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diff --git a/7761-h/7761-h.htm b/7761-h/7761-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a2c49d8 --- /dev/null +++ b/7761-h/7761-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4056 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Falkland, by Edward Bulwer-Lytton + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd7; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Falkland, Complete, by Edward Bulwer-Lytton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Falkland, Complete + +Author: Edward Bulwer-Lytton + +Release Date: March 16, 2009 [EBook #7761] +Last Updated: August 28, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FALKLAND, COMPLETE *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + FALKLAND + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Edward Bulwer-Lytton + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> PREFATORY NOTE TO THE PRESENT EDITION. + </p> + <p> + “FALKLAND” is the earliest of Lord Lytton’s prose fictions. Published + before “Pelham,” it was written in the boyhood of its illustrious author. + In the maturity of his manhood and the fulness of his literary popularity + he withdrew it from print. This is one of the first English editions of + his collected works in which the tale reappears. It is because the + morality of it was condemned by his experienced judgment, that the author + of “Falkland” deliberately omitted it from each of the numerous reprints + of his novels and romances which were published in England during his + lifetime. + </p> + <p> + With the consent of the author’s son, “Falkland” is included in the + present edition of his collected works. + </p> + <p> + In the first place, this work has been for many years, and still is, + accessible to English readers in every country except England. The + continental edition of it, published by Baron Tauchnitz, has a wide + circulation; and since for this reason the book cannot practically be + withheld from the public, it is thought desirable that the publication of + it should at least be accompanied by some record of the abovementioned + fact. + </p> + <p> + In the next place, the considerations which would naturally guide an + author of established reputation in the selection of early compositions + for subsequent republication, are obviously inapplicable to the + preparation of a posthumous standard edition of his collected works. Those + who read the tale of “Falkland” eight-and-forty years ago’ have long + survived the age when character is influenced by the literature of + sentiment. The readers to whom it is now presented are not Lord Lytton’s + contemporaries; they are his posterity. To them his works have already + become classical. It is only upon the minds of the young that the works of + sentiment have any appreciable moral influence. But the sentiment of each + age is peculiar to itself; and the purely moral influence of sentimental + fiction seldom survives the age to which it was first addressed. The + youngest and most impressionable reader of such works as the “Nouvelle + Hemise,” “Werther,” “The Robbers,” “Corinne,” or “Rene,” is not now likely + to be morally influenced, for good or ill, by the perusal of those + masterpieces of genius. Had Byron attained the age at which great authors + most realise the responsibilities of fame and genius, he might possibly + have regretted, and endeavoured to suppress, the publication of “Don + Juan;” but the possession of that immortal poem is an unmixed benefit to + posterity, and the loss of it would have been an irreparable misfortune. + </p> + <p> + “Falkland,” although the earliest, is one of the most carefully finished + of its author’s compositions. All that was once turbid, heating, + unwholesome in the current of sentiment which flows through this history + of a guilty passion, “Death’s immortalising winter” has chilled and + purified. The book is now a harmless, and, it may be hoped, a not + uninteresting, evidence of the precocity of its author’s genius. As such, + it is here reprinted. + </p> + <p> + [It was published in 1827] + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary=""> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>FALKLAND.</b> </a> + </p> + <br /> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#linkone"> BOOK I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> BOOK II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> BOOK III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> BOOK IV. </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + FALKLAND. + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /> <a name="linkone" id="linkone"></a> + </p> + <h2> + BOOK I. + </h2> + <p> + FROM ERASMUS FALKLAND, ESQ., TO THE HON. FREDERICK MONKTON. + </p> + <p> + L—-, May —, 1822. + </p> + <p> + You are mistaken, my dear Monkton! Your description of the gaiety of “the + season” gives me no emotion. You speak of pleasure; I remember no labour + so wearisome; you enlarge upon its changes; no sameness appears to me so + monotonous. Keep, then, your pity for those who require it. From the + height of my philosophy I compassionate you. No one is so vain as a + recluse; and your jests at my hermitship and hermitage cannot penetrate + the folds of a self-conceit, which does not envy you in your suppers at D—— + House, nor even in your waltzes with Eleanor. + </p> + <p> + It is a ruin rather than a house which I inhabit. I have not been at L——- + since my return from abroad, and during those years the place has gone + rapidly to decay; perhaps, for that reason, it suits me better, <i>tel + maitre telle maison</i>. + </p> + <p> + Of all my possessions this is the least valuable in itself, and derives + the least interest from the associations of childhood, for it was not at L——- + that any part of that period was spent. I have, however, chosen it from my + present retreat, because here only I am personally unknown, and therefore + little likely to be disturbed. I do not, indeed, wish for the + interruptions designed as civilities; I rather gather around myself, link + after link, the chains that connected me with the world; I find among my + own thoughts that variety and occupation which you only experience in your + intercourse with others; and I make, like the Chinese, my map of the + universe consist of a circle in a square—the circle is my own empire + and of thought and self; and it is to the scanty corners which it leaves + without, that I banish whatever belongs to the remainder of mankind. + </p> + <p> + About a mile from L——- is Mr. Mandeville’s beautiful villa of + E——-, in the midst of grounds which form a delightful contrast + to the savage and wild scenery by which they are surrounded. As the house + is at present quite deserted, I have obtained, through the gardener, a + free admittance into his domains, and I pass there whole hours, indulging, + like the hero of the <i>Lutrin, “une sainte oisivete,”</i> listening to a + little noisy brook, and letting my thoughts be almost as vague and idle as + the birds which wander among the trees that surround me. I could wish, + indeed, that this simile were in all things correct—that those + thoughts, if as free, were also as happy as the objects of my comparison, + and could, like them, after the rovings of the day, turn at evening to a + resting-place, and be still. We are the dupes and the victims of our + senses: while we use them to gather from external things the hoards that + we store within, we cannot foresee the punishments we prepare for + ourselves; the remembrance which stings, and the hope which deceives, the + passions which promise us rapture, which reward us with despair, and the + thoughts which, if they constitute the healthful action, make also the + feverish excitement of our minds. What sick man has not dreamt in his + delirium everything that our philosophers have said?* But I am growing + into my old habit of gloomy reflection, and it is time that I should + conclude. I meant to have written you a letter as light as your own; if I + have failed, it is no wonder.—“Notre coeur est un instrument + incomplet—une lyre ou il manque des cordes, et ou nous sommes forces + de rendre les accens de la joie, sur le ton consacre aux soupirs.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + * Quid aegrotus unquam somniavit quod philosophorum aliquis non + dixerit?—LACTANTIUS. +</pre> + <p> + FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME. + </p> + <p> + You ask me to give you some sketch of my life, and of that <i>bel mondo</i> + which wearied me so soon. Men seldom reject an opportunity to talk of + themselves; and I am not unwilling to re-examine the past, to re-connect + it with the present, and to gather from a consideration of each what hopes + and expectations are still left to me for the future. + </p> + <p> + But my detail must be rather of thought than of action; most of those + whose fate has been connected with mine are now living, and I would not, + even to you, break that tacit confidence which much of my history would + require. After all, you will have no loss. The actions of another may + interest—but, for the most part, it is only his reflections which + come home to us; for few have acted, nearly all of us have thought. + </p> + <p> + My own vanity too would be unwilling to enter upon incidents which had + their origin either in folly or in error. It is true that those follies + and errors have ceased, but their effects remain. With years our faults + diminish, but our vices increase. + </p> + <p> + You know that my mother was Spanish, and that my father was one of that + old race of which so few scions remain, who, living in a distant country, + have been little influenced by the changes of fashion, and, priding + themselves on the antiquity of their names, have looked with contempt upon + the modern distinctions and the mushroom nobles which have sprung up to + discountenance and eclipse the plainness of more venerable and solid + respectability. In his youth my father had served in the army. He had + known much of men and more of books; but his knowledge, instead of rooting + out, had rather been engrafted on his prejudices. He was one of that class + (and I say it with a private reverence, though a public regret), who, with + the best intentions, have made the worst citizens, and who think it a duty + to perpetuate whatever is pernicious by having learnt to consider it as + sacred. He was a great country gentleman, a great sportsman, and a great + Tory; perhaps the three worst enemies which a country can have. Though + beneficent to the poor, he gave but a cold reception to the rich; for he + was too refined to associate with his inferiors, and too proud to like the + competition of his equals. One ball and two dinners a-year constituted all + the aristocratic portion of our hospitality, and at the age of twelve, the + noblest and youngest companions that I possessed were a large Danish dog + and a wild mountain pony, as unbroken and as lawless as myself. It is only + in later years that we can perceive the immeasurable importance of the + early scenes and circumstances which surrounded us. It was in the + loneliness of my unchecked wanderings that my early affection for my own + thoughts was conceived. In the seclusion of nature—in whatever court + she presided—the education of my mind was begun; and, even at that + early age, I rejoiced (like the wild heart the Grecian poet [Eurip. + Bambae, 1. 874.] has described) in the stillness of the great woods, and + the solitudes unbroken by human footstep. + </p> + <p> + The first change in my life was under melancholy auspices; my father fell + suddenly ill, and died; and my mother, whose very existence seemed only + held in his presence, followed him in three months. I remember that, a few + hours before her death, she called me to her: she reminded me that, + through her, I was of Spanish extraction; that in her country, I received + my birth, and that, not the less for its degradation and distress, I might + hereafter find in the relations which I held to it a remembrance to value, + or even a duty to fulfil. On her tenderness to me at that hour, on the + impression it made upon my mind, and on the keen and enduring sorrow which + I felt for months after her death, it would be useless to dwell. + </p> + <p> + My uncle became my guardian. He is, you know, a member of parliament of + some reputation; very sensible and very dull; very much respected by men, + very much disliked by women; and inspiring all children, of either sex, + with the same unmitigated aversion which he feels for them himself. + </p> + <p> + I did not remain long under his immediate care. I was soon sent to school—that + preparatory world, where the great primal principles of human nature, in + the aggression of the strong and the meanness of the weak, constitute the + earliest lesson of importance that we are taught; and where the forced <i>primitiae</i> + of that less universal knowledge which is useless to the many who in after + life, neglect, and bitter to the few who improve it, are the first motives + for which our minds are to be broken to terror, and our hearts initiated + into tears. + </p> + <p> + Bold and resolute by temper, I soon carved myself a sort of career among + my associates. A hatred to all oppression, and a haughty and unyielding + character, made me at once the fear and aversion of the greater powers and + principalities of the school; while my agility at all boyish games, and my + ready assistance or protection to every one who required it, made me + proportionally popular with, and courted by, the humbler multitude of the + subordinate classes. I was constantly surrounded by the most lawless and + mischievous followers whom the school could afford; all eager for my + commands, and all pledged to their execution. + </p> + <p> + In good truth, I was a worthy Rowland of such a gang; though I excelled + in, I cared little for the ordinary amusements of the school: I was fonder + of engaging in marauding expeditions contrary to our legislative + restrictions, and I valued myself equally upon my boldness in planning our + exploits, and my dexterity in eluding their discovery. But exactly in + proportion as our school terms connected me with those of my own years, + did our vacations unfit me for any intimate companionship but that which I + already began to discover in myself. + </p> + <p> + Twice in the year, when I went home, it was to that wild and romantic part + of the country where my former childhood had been spent. There, alone and + unchecked, I was thrown utterly upon my own resources. I wandered by day + over the rude scenes which surrounded us; and at evening I pored, with an + unwearied delight, over the ancient legends which made those scenes sacred + to my imagination. I grew by degrees of a more thoughtful and visionary + nature. My temper imbibed the romance of my studies; and whether, in + winter, basking by the large hearth of our old hall, or stretched, in the + indolent voluptuousness of summer, by the rushing streams which formed the + chief characteristic of the country around us, my hours were equally + wasted in those dim and luxurious dreams, which constituted, perhaps, the + essence of that poetry I had not the genius to embody. It was then, by + that alternate restlessness of action and idleness of reflection, into + which my young years were divided, that the impress of my character was + stamped: that fitfulness of temper, that affection for extremes, has + accompanied me through life. Hence, not only all intermediums of emotion + appear to me as tame, but even the most overwrought excitation can bring + neither novelty nor zest. I have, as it were, feasted upon the passions; I + have made that my daily food, which, in its strength and excess, would + have been poison to others; I have rendered my mind unable to enjoy the + ordinary aliments of nature; and I have wasted, by a premature indulgence, + my resources and my powers, till I have left my heart, without a remedy or + a hope, to whatever disorders its own intemperance has engendered. + </p> + <p> + FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME. + </p> + <p> + When I left Dr. ——-’s, I was sent to a private tutor in D——-e. + Here I continued for about two years. It was during that time that—but + what then befell me is for no living ear! The characters of that history + are engraven on my heart in letters of fire; but it is a language that + none but myself have the authority to read. It is enough for the purpose + of my confessions that the events of that period were connected with the + first awakening of the most powerful of human passions, and that, whatever + their commencement, their end was despair! and she—the object of + that love—the only being in the world who ever possessed the secret + and the spell of my nature—her life was the bitterness and the fever + of a troubled heart,—her rest is the grave— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Non la conobbe il mondo mentre l’ebbe + Con ibill’io, ch’a pianger qui rimasi. +</pre> + <p> + That attachment was not so much a single event, as the first link in a + long chain which was coiled around my heart. It were a tedious and bitter + history, even were it permitted, to tell you of all the sins and + misfortunes to which in afterlife that passion was connected. I will only + speak of the more hidden but general effect it had upon my mind; though, + indeed, naturally inclined to a morbid and melancholy philosophy, it is + more than probable, but for that occurrence, that it would never have + found matter for excitement. Thrown early among mankind, I should early + have imbibed their feelings, and grown like them by the influence of + custom. I should not have carried within the one unceasing remembrance, + which was to teach me, like Faustus, to find nothing in knowledge but its + inutility, or in hope but its deceit; and to bear like him, through the + blessings of youth and the allurements of pleasure, the curse and the + presence of a fiend. + </p> + <p> + FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME. + </p> + <p> + It was after the first violent grief produced by that train of + circumstances to which I must necessarily so darkly allude, that I began + to apply with earnestness to books. Night and day I devoted myself + unceasingly to study, and from this fit I was only recovered by the long + and dangerous illness it produced. Alas! there is no fool like him who + wishes for knowledge! It is only through woe that we are taught to + reflect, and we gather the honey of worldly wisdom, not from flowers, but + thorns. + </p> + <p> + “Une grande passion malheureuse est un grand moyen de sagesse.” From the + moment in which the buoyancy of my spirit was first broken by real + anguish, the losses of the heart were repaired by the experience of the + mind. I passed at once, like Melmoth, from youth to age. What were any + longer to me the ordinary avocations of my contemporaries? I had exhausted + years in moments—I had wasted, like the Eastern Queen, my richest + jewel in a draught. I ceased to hope, to feel, to act, to burn; such are + the impulses of the young! I learned to doubt, to reason, to analyse: such + are the habits of the old! From that time, if I have not avoided the + pleasures of life, I have not enjoyed them. Women, wine, the society of + the gay, the commune of the wise, the lonely pursuit of knowledge, the + daring visions of ambition, all have occupied me in turn, and all alike + have deceived me; but, like the Widow in the story of Voltaire, I have + built at last a temple to “Time, the Comforter:” I have grown calm and + unrepining with years; and, if I am now shrinking from men, I have derived + at least this advantage from the loneliness first made habitual by regret; + that while I feel increased benevolence to others, I have learned to look + for happiness only in myself. + </p> + <p> + They alone are independent of Fortune who have made themselves a separate + existence from the world. + </p> + <p> + FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME. + </p> + <p> + I went to the University with a great fund of general reading, and habits + of constant application. My uncle, who, having no children of his own, + began to be ambitious for me, formed great expectations of my career at + Oxford. I staid there three years, and did nothing! I did not gain a + single prize, nor did I attempt anything above the ordinary degree. The + fact is, that nothing seemed to me worth the labour of success. I + conversed with those who had obtained the highest academical reputation, + and I smiled with a consciousness of superiority at the boundlessness of + their vanity, and the narrowness of their views. The limits of the + distinction they had gained seemed to them as wide as the most extended + renown; and the little knowledge their youth had acquired only appeared to + them an excuse for the ignorance and the indolence of maturer years. Was + it to equal these that I was to labour? I felt that I already surpassed + them! Was it to gain their good opinion, or, still worse, that of their + admirers? Alas! I had too long learned to live for myself to find any + happiness in the respect of the idlers I despised. + </p> + <p> + I left Oxford at the age of twenty-one. I succeeded to the large estates + of my inheritance, and for the first time I felt the vanity so natural to + youth when I went up to London to enjoy the resources of the Capital, and + to display the powers I possessed to revel in whatever those resources + could yield. I found society like the Jewish temple: any one is admitted + into its threshold; none but the chiefs of the institution into its + recesses. + </p> + <p> + Young, rich, of an ancient and honourable name, pursuing pleasure rather + as a necessary excitement than an occasional occupation, and agreeable to + the associates I drew around me because my profusion contributed to their + enjoyment, and my temper to their amusement—I found myself courted + by many, and avoided by none. I soon discovered that all civility is but + the mask of design. I smiled at the kindness of the fathers who, hearing + that I was talented, and knowing that I was rich, looked to my support in + whatever political side they had espoused. I saw in the notes of the + mothers their anxiety for the establishment of their daughters, and their + respect for my acres; and in the cordiality of the sons who had horses to + sell and rouge-et-noir debts to pay, I detected all that veneration for my + money which implied such contempt for its possessor. By nature observant, + and by misfortune sarcastic, I looked upon the various colourings of + society with a searching and philosophic eye: I unravelled the intricacies + which knit servility with arrogance and meanness with ostentation; and I + traced to its sources that universal vulgarity of inward sentiment and + external manner, which, in all classes, appears to me to constitute the + only unvarying characteristic of our countrymen. In proportion as I + increased my knowledge of others, I shrunk with a deeper disappointment + and dejection into my own resources. The first moment of real happiness + which I experienced for a whole year was when I found myself about to + seek, beneath the influence of other skies, that more extended + acquaintance with my species which might either draw me to them with a + closer connection, or at last reconcile me to