to excess of pleasure in an- 
 ticipating an intimate connection with this 
 charming relation of her husband. 
 
 The Marquis at that moment entered.. 
 sShe beckoned to him with infinite good 
 luunour, and pointing his attention to 
 
 Julia,
 
 ^54 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 Julia, asked, why she remained a stranger 
 to such an amiable relation ? 
 
 Some person had also officiously pointed 
 out the Marquise to Julia's blushing ob- 
 servation, and certain reminiscence's suc- 
 ceeding the first burst of admiration among 
 the spectators, from the debate on beauty, 
 grace, and dress> the transition was not 
 more easy than common to scandal! the 
 scrutinising glance passed from one to the 
 other of what were then considered as rival 
 beauties : one of whom was but too sensi- 
 ble of the motive, while the other, absorbed 
 in pleasing admiration, only wondered 
 tlicij were yet sirangers. 
 
 The Queen v/a& at the same time gra- 
 ciously enquiring of Madame de Veren- 
 court about the health of her husband. 
 The Marquis, as well as the Marquise, 
 steadily regarding Julia, who could not 
 move from behind her mother, pressed by 
 the crowd, overcome with heat, and still 
 more annoyed by the fixed regard of the 
 JMarquise, she found herself faint. Looking 
 
 anxiously 
 
 I
 
 VICISSITUDES. 9j5 
 
 anxiously round for an opening to move^ 
 as soon as the Queen should pass^ she met 
 for the first time the earnest and passionate 
 gaze of her perfidious lover. 
 
 What ought to have been her sensations? 
 k one thing, what they were, another. 
 
 The Duke de V. whose attentions were 
 wholly fixed on her, advanced just in time 
 to catch her in his arms ; and Madame de 
 V. no longer engrossed .by the honour of 
 the Qu'een's conversation, hastened to. the 
 assistance of her faintins: dau":hter. 
 
 The crowded Court, the heat, the lady's 
 recent illness, were all talked of as causes 
 for her indisposition ; while the Marcpiis, 
 whose predominant weakness was excess of 
 vanity, irxdulged in a delicious dream of 
 causes and effects. 
 
 The contract, and all the concomitant 
 circumstances, recurred to his memory. It 
 was true, the Duchess de V. was no more ; 
 but Julia had not yet supplied her place. 
 Ke had met her eye before its brilliant 
 lustre was dimmed by the falntness, which, 
 3 he
 
 ^50 VICISSITUDES.. 
 
 he flattered himself, was the proof of un-^ 
 subdued tenderness ; and he recollected 
 with emotion a soft expression that per- 
 suaded him the lover was still dear. 
 
 Encouraged by his success with others^ 
 and inflated by the adulation which so 
 often tries the sober wit of court favourites, 
 he gave the rein to libertine fancy, and 
 already placed the amiable and virtuous 
 Julia on the list with the demireps who 
 then led the fashion. But in the meantime 
 he beheld the Duke sharing the concern 
 of Monsieur and Madame de V. ; and, to 
 his astonishment, saw it was on the bosom 
 of his own wife the cheek of the apparently 
 lifeless object of his present adoration 
 rested. 
 
 As these were precisely t^ae two persons 
 most in the way of his brilliant plans, no 
 wonder they never, in his opinion, ap- 
 peared to so little advantage. 
 
 Monsieur and Madame de Verencourt 
 immediately accompanied their daughter 
 home, whither the good-natured Marquise 
 
 followed.
 
 VICISSITUDES, S57; 
 
 followei -with a thousand apologies for 
 thus breaking all rules of etiquette by 
 forcing herself on them before she was 
 formally introduced. — '' But/* pressing a 
 hand of each to her lips^ " if ceremony is 
 superceded by affection^ will not my near 
 relatives forgive me ? Besides^ the Queen 
 commanded me to report the recovery of 
 my charming cousin ; and she has almost 
 as invincible an hatred of etiquette as my- 
 self." 
 
 The gravity of M. de Verencourt had 
 not yet given way : though the ^yhole 
 business at Court was but the actiorl of a 
 minute, it had not escaped^4Hm ; and the 
 conviction that Julia had not yet entirely 
 recovered her tranquillity was doubly mor- 
 tifying, as it happened in the presence of 
 the Duke. 
 
 " You look grave upon me, Monsieur/^ 
 said the Marquise. '' Ah V and a tear 
 dropping on his hand, conquered him, 
 " vou foroet I too am vounar, and no 
 longer near a father/' 
 
 Madame
 
 S58 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 Madame cle V.^ charmed with that in- 
 genuous frankness which in the Marquise 
 was always irresistibly pleasing, arose with 
 vivacity : she embraced her with ardour, 
 and presented her as the niece she loved 
 to her husband, who, equally pleased 
 with the appeal to paternal recollection^ 
 and no longer considering it was the wife 
 of De Courville, promised to love and 
 protect the interesting young creature who 
 was no longer near a father! 
 
 As Julia had been carried to her cham- 
 ber, and requested not to be disturbed, the 
 Duke de V. who soon after called, led the 
 Marquise to her carriage, and the parents 
 were left alone to deplore the event of the 
 morning ; agreeing, however, that the most 
 prudent means to silence impertinents, and 
 to complete the restoration of their daugh- 
 ter's peace, was to cultivate the affections 
 of the amiable Marquise, and they con- 
 gratulated her on the acquisition of a 
 friend and relative, who, if any thing 
 could, would atone for the conduct of her 
 
 husband^
 
 VICISSITUDES. 959 
 
 husband. — *'*^ Yes, Julia remembered that 
 the Marquise was indeed charming ; she had 
 observed her gaiete de coeur." — The flush 
 of unruffled prosperity, the vain security 
 of inexperienced youth, dancing on the 
 sharp pointed precipice, which animated 
 her features, and spoke in every motion^ 
 struck to the heart-stricken Julia as an ex- 
 cess of hai^pincss, which could only result 
 from an union with the most amiable of 
 men ; and this picture, contrasted with her 
 own anguish and despair, rendered her 
 more anxious to avoid, than to meet the new 
 friend so acceptable to her parents : but 
 whatever her secret feelings, it was im- 
 possible now to avoid an intercourse of 
 politeness. 
 
 M. de Verencourt, who concealed the 
 increasing weakness which rendered him 
 incapable of going as often as usual to 
 the levees and public parties, by affecting 
 a disposition for study, the more frequently 
 indulged Julia's wish to remain with him, 
 as the Duke de V. often made a third, so 
 
 that
 
 ,^60 VPCI-SSITUDES. 
 
 that while Madame de V. delighted at the 
 consequence of her nephew and niece; at 
 the whole world assembling at their hotel; 
 at the petitioners, who soon understood 
 her influence, and at the certain great 
 fortunes of the heir which the Marcuise 
 would now soon give to the House of de 
 Courville; she w^as too much occupied to 
 suspect the approach of that mortal eneniy^ 
 whose wound is not less fatal, from the slow 
 and imperceptible degree by which it is 
 inflicted. 
 
 Julia's visits at the Hotel de Courville 
 were generally timed, when the Marquis 
 was known to be from home, though he 
 often contrived what he fancied an agree- 
 able surprise, by entering the saloon in 
 the full blaze of a really handsome person, 
 with every advantage of air, dress, and high 
 spirits, which of course sent Julia home 
 with her's as^ much depressed. 
 