the ties which already + existed. + </p> + <p> + I will not dwell upon my adventures abroad: there is little to interest + others in a recital which awakens no interest in one’s self. I sought for + wisdom, and I acquired but knowledge. I thirsted for the truth, the + tenderness of love, and I found but its fever and its falsehood. Like the + two Florimels of Spenser, I mistook, in my delirium, the delusive + fabrication of the senses for the divine reality of the heart; and I only + awoke from my deceit when the phantom I had worshipped melted into snow. + Whatever I pursued partook of the energy, yet fitfulness of my nature; + mingling to-day in the tumults of the city, and to-morrow alone with my + own heart in the solitude of unpeopled nature; now revelling in the + wildest excesses, and now tracing, with a painful and unwearied search, + the intricacies of science; alternately governing others, and subdued by + the tyranny which my own passions imposed—I passed through the + ordeal unshrinking yet unscathed. “The education of life,” says De Stael, + “perfects the thinking mind, but depraves the frivolous.” I do not + inquire, Monkton, to which of these classes I belong; but I feel too well, + that though my mind has not been depraved, it has found no perfection but + in misfortune; and that whatever be the acquirements of later years, they + have nothing which can compensate for the losses of our youth. + </p> + <p> + FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME. + </p> + <p> + I returned to England. I entered again upon the theatre of its world; but + I mixed now more in its greater than its lesser pursuits. I looked rather + at the mass than the leaven of mankind; and while I felt aversion for the + few whom I knew, I glowed with philanthropy for the crowd which I knew + not. + </p> + <p> + It is in contemplating men at a distance that we become benevolent. When + we mix with them, we suffer by the contact, and grow, if not malicious + from the injury, at least selfish from the circumspection which our safety + imposes but when, while we feel our relationship, we are not galled by the + tie; when neither jealousy, nor envy, nor resentment are excited, we have + nothing to interfere with those more complacent and kindliest sentiments + which our earliest impressions have rendered natural to our hearts. We may + fly men in hatred because they have galled us, but the feeling ceases with + the cause: none will willingly feed long upon bitter thoughts. It is thus + that, while in the narrow circle in which we move we suffer daily from + those who approach us, we can, in spite of our resentment to them, glow + with a general benevolence to the wider relations from which we are + remote; that while smarting beneath the treachery of friendship, the + stinging of ingratitude, the faithfulness of love, we would almost + sacrifice our lives to realise some idolised theory of legislation; and + that, distrustful, calculating, selfish in private, there are thousands + who would, with a credulous fanaticism, fling themselves as victims before + that unrecompensing Moloch which they term the Public. + </p> + <p> + Living, then, much by myself, but reflecting much upon the world, I + learned to love mankind. Philanthropy brought ambition; for I was + ambitious, not for my own aggrandisement, but for the service of others—for + the poor—the toiling—the degraded; these constituted that part + of my fellow-beings which I the most loved, for these were bound to me by + the most engaging of all human ties—misfortune! I began to enter + into the intrigues of the state; I extended my observation and inquiry + from individuals to nations; I examined into the mysteries of the science + which has arisen in these later days to give the lie to the wisdom of the + past, to reduce into the simplicity of problems the intricacies of + political knowledge, to teach us the fallacy of the system which had + governed by restriction, and imagined that the happiness of nations + depended upon the perpetual interference of its rulers, and to prove to us + that the only unerring policy of art is to leave a free and unobstructed + progress to the hidden energies and province of Nature. But it was not + only the theoretical investigation of the state which employed me. I + mixed, though in secret, with the agents of its springs. While I seemed + only intent upon pleasure, I locked in my heart the consciousness and + vanity of power. In the levity of the lip I disguised the workings and the + knowledge of the brain; and I looked, as with a gifted eye, upon the + mysteries of the hidden depths, while I seemed to float an idler, with the + herd, only on the surface of the stream. + </p> + <p> + Why was I disgusted, when I had but to put forth my hand and grasp + whatever object my ambition might desire? Alas! there was in my heart + always something too soft for the aims and cravings of my mind. I felt + that I was wasting the young years of my life in a barren and wearisome + pursuit. What to me, who had outlived vanity, would have been the + admiration of the crowd! I sighed for the sympathy of the one! and I + shrunk in sadness from the prospect of renown to ask my heart for the + reality of love! For what purpose, too, had I devoted myself to the + service of men? As I grew more sensible of the labour of pursuing, I saw + more of the inutility of accomplishing, individual measures. There is one + great and moving order of events which we may retard, but we cannot + arrest, and to which, if we endeavour to hasten them, we only give a + dangerous and unnatural impetus. Often, when in the fever of the midnight, + I have paused from my unshared and unsoftened studies, to listen to the + deadly pulsation of my heart,—[Falkland suffered much, from very + early youth, from a complaint in his heart]—when I have felt in its + painful and tumultuous beating the very life waning and wasting within me, + I have sickened to my inmost soul to remember that, amongst all those whom + I was exhausting the health and enjoyment of youth to benefit, there was + not one for whom my life had an interest, or by whom my death would be + honoured by a tear. There is a beautiful passage in Chalmers on the want + of sympathy we experience in the world. From my earliest childhood I had + one deep, engrossing, yearning desire,—and that was to love and to + be loved. I found, too young, the realisation of that dream—it + passed! and I have never known it again. The experience of long and bitter + years teaches me to look with suspicion on that far recollection of the + past, and to doubt if this earth could indeed produce a living form to + satisfy the visions of one who has dwelt among the boyish creations of + fancy—who has shaped out in his heart an imaginary idol, arrayed it + in whatever is most beautiful in nature, and breathed into the image the + pure but burning spirit of that innate love from which it sprung! It is + true that my manhood has been the undeceiver of my youth, and that the + meditation upon the facts has disenthralled me from the visionary + broodings over fiction; but what remuneration have I found in reality? If + the line of the satirist be not true, “Souvent de tous nos maux la raison + est le pire,” [Boileau]—at least, like the madman of whom he speaks, + I owe but little gratitude to the act which, “in drawing me from my error, + has robbed me also of a paradise.” + </p> + <p> + I am approaching the conclusion of my confessions. Men who have no ties in + the world, and who have been accustomed to solitude, find, with every + disappointment in the former, a greater yearning for the enjoyments which + the latter can afford. Day by day I relapsed more into myself; “man + delighted me not, nor women either.” In my ambition, it was not in the + means, but the end, that I was disappointed. In my friends, I complained + not of treachery, but insipidity; and it was not because I was deserted, + but wearied by more tender connections, that I ceased to find either + excitement in seeking, or triumph in obtaining, their love. It was not, + then, in a momentary disgust, but rather in the calm of satiety, that I + formed that resolution of retirement which I have adopted now. + </p> + <p> + Shrinking from my kind, but too young to live wholly for myself, I have + made a new tie with nature; I have come to cement it here. I am like a + bird which has wandered, afar, but has returned home to its nest at last. + But there is one feeling which had its origin in the world, and which + accompanies me still; which consecrates my recollections of the past; + which contributes to take its gloom from the solitude of the present:-Do + you ask me its nature, Monkton? It is my friendship for you. + </p> + <p> + FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME. + </p> + <p> + I wish that I could convey to you, dear Monkton, the faintest idea of the + pleasures of indolence. You belong to that class which is of all the most + busy, though the least active. Men of pleasure never have time for + anything. No lawyer, no statesman, no bustling, hurrying, restless + underling of the counter or the Exchange, is so eternally occupied as a + lounger “about town.” He is linked to labour by a series of undefinable + nothings. His independence and idleness only serve to fetter and engross + him, and his leisure seems held upon the condition of never having a + moment to himself. Would that you could see me at this instant in the + luxury of my summer retreat, surrounded by the trees, the waters, the wild + birds, and the hum, the glow, the exultation which teem visibly and + audibly through creation in the noon of a summer’s day! I am undisturbed + by a single intruder. I am unoccupied by a single pursuit. I suffer one + moment to glide into another, without the remembrance that the next must + be filled up by some laborious pleasure, or some wearisome enjoyment. It + is here that I feel all the powers, and gather together all the resources, + of my mind. I recall my recollections of men; and, unbiassed by the + passions and prejudices which we do not experience alone, because their + very existence depends upon others, I endeavour to perfect my knowledge of + the human heart. He who would acquire that better science must arrange and + analyse in private the experience he has collected in the crowd. Alas, + Monkton, when you have expressed surprise at the gloom which is so + habitual to my temper, did it never occur to you that my acquaintance—with + the world would alone be sufficient to account for it?—that + knowledge is neither for the good nor the happy. Who can touch pitch, and + not be defiled? Who can look upon the workings of grief and rejoice, or + associate with guilt and be pure? It has been by mingling with men, not + only in their haunts but their emotions, that I have learned to know them. + I have descended into the receptacles of vice; I have taken lessons from + the brothel and the hell; I have watched feeling in its unguarded sallies, + and drawn from the impulse of the moment conclusions which gave the lie to + the previous conduct of years. But all knowledge brings us disappointment, + and this knowledge the most—the satiety of good, the suspicion of + evil, the decay of our young dreams, the premature iciness of age, the + reckless, aimless, joyless indifference which follows an overwrought and + feverish excitation—These constitute the lot of men who have + renounced <i>hope</i> in the acquisition of <i>thought</i>, and who, in + learning the motives of human actions, learn only to despise the persons + and the things which enchanted them like divinities before. + </p> + <p> + FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME. + </p> + <p> + I told you, dear Monkton, in my first letter, of my favorite retreat in + Mr. Mandeville’s grounds. I have grown so attached to it, that I spend the + greater part of the day there. + </p> + <p> + I am not one of those persons who always perambulate with a book in their + hands, as if neither nature nor their own reflections could afford them + any rational amusement. I go there more frequently <i>en paresseux</i> + than <i>en savant</i>: a small brooklet which runs through the grounds + broadens at last into a deep, clear, transparent lake. Here fir and elm + and oak fling their branches over the margin and beneath their shade I + pass all the hours of noon-day in the luxuries of a dreamer’s reverie. It + is true, however, that I am never less idle than when I appear the most + so. I am like Prospero in his desert island, and surround myself with + spirits. A spell trembles upon the leaves; every wave comes fraught to me + with its peculiar music: and an Ariel seems to whisper the secrets of + every breeze, which comes to my forehead laden with the perfumes of the + West. But do not think, Mounton, that it is only good spirits which haunt + the recesses of my solitude. To push the metaphor to exaggeration—Memory + is my Sycorax, and Gloom is the Caliban she conceives. But let me digress + from myself to my less idle occupations;—I have of late diverted my + thoughts in some measure by a recurrence to a study to which I once was + particularly devoted—history. Have you ever remarked, that people + who live the most by themselves reflect the most upon others; and that he + who lives surrounded by the million never thinks of any but the one + individual—himself? + </p> + <p> + Philosophers—moralists-historians, whose thoughts, labours, lives, + have been devoted to the consideration of mankind, or the analysis of + public events, have usually been remarkably attached to solitude and + seclusion. We are indeed so linked to our fellow-beings, that, where we + are not chained to them by action, we are carried to and connected with + them by thought. + </p> + <p> + I have just quitted the observations of my favourite Bolingbroke upon + history. I cannot agree with him as to its utility. The more I consider, + the more I am convinced that its study has been upon the whole pernicious + to mankind. It is by those details, which are always as unfair in their + inference as they must evidently be doubtful in their facts, that party + animosity and general prejudice are supported and sustained. There is not + one abuse—one intolerance—one remnant of ancient barbarity and + ignorance existing at the present day, which is not advocated, and + actually confirmed, by some vague deduction from the bigotry of an + illiterate chronicler, or the obscurity of an uncertain legend. It is + through the constant appeal to our ancestors that we transmit wretchedness + and wrong to our posterity: we should require, to corroborate an evil + originating in the present day, the clearest and most satisfactory proof; + but the minutest defence is sufficient for an evil handed down to us by + the barbarism of antiquity. We reason from what even in old tunes was + dubious, as if we were adducing what was certain in those in which we + live. And thus we have made no sanction to abuses so powerful as history, + and no enemy to the present like the past. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FROM THE LADY EMILY MANDEVILLE TO MRS. ST. JOHN. + </h2> + <p> + At last, my dear Julia, I am settled in my beautiful retreat. Mrs. Dalton + and Lady Margaret Leslie are all whom I could prevail upon to accompany + me. Mr. Mandeville is full of the corn-laws. He is chosen chairman to a + select committee in the House. He is murmuring agricultural distresses in + his sleep; and when I asked him occasionally to come down here to see me, + he started from a reverie, and exclaimed, “—Never, Mr. Speaker, as a + landed proprietor; never will I consent to my own ruin.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +My boy, my own, my beautiful companion, is with me. I wish you could see +how fast he can run, and how sensibly he can talk. “What a fine figure +he has for his age!” said I to Mr. Mandeville the other day. “Figure! +age!” said his father; “in the House of Commons he shall make a figure +to every age.” I know that in writing to you, you will not be contented +if I do not say a great deal about myself. I shall therefore proceed to +tell you, that I feel already much better from the air and exercise! the +journey, from the conversation of my two guests, and, above all, from +the constant society of my dear boy. He was three last birthday. I think +that at the age of twenty-one, I am the least childish of the two. +Pray remember me to all in town who have not quite forgotten me. Beg +Lady——— to send Elizabeth a subscription ticket for Almack’s, an + talking of Almack’s, I think my boy’s eyes are even more blue and +beautiful than Lady C——-’s. +</pre> + <p> + Adieu, my dear Julia, Ever, &c. E. M. + </p> + <p> + Lady Emily Mandeville was the daughter of the Duke of Lindvale. She + married, at the age of sixteen, a man of large fortune, and some + parliamentary reputation. Neither in person nor in character was he much + beneath or above the ordinary standard of men. He was one of Nature’s + Macadamised achievements. His great fault was his equality; and you longed + for a hill though it were to climb, or a stone though it were in your way. + Love attaches itself to something prominent, even if that something be + what others would hate. One can scarce feel extremes for mediocrity. The + few years Lady Emily had been married had but little altered her + character. Quick in feeling, though regulated in temper; gay less from + levity, than from that first <i>spring-tide</i> of a heart which has never + yet known occasion to be sad; beautiful and pure, as an enthusiast’s dream + of heaven, yet bearing within the latent and powerful passion and + tenderness of earth: she mixed with all a simplicity and innocence which + the extreme earliness of her marriage, and the ascetic temper of her + husband, had tendered less to diminish than increase. She had much of what + is termed genius—its warmth of emotion—its vividness of + conception—its admiration for the grand—its affection for the + good, and that dangerous contempt for whatever is mean and worthless, the + very indulgence of which is an offence against the habits of the world. + Her tastes were, however, too feminine and chaste ever to render her + eccentric: they were rather calculated to conceal than to publish the + deeper recesses of her nature; and it was beneath that polished surface of + manner common to those with whom she mixed, that she hid the treasures of + a mine which no human eye had beheld. + </p> + <p> + Her health, naturally delicate, had lately suffered much from the + dissipation of London, and it was by the advice of physicians that she had + now come to spend the summer at E———. Lady Margaret + Leslie, who was old enough to be tired with the caprices of society, and + Mrs. Dalton, who, having just lost her husband, was forbidden at present + to partake of its amusements, had agreed to accompany her to her retreat. + Neither of them was perhaps much suited to Emily’s temper, but youth and + spirits make almost any one congenial to us: it is from the years which + confirm our habits, and the reflections which refine our taste, that it + becomes easy to revolt us, and difficult to please. + </p> + <p> + On the third day after Emily’s arrival at E———, she was + sitting after breakfast with Lady Margaret and Mrs. Dalton. “Pray,” said + the former, “did you ever meet my relation, Mr. Falkland? he is in your + immediate neighbourhood.” “Never; though I have a great curiosity: that + fine old ruin beyond the village belongs to him, I believe.” “It does. You + ought to know him: you would like him so!” “Like him!” repeated Mrs. + Dalton, who was one of those persons of ton who, though everything + collectively, are nothing individually: “like him? impossible!” “Why?” + said Lady Margaret, indignantly—“he has every requisite to please—youth, + talent, fascination of manner, and great knowledge of the world.” “Well,” + said Mrs. Dalton, “I cannot say I discovered his perfections. He seemed to + me conceited and satirical, and—and—in short, very + disagreeable; but then, to be sure, I have only seen him once.” “I have + heard many accounts of him,” said Emily, “all differing from each other: I + think, however, that the generality of people rather incline to Mrs. + Dalton’s opinion than to yours, Lady Margaret.” “I can easily believe it. + It is very seldom that he takes the trouble to please; but when he does, + he is irresistible. Very little, however, is generally known respecting + him. Since he came of age, he has been much abroad; and when in England, + he never entered with eagerness into society. He is supposed to possess + very extraordinary powers, which, added to his large fortune and ancient + name, have procured him a consideration and rank rarely enjoyed by one so + young. He had refused repeated offers to enter into public life; but he is + very intimate with one of the ministers, who, it is said, has had the + address to profit much by his abilities. All other particulars concerning + him are extremely uncertain. Of his person and manners you had better + judge yourself; for I am sure, Emily, that my petition for inviting him + here is already granted.” “By all means,” said Emily: “you cannot be more + anxious to see him than I am.” And so the conversation dropped. Lady + Margaret went to the library; Mrs. Dalton seated herself on the ottoman, + dividing her attention between the last novel and her Italian greyhound; + and Emily left the room in order to revisit her former and favourite + haunts. Her young son was her companion, and she was not sorry that he was + her only one. To be the instructress of an infant, a mother should be its + playmate; and Emily was, perhaps, wiser than she imagined, when she ran + with a laughing eye and a light foot over the grass, occupying herself + almost with the same earnestness as her child in the same infantine + amusements. As they passed the wood which led to the lake at the bottom of + the grounds, the boy, who was before Emily, suddenly stopped. She came + hastily up to him; and scarcely two paces before, though half hid by the + steep bank of the lake beneath which he reclined, she saw a man apparently + asleep. A volume of; Shakespeare lay beside him: the child had seized it. + As she took it from him in order to replace it, her eyes rested upon the + passage the boy had accidentally opened. How often in after days was that + passage recalled as an omen! It was the following: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Ah me! for aught that ever I could read, + Could ever hear by tale or history + The course of true love never did run smooth! + Midsummer Night’s Dream. +</pre> + <p> + As she laid the book gently down she caught a glimpse of the countenance + of the sleeper: never did she forget the expression which it wore,—stern, + proud, mournful even in repose! + </p> + <p> + She did not wait for him to wake. She hurried home through the trees. All + that day she was silent and abstracted; the face haunted her like a dream. + Strange as it may seem, she spoke neither to Lady Margaret nor to Mrs. + Dalton of her adventure. Why? Is there in our hearts any prescience of + their misfortunes? + </p> + <p> + On the next day, Falkland, who had received and accepted Lady Margaret’s + invitation, was expected to dinner. Emily felt a strong yet excusable + curiosity to see one of whom she had heard so many and such contradictory + reports. She was alone in the saloon when he entered. At the first glance + she recognised the person she had met by the lake on the day before, and + she blushed deeply as she replied to his salutation. To her great relief + Lady Margaret and Mrs. Dalton entered in a few minutes, and the + conversation grew general. + </p> + <p> + Falkland had but little of what is called animation in manner; but his + wit, though it rarely led to mirth, was sarcastic, yet refined, and the + vividness of his imagination threw a brilliancy and originality over + remarks which in others might have been commonplace and tame. + </p> + <p> + The conversation turned chiefly upon society; and though Lady Margaret had + told her he had entered but little into its ordinary routine, Emily was + struck alike by his accurate acquaintance with men, and the justice of his + reflections upon manners. There also mingled with his satire an occasional + melancholy of feeling, which appeared to Emily the more touching because + it was always unexpected and unassumed. It was after one of these remarks, + that for the first time she ventured to examine into the charm and + peculiarity of the countenance of the speaker. There was spread over it + that expression of mingled energy and languor, which betokens that much, + whether of thought, sorrow, passion, or action, has been undergone, but + resisted: has wearied, but not subdued. In the broad and noble brow, in + the chiselled lip, and the melancholy depths of the calm and thoughtful + eye, there sat a resolution and a power, which, though mournful, were not + without their pride; which, if they had borne the worst, had also defied + it. Notwithstanding his mother’s country, his complexion was fair and + pale; and his hair, of a light chestnut, fell in large antique curls over + his forehead. That forehead, indeed, constituted the principal feature of + his countenance. It was neither in its height nor expansion alone that its + remarkable beauty consisted; but if ever thought to conceive and courage + to execute high designs were embodied and visible, they were imprinted + there. + </p> + <p> + Falkland did not stay long after dinner; but to Lady Margaret he promised + all that she required of future length and frequency in his visits. When + he left the room, Lady Emily went instinctively to the window to watch him + depart; and all that night his low soft voice rung in her ear, like the + music of an indistinct and half-remembered dream. + </p> + <p> + FROM MR. MANDEVILLE TO LADY EMILY. + </p> + <p> + DEAR, EMILY,—Business of great importance to the country has, + prevented my writing to you before. I hope you have continued well since I + heard from you last, and that you do all you can to preserve that + retrenchment of unnecessary expenses, and observe that attention to a + prudent economy, which is no less incumbent upon individuals than nations. + </p> + <p> + Thinking that you must be dull at E———, and ever anxious + both to entertain and to improve you, I send you an excellent publication + by Mr. Tooke, together with my own two last speeches, corrected by myself. + </p> + <p> + Trusting to hear from you soon, I am, with best love to Henry, + </p> + <p> + Very affectionately yours, + </p> + <p> + JOHN MANDEVILLE. FROM ERASMUS FALKLAND, ESQ., TO THE HON. FREDERICK + MONKTON. + </p> + <p> + Well, Monkton, I have been to E——-; that important event in my + monastic life has been concluded. Lady Margaret was as talkative as usual; + and a Mrs. Dalton, who, I find, is an acquaintance of yours, asked very + tenderly after your poodle and yourself. But Lady Emily! Ay, Monkton, I + know not well how to describe her to you. Her beauty interests not less + than it dazzles. There is that deep and eloquent softness in her every + word and action, which, of all charms, is the most dangerous. Yet she is + rather of a playful than of the melancholy and pensive nature which + generally accompanies such gentleness of manner; but there is no levity in + her character; nor is that playfulness of spirit ever carried into the + exhilaration of what we call “mirth.” She seems, if I may use the + antithesis, at once too feeling to be gay, and too innocent to be sad. I + remember having frequently met her husband. Cold and pompous, without + anything to interest the imagination, or engage the affections, I am not + able to conceive a person less congenial to his beautiful and romantic + wife. But she must have been exceedingly young when she married him; and + she, probably, knows not yet that she is to be pitied, because she has not + yet learned that she can love. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Le veggio in fronte amor come in suo seggio + Sul crin, negli occhi—su le labra amore + Sol d’intorno al suo cuore amor non veggio. +</pre> + <p> + I have been twice to her house since my first admission there. I love to + listen to that soft and enchanting voice, and to escape from the gloom of + my own reflections to the brightness, yet simplicity, of hers. In my + earlier days this comfort would have been attended with danger; but we + grow callous from the excess of feeling. We cannot re-illumine ashes! I + can gaze upon her dream-like beauty, and not experience a single desire + which can sully the purity of my worship. I listen to her voice when it + melts in endearment over her birds, her flowers, or, in a deeper devotion, + over her child; but my heart does not thrill at the tenderness of the + sound. I touch her hand, and the pulses of my own are as calm as before. + Satiety of the past is our best safeguard from the temptations of the + future; and the perils of youth are over when it has acquired that dulness + and apathy of affection which should belong only to the insensibility of + age. + </p> + <p> + Such were Falkland’s opinions at the time he wrote. Ah! what is so + delusive as our affections? Our security is our danger—our defiance + our defeat! Day after day he went to E———-. He passed + the mornings in making excursions with Emily over that wild and romantic + country by which they were surrounded; and in the dangerous but delicious + stillness of the summer twilights, they listened to the first whispers of + their hearts. + </p> + <p> + In his relationship to Lady Margaret, Falkland found his excuse for the + frequency of his visits: and even Mrs. Dalton was so charmed with the + fascination of his manner, that (in spite of her previous dislike) she + forgot to inquire how far his intimacy at E——— was at + variance with the proprieties of the world she worshipped, or in what + proportion it was connected with herself. + </p> + <p> + It is needless for me to trace through all its windings the formation of + that affection, the subsequent records of which I am about to relate. What + is so unearthly, so beautiful, as the first birth of a woman’s love? The + air of heaven is not purer in its wanderings—its sunshine not more + holy in its warmth. Oh! why should it deteriorate in its nature, even + while it increases in its degree? Why should the step which prints, sully + also the snow? How often, when Falkland met that guiltless yet thrilling + eye, which revealed to him those internal secrets that Emily was yet + awhile too happy to discover; when, like a fountain among flowers, the + goodness of her heart flowed over the softness of her manner to those + around her, and the benevolence of her actions to those beneath; how often + he turned away with a veneration too deep for the selfishness of human + passion, and a tenderness too sacred for its desires! It was in this + temper (the earliest and the most fruitless prognostic of real love) that + the following letter was written. + </p> + <p> + FROM ERASMUS FALKLAND, ESQ., TO THE HON. FREDERICK MONKTON. + </p> + <p> + I have had two or three admonitory letters from my uncle. “The summer (he + says) is advancing, yet you remain stationary in your indolence. There is + still a great part of Europe which you have not seen; and since you will + neither enter society for a wife, nor the House of Commons for fame, spend + your life, at least while it is yet free and unshackled, in those active + pursuits which will render idleness hereafter more sweet; or in that + observation and enjoyment among others, which will increase your resources + in yourself.” All this sounds well; but I have already acquired more + knowledge than will be of use either to others or myself, and I am not + willing to lose tranquillity here for the chance of obtaining pleasure + elsewhere. Pleasure is indeed a holiday sensation which does not occur in + ordinary life. We lose the peace of years when we hunt after the rapture + of moments. + </p> + <p> + I do not know if you ever felt that existence was ebbing away without + being put to its full value: as for me, I am never conscious of life + without being also conscious that it is not enjoyed to the utmost. This is + a bitter feeling, and its worst bitterness is our ignorance how to remove + it. My indolence I neither seek nor wish to defend, yet it is rather from + necessity than choice: it seems to me that there is nothing in the world + to arouse me. I only ask for action, but I can find no motive sufficient + to excite it: let me then, in my indolence, not, like the world, be idle, + yet dependent on others; but at least dignify the failing by some + appearance of that freedom which retirement only can bestow. + </p> + <p> + My seclusion is no longer solitude; yet I do not value it the less. I + spend a great portion of my time at E———. Loneliness is + attractive to men of reflection, nor so much because they like their own + thoughts, as because they dis like the thoughts of others. Solitude ceases + to charm the moment we can find a single being whose ideas are more + agreeable to us than our own. I have not, I think, yet described to you + the person of Lady Emily. She is tall, and slightly, yet beautifully, + formed. The ill health which obliged her to leave London for E———, + in the height of the season, has given her cheek a more delicate hue than + I should think it naturally wore. Her eyes are light, but their lashes are + long and dark; her hair is black and luxuriant, and worn in a fashion + peculiar to herself; but her manners, Monkton! how can I convey to you + their fascination! so simple, and therefore so faultless—so modest, + and yet so tender—she seems, in acquiring the intelligence of the + woman, to have only perfected the purity of the child; and now, after all + that I have said, I am only more deeply sensible of the truth of Bacon’s + observation, that “the best part of beauty is that which no picture can + express.” I am loth to finish this description, because it seems to me + scarcely begun; I am unwilling to continue it, because every word seems to + show me more clearly those recesses of my heart, which I would have hidden + even from myself. I do not yet love, it is true, for the time is past when + I was lightly moved to passion; but I will not incur that danger, the + probability of which I am seer enough to foresee. Never shall that pure + and innocent heart be sullied by one who would die to shield it from the + lightest misfortune. I find in myself a powerful seconder to my uncle’s + wishes. I shall be in London next week; till then, fare well. E. F. + </p> + <p> + When the proverb said, that “Jove laughs at lovers’ vows,” it meant not + (as in the ordinary construction) a sarcasm on their insincerity, but + inconsistency. We deceive others far less than we deceive ourselves. What + to Falkland were resolutions which a word, a glance, could over throw? In + the world he might have dissipated his thoughts in loneliness he + concentred them; for the passions are like the sounds of Nature, only + heard in her solitude! He lulled his soul to the reproaches of his + conscience; he surrendered himself to the intoxication of so golden a + dream; and amidst those beautiful scenes there arose, as an offering to + the summer heaven, the incense of two hearts which had, through those very + fires so guilty in themselves, purified and ennobled every other emotion + they had conceived, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + God made the country, and man made the town. +</pre> + <p> + says the hackneyed quotation; and the feeling awakened in each, differ + with the genius of the place. Who can compare the frittered and divided + affections formed in cities with that which crowds cannot distract by + opposing temptations, or dissipation infect with its frivolities? + </p> + <p> + I have often thought that had the execution of Atala equalled its design, + no human work could have surpassed it in its grandeur. What picture is + more simple, though more sublime, than the vast solitude of an unpeopled + wilderness, the woods, the mountains, the face of Nature, cast in the + fresh yet giant mould of a new and unpolluted world; and, amidst those + most silent and mighty temples of THE GREAT GOD, the lone spirit of Love + reigning and brightening over all? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK II. + </h2> + <p> + It is dangerous for women, however wise it be for men, “to commune with + their own hearts, and to be still!” Continuing to pursue the follies of + the world had been to Emily more prudent than to fly them; to pause, to + separate herself from the herd, was to discover, to feel, to murmur at the + vacuum of her being; and to occupy it with the feelings which it craved, + could in her be but the hoarding a provision for despair. + </p> + <p> + Married, before she had begun the bitter knowledge of herself, to a man + whom it was impossible to love, yet deriving from nature a tenderness of + soul, which shed itself over everything around, her only escape from + misery had been in the dormancy of feeling. The birth of her son had + opened to her a new field of sensations, and she drew the best charm of + her own existence from the life she had given to another. Had she not met + Falkland, all the deeper sources of affection would have flowed into one + only and legitimate channel; but those whom he wished to fascinate had + never resisted his power, and the attachment he inspired was in proportion + to the strength and ardour of his own nature. + </p> + <p> + It was not for Emily Mandeville to love such as Falkland without feeling + that from that moment a separate and selfish existence had ceased to be. + Our senses may captivate us with beauty; but in absence we forget, or by + reason we can conquer, so superficial an impression. Our vanity may + enamour us with rank; but the affections of vanity are traced in sand; but + who can love Genius, and not feel that the sentiments it excites partake + of its own intenseness and its own immortality? It arouses, concentrates, + engrosses all our emotions, even to the most subtle and concealed. Love + what is common, and ordinary objects can replace or destroy a sentiment + which an ordinary object has awakened. Love what we shall not meet again + amidst the littleness and insipidity which surround us, and where can we + turn for a new object to replace that which has no parallel upon earth? + The recovery from such a delirium is like return from a fairy land; and + still fresh in the recollections of a bright and immortal clime, how can + we endure the dulness of that human existence to which for the future we + are condemned? + </p> + <p> + It was some weeks since Emily had written to Mrs. St. John; and her last + letter, in mentioning Falkland, had spoken of him with a reserve which + rather alarmed than deceived her friend. Mrs. St. John had indeed a strong + and secret reason for fear. Falkland had been the object of her own and + her earliest attachment, and she knew well the singular and mysterious + power which he exercised at will over the mind. He had, it is true, never + returned, nor even known of, her feelings towards him; and during the + years which had elapsed since she last saw him, and in the new scenes + which her marriage with Mr. St. John had opened, she had almost forgotten + her early attachment, when Lady Emily’s letter renewed its remembrance. + She wrote in answer an impassioned and affectionate caution to her friend. + She spoke much (after complaining of Emily’s late silence) in condemnation + of the character of Falkland, and in warning of its fascinations; and she + attempted to arouse alike the virtue and the pride which so often triumph + in alliance, when separately they would so easily fail. In this Mrs. St. + John probably imagined she was actuated solely by friendship; but in the + best actions there is always some latent evil in the motive; and the + selfishness of a jealousy, though hopeless not conquered, perhaps + predominated over the less interested feelings which were all that she + acknowledged to herself. + </p> + <p> + In this work it has been my object to portray the progress of the + passions; to chronicle a history rather by thoughts and feelings than by + incidents and events; and to lay open those minuter and more subtle mazes + and secrets of the human heart, which in modern writings have been so + sparingly exposed. It is with this view that I have from time to time + broken the thread of narration, in order to bring forward more vividly the + characters it contains; and in laying no claim to the ordinary ambition of + tale-writers, I have deemed myself at liberty to deviate from the ordinary + courses they pursue. Hence the motive and the excuse for the insertion of + the following extracts, and of occasional letters. They portray the + interior struggle when Narration would look only to the external event, + and trace the lightning “home to its cloud,” when History would only mark + the spot where it scorched or destroyed. + </p> + <p> + EXTRACTS FROM THE JOURNAL OF LADY EMILY MANDEVILLE. + </p> + <p> + Tuesday.—More than seven years have passed since I began this + journal! I have just been looking over it from the commencement. Many and + various are the feelings which it attempts to describe—anger, pique, + joy, sorrow, hope, pleasure, weariness, ennui; but never, never once, + humiliation or remorse!—these were not doomed to be my portion in + the bright years of my earliest youth. How shall I describe them now? I + have received—I have read, as well as my tears would let me, a long + letter from Julia. It is true that I have not dared to write to her: when + shall I answer this? She has showed me the state of my heart; I more than + suspected it before. Could I have dreamed two months—six weeks—since + that I should have a single feeling of which I could be ashamed? He has + just been here He—the only one in the world, for all the world seems + concentred in him. He observed my distress, for I looked on him; and my + lips quivered and my eyes were full of tears. He came to me—he sat + next to me—he whispered his interest, his anxiety—and was this + all? Have I loved before I even knew that I was beloved? No, no; the + tongue was silent, but the eye, the cheek, the manner—alas! these + have been but too eloquent! + </p> + <p> + Wednesday.—It was so sweet to listen to his low and tender voice; to + watch the expression of his countenance—even to breathe the air that + he inhaled. But now that I know its cause, I feel that this pleasure is a + crime, and I am miserable even when he is with me. He has not been here + to-day. It is past three. Will he come? I rise from my seat—I go to + the window for breath—I am restless, agitated, disturbed. Lady + Margaret speaks to me—I scarcely answer her. My boy—yes, my + dear, dear Henry comes, and I feel that I am again a mother. Never will I + betray that duty, though I have forgotten one as sacred though less dear! + Never shall my son have cause to blush for his parent! I will fly hence—I + will see him no more! + </p> + <p> + FROM ERASMUS FALKLAND, ESQ., TO THE HON. FREDERICK MONKTON. + </p> + <p> + Write to me, Monkton—exhort me, admonish me, or forsake me for ever. + I am happy yet wretched: I wander in the delirium of a fatal fever, in + which I see dreams of a brighter life, but every one of them only brings + me nearer to death. Day after day I have lingered here, until weeks have + flown—and for what? Emily is not like the women of the world—virtue, + honour, faith, are not to her the mere <i>convenances</i> of society. + “There is no crime,” said Lady A., “where there is concealment.” Such can + never be the creed of Emily Mandeville. She will not disguise guilt either + in the levity of the world, or in the affectations of sentiment. She will + be wretched, and for ever. I hold the destinies of her future life, and + yet I am base enough to hesitate whether to save or destroy her. Oh, how + fearful, how selfish, how degrading, is unlawful love! + </p> + <p> + You know my theoretical benevolence for everything that lives; you have + often smiled at its vanity. I see now that you were right; for it seems to + me almost superhuman virtue not to destroy the person who is dearest to me + on earth. + </p> + <p> + I remember writing to you some weeks since that I would come to London + Little did I know of the weakness of my own mind. I told her that I + intended to depart. She turned pale—she trembled—but she did + not speak. Those signs which should have hastened my departure have taken + away the strength even to think of it. + </p> + <p> + I am here still! I go to E——— every day. Sometimes we + sit in silence; I dare not trust myself to speak. How dangerous are such + moments! <i>Ammutiscon lingue parlen l’alme</i>. + </p> + <p> + Yesterday they left us alone. We had been conversing with Lady Margaret on + indifferent subjects. There was a pause for some minutes. I looked up; + Lady Margaret had left the room. The blood rushed into my cheek—my + eyes met Emily’s; I would have given worlds to have repeated with my lips + what those eyes expressed. I could not even speak—I felt choked with + contending emotions. There was not a breath stirring; I heard my very + heart beat. A thunderbolt would have been a relief. Oh God! if there be a + curse, it is to burn, swell, madden with feelings which you are doomed to + conceal! This is, indeed, to be “a cannibal of one’s own heart.” [Bacon] + </p> + <p> + It was sunset. Emily was alone upon the lawn which sloped towards the + lake, and the blue still waters beneath broke, at bright intervals, + through the scattered and illuminated trees. She stood watching the sun + sink with wistful and tearful eyes. Her soul was sad within her. The ivy + which love first wreathes around his work had already faded away, and she + now only saw the desolation of the ruin it concealed. Never more for her + was that freshness of unwakened feeling which invests all things with a + perpetual daybreak of sunshine, and incense, and dew. The heart may + survive the decay or rupture of an innocent and lawful affection—“la + marque reste, mais la blessure guerit”—but the love of darkness and + guilt is branded in a character ineffaceable—eternal! The one is, + like lightning, more likely to dazzle than to destroy, and, divine even in + its danger, it makes holy what it sears; but the other is like that sure + and deadly fire which fell upon the cities of old, graving in the + barrenness of the desert it had wrought the record and perpetuation of a + curse. A low and thrilling voice stole upon Emily’s ear. She turned—Falkland + stood beside her. “I felt restless and unhappy,” he said, “and I came to + seek you. If (writes one of the fathers) a guilty and wretched man could + behold, though only for a few minutes, the countenance of an angel, the + calm and glory which it wears would so sink into his heart, that he would + pass at once over the gulf of gone years into his first unsullied state of + purity and hope; perhaps I thought of that sentence when I came to you.” + </p> + <p> + “I know not,” said Emily, with a deep blush at this address, which formed + her only answer to the compliment it conveyed; “I know not why it is, but + to me there is always something melancholy in this hour—something + mournful in seeing the beautiful day die with all its pomp and music, its + sunshine, and songs of birds.