 The highest cliaracter of that era de- 
 lighted at the intercourse of friendship 
 divested of form, was always extremely 
 
 fond
 
 \7CISSITUDES. S6 1 
 
 fond ofpetft soupers with her favourites. The 
 names of the invited few were previously 
 submitted to her ; and the Marquis never 
 omitted Mademoiselle de Verencourt, when 
 she honoured the Hotel de Courville with 
 her presence. 
 
 It was therefore impossible to decline 
 invitations enforced by a double duty, as 
 the honour so peculiarly conferred gratified 
 the pride and affectionate feelings of her 
 parents, as much as it pleased the Queen. 
 
 At these suppers it was that Julia found it 
 difficult to avoid the passionate gaze of the 
 Marquis ; but the sighs he took every op- 
 portunity of breathing in her ear, made 
 not the least impression on a mind too 
 rightly turned to be accessary to the injury 
 of another, and too sensible of' her own 
 dignity to encourage so d'^grading a senti- 
 ment as coquetry with a married man. 
 
 The Duke de Verencourt, agreeable to 
 the predictions of that profound logician 
 the Abbe Rocquelar, waited no longer than 
 the etiquette of mourning, expired, before 
 
 he
 
 '96'2 Vicissitudes. 
 
 he atice more demanded the hand of Julia, 
 and implored the sanction of her parents 
 to his addresses. 
 
 M. de V. who from that inward convic- 
 tion which is shunned by cowards, felt his 
 life decay, did not affect to conceal the 
 satisfaction which the sentiments of his 
 nephew inspired. Every consideration in- 
 deed united to render the marriage of the 
 two cousins desirable : the return of his 
 great estates to his own name and family^ 
 though a circumstance of importance, was 
 light to that of insuring the happiness of 
 his only child, by giving her to a husband 
 whose heart he knew and approved. 
 
 Madame de V. partook of the satisfaction 
 of her spouse ; and the grateful transports 
 of the lover could only exceed their own. 
 
 It now remained to acquaint Julia with 
 the sentiments of the Duke, and the will of 
 those whom it was her duty to obey. How 
 was she therefore astonished, and how con- 
 foun led, when M. de V. enlarged on the 
 affection, the constancy, and innate virtues 
 
 of
 
 VICISSITUDES. 265 
 
 of the Duke de Verencourt ? when he 
 enumerated the happiness, the conve- 
 jiience, and advantage of an union so 
 appropriate in every point of view ? and 
 when he laid his paternal commands on 
 her to become Duchess de Verencourt ? 
 But the surprise of her parents far ex- 
 ceeded her own^ when throwing herself at 
 their feet^ she declared her utter and fixed 
 repugnance to marriage. 
 
 M. de V.'s eyes flashed fire; Madame 
 lifted her's in amazement, but neither 
 could speak. 
 
 Julia repeated her repugnance to mar- 
 riage, and added the unwelcome pro- 
 testation that she had a vocation, that she 
 would be the spouse of God, and implored 
 permission to take the veil, and retire 
 '' where grief forgets to groan, and love 
 to weep." 
 
 The fVither, who had never before spoken 
 an unkind word to his beloved Julia, no lon- 
 ger sensible to inward weakriess, repeated 
 his commands in a voice of thunder, then 
 
 addressing
 
 1264 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 addressing his spouse — '' Come^ Madame/' 
 said he, *"" I exact from you an implicit 
 acquiescence to my command; I charge 
 you repel the ungrateful and disobedient 
 spirit of your daughter. As for you^ Julia^ 
 my eye is upon you, when you suspect no 
 such thing. If you are my daughter, you 
 shall be the Duke de Verencourt's wife ! 
 Give me not cause to curse my unbounded 
 indulgence. Your father's honour, his life, 
 is in your keeping : beware how you trifle 
 with either. I repeat, my eye Is upon 
 you. I tremble this moment at the ob- 
 servations I have already made. Beware \" 
 
 He left the apartment as he uttered the 
 last sentence. 
 
 '' What can be his dreadful meaning ?'* 
 said Madame de V. as she followed her 
 husband. 
 
 Overwhelmed with confusion, terror, and 
 shame, what now could Julia imagine, but 
 that the secret folly, inexcusable even to 
 herself, was exposed to the rigid censure of 
 her honourable father ? Dreadful was the 
 
 anger ;
 
 VICISSITUDES. 265 
 
 tingry ; but, oh ! how far more dreadful the 
 contempt of a father so loved, so honoured ! " 
 — Trembling and pale, she repeated his 
 words — " His honour^ Jus life'* — '' Ah ! let 
 me indeed die before I injure either ! — How 
 shall I again face my father?'' 
 
 A step from the corridor made her 
 shudder ; it was her mother's valet, to say 
 she was in the carriage waiting for her. 
 
 '' My mammal" said Julia; '' I thought 
 she was with my father!" 
 
 '*' No — Monsieur had retired to his closet 
 desiring not to be disturbed." 
 
 Julia knew her mother had euRao^ed 
 herself to be with the Alarquise, and was, 
 indeed, on the point of going thither 
 before the interesting convei*sation, which 
 terminated so dreadful to her, began. The 
 Hotel de Courville was, perhaps, the last 
 place where she would have chosen . to 
 appear in her present disordered state of 
 mind ; but, if she remained at home, her 
 father might command her to attend him, 
 and how, without the supporting presence 
 
 VOL. I. N of
 
 966 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 of her motlier, could she hear him repeat 
 the indirect charge, which was the more 
 dreadful because true ? 
 
 A second approach from the corridor 
 encreased her agitation — she feared to look 
 round, till another domestic announced 
 that Madame was impatient. 
 
 Still hesitating and undecided, she re- 
 mained motionless, till, on hearing her 
 father's voice, she hastily followed the 
 domestic to the carriage. 
 
 '' Julia,'' cried Madame de Verencourt, 
 as soon as they were seated, '^ do you 
 know M. de V. refused to admit me to his 
 closet ? — mc, from whom he never before 
 detached himself; for my part, I neither 
 comprehend him nor you. I could not 
 love the Duke de Verencourt better, if he 
 were mv own son ; and it would really be 
 an amusing subject for all Paris, if, after the 
 entertainment we have already afforded 
 tliem, M. de Verencourt's only child should 
 become a nun.'' 
 
 Madame de V., with the best of human 
 
 hearts^
 
 VICISSITUOES. ^$T 
 
 hearts, was entirely beloved by her husband ; 
 her life was a continued scene of bene- 
 ficence, candour, and good humour; one 
 only foible, if it must be so called, has been 
 before noted, but she had not been more 
 offended, than humbled, by the conduct of 
 De Courville. 
 
 The dignity of the De Verencourts she 
 knew to be in very good hands, and there- 
 fore left that to their own keeping ; but 
 the De Courvilles, and all that appertained 
 to them, having for its head one whose 
 heart she still a little suspected — zeal and 
 anxiety did not seldom break her repose on 
 that account. 
 
 Nothing like an act of unkindness had 
 ever passed in her family till the present. M. 
 de V.*s eye, penetrating as it was, could, she 
 thought, discover nothing in his daughter 
 to blame, but a preference now passed, of 
 her nephew to his; and the unusual rejec- 
 tion of the consolation he had so many 
 years found efficacious, piqued and grieved 
 her. 
 
 N 2 If
 
 268 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 If the Marquis continued his present 
 conduct^ he would regain her perfect con- 
 fidence; for he pretended to be as much 
 attached to family dignity as herself, and 
 affected to consult her on every occasion 
 wherein it wasconcerned; on whichaccount 
 he was entitled to a return of the confidence 
 which he placed in her, and she had visited 
 him as soon as M. de V. announced to her 
 the renewed addresses of his nephew, not 
 doubting but he v> culd be much gratified 
 by the alliance. 
 