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet,” replied Falkland, “if I remember the time when my feelings were + more in unison with yours (for at present external objects have lost for + me much of their influence and attraction), the melancholy you perceive + has in it a vague and ineffable sweetness not to be exchanged for more + exhilarated spirits. The melancholy which arises from no cause within + ourselves is like music—it enchants us in proportion to its effect + upon our feelings. Perhaps its chief charm (though this it requires the + contamination of after years before we can fathom and define) is in the + purity of the sources it springs from. Our feelings can be but little + sullied and worn while they can yet respond to the passionless and primal + sympathies of Nature; and the sadness you speak of is so void of + bitterness, so allied to the best and most delicious sensations we enjoy, + that I should imagine the very happiness of Heaven partook rather of + melancholy than mirth.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause of some moments. It was rarely that Falkland alluded + even so slightly to the futurity of another world; and when he did, it was + never in a careless and commonplace manner, but in a tone which sank deep + into Emily’s heart. “Look,” she said, at length, “at that beautiful star! + the first and brightest! I have often thought it was like the promise of + life beyond the tomb—a pledge to us that, even in the depths of + midnight, the earth shall have a light, unquenched and unquenchable, from + Heaven!” + </p> + <p> + Emily turned to Falkland as she said this, and her countenance sparkled + with the enthusiasm she felt. But his face was deadly pale. There went + over it, like a cloud, an expression of changeful and unutterable thought; + and then, passing suddenly away, it left his features calm and bright in + all their noble and intellectual beauty. Her soul yearned to him, as she + looked, with the tenderness of a sister. + </p> + <p> + They walked slowly towards the house. “I have frequently,” said Emily, + with some hesitation, “been surprised at the little enthusiasm you appear + to possess even upon subjects where your conviction must be strong.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I have thought enthusiasm away!</i>” replied Falkland; “it was the + loss of hope which brought me reflection, and in reflection I forgot to + feel. Would that I had not found it so easy to recall what I thought I had + lost for ever!” Falkland’s cheek changed as he said this, and Emily sighed + faintly, for she felt his meaning. In him that allusion to his love had + aroused a whole train of dangerous recollections; for Passion is the + avalanche of the human heart—a single breath can dissolve it from + its repose. + </p> + <p> + They remained silent; for Falkland would not trust himself to speak, till, + when they reached the house, he faltered out his excuses for not entering, + and departed. He turned towards his solitary home. The grounds at E——— + had been laid out in a classical and costly manner which contrasted + forcibly with the wild and simple nature of the surrounding scenery. Even + the short distance between Mr. Mandeville’s house and L——— + wrought as distinct a change in the character of the country as any length + of space could have effected. Falkland’s ancient and ruinous abode, with + its shattered arches and moss-grown parapets, was situated on a gentle + declivity, and surrounded by dark elm and larch trees. It still retained + some traces both of its former consequence, and of the perils to which + that consequence had exposed it. A broad ditch, overgrown with weeds, + indicated the remains of what once had been a moat; and huge rough stones, + scattered around it, spoke of the outworks the fortification had anciently + possessed, and the stout resistance they had made in “the Parliament Wars” + to the sturdy followers of Ireton and Fairfax. The moon, that flatterer of + decay, shed its rich and softening beauty over a spot which else had, + indeed, been desolate and cheerless, and kissed into light the long and + unwaving herbage which rose at intervals from the ruins, like the false + parasites of fallen greatness. But for Falkland the scene had no interest + or charm, and he turned with a careless and unheeding eye to his customary + apartment. It was the only one in the house furnished with luxury, or even + comfort. Large bookcases, inlaid with curious carvings in ivory; busts of + the few public characters the world had ever produced worthy, in + Falkland’s estimation, of the homage of posterity; elaborately-wrought + hangings from Flemish looms; and French fauteuils and sofas of rich + damask, and massy gilding (relics of the magnificent days of Louis + Quatorze), bespoke a costliness of design suited rather to Falkland’s + wealth than to the ordinary simplicity of his tastes. + </p> + <p> + A large writing-table was overspread with books in various languages, and + upon the most opposite subjects. Letters and papers were scattered amongst + them; Falkland turned carelessly over the latter. One of the epistolary + communications was from Lord ———, the —. He smiled + bitterly, as he read the exaggerated compliments it contained, and saw to + the bottom of the shallow artifice they were meant to conceal. He tossed + the letter from him, and opened the scattered volumes, one after another, + with that languid and sated feeling common to all men who have read deeply + enough to feel how much they have learned, and how little they know. “We + pass our lives,” thought he, “in sowing what we are never to reap! We + endeavour to erect a tower, which shall reach the heavens, in order to + escape one curse, and lo! we are smitten by another! We would soar from a + common evil, and from that moment we are divided by a separate language + from our race! Learning, science, philosophy, the world of men and of + imagination, I ransacked—and for what? I centred my happiness in + wisdom. I looked upon the aims of others with a scornful and loathing eye. + I held commune with those who have gone before me; I dwelt among the + monuments of their minds, and made their records familiar to me as + friends: I penetrated the womb of nature, and went with the secret + elements to their home: I arraigned the stars before me, and learned the + method and the mystery of their courses: I asked the tempest its bourn, + and questioned the winds of their path. This was not sufficient to satisfy + my thirst for knowledge, and I searched in this lower world of new sources + to content it. Unseen and unsuspected, I saw and agitated the springs of + the automaton that we call ‘the Mind.’ I found a clue for the labyrinth of + human motives, and I surveyed the hearts of those around me as through a + glass. Vanity of vanities! What have I acquired? I have separated myself + from my kind, but not from those worst enemies, my passions! I have made a + solitude of my soul, but I have not mocked it with the appellation of + Peace. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Solitudinem faciunt, pacem appellant.”—TACITUS. + “They make a solitude, and call it peace.”—BYRON. +</pre> + <p> + “In flying the herd, I have not escaped from myself; like the wounded + deer, the barb was within me, and that I could not fly!” With these + thoughts he turned from his reverie, and once more endeavoured to charm + his own reflections by those which ought to speak to us of quiet, for they + are graven on the pages of the dead; but his attempts were as idle as + before. His thoughts were still wandering and confused, and could neither + be quieted nor collected: he read, but he scarcely distinguished one page + from another: he wrote—the ideas refused to flow at his call; and + the only effort at connecting his feelings which even partially succeeded, + was in the verses which I am about to place before the reader. It is a + common property of poetry, however imperfectly the gift be possessed, to + speak to the hearts of others in proportion as the sentiments it would + express are felt in our own; and I subjoin the lines which bear the date + of that evening, in the hope that, more than many pages, they will show + the morbid yet original character of the writer, and the particular + sources of feeling from which they took the bitterness that pervades them. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + KNOWLEDGE. + + Ergo hominum genus incassum frustraque laborat + Semper, et in curis consumit inanibus aevum.—Lucret. + + ‘Tis midnight! Round the lamp which o’er + My chamber sheds its lonely beam, + Is wisely spread the varied lore + Which feeds in youth our feverish dream + + The dream—the thirst—the wild desire, + Delirious yet divine-to know; + Around to roam—above aspire + And drink the breath of Heaven below! + + From Ocean-Earth-the Stars-the Sky + To lift mysterious Nature’s pall; + And bare before the kindling eye + In MAN the darkest mist of all— + + Alas! what boots the midnight oil? + The madness of the struggling mind? + Oh, vague the hope, and vain the toil, + Which only leave us doubly blind! + + What learn we from the Past? the same + Dull course of glory, guilt, and gloom— + I ask’d the Future, and there came + No voice from its unfathom’d womb. + + The Sun was silent, and the wave; + The air but answer’d with its breath + But Earth was kind; and from the grave + Arose the eternal answer—Death! + + And this was all! We need no sage + To teach us Nature’s only truth! + O fools! o’er Wisdom’s idle page + To waste the hours of golden youth! + + In Science wildly do we seek + What only withering years should bring + The languid pulse—the feverish cheek + The spirits drooping on their wing! + + To think—is but to learn to groan + To scorn what all beside adore + To feel amid the world alone, + An alien on a desert shore; + + To lose the only ties which seem + To idler gaze in mercy given! + To find love, faith, and hope, a dream, + And turn to dark despair from heaven! +</pre> + <p> + I pass on to a wilder period of my history. The passion, as yet only + revealed by the eye, was now to be recorded by the lip; and the scene + which witnessed the first confession of the lovers was worthy of the last + conclusion of their loves! + </p> + <p> + E——— was about twelve miles from a celebrated cliff on + the seashore, and Lady Margaret had long proposed an excursion to a spot, + curious alike for its natural scenery and the legends attached to it. A + day was at length fixed for accomplishing this plan. Falkland was of the + party. In searching for something in the pockets of the carriage, his hand + met Emily’s, and involuntarily pressed it. She withdrew it hastily, but he + felt it tremble. He did not dare to look up: that single contact had given + him a new life: intoxicated with the most delicious sensations, he leaned + back in silence. A fever had entered his veins—the thrill of the + touch had gone like fire into his system—all his frame seemed one + nerve. + </p> + <p> + Lady Margaret talked of the weather and the prospect, wondered how far + they had got, and animadverted on the roads, till at last, like a child, + she talked herself to rest. Mrs. Dalton read “Guy Mannering;” but neither + Emily nor her lover had any occupation or thought in common with their + companions: silent and absorbed, they were only alive to the vivid + existence of the present. Constantly engaged, as we are, in looking behind + us or before, if there be one hour in which we feel only the time being—in + which we feel sensibly that we live, and that those moments of the present + are full of the enjoyment, the rapture of existence—it is when we + are with the one person whose life and spirits have become the great part + and principle of our own. They reached their destination—a small inn + close by the shore. They rested there a short time, and then strolled + along the sands towards the cliff. Since Falkland had known Emily, her + character was much altered. Six weeks before the time I write of, and in + playfulness and lightness of spirits she was almost a child: now those + indications of an unawakened heart had mellowed into a tenderness full of + that melancholy so touching and holy, even amid the voluptuous softness + which it breathes and inspires. But this day, whether from that coquetry + so common to all women, or from some cause more natural to her, she seemed + gayer than Falkland ever remembered to have seen her. She ran over the + sands, picking up shells, and tempting the waves with her small and fairy + feet, not daring to look at him, and yet speaking to him at times with a + quick tone of levity which hurt and offended him, even though he knew the + depth of those feelings she could not disguise either from him or from + herself. By degrees his answers and remarks grew cold and sarcastic. Emily + affected pique; and when it was discovered that the cliff was still nearly + two miles off, she refused to proceed any farther. Lady Margaret talked + her at last into consent, and they walked on as sullenly as an English + party of pleasure possibly could do, till they were within three quarters + of a mile of the place, when Emily declared she was so tired that she + really could not go on. Falkland looked at her, perhaps, with no very + amiable expression of countenance, when he perceived that she seemed + really pale and fatigued; and when she caught his eyes, tears rushed into + her own. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, indeed, Mr. Falkland,” she said, eagerly, “this is not + affectation. I am very tired; but rather than prevent your amusement, I + will endeavour to go on.” “Nonsense, child,” said Lady Margaret, “you do + seem tired. Mrs. Dalton and Falkland shall go to the rock, and I will stay + here with you.” This proposition, however, Lady Emily (who knew Lady + Margaret’s wish to see the rock) would not hear of; she insisted upon + staying by herself. “Nobody will run away with me; and I can very easily + amuse myself with picking up shells till you comeback.” After along + remonstrance, which produced no effect, this plan was at last acceded to. + With great reluctance Falkland set off with his two companions; but after + the first step, he turned to look back. He caught her eye, and felt from + that moment that their reconciliation was sealed. They arrived, at last, + at the cliff. Its height, its excavations, the romantic interest which the + traditions respecting it had inspired, fully repaid the two women for the + fatigue of their walk. As for Falkland, he was unconscious of everything + around him; he was full of “sweet and bitter thoughts.” In vain the man + whom they found loitering there, in order to serve as a guide, kept + dinning in his ear stories of the marvellous, and exclamations of the + sublime. The first words which aroused him were these; “It’s lucky, please + your Honour, that you have just saved the tide. It is but last week that + three poor people were drowned in attempting to come here; as it is, you + will have to go home round the cliff.” Falkland started: he felt his heart + stand still. “Good God!” cried Lady Margaret, “what will become of Emily?” + </p> + <p> + They were—at that instant in one of the caverns, where they had + already been loitering too long. Falkland rushed out to the sands. The + tide was hurrying in with a deep sound, which came on his soul like a + knell. He looked back towards the way they had come: not one hundred yards + distant, and the waters had already covered the path! An eternity would + scarcely atone for the horror of that moment! One great characteristic of + Falkland was his presence of mind. He turned to the man who stood beside + him—he gave him a cool and exact description of the spot where he + had left Emily. He told him to repair with all possible speed to his home—to + launch his boat—to row it to the place he had described. “Be quick,” + he added, “and you must be in time: if you are, you shall never know + poverty again.” The next moment he was already several yards from the + spot. He ran, or rather flew, till he was stopped by the waters. He rushed + in; they were over a hollow between two rocks—they were already up + to his chest. “There is yet hope,” thought he, when he had passed the + spot, and saw the smooth sand before him. For some minutes he was scarcely + sensible of existence; and then he found himself breathless at her feet. + Beyond, towards T——- (the small inn I spoke of), the waves had + already reached the foot of the rocks, and precluded all hope of return. + Their only chance was the possibility that the waters had not yet rendered + impassable the hollow through which Falkland had just waded. He scarcely + spoke; at least he was totally unconscious of what he said. He hurried her + on breathless and trembling, with the sound of the booming waters ringing + in his ear, and their billows advancing to his very feet. They arrived at + the hollow: a single glance sufficed to show him that their solitary hope + was past! The waters, before up to his chest, had swelled considerably: he + could not swim. He saw in that instant that they were girt with a + hastening and terrible death. Can it be believed that with that certainty + ceased his fear? He looked in the pale but calm countenance of her who + clung to him, and a strange tranquillity, even mingled with joy, possessed + him. Her breath was on his cheek—her form was reclining on his own—his + hand clasped hers; if they were to die, it was thus. What would life + afford to him more dear? “It is in this moment,” said he, and he knelt as + he spoke, “that I dare tell you what otherwise my lips never should have + revealed. I love—I adore you! Turn not away from me thus. In life + our persons were severed; if our hearts are united in death, then death + will be sweet.” She turned—her cheek was no longer pale! He rose—he + clasped her to his bosom: his lips pressed hers. Oh! that long, deep, + burning pressure!—youth, love, life, soul, all concentrated in that + one kiss! Yet the same cause which occasioned the avowal hallowed also the + madness of his heart. What had the passion, declared only at the approach + of death, with the more earthly desires of life? They looked to heaven—it + was calm and unclouded: the evening lay there in its balm and perfume, and + the air was less agitated than their sighs. They turned towards the + beautiful sea which was to be their grave: the wild birds flew over it + exultingly: the far vessels seemed “rejoicing to run their course.” All + was full of the breath, the glory, the life of nature; and in how many + minutes was all to be as nothing! Their existence would resemble the ships + that have gone down at sea in the very smile of the element that destroyed + them. They looked into each other’s eyes, and they drew still nearer + together. Their hearts, in safety apart, mingled in peril and became one. + Minutes rolled on, and the great waves came dashing round them. They stood + on the loftiest eminence they could reach. The spray broke over their + feet: the billows rose—rose—they were speechless. He thought + he heard her heart beat, but her lip trembled not. A speck—a boat! + “Look up, Emily! look up! See how it cuts the waters. Nearer—nearer! + but a little longer, and we are safe. It is but a few yards off;—it + approaches—it touches the rock!” Ah! what to them henceforth was the + value of life, when the moment of discovering its charm became also the + date of its misfortunes, and when the death they had escaped was the only + method of cementing their—union without consummating their guilt? + </p> + <p> + FROM ERASMUS FALKLAND, ESQ., TO THE HON. FREDERICK MONKTON. + </p> + <p> + I will write to you at length to-morrow. Events have occurred to alter, + perhaps, the whole complexion of the future. I am now going to Emily to + propose to her to fly. We are not <i>les gens du monde</i>, who are ruined + by the loss of public opinion. She has felt that I can be to her far more + than the world; and as for me, what would I not forfeit for one touch of + her hand? + </p> + <p> + EXTRACTS FROM THE JOURNAL OF LADY EMILY MANDEVILLE. + </p> + <p> + Friday.—Since I wrote yesterday in these pages the narrative of our + escape, I have done nothing but think over those moments, too dangerous + because too dear; but at last I have steeled my heart—I have yielded + to my own weakness too long—I shudder at the abyss from which I have + escaped. I can yet fly. He will come here to-day—he shall receive my + farewell. + </p> + <p> + Saturday morning, four o’clock.—I have sat in this room alone since + eleven o’clock. I cannot give vent to my feelings; they seem as if crushed + by some load from which it is impossible to rise. “He is gone, and for + ever!” I sit repeating those words to myself, scarcely conscious of their + meaning. Alas! when to-morrow comes, and the next day, and the next, and + yet I see him not, I shall awaken, indeed, to all the agony of my loss! He + came here—he saw me alone—he implored me to fly. I did not + dare to meet his eyes; I hardened my heart against his voice. I knew the + part I was to take—I have adopted it; but what struggles, what + misery, has it not occasioned me! Who could have thought it had been so + hard to be virtuous! His eloquence drove me from one defence to another, + and then I had none but his mercy. I opened my heart—I showed him + its weakness—I implored his forbearance. My tears, my anguish, + convinced him of my sincerity. We have parted in bitterness, but, thank + Heaven, not in guilt! He has entreated permission to write to me. How + could I refuse him? Yet I may not—cannot-write to him again! How + could, I indeed, suffer my heart to pour forth one of its feelings in + reply? for would there be one word of regret, or one term of endearment, + which my inmost soul would not echo? + </p> + <p> + Sunday.—Yes, that day—but I must not think of this; my very + religion I dare not indulge. Oh God! how wretched I am! His visit was + always the great aera in the clay; it employed all my hopes till he came, + and all my memory when he was gone. I sit now and look at the place he + used to fill, till I feel the tears rolling silently down my cheek: they + come without an effort—they depart without relief. + </p> + <p> + Monday.—Henry asked me where Mr. Falkland was gone; I stooped down + to hide my confusion. When shall I hear from him? To-morrow? Oh that it + were come! I have placed the clock before me, and I actually count the + minutes. He left a book here; it is a volume of “Melmoth.” I have read + over every word of it, and whenever I have come to a pencil-mark by him, I + have paused to dream over that varying and eloquent countenance, the low + soft tone of that tender voice, till the book has fallen from my hands, + and I have started to find the utterness of my desolation! + </p> + <p> + FROM ERASMUS FALKLAND, ESQ., TO LADY EMILY MANDEVILLE. ——— + Hotel, London. + </p> + <p> + For the first time in my life I write to you! How my hand trembles—how + my cheek flushes! a thousand, thousand thoughts rush upon me, and almost + suffocate me with the variety and confusion of the emotions they awaken! I + am agitated alike with the rapture of writing to you, and with the + impossibility of expressing the feelings which I cannot distinctly unravel + even to myself. You love me, Emily, and yet I have fled from you, and at + your command; but the thought that, though absent, I am not forgotten, + supports me through all. + </p> + <p> + It was with a feverish sense of weariness and pain that I found myself + entering this vast reservoir of human vices. I became at once sensible of + the sterility of that polluted soil so incapable of nurturing affection, + and I clasped your image the closer to my heart. It is you, who, when I + was most weary of existence, gifted me with a new life. You breathed into + me a part of your own spirit; my soul feels that influence, and becomes + more sacred. I have shut myself from the idlers who would molest me: I + have built a temple in my heart: I have set within it a divinity; and the + vanities of the world shall not profane the spot which has been + consecrated to you. Our parting, Emily,—do you recall it? Your hand + clasped in mine; your cheek resting, though but for an instant, on my + bosom; and the tears which love called forth, but which virtue purified + even at their source. Never were hearts so near, yet so divided; never was + there an hour so tender, yet so unaccompanied with danger. Passion, grief, + madness, all sank beneath your voice, and lay hushed like a deep sea + within my soul! “Tu abbia veduto il leone ammansarsi alla sola tua voce.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Ultime lettere di Jacopo Ortis. +</pre> + <p> + I tore myself from you; I hurried through the wood; I stood by the lake, + on whose banks I had so often wandered with you: I bared my breast to the + winds; I bathed my temples with the waters. Fool that I was! the fever, + the fever was within! But it is not thus, my adored and beautiful friend, + that I should console and support you. Even as I write, passion melts into + tenderness, and pours itself in softness over your remembrance. The virtue + so gentle, yet so strong; the feelings so kind, yet so holy; the tears + which wept over the decision your lips proclaimed—these are the + recollections which come over me like dew. Let your own heart, my Emily, + be your reward; and know that your lover only forgets that he adores, to + remember that he respects you. + </p> + <p> + FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME. ————— Park. + </p> + <p> + I could not bear the tumult and noise of London. I sighed for solitude, + that I might muse over your remembrance undisturbed. I came here + yesterday. It is the home of my childhood. I am surrounded on all sides by + the scenes and images consecrated by the fresh recollections of my + unsullied years. They are not changed. The seasons which come and depart + renew in them the havoc which they make. If the December destroys, the + April revives; but man has but one spring, and the desolation of the heart + but one winter! In this very room have I sat and brooded over dreams and + hopes which—but no matter—those dreams could never show me a + vision to equal you, or those hopes hold out to me a blessing so precious + as your love. + </p> + <p> + Do you remember, or rather can you ever forget, that moment in which the + great depths of our souls were revealed? Ah! not in the scene in which + such vows should have been whispered to your ear and your tenderness have + blushed its reply. The passion concealed in darkness was revealed in + danger; and the love, which in life was forbidden, was our comfort amidst + the terrors of death! And that long and holy kiss, the first, the only + moment in which our lips shared the union of our souls!—do not tell + me that it is wrong to recall it!—do not tell me that I sin, when I + own to you the hours I sit alone, and nurse the delirium of that + voluptuous remembrance. The feelings you have excited may render me + wretched, but not guilty; for the love of you can only hallow the heart—it + is a fire which consecrates the altar on which it burns. I feel, even from + the hour that I loved, that my soul has become more pure. I could not + believe that I was capable of so unearthly an affection, or that the love + of woman could possess that divinity of virtue which I worship in yours. + The world is no fosterer of our young visions of purity and passion: + embarked in its pursuits, and acquainted with its pleasures, while the + latter sated me with what is evil, the former made me incredulous to what + is pure. I considered your sex as a problem which my experience had + already solved. Like the French philosophers, who lose truth by + endeavouring to condense it, and who forfeit the moral from their regard + to the maxim, I concentrated my knowledge of women into aphorism and + antitheses; and I did not dream of the exceptions, if I did not find + myself deceived in the general conclusion. I confess that I erred; I + renounce from this moment the colder reflections of my manhood,—the + fruits of a bitter experience,—the wisdom of an inquiring yet + agitated life. I return with transport to my earliest visions of beauty + and love; and I dedicate them upon the altar of my soul to you, who have + embodied, and concentrated, and breathed them into life! + </p> + <p> + EXTRACTS FROM THE JOURNAL OF LADY EMILY MANDEVILLE. + </p> + <p> + Monday.—This is the most joyless day in the whole week; for it can + bring me no letter from him. I rise listlessly, and read over again and + again the last letter I received from him—useless task! it is graven + on my heart! I long only for the day to be over, because to-morrow I may, + perhaps, hear from him again. When I wake at night from my disturbed and + broken sleep, I look if the morning is near; not because it gives light + and life, but because it may bring tidings of him. When his letter is + brought to me, I keep it for minutes unopened—I feed my eyes on the + handwriting—I examine the seal—I press it with my kisses, + before I indulge myself in the luxury of reading it. I then place it in my + bosom, and take it thence only to read it again and again,—to + moisten it with my tears of gratitude and love, and, alas! of penitence + and remorse! What can be the end of this affection? I dare neither to hope + that it may continue or that it may cease; in either case I am wretched + for ever! + </p> + <p> + Monday night, twelve o’clock.—They observe my paleness; the tears + which tremble in my eyes; the listlessness and dejection of my manner. I + think Mrs. Dalton guesses the cause. Humbled and debased in my own mind, I + fly, Falkland, for refuge to you! Your affection cannot raise me to my + former state, but it can reconcile—no—not reconcile, but + support me in my present. This dear letter, I kiss it again—oh! that + to-morrow were come! + </p> + <p> + Tuesday.—Another letter, so kind, so tender, so encouraging: would + that I deserved his praises! alas! I sin even in reading them. I know that + I ought to struggle more against my feelings—once I attempted it; I + prayed to Heaven to support me; I put away from me everything that could + recall him to my mind—for three days I would not open his letters. I + could then resist no longer; and my weakness became the more confirmed + from the feebleness of the struggle. I remember one day that he told us of + a beautiful passage in one of the ancients, in which the bitterest curse + against the wicked is, that they may see virtue, but not be able to obtain + it; [Persius]—that punishment is mine! + </p> + <p> + Wednesday.—My boy has been with me: I see him now from the windows + gathering the field-flowers, and running after every butterfly which comes + across him. Formerly he made all my delight and occupation; now he is even + dearer to me than ever; but he no longer engrosses all my thoughts. I turn + over the leaves of this journal; once it noted down the little occurrences + of the day; it marks nothing now but the monotony of sadness. He is not + here—he cannot come. What event then could I notice? + </p> + <p> + FROM ERASMUS FALKLAND, ESQ., TO LADY EMILY MANDEVILLE. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [Most of the letters from Falkland to Lady E. Mandeville + I have thought it expedient to suppress.] +————- Park. +</pre> + <p> + If you knew how I long, how I thirst, for one word from you—one word + to say you are well, and have not forgotten me!—but I will not + distress you. You will guess my feelings, and do justice to the restraint + I impose on them, when I make no effort to alter your resolution not to + write. I know that it is just, and I bow to my sentence; but can you blame + me if I am restless and if I repine? It is past twelve; I always write to + you at night. It is then, my own love, that my imagination can be the more + readily transport me to you: it is then that my spirit holds with you a + more tender and undivided commune. In the day the world can force itself + upon my thoughts, and its trifles usurp the place which “I love to keep + for only thee and Heaven;” but in the night all things recall you the more + vividly: the stillness of the gentle skies,—the blandness of the + unbroken air,—the stars, so holy in their loveliness, all speak and + breathe to me of you. I think your hand is clasped in mine; and I again + drink the low music of your voice, and imbibe again in the air the breath + which has been perfumed by your lips. You seem to stand in my lonely + chamber in the light and stillness of a spirit, who has wandered on earth + to teach us the love which is felt in Heaven. + </p> + <p> + I cannot, believe me, I cannot endure this separation long; it must be + more or less. You must be mine for ever, or our parting must be without a + mitigation, which is rather a cruelty than a relief. If you will not + accompany me, I will leave this country alone. I must not wean myself from + your image by degrees, but break from the enchantment at once. And when + Emily, I am once more upon the world, when no tidings of my fate shall + reach your ear, and all its power of alienation be left to the progress of + time—then, when you will at last have forgotten me, when your peace + of mind will be restored, and, having no struggles of conscience to + undergo, you will have no remorse to endure; then, Emily, when we are + indeed divided, let the scene which has witnessed our passion, the letters + which have recorded my vow, the evil we have suffered, and the temptation + we have overcome; let these in our old age be remembered, and in declaring + to Heaven that we were innocent, add also—that, we loved. + </p> + <p> + FROM DON ALPHONSO D’AQUILAR TO DON ————. + </p> + <p> + London. + </p> + <p> + Our cause gains ground daily. The great, indeed the only ostensible object + of my mission is nearly fulfilled; but I have another charge and + attraction which I am now about to explain to you. You know that my + acquaintance with the English language and country arose from my sister’s + marriage with Mr. Falkland. After the birth of their only child I + accompanied them to England: I remained with them for three years, and I + still consider those days among the whitest in my restless and agitated + career. I returned to Spain; I became engaged in the troubles and + dissensions which distracted my unhappy country. Years rolled on, how I + need not mention to you. One night they put a letter into my hands; it was + from my sister; it was written on her death-bed. Her husband had died + suddenly. She loved him as a Spanish woman loves, and she could not + survive his loss. Her letter to me spoke of her country and her son. Amid + the new ties she had formed in England, she had never forgotten the land + of her fathers. “I have already,” she said, “taught my boy to remember + that he has two countries; that the one, prosperous and free; may afford + him his pleasures; that the other, struggling and debased, demands from + him his duties. If, when he has attained the age in which you can judge of + his character, he is respectable only from his rank, and valuable only + from his wealth; if neither his head nor his heart will make him useful to + our cause, suffer him to remain undisturbed in his prosperity <i>here</i>: + but if, as I presage, he becomes worthy of the blood which he bears in his + veins, then I conjure you, my brother, to remind him that he has been + sworn by me on my death-bed to the most sacred of earthly altars.” + </p> + <p> + Some months since, when I arrived in England; before I ventured to find + him out in person, I resolved to inquire into his character. Had he been + as the young and the rich generally are—had dissipation become + habitual to him, and frivolity grown around him as a second nature, then I + should have acquiesced in the former injunction of my sister much more + willingly than I shall now obey the latter. I find that he is perfectly + acquainted with our language, that he has placed a large sum in our funds, + and that from the general liberality of his sentiments he is as likely to + espouse, as (in that case) he would be certain, from his high reputation + for talent, to serve our cause. I am, therefore, upon the eve of seeking + him out. I understand that he is living in perfect retirement in the + county of ———-, in the immediate neighbourhood of Mr. + Mandeville, an Englishman of considerable fortune, and warmly attached to + our cause. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Mandeville has invited me to accompany him down to his estate for some + days, and I am too anxious to see my nephew not to accept eagerly of the + invitation. If I can persuade Falkland to aid us, it will be by the + influence of his name, his talents, and his wealth. It is not of him that + we can ask the stern and laborious devotion to which we have consecrated + ourselves. The perfidy of friends, the vigilance of foes, the rashness of + the bold, the cowardice of the wavering; strife in the closet, treachery + in the senate, death in the field; these constitute the fate we have + pledged ourselves to bear. Little can any, who do not endure it, imagine + of the life to which those who share the contests of an agitated and + distracted country are doomed; but if they know not our griefs, neither + can they dream of our consolation. We move like the delineation of Faith, + over a barren and desert soil; the rock, and the thorn, and the stings of + the adder, are round our feet; but we clasp a crucifix to our hearts for + our comfort, and we fix our eyes upon the heavens for our hope! + </p> + <p> + EXTRACTS FROM THE JOURNAL OF LADY EMILY MANDE VILLE. + </p> + <p> + Wednesday.—His letters have taken a different tone: instead of + soothing, they add to my distress; but I deserve all—all that can be + inflicted upon me. I have had a letter from Mr. Mandeville. He is coming + down here for a few days, and intends bringing some friends with him: he + mentions particularly a Spaniard—the uncle of Mr Falkland, whom he + asks if I have seen. The Spaniard is particularly anxious to meet his + nephew—he does not then know that Falkland is gone. It will be some + relief to see Mr. Mandeville alone; but even then how shall I meet him? + What shall I say when he observes my paleness and alteration? I feel bowed + to the very dust. + </p> + <p> + Thursday evening.—Mr. Mandeville has arrived: fortunately, it was + late in the evening before he came, and the darkness prevented his + observing my confusion and alteration. He was kinder than usual. Oh! how + bitterly my heart avenged him! He brought with him the Spaniard, Don + Alphonso d’Aguilar; I think there is a faint family likeness between him + and Falkland. Mr. Mandeville brought also a letter from Julia. She will be + here the day after to-morrow. The letter is short, but kind: she does not + allude to him; it is some days since I heard from him. + </p> + <p> + FROM ERASMUS FALKLAND, ESQ., TO THE HON. FREDERICK MONKTON. + </p> + <p> + I have resolved, Monkton, to go to her again! I am sure that it will be + better for both of us to meet once more; perhaps, to unite for ever! None + who have once loved me can easily forget me. I do not say this from + vanity, because I owe it not to my being superior to, but different from, + others. I am sure that the remorse and affliction she feels now are far + greater than she would experience, even were she more guilty, and with me. + Then, at least, she would have some one to soothe and sympathise in + whatever she might endure. To one so pure as Emily, the full crime is + already incurred. It is not the innocent who insist upon that nice line of + morality between the thought and the action: such distinctions require + reflection, experience, deliberation, prudence of head, or coldness of + heart; these are the traits, not of the guileless, but of the worldly. It + is the reflections, not the person, of a virtuous woman, which it is + difficult to obtain: that difficulty is the safeguard to her chastity; + that difficulty I have, in this instance, overcome. I have endeavoured to + live without Emily, but in vain. Every moment of absence only taught me + the impossibility. In twenty-four hours I shall see her again. I feel my + pulse rise into fever at the very thought. + </p> + <p> + Farewell, Monkton. My next letter, I hope, will record my triumph. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK III. + </h2> + <h3> + EXTRACTS FROM THE JOURNAL OF LADY EMILY MANDEVILLE. + </h3> + <p> + Friday.—Julia is here, and so kind! She has not mentioned his name, + but she sighed so deeply when she saw my pale and sunken countenance, that + I threw myself into her arms and cried like a child. We had no need of + other explanation: those tears spoke at once my confession and my + repentance. No letter from him for several days! Surely he is not ill! how + miserable that thought makes me! + </p> + <p> + Saturday.—A note has just been brought me from him. He is come + back-here! Good heavens! how very imprudent! I am so agitated that I can + write no more. + </p> + <p> + Sunday.—I have seen him! Let me repeat that sentence—I have + seen him. Oh that moment! did it not atone for all that I have suffered? I + dare not write everything he said, but he wished me to fly with him—him—what + happiness, yet what guilt, in the very thought! Oh! this foolish heart—would + that it might break! I feel too well the sophistry of his arguments, and + yet I cannot resist them. He seems to have thrown a spell over me, which + precludes even the effort to escape. + </p> + <p> + Monday.—Mr. Mandeville has asked several people in the country to + dine here to-morrow, and there is to be a ball in the evening. Falkland is + of course invited. We shall meet then, and how? I have been so little + accustomed to disguise my feelings, that I quite tremble to meet him with + so many witnesses around. Mr. Mandeville has been so harsh to me to-day; + if Falkland ever looked at me so, or ever said one such word, my heart + would indeed break. What is it Alfieri says about the two demons to whom + he is for ever a prey? “<i>La mente e il cor in perpetua lite</i>.” Alas! + at times I start from my reveries with such a keen sense of agony and + shame! How, how am I fallen! + </p> + <p> + Tuesday.—He is to come here to-day and I shall see him! + </p> + <p> + Wednesday morning.—The night is over, thank Heaven! Falkland came + late to dinner: every one else was assembled. How gracefully he entered! + how superior he seemed to all the crowd that stood around him! He appeared + as if he were resolved to exert powers which he had disdained before. He + entered into the conversation, not only with such brilliancy, but with + such a blandness and courtesy of manner! There was no scorn on his lip, no + haughtiness on his forehead—nothing which showed him for a moment + conscious of his immeasurable superiority over every one present. After + dinner, as we retired, I caught his eyes. What volumes they told! and then + I had to listen to his praises, and say nothing. I felt angry even in my + pleasure. Who but I had a right to speak of him so well! + </p> + <p> + The ball came on: I felt languid and dispirited. Falkland did not dance. + He sat: himself by me—he urged me to—O God! O God! would that + I were dead! + </p> + <p> + FROM ERASMUS FALKLAND, ESQ., TO LADY EMILY MANDEVILLE. + </p> + <p> + How are you this morning, my adored friend? You seemed pale and ill when + we parted last night, and I shall be so unhappy till I hear something of + you. Oh, Emily, when you listened to me with those tearful and downcast + looks; when I saw your bosom heave at every word which I whispered in your + ear; when, as I accidentally touched your hand, I felt it tremble beneath + my own; oh! was there nothing in those moments at your heart which pleaded + for me more eloquently than words? Pure and holy as you are, you know not, + it is true, the feelings which burn and madden in me. When you are beside + me, your hand, if it trembles, is not on fire, your voice, if it is more + subdued, does not falter with the emotions it dares not express: your + heart is not like mine, devoured by a parching and wasting flame: your + sleep is not turned by restless and turbulent dreams from the healthful + renewal, into the very consumer, of life. No, Emily! God forbid that you + should feel the guilt, the agony which preys upon me; but, at least, in + the fond and gentle tenderness of your heart, there must be a voice you + find it difficult to silence. Amidst all the fictitious ties and + fascinations of art, you cannot dismiss from your bosom the unconquerable + impulse of nature. What is it you fear?—you will answer, disgrace! + But can you feel it, Emily, when you share it with me? Believe me that the + love which is nursed through shame and sorrow is of a deeper and holier + nature than that which is reared in pride, fostered in joy. But, if not + shame, it is guilt, perhaps, which you dread? Are you then so innocent + now? The adultery of the heart is no less a crime than that of the deed; + and—yet I will not deceive you—it is guilt to which I tempt + you!