 If there were not certain movements in 
 the mind of man, inscrutable to the human 
 eye, and indefinable to moral philosophy, 
 how should we account for the pang this 
 confidence gave De Courville, or believe 
 that, pale and trembling, he was obliged 
 to leave the apartment. 
 
 Julia, whose heart v as torn with avariety 
 of sensations, did not answer her mother's 
 angry remonstrance; but, after a fev/ mo- 
 ments silence, begged to pay Madame 
 
 Soubise
 
 VICISSITUDES. 269 
 
 Soubise a morning visit;, while she went to 
 the Hotel de Coiirville. 
 
 Madame de Verencourt just recollecting, 
 that in the present disorder of her family, 
 she would be embarrassed about the final 
 determination of her daughter, immediately- 
 acceded to her request ; the carriage was 
 accordingly stopped at the Castle, and then 
 drove to the Hotel de Courville. 
 
 Julia, who was on the most intimate 
 habits with Madame Soubise, had reached 
 her apartment without attending to the 
 valet's repeated information, that his Lady 
 was gone to the Marquise de Courville, who 
 was indisposed. 
 
 Her own reflections were sad companions 
 the half hour alone, notwithstanding the 
 musical instruments and well-chosen library, 
 lengthened the minutes to hours. The 
 carriage soon returned, and she proceeded 
 to the Hotel de Courville. 
 
 The conference of Madame de V., with 
 her nephew and niece, to which, by ac- 
 cident, was added their friend Soubise, was 
 N 3 not
 
 wo VICISSITUDES. 
 
 Rot half discussed, there, themeasureof time 
 
 was reversed ; they were willing to make 
 hours minutes, so inexhaustible was the 
 subject of Julia marrying, or not marrying. 
 
 Julia, finding the Marquis was in the 
 great saloon with her mother, passed 
 towards a smaller one, where the Marquise 
 sometimes received company, but, mis- 
 taking the door, found herself in an apart- 
 ment she did not recollect to have seen 
 before. 
 
 it was, however, of small import — go 
 where she would, her thoughts recurred to 
 the events of the morning ; the stern 
 commands of her father still vibrated on 
 her ear ; and, wherever she looked, his 
 threated eye denounced the punishment 
 of her secret fault. '' God forgive me/' 
 cried the penitent Julia: raising her eyes to 
 Heaven, she saw a whole-length portrait 
 of the Marquis hanging exactly opposite, 
 so like, it seemed to speak from the 
 canvas. 
 
 The denunciation and commands of her 
 
 father^
 
 VICISSITUDES. S71 
 
 father, ceased for a moment to be remem- 
 bered ; the powers of the pencil, indeed, 
 were not wanting to recall features ever 
 present to her mind ; but while duty, 
 honour, and prudence, enjoined her to 
 think no more of the original, she had 
 wanted resolution to discard a miniature 
 which had once been the proudly displayed, 
 as it was now the hidden, companion of her 
 bosom ; and, after assuring herself there was 
 no witness near, she compared it with the 
 portrait. This indeed was a trying moment 
 for such an occupation — it was attended 
 with anguish, regret, and compunction. 
 
 There are times and situations when the 
 mind is not its own keeper; her's was now 
 detached from every object but him whose 
 resemblance she contemplated. 
 
 Tne hours of childhood, of affection, of 
 hope, returned, and memory still lingered 
 over the grave of departed bliss ; imagina- 
 tion revolted against an act that would 
 criminate every fond regret, and tear from 
 the root her heart's dearest affection ; while 
 N 4 she
 
 272 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 she continued single^ while her sorrows 
 prey^ed on herself without injury to another^ 
 she might still comtemplate the concealed 
 treasure^ and indulge the sad privilege of 
 bathing it with tears. Yet, and M. de V.'s 
 eye seemed to pierce her^ '• how meet 
 my father;" she thought she heard his 
 voice repeating — '' My lumour and my 
 life is in your keeping;" she staggered to a 
 sopha^ and oppressed at once with con- 
 scious error and tender recollections^ fond 
 regret, struggling with filial. duty^ became 
 too affecting for a hearty where, while the 
 former had been too dearly cherished^ the 
 latter had never been violated^ she fell back 
 quite senseless. 
 
 The Marquis who, notsvithstanding the 
 interest he felt in the reluctance of Julia to 
 a marriage with the Duke de Verencourt, 
 did not wholly forget the usual hour of 
 repairing to one of the altars of his 
 devotion, the toilette, now entered the 
 anti-chamber leading to his dressing-room ; 
 he was not, however^ so intent on the 
 
 adornment
 
 VICISSITUDES. 273 
 
 adornment of his person, as to omit con- 
 gratulating himself on what he considered 
 a new proof of Julia's continuedattachment. 
 
 He shut the door, and, without summon- 
 ing the high priest of the temple, sat down 
 to reflect. 
 
 His ideas, whatever they would have 
 been in this new occupation, could not be 
 arranged before he beheld the beautiful 
 object of his meditations recovering from 
 a fainting fit, his miniature hanging on the 
 same lovely bo.^om where he himself had 
 placed it two years before. 
 
 All the love the Marquis fancied he 
 formerly felt for his charming cousin fired 
 his imagination— vanity mounted to the 
 highest pitch of gratification, decidedly 
 pronounced — " I am still beloved by the 
 paragon c^f her sex !" A plan to prevent^ 
 if possible, her marriage with another, at 
 the same moment that his own sovereignty 
 in the art of pleasing would be established, 
 flashed across his brain, and, not to men- 
 tion the Marquis's great propensity to 
 N 3 become
 
 274 
 
 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 become a distracted lovei% the object 
 before him was really a temptation ; her 
 fine dark hair^ hanging in ringlets on the 
 whitest neck in the worlds eclipsed be- 
 yond all possible comparison, the beautiful 
 golden locks he had delighted to tie in 
 knots and decorate with flowers, in the 
 gardens of Eergen Castle ; her eyes, in 
 which sadness and sensibility were blended^ 
 darted refulgent rays through her long dark 
 eyelashes ; the agitation of her bosom, from 
 the difficulty of returning respiration, he 
 imputed to the soft emotion of passion ; and, 
 totally unmindful of hisnuptial engagement^ 
 the ties of consanguinity, or the honour of 
 his family, nothing was worth living for but 
 Julia — she was a conquest worthy of an 
 Emperor, and if he loj-t this moment, he 
 would ill deserve that Fate or Fortune 
 should be ever propitiovjs to him again. 
 
 Suddenly tlirowing himself on his knees 
 before the astonished Julia, he, with in- 
 conceivable volubility, and most pathetic 
 earnestness, began to describe months of 
 3 ' miserv
 
 VICISSITUDES. 275 
 
 misery never endured — the effects of a 
 distraction he never felt ; swore a thousand 
 oaths impossible to keep ; and bound him- 
 self by vows no human being could 
 perform ; invoked the blessed Virgin^ and 
 all the host of Heaven^ to witness the 
 rankest falsehoods^ and bathed her aknost 
 lifeless hand with the ready tears which the 
 father of Perfidy supplies to the exigence 
 of his votaries. 
 
 The silent astonishment of Mademoiselle 
 de Verencourt, no doubts encouraged him 
 to proceed from words to action ; his 
 audacious arms encircled her waist, and he 
 had profaned her lips with his impure 
 touch, before she recovered from the petri- 
 faction into which his fine gallantry had 
 thrown her. 
 