—it is a fall from the proud eminence you hold now. I grant + this, and I offer you nothing in recompense but my love. If you loved like + me, you would feel that it was something of pride—of triumph—to + dare all things, even crime, for the one to whom all things are as nought! + As for me, I know that if a voice from Heaven told me to desert you, I + would only clasp you the closer to my heart! + </p> + <p> + I tell you, my own love, that when your hand is in mine, when your head + rests upon my bosom, when those soft and thrilling eyes shall be fixed + upon my own, when every sigh shall be mingled with my breath, and every + tear be kissed away at the very instant it rises from its source—I + tell you that then you shall only feel that every pang of the past, and + every fear for the future, shall be but a new link to bind us the firmer + to each other. Emily, my life, my love, you cannot, if you would, desert + me. Who can separate the waters which are once united, or divide the + hearts which have met and mingled into one? + </p> + <p> + Since they had once more met, it will be perceived that Falkland had + adopted a new tone in expressing his passion to Emily. In the book of + guilt another page, branded in a deeper and more burning character, had + been turned. He lost no opportunity of summoning the earthlier emotions to + the support of his cause. He wooed her fancy with the golden language of + poetry, and strove to arouse the latent feelings of her sex by the soft + magic of his voice, and the passionate meaning it conveyed. But at times + there came over him a deep and keen sentiment of remorse; and even, as his + experienced and practised eye saw the moment of his triumph approach, he + felt that the success he was hazarding his own soul and hers to obtain, + might bring him a momentary transport, but not a permanent happiness. + There is always this difference in the love of women and of men; that in + the former, when once admitted, it engrosses all the sources of thought, + and excludes every object but itself; but in the latter, it is shared with + all the former reflections and feelings which the past yet bequeaths us, + and can neither (however powerful be its nature) constitute the whole of + our happiness or woe. The love of man in his maturer years is not indeed + so much a new emotion, as a revival and concentration of all his departed + affections to others; and the deep and intense nature of Falkland’s + passion for Emily was linked with the recollections of whatever he had + formerly cherished as tender or dear; it touched—it awoke a long + chain of young and enthusiastic feelings, which arose, perhaps, the + fresher from their slumber. Who, when he turns to recall his first and + fondest associations; when he throws off, one by one, the layers of earth + and stone which have grown and hardened over the records of the past: who + has not been surprised to discover how fresh and unimpaired those buried + treasures rise again upon his heart? They have been laid up in the + storehouse of Time; they have not perished; their very concealment has + preserved them! <i>We remove the lava, and the world of a gone day is + before us</i>! + </p> + <p> + The evening of the day on which Falkland had written the above letter was + rude and stormy. The various streams with which the country abounded were + swelled by late rains into an unwonted rapidity and breadth; and their + voices blended with the rushing sound of the winds, and the distant roll + of the thunder, which began at last sullenly to subside. The whole of the + scene around L——— was of that savage yet sublime + character, which suited well with the wrath of the aroused elements. Dark + woods, large tracts of unenclosed heath, abrupt variations of hill and + vale, and a dim and broken outline beyond of uninterrupted mountains, + formed the great features of that romantic country. + </p> + <p> + It was filled with the recollections of his youth, and of the wild delight + which he took then in the convulsions and varieties of nature, that + Falkland roamed abroad that evening. The dim shadows of years, crowded + with concealed events and corroding reflections, all gathered around his + mind, and the gloom and tempest of the night came over him like the + sympathy of a friend. + </p> + <p> + He passed a group of terrified peasants; they were cowering under a tree. + The oldest hid his head and shuddered; but the youngest looked steadily at + the lightning which played at fitful intervals over the mountain stream + that rushed rapidly by their feet. Falkland stood beside them unnoticed + and silent, with folded arms and a scornful lip. To him, nature, heaven, + earth had nothing for fear, and everything for reflection. In youth, + thought he (as he contrasted the fear felt at one period of life with the + indifference at another), there are so many objects to divide and distract + life, that we are scarcely sensible of the collected conviction that we + live. We lose the sense of what is by thinking rather of what is to be. + But the old, who have no future to expect, are more vividly alive to the + present, and they feel death more, because they have a more settled and + perfect impression of existence. + </p> + <p> + He left the group, and went on alone by the margin of the winding and + swelling stream. “It is (said a certain philosopher) in the conflicts of + Nature that man most feels his littleness.” Like all general maxims, this + is only partially true. The mind, which takes its first ideas from + perception, must take also its tone from the character of the objects + perceived. In mingling our spirits with the great elements, we partake of + their sublimity; we awaken thought from the secret depths where it had + lain concealed; our feelings are too excited to remain riveted to + ourselves; they blend with the mighty powers which are abroad; and as, in + the agitations of men, the individual arouses from himself to become a + part of the crowd, so in the convulsions of nature we are equally awakened + from the littleness of self, to be lost in the grandeur of the conflict by + which we are surrounded. + </p> + <p> + Falkland still continued to track the stream: it wound its way through + Mandeville’s grounds, and broadened at last into the lake which was so + consecrated to his recollections. He paused at that spot for some moments, + looking carelessly over the wide expanse of waters, now dark as night, and + now flashing into one mighty plain of fire beneath the coruscations of the + lightning. The clouds swept on in massy columns, dark and + aspiring-veiling, while they rolled up to, the great heavens, like the + shadows of human doubt. Oh! weak, weak was that dogma of the philosopher! + There is a pride in the storm which, according to his doctrine, would + debase us; a stirring music in its roar; even a savage joy in its + destruction: for we can exult in a defiance of its power, even while we + share in its triumphs, in a consciousness of a superior spirit within us + to that which is around. We can mock at the fury of the elements, for they + are less terrible than the passions of the heart; at the devastations of + the awful skies, for they are less desolating than the wrath of man; at + the convulsions of that surrounding nature which has no peril, no terror + to the soul, which is more indestructible and eternal than itself. + Falkland turned towards the house which contained his world; and as the + lightning revealed at intervals the white columns of the porch, and wrapt + in sheets of fire, like a spectral throng, the tall and waving trees by + which it was encircled, and then as suddenly ceased, and “the jaws of + darkness” devoured up the scene; he compared, with that bitter alchymy of + feeling which resolves all into one crucible of thought, those + alternations of sight and shadow to the history of his own guilty love—that + passion whose birth was the womb of Night; shrouded in darkness, + surrounded by storms, and receiving only from the angry heavens a + momentary brilliance, more terrible than its customary gloom. + </p> + <p> + As he entered the saloon, Lady Margaret advanced towards him. “My dear + Falkland,” said she, “how good it is in you to come in such a night. We + have been watching the skies till Emily grew terrified at the lightning; + formerly it did not alarm her.” And Lady Margaret turned, utterly + unconscious of the reproach she had conveyed, towards Emily. + </p> + <p> + Did not Falkland’s look turn also to that spot? Lady Emily was sitting by + the harp which Mrs. St. John appeared to be most seriously employed in + tuning: her countenance was bent downwards, and burning beneath the + blushes called forth by the gaze which she felt was upon her. + </p> + <p> + There was in Falkland’s character a peculiar dislike to all outward + display of less worldly emotions. He had none of the vanity most men have + in conquest; he would not have had any human being know that he was loved. + He was right! No altar should be so unseen and inviolable as the human + heart! He saw at once and relieved the embarrassment he had caused. With + the remarkable fascination and grace of manner so peculiarly his own, he + made his excuses to Lady Margaret of his disordered dress; he charmed his + uncle, Don Alphonso, with a quotation from Lope de Vega; he inquired + tenderly of Mrs. Dalton touching the health of her Italian greyhound; and + then, nor till then—he ventured to approach Emily, and speak to her + in that soft tone, which, like a fairy language, is understood only by the + person it addresses. Mrs. St. John rose and left the harp; Falkland took + her seat. He bent down to whisper Emily. His long hair touched her cheek! + it was still wet with the night dew. She looked up as she felt it, and met + his gaze: better had it been to have lost earth than to have drunk the + soul’s poison from that eye when it tempted to sin. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. St. John stood at some distance: Don Alphonso was speaking to her of + his nephew, and of his hopes of ultimately gaining him to the cause of his + mother’s country. “See you not,” said Mrs. St. John, and her colour went + and came, “that while he has such attractions to detain him, your hopes + are in vain?” “What mean you?” replied the Spaniard; but his eye had + followed the direction she had given it, and the question came only from + his lips. Mrs. St. John drew him to a still remoter corner of the room, + and it was in the conversation that then ensued between them, that they + agreed to unite for the purpose of separating Emily from her lover—“I + to save my friend,” said Mrs. St. John, “and you your kinsman.” Thus is it + with human virtue:—the fair show and the good deed without—the + one eternal motive of selfishness within. During the Spaniard’s visit at E———, + he had seen enough of Falkland to perceive the great consequence he might, + from his perfect knowledge of the Spanish language, from his singular + powers, and, above all, from his command of wealth, be to the cause of + that party he himself had adopted. His aim, therefore, was now no longer + confined to procuring Falkland’s goodwill and aim at home: he hoped to + secure his personal assistance in Spain: and he willingly coincided with + Mrs. St. John in detaching his nephew from a tie so likely to detain him + from that service to which Alphonso wished he should be pledged. + </p> + <p> + Mandeville had left E——— that morning: he suspected + nothing of Emily’s attachment. This, on his part, was Bulwer, less + confidence than indifference. He was one of those persons who have no + existence separate from their own: his senses all turned inwards; they + reproduced selfishness. Even the House of Commons was only an object of + interest, because he imagined it a part of him, not he of it. He said, + with the insect on the wheel, “Admire our rapidity.” But did the defects + of his character remove Lady Emily’s guilt? No! and this, at times, was + her bitterest conviction. Whoever turns to these pages for an apology for + sin will be mistaken. They contain the burning records of its sufferings, + its repentance, and its doom. If there be one crime in the history of + woman worse than another, it is adultery. It is, in fact, the only crime + to which, in ordinary life, she is exposed. Man has a thousand temptations + to sin—woman has but one; if she cannot resist it, she has no claim + upon our mercy. The heavens are just! Her own guilt is her punishment! + Should these pages, at this moment, meet the eyes of one who has become + the centre of a circle of disgrace—the contaminator of her house—the + dishonour of her children,—no matter what the excuse for her crime—no + matter what the exchange of her station—in the very arms of her + lover, in the very cincture of the new ties which she has chosen—I + call upon her to answer me if the fondest moments of rapture are free from + humiliation, though they have forgotten remorse; and if the passion itself + of her lover has not become no less the penalty than the recompense of her + guilt? But at that hour of which I now write, there was neither in Emily’s + heart, nor in that of her seducer, any recollection of their sin. Those + hearts were too full for thought—they had forgotten everything but + each other. Their love was their creation: beyond all was night—chaos—nothing! + </p> + <p> + Lady Margaret approached them. “You will sing to us, Emily, to-night? it + is so long since we have heard you!” It was in vain that Emily tried—her + voice failed. She looked at Falkland, and could scarcely restrain her + tears. She had not yet learned the latest art which sin teaches us-its + concealment! “I will supply Lady Emily’s place,” said Falkland. His voice + was calm, and his brow serene the world had left nothing for him to learn. + “Will you play the air,” he said to Mrs. St. John, “that you gave us some + nights ago? I will furnish the words.” Mrs. St. John’s hand trembled as + she obeyed. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SONG. + + 1. + Ah, let us love while yet we may, + Our summer is decaying; + And woe to hearts which, in their gray + December, go a-maying. + + 2. + Ah, let us love, while of the fire + Time hath not yet bereft us + With years our warmer thoughts expire, + Till only ice is left us! + + 3. + We’ll fly the bleak world’s bitter air + A brighter home shall win us; + And if our hearts grow weary there, + We’ll find a world within us. + + 4. + They preach that passion fades each hour, + That nought will pall like pleasure; + My bee, if Love’s so frail a flower, + Oh, haste to hive its treasure. + + 5. + Wait not the hour, when all the mind + Shall to the crowd be given; + For links, which to the million bind, + Shall from the one be riven. + + 6. + But let us love while yet we may + Our summer is decaying; + And woe to hearts which, in their gray + December, go a-maying. +</pre> + <p> + The next day Emily rose ill and feverish. In the absence of Falkland, her + mind always awoke to the full sense of the guilt she had incurred. She had + been brought up in the strictest, even the most fastidious, principles; + and her nature was so pure, that merely to err appeared like a change in + existence—like an entrance into some new and unknown world, from + which she shrank back, in terror, to herself. + </p> + <p> + Judge, then, if she easily habituated her mind to its present degradation. + She sat, that morning, pale and listless; her book lay unopened before + her; her eyes were fixed upon the ground, heavy with suppressed tears. + Mrs. St. John entered: no one else was in the room. She sat by her, and + took her hand. Her countenance was scarcely less colourless than Emily’s, + but its expression was more calm and composed. “It is not too late, + Emily,” she said; “you have done much that you should repent—nothing + to render repentance unavailing. Forgive me, if I speak to you on this + subject. It is time—in a few days your fate will be decided. I have + looked on, though hitherto I have been silent: I have witnessed that eye + when it dwelt upon you; I have heard that voice when it spoke to your + heart. None ever resisted their influence long: do you imagine that you + are the first who have found the power? Pardon me, pardon me, I beseech + you, my dearest friend, if I pain you. I have known you from your + childhood, and I only wish to preserve you spotless to your old age.” + </p> + <p> + Emily wept, without replying. Mrs. St. John continued to argue and + expostulate. What is so wavering as passion? When, at last, Mrs. St. John + ceased, and Emily shed upon her bosom the hot tears of her anguish and + repentance, she imagined that her resolution was taken, and that she could + almost have vowed an eternal separation from her lover; Falkland came that + evening, and she loved him more madly than before. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. St. John was not in the saloon when Falkland entered. Lady Margaret + was reading the well-known story of Lady T——- and the Duchess + of —-, in which an agreement had been made and kept, that the one + who died first should return once more to the survivor. As Lady Margaret + spoke laughingly of the anecdote, Emily, who was watching Falkland’s + countenance, was struck with the dark and sudden shade which fell over it. + He moved in silence towards the window where Emily was sitting. “Do you + believe,” she said, with a faint smile, “in the possibility of such an + event?” “I believe—though I reject—nothing!” replied Falkland, + “but I would give worlds for such a proof that death does not destroy.” + “Surely,” said Emily, “you do not deny that evidence of our immortality + which we gather from the Scriptures?—are they not all that a voice + from the dead could be?” Falkland was silent for a few moments: he did not + seem to hear the question; his eyes dwelt upon vacancy; and when he at + last spoke, it was rather in commune with himself than in answer to her. + “I have watched,” said he, in a low internal tone, “over the tomb: I have + called, in the agony of my heart, unto her—who slept beneath; I + would have dissolved my very soul into a spell, could it have summoned + before me for one, one moment the being who had once been the spirit of my + life! I have been, as it were, entranced with the intensity of my own + adjuration; I have gazed upon the empty air, and worked upon my mind to + fill it with imaginings; I have called aloud unto the winds and tasked my + soul to waken their silence to reply. All was a waste—a stillness—an + infinity—without a wanderer or a voice! The dead answered me not, + when I invoked them; and in the vigils of the still night I looked from + the rank grass and the mouldering stones to the Eternal Heavens, as man + looks from decay to immortality! Oh! that awful magnificence of repose—that + living sleep—that breathing yet unrevealing divinity, spread over + those still worlds! To them also I poured my thoughts—but in a + whisper. I did not dare to breathe aloud the unhallowed anguish of my mind + to the majesty of the unsympathising stars! In the vast order of creation—in + the midst of the stupendous system of universal life, my doubt and inquiry + were murmured forth—a voice crying in the wilderness and returning + without an echo unanswered unto myself!” + </p> + <p> + The deep light of the summer moon shone over Falkland’s countenance, which + Emily gazed on, as she listened, almost tremblingly, to his words. His + brow was knit and hueless, and the large drops gathered slowly over it, as + if wrung from the strained yet impotent tension of the thoughts within. + Emily drew nearer to him—she laid her hand upon his own. “Listen to + me,” she said: “if a herald from the grave could satisfy your doubt, I + would gladly die that I might return to you!” “Beware,” said Falkland, + with an agitated but solemn voice; “the words, now so lightly spoken, may + be registered on high.” “Be it so!” replied Emily firmly, and she felt + what she said. Her love penetrated beyond the tomb, and she would have + forfeited all here for their union hereafter. + </p> + <p> + “In my earliest youth,” said Falkland, more calmly than he had yet spoken, + “I found in the present and the past of this world enough to direct my + attention to the futurity of another: if I did not credit all with the + enthusiast, I had no sympathies with the scorner: I sat myself down to + examine and reflect: I pored alike over the pages of the philosopher and + the theologian; I was neither baffled by the subtleties nor deterred by + the contradictions of either. As men first ascertained the geography of + the earth by observing the signs of the heavens, I did homage to the + Unknown God, and sought from that worship to inquire into the reasonings + of mankind. I did not confine myself to books—all things breathing + or inanimate constituted my study. From death itself I endeavoured to + extract its secret; and whole nights I have sat in the crowded asylums of + the dying, watching the last spark flutter and decay. Men die away as in + sleep, without effort, or struggle, or emotion. I have looked on their + countenances a moment before death, and the serenity of repose was upon + them, waxing only more deep as it approached that slumber which, is never + broken: the breath grew gentler and gentler, till the lips it came from + fell from each other, and all was hushed; the light had departed from the + cloud, but the cloud itself, gray, cold, altered as it seemed, was as + before. They died and made no sign. They had left the labyrinth without + bequeathing us its clew. It is in vain that I have sent my spirit into the + land of shadows—it has borne back no witnesses of its inquiry. As + Newton said of himself, ‘I picked up a few shells by the seashore, but the + great ocean of truth lay undiscovered before me.’” + </p> + <p> + There was a long pause. Lady Margaret had sat down to chess with the + Spaniard. No look was upon the lovers: their eyes met, and with that one + glance the whole current of their thoughts was changed. The blood, which a + moment before had left Falkland’s cheek so colourless, rushed back to it + again. The love which had so penetrated and pervaded his whole system, and + which abstruser and colder reflection had just calmed, thrilled through + his frame with redoubled power. As if by an involuntary and mutual + impulse, their lips met: he threw his arm round her; he strained her to + his bosom. “Dark as my thoughts are,” he whispered, “evil as has been my + life, will you not yet soothe the one, and guide the other? My Emily! my + love! the Heaven to the tumultuous ocean of my heart—will you not be + mine—mine only—wholly—and for ever?” She did not answer—she + did not turn from his embrace. Her cheek flushed as his breath stole over + it, and her bosom heaved beneath the arm which encircled that empire so + devoted to him. “Speak one word, only one word,” he continued to whisper: + “will you not be mine? Are you not mine at heart even at this moment?” Her + head sank upon his bosom. Those deep and eloquent eyes looked up to his + through their dark lashes. “I will be yours,” she murmured: “I am at your + mercy; I have no longer any existence but in you. My only fear is, that I + shall cease to be worthy of your love!” + </p> + <p> + Falkland pressed his lips once more to her own: it was his only answer, + and the last seal to their compact. As they stood before the open lattice, + the still and unconscious moon looked down upon that record of guilt. + There was not a cloud in the heaven to dim her purity: the very winds of + night had hushed themselves to do her homage: all was silent but their + hearts. They stood beneath the calm and holy skies, a guilty and devoted + pair—a fearful contrast of the sin and turbulence of this unquiet + earth to the passionless serenity of the eternal heaven. The same stars, + that for thousands of unfathomed years had looked upon the changes of this + nether world, gleamed pale, and pure, and steadfast upon their burning but + transitory vow. In a few years what of the condemnation or the recorders + of that vow would remain? From other lips, on that spot, other oaths might + be plighted; new pledges of unchangeable fidelity exchanged: and, year + after year, in each succession of scene and time, the same stars will look + from the mystery of their untracked and impenetrable home, to mock, as + now, with their immutability, the variations and shadows of mankind! + </p> + <p> + FROM ERASMUS FALKLAND, ESQ., TO LADY EMILY MANDEVILLE. + </p> + <p> + At length, then, you are to be mine—you have consented to fly with + me. In three days we shall leave this country, and have no home—no + world but in each other. We will go, my Emily, to those golden lands where + Nature, the only companion we will suffer, woos us, like a mother, to find + our asylum in her breast; where the breezes are languid beneath the + passion of the voluptuous skies; and where the purple light that invests + all things with its glory is only less tender and consecrating than the + spirit which we bring. Is there not, my Emily, in the external nature + which reigns over creation, and that human nature centred in ourselves, + some secret and undefinable intelligence and attraction? Are not the + impressions of the former as spells over the passions of the later? and in + gazing upon the loveliness around us, do we not gather, as it were, and + store within our hearts, an increase of the yearning and desire of love? + What can we demand from earth but its solitudes—what from heaven but + its unpolluted air? All that others would ask from either, we can find in + ourselves. Wealth—honour—happiness—every object of + ambition or desire, exist not for us without the circle of our arms! But + the bower that surrounds us shall not be unworthy of your beauty or our + love. Amidst the myrtle and the vine, and the valleys where the summer + sleeps and “the rivers that murmur the memories and the legends of old + amidst the hills and the glossy glades,” and the silver fountains, still + as beautiful as if the Nymph and Spirit yet held and decorated an earthly + home; amidst these we will make the couch of our bridals, and the moon of + Italian skies shall keep watch on our repose. + </p> + <p> + Emily!—Emily!—how I love to repeat and to linger over that + beautiful name! If to see, to address, and, more than all, to touch you, + has been a rapture, what word can I find in the vocabulary of happiness to + express the realisation of that hope which now burns within me—to + mingle our youth together into one stream, wheresoever it flows; to + respire the same breath; to be almost blent in the same existence; to + grow, as it were, on one stem, and knit into a single life the feelings, + the wishes, the being of both! + </p> + <p> + To-night I shall see you again: let one day more intervene, and—I + cannot conclude the sentence. As I have written, the tumultuous happiness + of hope has come over me to confuse and overwhelm everything else. At this + moment my pulse riots with fever; the room swims before my eyes; + everything is indistinct and jarring—a chaos of emotions. Oh! that + happiness should ever have such excess! + </p> + <p> + When Emily received and laid this letter to her heart, she felt nothing in + common with the spirit which it breathed. With that quick transition and + inconstancy of feeling common in women, and which is as frequently their + safety as their peril, her mind had already repented of the weakness of + the last evening, and relapsed into the irresolution and bitterness of her + former remorse. Never had there been in the human breast a stronger + contest between conscience and passion;—if, indeed, the extreme + softness (notwithstanding its power) of Emily’s attachment could be called + passion it was rather a love that had refined by the increase of its own + strength; it contained nothing but the primary guilt of conceiving it, + which that order of angels, whose nature is love, would have sought to + purify away. To see him, to live with him, to count the variations of his + countenance and voice, to touch his hand at moments when waking, and watch + over his slumbers when he slept—this was the essence of her wishes, + and constituted the limit to her desires. Against the temptations of the + present was opposed the whole history of the past. Her mind wandered from + each to each, wavering and wretched, as the impulse of the moment impelled + it. Hers was not, indeed, a strong character; her education and habits had + weakened, while they rendered more feminine and delicate, a nature + originally too soft. Every recollection of former purity called to her + with the loud voice of duty, as a warning from the great guilt she was + about to incur; and whenever she thought of her child—that centre of + fond and sinless sensations, where once she had so wholly garnered up her + heart—her feelings melted at once from the object which had so + wildly held them riveted as by a spell, to dissolve and lose themselves in + the great and sacred fountain of a mother’s love. + </p> + <p> + When Falkland came that evening, she was sitting at a corner of the + saloon, apparently occupied in reading, but her eyes were fixed upon her + boy, whom Mrs. St. John was endeavouring at the opposite end of the room + to amuse. The child, who was fond of Falkland, came up to him as he + entered: Falkland stooped to kiss him; and Mrs. St. John said, in a low + voice which just reached his ear, “Judas, too, kissed before he betrayed.” + Falkland’s colour changed: he felt the sting the words were intended to + convey. On that child, now so innocently caressing him, he was indeed + about to inflict a disgrace and injury the most sensible and irremediable + in his power. But who ever indulges reflection in passion? He banished the + remorse from his mind as instantaneously as it arose; and, seating himself + by Emily, endeavoured to inspire her with a portion of the joy and hope + which animated himself. Mrs. St. John watched them with a jealous and + anxious eye: she had already seen how useless had been her former attempt + to arm Emily’s conscience effectually against her lover; but she resolved + at least to renew the impression she had then made. The danger was + imminent, and any remedy must be prompt; and it was something to protract, + even if she could not finally break off, an union against which were + arrayed all the angry feelings of jealousy, as well as the better + affections of the friend. Emily’s eye was already brightening beneath the + words that Falkland whispered in her ear, when Mrs. St. John approached + her. She placed herself on a chair beside them, and unmindful of + Falkland’s bent and angry brow, attempted to create a general and + commonplace conversation. Lady Margaret had invited two or three people in + the neighbourhood; and when these came in, music and cards were resorted + to immediately, with that English politesse, which takes the earliest + opportunity to show that the conversation of our friends is the last thing + for which we have invited them. But Mrs. St. John never left the lovers; + and at last, when Falkland, in despair at her obstinacy, arose to join the + card-table, she said, “Pray, Mr. Falkland, were you not intimate at one + time with * * * *, who eloped with Lady * * *?” “I knew him but slightly,” + said Falkland; and then added, with a sneer, “the only times I ever met + him were at your house.” Mrs. St. John, without noticing the sarcasm, + continued:—“What an unfortunate affair that proved! They were very + much attached to one another in early life—the only excuse, perhaps + for a woman’s breaking her subsequent vows. They eloped. The remainder of + their history is briefly told: it is that of all who forfeit everything + for passion, and forget that of everything it is the briefest in duration. + He who had sacrificed his honour for her, sacrificed her also as lightly + for another. She could not bear his infidelity; and how could she reproach + him? In the very act of yielding to, she had become unworthy of, his love. + She did not reproach him—she died of a broken heart! I saw her just + before her death, for I was distantly related to her, and I could not + forsake her utterly even in her sin. She then spoke to me only of the + child by her former marriage, whom she had left in the years when it most + needed her care: she questioned me of its health—its education—its + very growth: the minutest thing was not beneath her inquiry. His tidings + were all that brought back to her mind ‘the redolence of joy and spring.’ + I brought that child to her one day: he at least had never forgotten her. + How bitterly both wept when they were separated! and she—poor, poor + Ellen—an hour after their separation was no more!” There was a pause + for a few minutes. Emily was deeply affected. Mrs. St. John had + anticipated the effect she had produced, and concerted the method to + increase it. “It is singular,” she resumed, “that, the evening before her + elopement, some verses were sent to her anonymously—I do not think, + Emily, that you have ever seen them. Shall I sing them to you now?” and, + without waiting for a reply, she placed herself at the piano; and with a + low but sweet voice, greatly aided in effect by the extreme feeling of her + manner, she sang the following verses: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1. + And wilt thou leave that happy home, + Where once it was so sweet to live? + Ah! think, before thou seek’st to roam, + What safer shelter Guilt can give! + + 2. + The Bird may rove, and still regain + With spotless wings, her wonted rest, + But home, once lost, is ne’er again + Restored to Woman’s erring breast! + + 3. + If wandering o’er a world of flowers, + The heart at times would ask repose; + But thou wouldst lose the only bowers + Of rest amid a world of woes. + + 4. + Recall thy youth’s unsullied vow + The past which on thee smile so fair; + Then turn from thence to picture now + The frowns thy future fate must wear! + + 5. + No hour, no hope, can bring relief + To her who hides a blighted name; + For hearts unbow’d by stormiest <i>grief</i> + Will break beneath one breeze of <i>shame</i>! + + 6. + And when thy child’s deserted years + Amid life’s early woes are thrown, + Shall menial bosoms soothe the tears + That should be shed on thine alone? + + 7. + When on thy name his lips shall call, + (That tender name, the earliest taught!) + Thou wouldst not Shame and Sin were all + The memories link’d around its thought! + + 8. + If Sickness haunt his infant bed, + Ah! what could then replace thy care? + Could hireling steps as gently tread + As if a Mother’s soul was there? + + 9. + Enough! ‘tis not too late to shun + The bitter draught thyself wouldst fill; + The latest link is not undone + Thy bark is in the haven still. + + 10. + If doom’d to grief through life thou art, + ‘Tis thine at least unstain’d to die! + Oh! better break at once thy heart + Than rend it from its holiest tie! +</pre> + <p> + It were vain to attempt describing Emily’s feelings when the song ceased. + The scene floated before her eyes indistinct and dark. The violence of the + emotions she attempted to conceal pressed upon her almost to choking. She + rose, looked at Falkland with one look of such anguish and despair that it + froze his very heart, and left the room without uttering a word. A moment + more—they heard a noise—a fall. They rushed out—Emily + was stretched on the ground, apparently lifeless. She had broken a + blood-vessel. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK IV. + </h2> + <h3> + FROM MRS. ST. JOHN TO ERASMUS FALKLAND, ESQ. + </h3> + <p> + At last I can give a more favourable answer to your letters. Emily is now + quite out of danger. Since the day you forced yourself, with such a + disinterested regard for her health and reputation, into her room, she + grew (no thanks to your forbearance) gradually better. I trust that she + will be able to see you in a few days. I hope this the more, because she + now feels and decides that it will be for the last time. You have, it is + true, injured her happiness for life her virtue, thank Heaven, is yet + spared; and though you have made her wretched, you will never, I trust, + succeed in making her despised. + </p> + <p> + You ask me, with some menacing and more complaint, why I am so bitter + against you. I will tell you. I not only know Emily, and feel confident, + from that knowledge, that nothing can recompense her for the reproaches of + conscience, but I know you, and am convinced that you are the last man to + render her happy. I set aside, for the moment, all rules of religion and + morality in general, and speak to you (to use the cant and abused phrase) + “without prejudice” as to the particular instance. Emily’s nature is soft + and susceptible, yours fickle and wayward in the extreme. The smallest + change or caprice in you, which would not be noticed by a mind less + delicate, would wound her to the heart. You know that the very softness of + her character arises from its want of strength. Consider, for a moment, if + she could bear the humiliation and disgrace which visit so heavily the + offences of an English wife? She has been brought up in the strictest + notions of morality; and, in a mind, not naturally strong, nothing can + efface the first impressions of education. She is not—indeed she is + not—fit for a life of sorrow or degradation. In another character, + another line of conduct might be desirable; but with regard to her, pause, + Falkland, I beseech you, before you attempt again to destroy her for ever. + I have said all. Farewell. + </p> + <p> + Your, and above all, Emily’s friend. + </p> + <p> + FROM ERASMUS FALKLAND, ESQ., TO LADY EMILY MANDEVILLE. + </p> + <p> + You will see me, Emily, now that you are recovered sufficiently to do so + without danger. I do not ask this as a favour. If my love has deserved, + anything from yours, if past recollections give me any claim over you, if + my nature has not forfeited the spell which it formerly possessed upon + your own, I demand it as a right. + </p> + <p> + The bearer waits for your answer. + </p> + <p> + FROM LADY EMILY MANDEVILLE TO ERASMUS FALKLAND, ESQ. + </p> + <p> + See you, Falkland! Can you doubt it? Can you think for a moment that your + commands can ever cease to become a law to me? Come here whenever you + please. If, during my illness, they have prevented it, it was without my + knowledge. I await you; but I own that this interview will be the last, if + I can claim anything from your mercy. + </p> + <p> + FROM ERASMUS FALKLAND, ESQ., TO LADY EMILY MANDEVILLE. + </p> + <p> + I have seen you, Emily, and for the last time! My eyes are dry—my + hand does not tremble. I live, move, breathe, as before—and yet I + have seen you for the last time! You told me—even while you leaned + on my bosom, even while your lip pressed mine—you told me (and I saw + your sincerity) to spare you, and to see you no more. You told me you had + no longer any will, any fate of your own; that you would, if I still + continued to desire it, leave friends, home, honour, for me; but you did + not disguise from me that you would, in so doing, leave happiness also. + You did not conceal from me that I was not sufficient to constitute all + your world: you threw yourself, as you had done once before, upon what you + called my generosity: you did not deceive yourself then; you have not + deceived yourself now. In two weeks I shall leave England, probably for + ever. I have another country still more dear to me, from its afflictions + and humiliation. Public ties differ but little in their nature from + private; and this confession of preference of what is debased to what is + exalted, will be an answer to Mrs. St. John’s assertion, that we cannot + love in disgrace as we can in honour. Enough of this. In the choice, my + poor Emily, that you have made, I cannot reproach you. You have done + wisely, rightly, virtuously. You said that this separation must rest + rather with me than with yourself; that you would be mine the moment I + demanded it. I will not now or ever accept this promise. No one, much less + one whom I love so intensely, so truly as I do you, shall ever receive + disgrace at my hands, unless she can feel that that disgrace would be + dearer to her than glory elsewhere; that the simple fate of being mine was + not so much a recompense as a reward; and that, in spite of worldly + depreciation and shame, it would constitute and concentrate all her + visions of happiness and pride. I am now going to bid you farewell. May + you—I say this disinterestedly, and from my very heart—may you + soon forget how much you have loved and yet love me! For this purpose, you + cannot have a better companion than Mrs. St. John. Her opinion of me is + loudly expressed, and probably true; at all events, you will do wisely to + believe it. You will hear me attacked and reproached by many. I do not + deny the charges; you know best what I have deserved from you. God bless + you, Emily. Wherever I go, I shall never cease to love you as I do now. + May you be happy in your child and in your conscience! Once more, God + bless you, and farewell! + </p> + <p> + FROM LADY EMILY MANDEVILLE TO ERASMUS FALKLAND, ESQ. + </p> + <p> + O Falkland! You have conquered! I am yours—yours only—Wholly + and forever. When your letter came, my hand trembled so, that I could not + open it for several minutes; and when I did, I felt as if the very earth + had passed from my feet. You were going from your country; you were about + to be lost to me for ever. I could restrain myself no longer; all my + virtue, my pride, forsook me at once. Yes, yes, you are indeed my world. I + will fly with you anywhere—everywhere. Nothing can be dreadful, but + not seeing you; I would be a servant—a slave—a dog, as long as + I could be with you; hear one tone of your voice, catch one glance of your + eye. I scarcely see the paper before me, my thoughts are so straggling and + confused. Write to me one word, Falkland; one word, and I will lay it to + my heart, and be happy. + </p> + <p> + FROM ERASMUS FALKLAND TO LADY EMILY MANDEVILLE. ———— + Hotel, London. + </p> + <p> + I hasten to you, Emily—my own and only love. Your letter has + restored me to life. To-morrow we shall meet. + </p> + <p> + It was with mingled feelings, alloyed and embittered, in spite of the + burning hope which predominated over all, that Falkland returned to E———. + He knew that he was near the completion of his most ardent wishes; that he + was within the grasp of a prize which included all the thousand objects of + ambition, into which, among other men, the desires are divided; the only + dreams he had ventured to form for years were about to kindle into life. + He had every reason to be happy;—such is the inconsistency of human + nature, that he was almost wretched. The morbid melancholy, habitual to + him, threw its colourings over every emotion and idea. He knew the + character of the woman whose affections he had seduced; and he trembled to + think of the doom to which he was about to condemn her. With this, there + came over his mind a long train of dark and remorseful recollections. + Emily was not the only one whose destruction he had prepared. All who had + loved him, he had repaid with ruin; and one—the first—the + fairest—and the most loved, with death. + </p> + <p> + That last remembrance, more bitterly than all, possessed him. It will be + recollected that Falkland, in the letters which begin this work, speaking + of the ties he had formed after the loss of his first love, says, that it + was the senses, not the affections, that were engaged. Never, indeed, + since her death, till he met Emily, had his heart been unfaithful to her + memory. Alas! none but those who have cherished in their souls an image of + the death; who have watched over it for long and bitter years in secrecy + and gloom; who have felt that it was to them as a holy and fairy spot + which no eye but theirs could profane; who have filled all things with + recollections as with a spell, and made the universe one wide mausoleum of + the lost;—none but those can understand the mysteries of that regret + which is shed over every after passion, though it be more burning and + intense; that sense of sacrilege with which we fill up the haunted + recesses of the spirit with a new and a living idol and perpetrate the + last act of infidelity to that buried love, which the heavens that now + receive her, the earth where we beheld her, tell us, with, the unnumbered + voices of Nature, to worship with the incense of our faith. + </p> + <p> + His carriage stopped at the lodge. The woman who opened the gates gave him + the following note: + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Mandeville is returned; I almost fear that he suspects our + attachment. Julia says, that if you come again to E———, + she will inform him. I dare not, dearest Falkland, see you here. What is + to be done? I am very ill and feverish: my brain burns so, that I can + think, feel, remember nothing, but the one thought, feeling, and + remembrance—that through shame, and despite of guilt, in life, and + till death, I am yours. E. M.” + </p> + <p> + As Falkland read this note, his extreme and engrossing love for Emily + doubled with each word: an instant before, and the certainty of seeing her + had suffered his mind to be divided into a thousand objects; now, doubt + united them once more into one. + </p> + <p> + He altered his route to L———, and despatched from thence + a short note to Emily, imploring her to meet him that evening by the lake, + in order to arrange their ultimate flight. Her answer was brief, and + blotted with her tears; but it was assent. + </p> + <p> + During the whole of that day, at least from the moment she received + Falkland’s letter, Emily was scarcely sensible of a single idea: she sat + still and motionless, gazing on vacancy, and seeing nothing within her + mind, or in the objects which surrounded her, but one dreary blank. Sense, + thought, feeling, even remorse, were congealed and frozen; and the tides + of emotion were still, bid they were ice! + </p> + <p> + As Falkland’s servant had waited without to deliver the note to Emily, + Mrs. St. John had observed him: her alarm and surprise only served to + quicken her presence of mind. She intercepted Emily’s answer under + pretence of giving it herself to Falkland’s servant. She read it, and her + resolution was formed. After carefully resealing and delivering it to the + servant, she went at once to Mr. Mandeville, and revealed Lady Emily’s + attachment to Falkland. In this act of treachery, she was solely + instigated by her passions; and when Mandeville, roused from his wonted + apathy to a paroxysm of indignation, thanked her again and again for the + generosity of friendship which he imagined was all that actuated her + communication, he dreamed not of the fierce and ungovernable jealousy + which envied the very disgrace which her confession was intended to award. + Well said the French enthusiast, “that the heart, the most serene to + appearance, resembles that calm and glassy fountain which cherishes the + monster of the Nile in the bosom of its waters.” Whatever reward Mrs. St. + John proposed to herself in this action, verily she has had the recompense + that was her due. Those consequences of her treachery, which I hasten to + relate, have ceased to others—to her they remain. Amidst the + pleasures of dissipation, one reflection has rankled at her mind; one dark + cloud has rested between the sunshine and her soul; like the murderer in + Shakespeare, the revel where she fled for forgetfulness has teemed to her + with the spectres of remembrance. O thou untameable conscience! thou that + never flatterest—thou that watchest over the human heart never to + slumber or to sleep—it is thou that takest from us the present, + barrest to us the future, and knittest the eternal chain that binds us to + the rock and the vulture of the past! + </p> + <p> + The evening came on still and dark; a breathless and