 The emotions of a virtuous mind, 
 struggling against sentiments inspired by 
 passion, but condemned by reason, had 
 suspended that presence of mind, and 
 dignified confidence in herself, which, were 
 N 6 leading
 
 276 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 leading traits in the character of Julia de 
 Verencourt. 
 
 But the atrocity of the Marquis's present 
 conduct did more^ in one moment, towards 
 eradicating every trace of her former 
 attachment^ than years of reflection. She 
 had often arraigned herself for the secret 
 sentiments which she considered as an 
 injury to the wife of her cousin^ and now 
 shrunk from the correction of him who 
 '' sees in secret, and rewards openly." Tears 
 rushed in torrents from her eyes — 
 '^'Monster! libertine! detested wretch!" 
 she exclaimed, struggling to emancipate 
 herself from his rude embrace ; while he, 
 to whom neither situation or exclamation 
 w^re without precedent, was not to be 
 awed by frowns nor moved by tears; he 
 saw his picture still lie on the bosom, 
 whose angry throbs he interpreted as the 
 e£ects of real fondness, however disguised, 
 and was proceeding to still greater liberties 
 when Julia's shrieks brought to the apart- 
 ment
 
 VICISSITUDES. ^77 
 
 ment the very last persons who should have 
 witnessed such a scene ; these were the 
 Marquise de Courville, Madame de Veren- 
 courts Madame Soubise^ an impertinent 
 Chavelier Duval^ who^ on account of his 
 family^ was admitted every where, but 
 esteemed no where> together with the Abbe 
 Rocquelar. 
 
 Astonishment for a moment preceded 
 exclamations^ which almost amounted ta 
 uproar. 
 
 There sat Mademoiselle de Verencourt 
 pale as deaths her hair dishevelled, her dress 
 disordered, and a miniature of the Marquis 
 hanging on her neck. 
 
 There also sat the Marquis on the same 
 sofa, his robe de clianibre covered with 
 powder, his head en dishabille, and his arms 
 encircling the waist of his fair cousin. 
 
 Never was a mystery more easy to be 
 explained, or more hard to comprehend — 
 never one more enigmatical in appearance,, 
 or less so in reality. 
 
 The
 
 278 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 The sensations of the poor Marquise, 
 indisposed as she was, were really pitiable ; 
 modest, placid, and unassuming, herself^, 
 she had the torture to see her husband w^as 
 the rage of women, who, sanctioned by 
 high birth and fortune, infest and disgrace 
 the first societies ; but as she also saw many 
 of the husbands of her friends were on the 
 same list, she endeavoured to follow their 
 example in every thing but retaliation — 
 remonstrance, indeed, she found as vain as 
 complaint was ridiculous^ but this was a 
 sight that quite appalled her ; and a glance 
 from the Abbe's dark eye reminded her of 
 the ^'beautiful, the rich, the good Made- 
 moiselle de Verencourt/' 
 
 Julia had now left the sofa with the most 
 indignant resentment against the man by 
 whom she was so insulted and exposed. The 
 confusion and dismay which kept her 
 mother the pale and silent spectator of a 
 scene «o inexplicable, spoke volumes of 
 reproaches to her hearts — the surprise of 
 Madame Soubise, who supported the almost 
 
 fainting
 
 VTCISSITUDES; 279 
 
 fainting Marquise — the shrugs of the im- 
 pertinant Chavelier — the equivocal down- 
 cast eye of the Abbe wouW^ two hoursbefore^ 
 have made a coward of her^ but a revolution 
 of sentiments had at once restored a noble 
 mind to its native energy^ she advanced to 
 the Marquise. 
 
 The Marquise was a small fair woman^ 
 whose pleasing manner and beautiful face 
 attoned for the want of dignity in her 
 pei-son ; but, when she looked up to the 
 tall graceful figure of Mademoiselle de 
 Yerencourt, whose haughty glance, /' severe 
 in youthful beauty/' seemed to shrink even 
 the Marquis into an atom, all the former 
 connection of the cousins recurrino:, in the 
 strongest colours^ to her imagination, with 
 a motion of rejection to the advancing 
 Julia, she appeared to shut her eyes 
 ©n superior radiance, and • fell back in 
 agony. 
 
 The nonchalance of the Queen*s *' pretty 
 Marquis," was entirely undisturbed by the 
 situation of his wife, the whole force of his 
 
 feelings
 
 2S0 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 feelings being exhausted in rage and disap- 
 pointment ; he;, however, took the trouble 
 to ring a bell, which Pierre answered. 
 
 The valet uttered an exclamation of 
 surprise, although, if that surprise was real^ 
 it must have occurred before he became 
 visible, as he had remained perdue in an 
 adjoining powdering closet, during the 
 whole of his master's extraordinary tete-d-tete 
 with Mademoiselle de V. ; the exclamation 
 was, however, very properly timed, for 
 the business of the toiictie waited, and the 
 Marquis would willingly have retired when 
 his wife was carried to her apartment, but 
 Julia, disappointed in the appeal she in- 
 tended to the Marquise, addressed Jiiui. — 
 
 ^' You, Sir," said she, tearing the 
 miniature from her neck, '' can best 
 explain!" 
 
 " Certainly," interrupted the Chevalier, 
 shewing his enormous set of white teeth^ 
 '^ and we are impatient." 
 
 The Abbe picked up the discarded 
 miniature. 
 
 The
 
 VICISSITUDES. 281 
 
 The Marquis, ill disposed to become the 
 jest of Paris, looked the Chevalier into 
 silence, and requested Madame de V. to 
 honour Mm with an audience. 
 
 Before she determined, an hasty sum- 
 mons to the Marquise was followed by a 
 general alarm— the servants were dispatched 
 different ways — the Chevalier, glad to get 
 off with t]\e adventures of the morning, 
 made his conge — Julia had followed her 
 mother — and the Marquis, with great phi- 
 losophy^ ordered his toilette. 
 
 The Abbe, who could talk a vast deal 
 when he had nothing to say, now, when if 
 he had said all he thought, would have 
 deafened the whole house, ran about like 
 a maniac, directed one servant, reproved 
 another, and was every where at once. 
 
 When Madame de Verencourt, shocked 
 at the indifference of the Marquis, hinted 
 her wish that he would visit the Marquise, 
 the Abbe left her with assurance that he 
 would go to the Marquis and not return 
 alone. 
 
 '' We
 
 SS9 VICISSITUt)E5. 
 
 '*' We have been uncharitable/' said 
 Madame de V. ; '' the Abbe may not be 
 exactly qualified for the governor of a 
 Nobleman^ but he is certainly not an ill 
 humoured person." 
 
 The Abbe was in the contradictory habit 
 of obliging and governing the Marquis ; he 
 certainly pretended to approve of his not 
 following the Marquise to her chamber^, but 
 then, was it right to miss an opportunity of 
 again seeing the lovely Julia, even if he could 
 not speak to her ? no eye in the world, he pro- 
 tested, was half so eloquent as the eye of the 
 Marquis — and what delightful things might 
 a look convey, which could not be spoken. 
 
 The eloquent eye succeeded. The 
 Marquis passed one whole minute in his 
 wife's apartment; but, for the use of a fine 
 eye, he might as v/ell have been blind, no 
 Julia was there to understand its eloquence. 
 
 The Marquise extended her pretty hand, 
 though in extreme pain;, her husband 
 yawned a kiss on it, and hurried away, 
 lamenting that business would immediately 
 
 demand
 
 VICISSITUDES. 283 
 
 flrmand his presence at the Castle de 
 Courville, at least seventy leagues from 
 Paris ; he accordingly set off for Versailles 
 to obtain permission, and ordered his suite 
 to meet him at the bridge of Beni;, whence 
 he proceeded on his journey. 
 
 The young stranger^ whose appearance in 
 the family was probably forwarded by the 
 gallantry of the Marquis, was^ io his great 
 displeasure and mortification, of the wrong 
 sex ; she was, however, a great beauty in 
 the eyes of her mother, which, as their 
 Majesties were her sponsors, all the Court 
 allov/ed; though, in fact, never was a child 
 born whose infancy was less promising. 
 
 It was with infinite vexation that the 
 Marquise, on receiving visits, was ac- 
 quainted with the dark whispers in universal 
 circulation to the prejudice of Julia, which 
 she endeavoured to obviate with all the 
 candid energy of a person whose conviction 
 of her innocence nothing could shake; but 
 as it is not easv to trace the orisfin of a 
 calumny which happens to excite general 
 
 curiosity^
 
 fS4 ' VICISSITUDES. 
 
 curiosity, so it is still less easy to 
 refute it. 
 
 M. de Verencourt's indisposition was, at 
 this time, so far fortunate, as it prevented 
 the condolence of some, the resentment of 
 others, and the surprise of all from reaching 
 him. 
 
 It was not, however, possible an event 
 told a thousand different ways, by as many 
 different relaters in the first circles, should 
 fail of coming to the Duke de V., although 
 it had no other effect than rendering him 
 anxious to trace the scandal to its source, 
 and punish the inventor. But his incredu- 
 lity did him no credit ; the hitherto 
 acknowledo-ed fine understandino: of the 
 young Duke de V. began to be much 
 doubted — the sneer of prudes, the laugh 
 of coquets, the jest of young men, and the 
 contempt of the old, were all on the side 
 of the story which he disbelieved; and he 
 could not but observe the absence of atten- 
 tion, or repressed smile, of those to whom 
 he addressed his indignant feelings, tiil,^ 
 
 provoked
 
 VICISSITUDES. 285 
 
 provoked out of all patience, he fairly 
 quarrelled with Colonel Murat, for hum- 
 ming an Italian air, while he bitterly 
 imprecated the inventors and propagators 
 of all scandal. 
 
 However lightly the Colonel held the 
 character of a Lady, the challenge of a Lord 
 was a distinct thing, he therefore named 
 the Chevalier Duval as his authority. 
 
 '' And this Chevalier," said the Duke, 
 haughtily, '' where is he to be found?" 
 
 The Colonel immediately offered to 
 attend him. 
 
 More in expectation of convicting the 
 Colonel of a mean subterfusfe than hearino- 
 of any thing like truth, the Duke suffered 
 him:self to be conducted to the Chevalier's 
 lodgings, where the story he heard carried 
 sitch damning proofs on the face of it, as 
 confounded even him. 
 
 He had no doubt of the libertinism of the 
 Marquis de Coiirvill?- but Julia, heavenly 
 powers, where was female perfection to be 
 
 found.
 
 ^6 vieissixrDES. 
 
 founds if not in her ! and was it possible! 
 washerpiirebosom contaminated by cherish- 
 ing the resemblance of a married libertine! 
 
 That resemblance the Chevalier had seen 
 the Abbe Rocquelar take up, and doubted 
 not his readiness, if called on, to confirm 
 every part of the report. 
 
 Well did the Duke de V. recollect a 
 small black string which set off the exquisite 
 white of the neck it encircled. Twice had 
 De Courville interfered between him and 
 happiness — twice had his baneful influence 
 blasted a hope, framed by love and approved 
 by reason. 
 
 '' But the hour of vengeance/' said he^, 
 gnashing his teeth, '' is come. I am the 
 near relation of Julia de V., and her 
 destroyer, or avenger must fall." 
 
 The Colonel requested to be his second^, 
 but advised seeing the Abbe Rocquelar 
 previous to challenging the Marquis. 
 
 The Abbe had now a part to act that 
 demanded all his policy ; if he confirmed the 
 
 Chevalier's
 
 VICISSITUDES. 587 
 
 Chevalier's story, and procliiced the picture^, 
 it was easy to foresee the consequence, the 
 Marquis must kill or be killed, either 
 event separated him from the Marquis. e 
 
 '' Very good/' said the Abbe; but should 
 it transpire, that he, by betraying his patron, 
 was accessary, the consequence to himself 
 would be dreadful, punishment, imprison- 
 ment, perhaps death ; he considered and 
 re-considered, till the Duke grew impatient, 
 and began to hope he should detect a foul 
 conspiracy to defame the virtue it could 
 not destroy ; but, after what had passed, 
 the danger of receding appearing as great 
 as that of proceeding, and the Abbe, after 
 obtaining a pledge of honour that his part 
 of the transaction should remain a profound 
 secret, related all the circumstance as 
 before told by the Chevalier, and, in the 
 conclusion, produced the miniature. 
 
 The Duke de V. could only glance at the 
 black string; he dismissed the Abbe, dis- 
 patched the challenge, and hastened home 
 
 to
 
 288 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 to arrange his private affairs previous to 
 the duel. 
 
 Madame de V., perfectly satisfied with 
 Julia's innocence^ consoled and wept with 
 her; while she^ anxious only to conceal 
 from her fatlier what, if known, she feared 
 would be his death, kept her station in his 
 anti-chamber ; but Moliere, M. de V. 's valet, 
 rendered all her cautions fruitless. The 
 vaiet of the Duke de Verencourt commu- 
 nicated to him circumstances of so serious 
 v<nd suspicious a nature, as carried Moliere 
 to the chamber of his master in the greatest 
 consternation. 
 
 It v/as enough for M. de V. to hear that 
 a diiference had arisen between his nephew 
 and the Marquis, to excite in him the most 
 serious alarm; he was certain, if he was not 
 himself concerned in the af^i-ont, the Duke 
 de V. would have taken no step without 
 his immediate advice ; trembling with ap~ 
 prehension, he demanded of his wife if she 
 was sure ail was well with their daughter. 
 
 The
 
 VICISSITUDES. 289 
 
 The countenance of Madame de V. told 
 too much ; he insisted, as she valued his 
 honour or their mutual peace, on knowing 
 the worst. 
 
 No longer proud of her nephew, and 
 afraid to confess the weakness of her 
 daughter, yet not daring to evade so solemn 
 an injunction, Madame dc V. trembled and 
 still hesitated : she knew her husband's 
 strict ideas of the honour of man, and the 
 virtue of woman ; but as he continued to 
 insist on knov.ing all, there Avas no alter- 
 native, and therefore softening a little of 
 the Marquis's, and much of her daughter's 
 conduct, she related with tears, that, which 
 even as the fondest of mothers represented 
 it, authorised the indignation of a father, 
 and justified the unappeasable resentment 
 of a gentleman. ^ 
 
 It was in vain his beloved wife cast her- 
 self at his feet, and implored his mercy on 
 her whose life was wrapped in his, that she 
 sought to recall his tenderness for their 
 only child, she had in this moment no 
 
 VOL. I. o iniluence
 
 S90 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 influence ; she saw him deaf to her prayers, 
 regardless of her agonies, and, though 
 weak and indisposed, preparing for an act 
 that must terminate fatally to himself, let 
 who would be the victor. 
 
 Starting from the table on wdiich he was 
 writing, he commanded her to lodge their 
 daughter in the Convent of the Assump- 
 tion — '' And if I fall/' he added, '' let her 
 remain there for ever." 
 
 Rejoiced at the m^oment gained, even by 
 this harsh command, and scarce breathing, 
 attended bv her dau<]:hter, she <:rot into a 
 jicicve, and directed it to the house of the 
 Minister, who fortunately was just arrived 
 from Versailles. His excellency had heard 
 enough of the public report to prepare 
 him for the application Madame de V. came 
 to make, and he had too much friendship 
 and respect for her husband, as w^ell as for 
 his colleague the Marquis, to hesitate a 
 moment on the measures proper, not only 
 to restrain, but to reconcile the adverse 
 parties. 
 
 It
 
 VICISSITUDES. 291 
 
 It was now that Julia understood the 
 destination to which her father's wrath 
 consigned her ; but however desirous she 
 had been to become a voluntary devotee, 
 she could not but feel the difference be- 
 tween entering an holy asylum as a 
 religeuse, and being sent thither as a guilty 
 creature. But as penitence and obedience 
 was all she could offer to her enraged 
 parent iu' extenuation of her offences^ she 
 received her mother's blessing on her 
 knees, and retired from the caresses of the 
 sisterhood to solitude and tears. 
 
 M. de V. had dispatched his challenge to 
 the Marquis, and was listening in gloomy 
 silence to his wife's weeping account of 
 the parting from her child, when a message 
 from the King commanded him not to quit 
 his house v/ithout his Majesty's permission, 
 and required his parole of honour to that 
 effect. 
 
 M. de v., who had considered the chal- 
 lenge as a principle of justice rather than 
 a system of revenge, was extremely hurt 
 o 2 and
 
 292 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 and offended at the interference, to which,, 
 however^ he knew it to be his duty to 
 snbmit. 
 
 The Marquis was., in his own estimation, 
 a man of honour. If he had succeeded in 
 the attempt to ruin his cousin, he would 
 have expected half a dozen challenges, 
 and accepted them ail as a matter of course, 
 without the least scruple of conscience. 
 As he did 7iot succeed, he had no less 
 reason to conclude the attempt would be 
 resented ; he had, therefore, engaged a 
 second, and waited with true modern 
 philosophy an event that would place him 
 in the honourable list of manslayers. 
 
 But easy as the business appeared in 
 other respects, it was very repugnant to 
 his feelings to fight a duel with an uncle 
 whom he respected, as most young Mar- 
 quis's do respect old relations— the father 
 too of a woman, he persuaded himself, he 
 still loved. But what could be done, since 
 he was the challenged, not the challenger. 
 
 Tar
 
 VICISSITUDES. 293 
 
 Far different vrcre the sentiments excited 
 bv the challenge of the Duke^ which had 
 followed him to his Castle, and which he 
 returned to Paris on purpose to answer. 
 Jealousy of that Nobleman had grown up 
 with him : the presumption of a man vrho 
 could only oppose a fine person and innate 
 w^orth to the thousand agrewcns of the 
 Queen's '' prctlv Marquis/' was really too 
 much to bear. Indeed he had found this 
 bearing verv troublesome from the moment 
 his aunt inurrn ed him of the wished-for 
 niarriaae of his cou.^in. He had already 
 I alculated all t'.e brilliant consequences of a 
 complete victory, and w^as in fancy carrying 
 his triumph to the feet of Julia^ who, certes, 
 would prove her gratitude for relieving 
 her from a troublesome suitor, by bestow- 
 ing her charms on himself; but Oh ! the 
 pity of it ! the delightful reverie was in- 
 terrupted bv a litirc cle cacliet, v^'hich con- 
 veyed tao, '^ pretty Marquis" to the Bastile. 
 
 The Kinu: was hi^'hlv offended with both 
 
 the De Verencourts, who had, he said, 
 
 o 3 sac rill ced
 
 294 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 sacrificed every consideration for the amia- 
 ble Julia and the honour of their family^ to 
 a sentiment of revenge. But in respect to 
 the Marquis^ he felt his own character im- 
 peached by the unprincipled conduct of a 
 Minister whom he determined to dismiss 
 from his service. 
 
 In vain did the Q.ueen plead for her 
 '' pretty Marquis/' in vain advert to the 
 weak state of the Marquise. The King, 
 unusually serious^ said^ his disgrace should 
 be shortj but he would not be troubled 
 any more at present. 
 
 The Marquis was, however, released the 
 next day ; but ordered to confine himself 
 to his hotel. 
 
 The instant it was known the Marquis 
 was no longer a Minister, the Hotel de 
 Courville w^as the most solitary spot in all 
 Paris : one might even have asked more 
 than one question of the powdered laquais 
 without being insulted. The Marquis's 
 friends forbore, in m.ere kindness, to invade 
 his retirement with visits of condolence ; 
 
 and
 
 VICISSITUDES. 295 
 
 and the ''pretty Marquis" was astonished 
 to find how very much the chance of one 
 day could reduce a great man. 
 
 The Kino:, havino; directed this sacrifice 
 to the pride of the De Verencourts, they 
 were sent for to the closet, and their parole 
 of honour demanded to pursue no farther 
 a resentment which could only serve to 
 keep alive rememibrances that had better 
 be consigned to oblivion : he also advised 
 M. de V. to take his daughter from the 
 Convent, and encourage the friendship of 
 the Marquise, 
 
 M. de Verencourt coloured. The Mini- 
 nister penetrated his meaning, and oblig- 
 ingly said, he charged himself with con- 
 sequences. He then spcke to M. de V. of 
 his health, about which he said the King 
 expressed great interest; made minute and 
 earnest enquiries after Madaaie de V., and 
 ended the conference by reminding Loth 
 uncle and nephew of their parole. 
 
 The Duke bowcJ haughtily and retired 
 
 without waiting for his uncle, not only 
 
 o 4 from
 
 295 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 from Court, but from Paris, to his estate 
 in Languedoc, whither he was followed by 
 his two sons, the Abbe Riccobini, and a 
 sub-governor. 
 
 The Marquis w^is not allov/ed a triumph 
 in the absence of his more worthy rival : he 
 V7as ordered to quit the kingdom for one 
 year. 
 
 '' Ah, de tottte man coeitr !" cried the 
 Marquis. '' The Abbe and I will positively 
 make the tour of Germany, pass into 
 Holland, and cross over to England, where 
 the women are more handsome, and wear 
 less rouge.'' 
 
 The Abbe smiled. lie had a piece of 
 intelligence for the private ear of his 
 patron, worth a kingdom. - * 
 
 Mademoiselle de Veren court had Heard, 
 by some accident which he could not 
 fiivine, that a certain n)iniaturc, which she 
 had torn from her fair neck, was in his 
 possession. 
 
 " Well,'' said the Marquis with im- 
 patience, 
 
 '' Well,"
 
 via?;siTUDFS. 297 
 
 '' Vvell/' cried the Abbe, '' this picture 
 a been tiemandcd by " 
 
 '•' By Julia/' interrupted the Mr.rquis. 
 
 " Exactly so/' returned the i\bbe. 
 
 The Marquis v/as in ecstacies. — '' Ah^ ah. 
 Monsieur le Due!" said he^, '' what say 
 you now to the banished man ?" 
 
 '' Ivi'y lady/' cried a little German 
 demoiseile, who attended the Marquise^ 
 '' will die if she docs not see the Marquis 
 this moment." 
 
 Tlie thoughtless levity of the Marquis 
 was not intentional ill nature. He hod not, 
 it is true, seen his v.dfe since his return 
 from the Castle, where, after riding pest 
 seventy leagues, he arrived late on a dark, 
 night/ and from v;hich he set off the next 
 mornings before sunrise. But th-en the Abbe 
 Rocquelar assured hiin she was quite icdij 
 and qufte happjj. Now the Mar<]Uis was at 
 this time fatigued v;ith his journey, mor- 
 tified at his disgrace, and quite enraged 
 that he could neither kill the Duke de V., 
 nor take Julia with him into banishment, so 
 o 5 that
 
 298 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 that the poor Marquis would have been 
 neither well nor happy^ had he not been 
 consoled by the Abbe's intelligence re- 
 specting his miniature. 
 
 '' Dear, my Lord/' vociferated the 
 demoiselle, '' my lady is dying !" 
 
 The Marquis knew hov/ to deline '' dying** 
 from the lips of a German demoiselle, so 
 he followed her leisurely into his wife's 
 chamber. 
 
 The Marquise was supported in her bed, 
 drowned in tea 1*3. 
 
 '' What is it I hear ?" cried she. '' You 
 are leaving me ! — you abandon your wife ! 
 — and you have not yet condescended to 
 notice your child !" 
 
 The nurse held up the infant. The Mar- 
 quis actually shrunk back with disgust. The 
 child was extremely small and weak, and 
 her skin full of those varied tints w^hicii 
 old women consider as certain omens of a 
 fine complexion. 
 
 '' She has a German face !" said the 
 Marquis. 
 
 That
 
 VICISSITUDES. 257 
 
 the only daughter of Monsieur Chevereux, 
 the great patriot, the great speaker, and 
 the richest advocate in Paris, to such 
 vagaries is the most ridiculous thing I ever 
 heard of. — Ma foil it is quite nonsense to 
 think because one Comte won't, no other 
 will ; for a great Prince, and, what is more^ 
 a great patriot, said to my spouse, ' it is 
 an honour. Monsieur C, to be allied to 
 you, and were not ijour honour concerned 
 in keeping the Comte to his engagement 
 with your beautiful daughter?'^ — yes, he 
 said ' beautiful,' and so she is, — ^ well,' said 
 he, ' I should propose my own son;' and 
 so I dare say he will when he hears the 
 wicked Comte, who killed so many good 
 patriots, is nov/ killed himself" 
 
 Neither Ninon or Charlotte were dis- 
 posed for interruption ; they sat in silence^ 
 their eyes fixed by turns on the ground, 
 and on each ot!»er. 
 
 The Comte's death (which, tliough re- 
 ported in many different ways, was not 
 doubted as to the fact), had reached the 
 two friends early in the evening. 
 
 VOL. II. Q '' All
 
 233 VICISSITUBES. 
 
 *' All is over \" cried Charlotte. '' There 
 is nothing now v/orth living for. For my 
 part, I am resolved to go. to the convent 
 La Borde. Adelaide Vvill never return to 
 a world where iliQCQ is no lon^'er a Gcnite 
 de V. ; and my mother will not ieave 
 her.'^ 
 
 Ninon felt there was as little iQ^t for her 
 in the world as for Adelaide ; and she also 
 Mi that without Charlotte it would be 
 doubly desolate to her, so w'eeping and 
 embracing, they adopted a .sv^tem of fast- 
 ing and prayer in the society they best 
 loved, and the novelty, as well as im- 
 portance of the undertaking, leAt little time 
 even for the tears tlicv were well disposed 
 to shed to the memory of the unfortunate 
 Comte. 
 
 " The call to God was a plea, few good 
 Catholics yet dared to resist. Ninon left 
 a pethetic letter, tc> that eifect, for her 
 parents, and mistaking despair for resigna- 
 tion, the two devotees took advantage of 
 the confusion, wdiich in other circumstances 
 would have appalled stouter hearts than 
 
 theirs.
 
 VICTSSITUBES-. 1 39^ 
 
 theirs, and stole out of r\rons:iciir Che- 
 vereiix's hotel at miclnight into the streets, 
 illiiininated indeed, but fu'l of horrors. 
 
 Madame C, one moment glorying io 
 the triumph of what was called, patriotism, 
 without a single idea annexed to the mean- 
 ing of the phrase, and next turned heart 
 sick at the innumerable processions of 
 heads passing her house, added to fear of 
 damaging her fine furniture by iK:;minating 
 the windo\'>:3> Avas '>fell enough disposed to 
 wish both parties in purgatory, before 
 Kinon's billet was put into her hands, and 
 completed the business. Eut she would not 
 be mother to a nun, -not she,, she would, 
 search every convent in Paris, and take her 
 daughter aw^ay by force ; yes, aj^d recollect- 
 ing Adelaide w^a^ in that of la Borde, she 
 would begin there. So, summoning the- 
 attendance of her householdj she was pass- 
 ing thither at the instant when the excellent 
 lungs of Charlotte out-lariimed the alarm, 
 bells. 
 
 The name of Chevereux collected lights: 
 zvxd people euLii^h for a royal procession. 
 
 The
 
 SiO VICISSITUDES. 
 
 The way was cleared^ and the two insensf- 
 bles carried home^ followed by Madame 
 Chevereux and her household, and loudly 
 protesting against being mother to a nun. 
 
 The fatigue and agitation, however, was 
 rather too much even for the robust 
 Madame Chevereux. Ninon entreated her 
 Ao retire to rest, to which she acceded, 
 after extorting an oath from her daughter, 
 that she would never be a nun ; and a 
 solemn promise from Charlotte, that if she 
 took the veil, it should be v/ithout Ninon 
 for a companion ; and perhaps Lady N. 
 may also be disposed to rest as well as her's, 
 most truly^ 
 
 II. St. Hekman. 
 
 END OF VOL. II. 
 
 LANE, MINERVA PRESS, LEA DENH A LL-STP.SET
 
 VICISSITUDES. 299 
 
 That face was pressed to the maternal 
 bosom of its mother^ who^ scarcely able to 
 articulate^ entreated him to take her and 
 her infant to Bergen. 
 
 The Marquis recollected that travelling 
 en suite with v/omen was very troublesome^^ 
 particularly so if a wife were of the party ; 
 that it would vastly impede the progress of 
 his travels; and that moreover he mighty at 
 Bergen^ be favoured v/ith a lecture from his 
 mamma, and a challenge from a second 
 outrageous father. 
 
 The Marquise threw her white arms 
 round his neck as he indolently leaned 
 back in his chair ; but suddenly he was 
 roused into attention. He rubbed his eyes : 
 sure it could not be, and yet sure it was^ 
 the very miniature it was his consolation 
 to believe, the charming Julia had replaced 
 in her bosom, which now hung to the neck 
 of the Marquise. He could not disguise 
 his emotion. — '' How is this ?'' said he with 
 impatience. 
 
 Whether
 
 300 vrcrssiTrBES. 
 
 Whether the Ivlarqiiise did not, or would 
 ric4', deserve thz mortincation and siirpri:7e 
 visible in his coiin^eiiance, she persisted in 
 her entreaties to ])e his travelling com- 
 panion, and he no less firmly persis-ted in 
 his ol/jcrtions. 
 
 At this moment a billet was delivered to 
 the Marquise from Court. The Marqui'S. 
 seized it and read^ — - 
 
 ^'^ ¥7e hare not power to 
 prevent the exile of the pretty Marquis : 
 he must begone within twelve hours. Let 
 him not^ however^ despair; we shall see 
 what can be done. You are forbade to 
 accompany him ; you nutst remain to 
 console us." 
 
 ''' This/* cried the Marqu-s in a ra^e, 
 is the very refinement of tyranny. — Not 
 
 take
 
 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 301 
 
 take my own \vife with me ! I swear I will 
 not go v;ithout her ! What^ am I sent 
 from my country like a felon ! — deprived 
 of my establishment ! — torn from my 
 friends ! — and would they deprive me of 
 my \vife ?'* 
 
 '' No, certainly/' said the Marquise, 
 overjoyed at such a change of sentiment. 
 
 " No, certainly/' repeated the Marquis, 
 '' we will not be parted I Leave you to 
 console than ; they are too good. Who 
 will console me !'* 
 
 " Your Antoinette, my beloved Charles, 
 your fond adoring wife, who will live and 
 die with you !" — The Marquise^ throwing 
 her arms round his ne-^k, aiju'n displayed 
 the miniature, and gave anotlier new turn 
 to the ideas of her fickle husband. 
 
 '^ How came you by this picture, An- 
 toinette?" asked the Marquis, no longer 
 able to conceal the iiitcrent it exciled. 
 
 ^^ My friend, my own JiiHa, year cousliv. 
 gave it me/' 
 
 '' Ridiciilou^u! —
 
 'SG2 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 '' Ridiculous! — what a and you beg- 
 ged it of her ?'' 
 
 " No, indeed^ it was her own Aolimtary 
 act; she tied it round my neck herself." 
 
 '' Humph \" cried the crest-failen pretty* 
 Marquis; but thoughhisvanity was writhing 
 unde.' a coirection so unexpected^ it did 
 not conquer his passion for every thing out 
 ofhisrea h. 
 
 Antoinefte was no sooner forbidden \o 
 accompany him^ than it became impossible 
 to exx^i without her. The twelve hours 
 were wasted in i^pplications nobody re- 
 garded ; for even the ladies^ as well as 
 those he once called friends^ deserted the 
 pretty Marquis, vvho now, only wanting his 
 own dear wife to accompany him, foamed 
 like a madman at his disappointment, until 
 the Abbe Rocquelar, knowing there was no 
 alternative betvv'een exile and the Bastile^ 
 actually forced him into his chaise. 
 
 Whatever errors may have marked the 
 reign of the unfortunate Louis, believe, 
 
 dear Lady N^ ^ the man was in no respect 
 
 answerable
 
 VICISSITUDES. 305 
 
 answerable for the mistakes of the Monarch : 
 never did there exist a being who more 
 earnestly or more honourably discharged 
 every religious^ every dignified^ and every 
 social duty ; he was no less the father of 
 his people than of hi& family ; the friend of 
 all honourable men, and, directly contrary 
 to the example of his predecessors, the 
 protector of all virtuous women. If there 
 be found exceptions to this assertion in 
 the example of some characters who pros- 
 pered under his auspices, he 'w^as himself 
 deceived, and the blame rest; on that 
 fallibility of judgement which has happened 
 to the wisest, and not to a heart never 
 wrong but with a ri2;ht intention. 
 
 The King's partiaMty to the favourites of 
 the Queen never blinded him to faults in 
 which the honour or happiness of others 
 were implicated. He was always a deter- 
 mined censurer of duelling ; and the event 
 which wounded the peace, and high pride of 
 two noble families being traced to its 
 origin, interested him for the Duke de V. 
 
 as
 
 so 4 YICISSITI'DSS. 
 
 as much as it irritated him against De Cour-- 
 viile; and Monsieur de V.*s ill state of 
 healthy at so critical a period, as well as 
 the ill humour with which the Duke retired 
 to his estate, rendc-ed him graciously soli- 
 citioiis to re-establiKh Mademoiselle in the 
 favour of her parents, and the esteem of 
 the world. 
 
 Monsieur de V. at once respected and 
 regretted the Duke's decided, though silent^, 
 manner of rcbigning his daughter ; but as 
 no consideration could lessen his con- 
 fidence in the right mind of that Noble- 
 man^ he sent for his notary, and made a 
 fmai arrangement of his fortune before he 
 would trust himself with a daughter so 
 culpable, yet so dear, and named the Duke, 
 ointly with the Prince de , guardians. 
 
 Madame de V. was then permitted to 
 fetch Julia from the Convent. 
 
 The reception of the penitent was 
 gloomy, though not angry, A most aflect- 
 ing siie.nce ensued, v;hich was broken ]>y 
 M. ds V/s informing ho^- the King had 
 
 condescended
 
 YICISSITUDES. SOj 
 
 condescended to arrange her return to the 
 world ; he recommended a cultivation of 
 that affection which was said to exist be- 
 tween her and the Marquise^ and that the 
 Minister pledged himself for all conse- 
 quences. — '' But, Julia/' he added, " though 
 I respect and honour the King, I am sole 
 judge of what is due to myself, and again I 
 bid you beware \" 
 
 Julia no longer needed a monitor; she 
 fell at her father's feet, and implored his 
 pardon with a courage nothing but in^vard 
 rectitude could inspire. — '^ Restore me,'* 
 said she, " to your confidence. I have 
 erred; but my errors '.ave been these of 
 an over-indulged child, not cf a hardened 
 criminal. The contempt I feel for the 
 cause of so much trouble to my father, 
 proves me worthy to be his dau^rhter." 
 
 Madame de V., no longer proud of her 
 nephew, the Minister, would have knelt by 
 her child ; but Julia was now herself an 
 host. Her father marked the energy and 
 
 self-
 
 306 VICISSITUDES. 
 
 self-collected dignity of mind so different 
 from her former conduct^ and so congenial 
 ^vith his own sentiments. A transient regret 
 that his nephew was not present^ preceded 
 the burst of affection with which he em- 
 . braced the two persons most dear to him^ 
 and peace was again restored to her 
 natural residence in the family of De Vercn- 
 court. 
 
 There needed no royal command to carry 
 Julia to the Hotel de Courville. She found 
 the poor Marquise weeping over the little 
 '' ahortlon with a German face,'' as the 
 Marquis called his daughter^ and every 
 thing about her so magnificently desolate^ 
 that Madame de V. insisted on taking both 
 mother and infant to a seat of her husband's, 
 only four leagues from Paris^ and whither 
 he was then going by order of his physi- 
 cians. 
 
 As you know Monsieur de V.'s cha- 
 racter, I need not say the father's cold 
 neglect of his child, and its extreme w^eak- 
 
 4 ness.
 
 VICISSITUDES. 307 
 
 ness^ with perhaps some recollections 
 of past events, endeared it to him. 
 Madame de V. added to the same feeling 
 a natural instinct in favour of the last of 
 her family now in existence ; and Julia, 
 with a tenderness peculiar to herself, was 
 the watchful and affectionate nurse of both 
 the Marquise and her infant, until a dearer 
 and more solemn duty confined her to the 
 couch of her dying father. 
 
 The disorder under which Monsieur de 
 V. had long and patientlv suffered, became 
 complicated ; but his fitful fever closed 
 without terror. The good Abbe Riccobini 
 witnessed the beatification of a man of 
 whom it might be truly said — 
 
 Nothing in his life 
 Became him like the leaving it ; he dy'd 
 Like one that had been studied in his death. 
 
 From the reflections which follow this 
 event, I should pass to objects of more 
 
 terrestial
 
 SOS VICISSITUDES. 
 
 terrestial import ^vith an ill grace, and 
 therefore bid my amiable friends a short 
 
 H. St. Herman. 
 
 IJND OF TOL. 1 = 
 
 LANE, MJNERVA-PIIESS, LE AOt NHALL-STREET.
 
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