heavy apprehension + seemed gathered over the air: the full large clouds lay without motion in + the dull sky, from between which, at long and scattered intervals, the wan + stars looked out; a double shadow seemed to invest the grouped and gloomy + trees that stood unwaving in the melancholy horizon. The waters of the + lake lay heavy and unagitated as the sleep of death; and the broken + reflections of the abrupt and winding banks rested upon their bosoms, like + the dreamlike remembrance of a former existence. + </p> + <p> + The hour of the appointment was arrived: Falkland stood by the spot, + gazing upon the lake before him; his cheek was flushed, his hand was + parched and dry with the consuming fire within him. His pulse beat thick + and rapidly; the demon of evil passions was upon his soul. He stood so + lost in his own reflections, that he did not for some moments perceive the + fond and tearful eye which was fixed upon him on that brow and lip, + thought seemed always so beautiful, so divine, that to disturb its repose + was like a profanation of something holy; and though Emily came towards + him with a light and hurried step, she paused involuntarily to gaze upon + that noble countenance which realised her earliest visions of the beauty + and majesty of love. He turned slowly, and perceived her; he came to her + with his own peculiar smile; he drew her to his bosom in silence; he + pressed his lips to her forehead: she leaned upon his bosom, and forgot + all but him. Oh! if there be one feeling which makes Love, even guilty + Love, a god, it is the knowledge that in the midst of this breathing world + he reigns aloof and alone; and that those who are occupied with his + worship know nothing of the pettiness, the strife, the bustle which, + pollute and agitate the ordinary inhabitants of earth! What was now to + them, as they stood alone in the deep stillness of Nature, everything that + had engrossed them before they had met and loved? Even in her, the + recollections of guilt and grief subsided: she was only sensible of one + thought—the presence of the being who stood beside her, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + That ocean to the rivers of her soul. +</pre> + <p> + They sat down beneath an oak: Falkland stooped to kiss the cold and pale + cheek that still rested upon his breast. His kisses were like lava: the + turbulent and stormy elements of sin and desire were aroused even to + madness within him. He clasped her still nearer to his bosom: her lips + answered to his own: they caught perhaps something of the spirit which + they received: her eyes were half-closed; the bosom heaved wildly that was + pressed to his beating and burning heart. The skies grew darker and darker + as the night stole over them: one low roll of thunder broke upon the + curtained and heavy air—they did not hear it; and yet it was the + knell of peace—virtue—hope—lost, lost for ever to their + souls! + </p> + <p> + They separated as they had never done before. In Emily’s bosom there was a + dreary void—a vast blank-over which there went a low deep voice like + a Spirit’s—a sound indistinct and strange, that spoke a language she + knew not; but felt that it told of woe-guilt-doom. Her senses were + stunned: the vitality of her feelings was numbed and torpid: the first + herald of despair is insensibility. “Tomorrow then,” said Falkland—and + his voice for the first time seemed strange and harsh to her—“we + will fly hence for ever: meet me at daybreak—the carriage shall be + in attendance—we cannot now unite too soon—would that at this + very moment we were prepared!”—“To-morrow!” repeated Emily, “at + daybreak!” and as she clung to him, he felt her shudder: + “to-morrow-ay-to-morrow!—” one kiss—one embrace—one word—farewell—and + they parted. + </p> + <p> + Falkland returned to L———, a gloomy foreboding rested + upon his mind: that dim and indescribable fear, which no earthly or human + cause can explain—that shrinking within self—that vague terror + of the future—that grappling, as it were, with some unknown shade—that + wandering of the spirit—whither?—that cold, cold creeping + dread—of what? As he entered the house, he met his confidential + servant. He gave him orders respecting the flight of the morrow, and then + retired into the chamber where he slept. It was an antique and large room: + the wainscot was of oak; and one broad and high window looked over the + expanse of country which stretched beneath. He sat himself by the casement + in silence—he opened it: the dull air came over his forehead, not + with a sense of freshness, but, like the parching atmosphere of the east, + charged with a weight and fever that sank heavy into his soul. He turned:—he + threw himself upon the bed, and placed his hands over his face. His + thoughts were scattered into a thousand indistinct forms, but over all, + there was one rapturous remembrance; and that was, that the morrow was to + unite him for ever to her whose possession had only rendered her more + dear. Meanwhile, the hours rolled on; and as he lay thus silent and still, + the clock of the distant church struck with a distinct and solemn sound + upon his ear. It was the half-hour after midnight. At that moment an icy + thrill ran, slow and curdling, through his veins. His heart, as if with a + presentiment of what was to follow, beat violently, and then stopped; life + itself seemed ebbing away; cold drops stood upon his forehead; his eyelids + trembled, and the balls reeled and glazed, like those of a dying man; a + deadly fear gathered over him, so that his flesh quivered, and every hair + in his head seemed instinct with a separate life, the very marrow of his + bones crept, and his blood waxed thick and thick, as if stagnating into an + ebbless and frozen substance. He started in a wild and unutterable terror. + There stood, at the far end of the room, a dim and thin shape like + moonlight, without outline or form; still, and indistinct, and shadowy. He + gazed on, speechless and motionless; his faculties and senses seemed + locked in an unnatural trance. By degrees the shape became clearer and + clearer to his fixed and dilating eye. He saw, as through a floating and + mist-like veil, the features of Emily; but how changed!—sunken and + hueless, and set in death. The dropping lip, from which there seemed to + trickle a deep red stain like blood; the lead-like and lifeless eye; the + calm, awful, mysterious repose which broods over the aspect of the dead;—all + grew, as it were, from the hazy cloud that encircled them for one, one + brief, agonising moment, and then as suddenly faded away. The spell passed + from his senses. He sprang from the bed with a loud cry. All was quiet. + There was not a trace of what he had witnessed. The feeble light of the + skies rested upon the spot where the apparition had stood; upon that spot + he stood also. He stamped upon the floor—it was firm beneath his + footing. He passed his hands over his body—he was awake—he was + unchanged: earth, air, heaven, were around him as before. What had thus + gone over his soul to awe and overcome it to such weakness? To these + questions his reason could return no answer. Bold by nature, and sceptical + by philosophy, his mind gradually recovered its original tone: he did not + give way to conjecture; he endeavoured to discard it; he sought by natural + causes to account for the apparition he had seen or imagined; and, as he + felt the blood again circulating in its accustomed courses, and the night + air coming chill over his feverish frame, he smiled with a stern and + scornful bitterness at the terror which had so shaken, and the fancy which + had so deluded, his mind. + </p> + <p> + Are there not “more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in our + philosophy”? A Spirit may hover in the air that we breathe: the depth of + our most secret solitudes may be peopled by the invisible; our uprisings + and our downsittings may be marked by a witness from the grave. In our + walks the dead may be behind us; in our banquets they may sit at the + board; and the chill breath of the night wind that stirs the curtains of + our bed may bear a message our senses receive not, from lips that once + have pressed kisses on our own! Why is it that at moments there creeps + over us an awe, a terror, overpowering, but undefined? Why is it that we + shudder without a cause, and feel the warm life-blood stand still in its + courses? Are the dead too near? Do unearthly wings touch us as they flit + around? Has our soul any intercourse which the body shares not, though it + feels, with the supernatural world—mysterious revealings—unimaginable + communion—a language of dread and power, shaking to its centre the + fleshly barrier that divides the spirit from its race? + </p> + <p> + How fearful is the very life which we hold! We have our being beneath a + cloud, and are a marvel even to ourselves. There is not a single thought + which has its affixed limits. Like circles in the water, our researches + weaken as they extend, and vanish at last into the immeasurable and + unfathomable space of the vast unknown. We are like children in the dark; + we tremble in a shadowy and terrible void, peopled with our fancies! Life + is our real night, and the first gleam of the morning, which brings us + certainty, is death. + </p> + <p> + Falkland sat the remainder of that night by the window watching the clouds + become gray as the dawn rose, and its earliest breeze awoke. He heard the + trampling of the horses beneath: he drew his cloak round him, and + descended. It was on a turning of the road beyond the lodge that he + directed the carriage to wait, and he then proceeded to the place + appointed. Emily was not yet there. He walked to and fro with an agitated + and hurried step. The impression of the night had in a great measure been + effaced from his mind, and he gave himself up without reserve to the warm + and sanguine hopes which he had so much reason to conceive. He thought + too, at moments, of those bright climates beneath which he designed their + asylum, where the very air is music, and the light is like the colourings + of love; and he associated the sighs of a mutual rapture with the + fragrance of myrtles, and the breath of a Tuscan heaven. Time glided on. + The hour was long past, yet Emily came not! The sun rose, and Falkland + turned in dark and angry discontent from its beams. With every moment his + impatience increased, and at last he could restrain himself no longer. He + proceeded towards the house. He stood for some time at a distance; but as + all seemed still hushed in repose, he drew nearer and nearer till he + reached the door: to his astonishment it was open. He saw forms passing + rapidly through the hall. He heard a confused and indistinct murmur. At + length he caught a glimpse of Mrs. St. John. He could command himself no + more. He sprang forwards—entered the door—the hall—and + caught her by a part of her dress. He could not speak, but his countenance + said all which his lips refused. Mrs. St. John burst into tears when she + saw him. “Good God!” she said, “why are you here? Is it possible you have + yet learned—” Her voice failed her. Falkland had by this time + recovered himself. He turned to the servants who gathered around him. + “Speak,” he said calmly. “What has occurred?” “My lady—my lady!” + burst at once from several tongues. “What of her:” said Falkland, with a + blanched cheek, but unchanging voice. There was a pause. At that instant a + man, whom Falkland recognised as the physician of the neighbourhood, + passed at the opposite end of the hall. A light, a scorching and + intolerable light, broke upon him. “She is dying—she is dead, + perhaps,” he said, in a low sepulchral tone, turning his eye around till + it had rested upon every one present. Not one answered. He paused a + moment, as if stunned by a sudden shock, and then sprang up the stairs. He + passed the boudoir, and entered the room where Emily slept. The shutters + were only partially closed a faint light broke through, and rested on the + bed: beside it bent two women. Them he neither heeded nor saw. He drew + aside the curtains. He beheld—the same as he had seen it in his + vision of the night before—the changed and lifeless countenance of + Emily Mandeville! That face, still so tenderly beautiful, was partially + turned towards him. Some dark stains upon the lip and neck told how she + had died—the blood-vessel she had broken before had burst again. The + bland and soft eyes, which for him never had but one expression, were + closed; and the long and disheveled tresses half hid, while they + contrasted, that bosom, which had but the night before first learned to + thrill beneath his own. Happier in her fate than she deserved, she passed + from this bitter life ere the punishment of her guilt had begun. She was + not doomed to wither beneath the blight of shame, nor the coldness of + estranged affection. From him whom she had so worshipped, she was not + condemned to bear wrong nor change. She died while his passion was yet in + its spring—before a blossom, a leaf, had faded; and she sank to + repose while his kiss was yet warm upon her lip, and her last breath + almost mingled with his sigh. For the woman who has erred, life has no + exchange for such a death. Falkland stood mute and motionless: not one + word of grief or horror escaped his lips. At length he bent down. He took + the hand which lay outside the bed; he pressed it; it replied not to the + pressure, but fell cold and heavy from his own. He put his cheek to her + lips; not the faintest breath came from them; and then for the first time + a change passed over his countenance: he pressed upon those lips one long + and last kiss, and, without word, or sign, or tear, he turned from the + chamber. Two hours afterwards he was found senseless upon the ground; it + was upon the spot where he had met Emily the night before. + </p> + <p> + For weeks he knew nothing of this earth—he was encompassed with the + spectres of a terrible dream. All was confusion, darkness, horror—a + series and a change of torture! At one time he was hurried through the + heavens in the womb of a fiery star, girt above and below and around with + unextinguishable but unconsuming flames. Wherever he trod, as he wandered + through his vast and blazing prison, the molten fire was his footing, and + the breath of fire was his air. Flowers, and trees, and hills were in that + world as in ours, but wrought from one lurid and intolerable light; and, + scattered around, rose gigantic palaces and domes of the living flame, + like the mansions of the city of Hell. With every moment there passed to + and fro shadowy forms, on whose countenances was engraven unutterable + anguish; but not a shriek, not a groan, rung through the red air; for the + doomed, who fed and inhabited the flames, were forbidden the consolation + of voice. Above there sat, fixed and black, a solid and impenetrable + cloud-Night frozen into substance; and from the midst there hung a banner + of a pale and sickly flame, on which was written “For Ever.” A river + rushed rapidly beside him. He stooped to slake the agony of his thirst—the + waves were waves of fire; and, as he started from the burning draught, he + longed to shriek aloud, and could not. Then he cast his despairing eyes + above for mercy; and saw on the livid and motionless banner “For Ever.” + </p> + <p> + A change came o’er the spirit of his dream + </p> + <p> + He was suddenly borne up on the winds and storms to the oceans of an + eternal winter. He fell stunned and unstruggling upon the ebbless and + sluggish waves. Slowly and heavily they rose over him as he sank: then + came the lengthened and suffocating torture of that drowning death—the + impotent and convulsive contest with the closing waters—the gurgle, + the choking, the bursting of the pent breath, the flutter of the heart, + its agony, and its stillness. He recovered. He was a thousand fathoms + beneath the sea, chained to a rock round which the heavy waters rose as a + wall. He felt his own flesh rot and decay, perishing from his limbs piece + by piece; and he saw the coral banks, which it requires a thousand ages to + form, rise slowly from their slimy bed; and spread atom by atom, till they + became a shelter for the leviathan: their growth, was his only record of + eternity; and ever and ever, around and above him, came vast and misshapen + things—the wonders of the secret deeps; and the sea-serpent, the + huge chimera of the north, made its resting-place by his side, glaring + upon him with a livid and death-like eye, wan, yet burning as an expiring + seta. But over all, in every change, in every moment of that immortality, + there was present one pale and motionless countenance, never turning from + his own. The fiends of hell, the monsters of the hidden ocean, had no + horror so awful as <i>the human face of the dead whom he had loved</i>. + </p> + <p> + The word of his sentence was gone forth. Alike through that delirium and + its more fearful awakening, through the past, through the future, through + the vigils of the joyless day, and the broken dreams of the night, there + was a charm upon his soul—a hell within himself; and the curse of + his sentence was—never to forget! + </p> + <p> + When, Lady Emily returned home on that guilty and eventful night, she + stole at once to her room: she dismissed her servant, and threw herself + upon the ground in that deep despair which on this earth can never again + know hope. She lay there without the power to weep, or the courage to pray—how + long, she knew not. Like the period before creation, her mind was a chaos + of jarring elements, and knew neither the method of reflection nor the + division of time. + </p> + <p> + As she rose, she heard a slight knock at the door, and her husband + entered. Her heart misgave her; and when she saw him close the door + carefully before he approached her, she felt as if she could have sunk + into the earth, alike from her internal shame, and her fear of its + detection. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Mandeville was a weak, commonplace character; indifferent in ordinary + matters, but, like most imbecile minds, violent and furious when aroused. + “Is this, Madam, addressed to you?” he cried, in a voice of thunder, as he + placed a letter before her (it was one of Falkland’s); “and this, and + this, Madam?” said he, in a still louder tone, as he flung them out one + after another from her own escritoire, which he had broken open. + </p> + <p> + Emily sank back, and gasped for breath. Mandeville rose, and, laughing + fiercely, seized her by the arm. He grasped it with all his force. She + uttered a faint scream of terror: he did not heed it; he flung her from + him, and as she fell upon the ground, the blood gushed in torrents from + her lips. In the sudden change of feeling which alarm created, he raised + her in his arms. She was a corpse! At that instant the clock struck upon + his ear with a startling and solemn sound: it was the half-hour after + midnight. + </p> + <p> + The grave is now closed upon that soft and erring heart, with its + guiltiest secret unrevealed. She went to that last home with a blest and + unblighted name; for her guilt was unknown, and her virtues are yet + recorded in the memories of the Poor. + </p> + <p> + They laid her in the stately vaults of her ancient line, and her bier was + honoured with tears from hearts not less stricken, because their sorrow, + if violent, was brief. For the dead there are many mourners, but only one + monument—the bosom which loved them best. The spot where the hearse + rested, the green turf beneath, the surrounding trees, the gray tower of + the village church, and the proud halls rising beyond,—all had + witnessed the childhood, the youth, the bridal-day of the being whose last + rites and solemnities they were to witness now. The very bell which rang + for her birth had rung also for the marriage peal; it now tolled for her + death. But a little while, and she had gone forth from that home of her + young and unclouded years, amidst the acclamations and blessings of all, a + bride, with the insignia of bridal pomp—in the first bloom of her + girlish beauty—in the first innocence of her unawakened heart, + weeping, not for the future she was entering, but for the past she was + about to leave, and smiling through her tears, as if innocence had no + business with grief. On the same spot, where he had then waved his + farewell, stood the father now. On the grass which they had then covered, + flocked the peasants whose wants her childhood had relieved; by the same + priest who had blessed her bridals, bent the bridegroom who had plighted + its vow. There was not a tree, not a blade of grass withered. The day + itself was bright and glorious; such was it when it smiled upon her + nuptials. And size—she-but four little years, and all youth’s + innocence darkened, and earth’s beauty come to dust! Alas! not for her, + but the mourner whom she left! In death even love is forgotten; but in + life there is no bitterness so utter as to feel everything is unchanged, + except the One Being who was the soul of all—to know the world is + the same, but that its sunshine is departed. + </p> + <p> + The noon was still and sultry. Along the narrow street of the small + village of Lodar poured the wearied but yet unconquered band, which + embodied in that district of Spain the last hope and energy of freedom. + The countenances of the soldiers were haggard and dejected; they displayed + even less of the vanity than their accoutrements exhibited of the pomp and + circumstances of war. Yet their garments were such as even the peasants + had disdained: covered with blood and dust, and tattered into a thousand + rags, they betokened nothing of chivalry but its endurance of hardship; + even the rent and sullied banners drooped sullenly along their staves, as + if the winds themselves had become the minions of fortune, and disdained + to swell the insignia of those whom she had deserted. The glorious music + of battle was still. An air of dispirited and defeated enterprise hung + over the whole army. “Thank Heaven,” said the chief, who closed the last + file as it marched—on to its scanty refreshment and brief repose; + “thank Heaven, we are at least out of the reach of pursuit; and the + mountains, those last retreats of liberty, are before us!” “True, Don + Rafael,” replied the youngest of two officers who rode by the side of the + commander; “and if we can cut our passage to Mina, we may yet plant the + standard of the Constitution in Madrid.” “Ay,” added the elder officer, + “and I sing Riego’s hymn in the place of the Escurial!” “Our sons may!” + said the chief, who was indeed Riego himself, “but for us—all hope + is over! Were we united, we could scarcely make head against the armies of + France; and divided as we are, the wonder is that we have escaped so long. + Hemmed in by invasion, our great enemy has been ourselves. Such has been + the hostility faction has created between Spaniard and Spaniard, that we + seem to have none left to waste upon Frenchmen. We cannot establish + freedom if men are willing to be slaves. We have no hope, Don Alphonso—no + hope—but that of death!” As Riego concluded this desponding answer, + so contrary to his general enthusiasm, the younger officer rode on among + the soldiers, cheering them with words of congratulation and comfort; + ordering their several divisions; cautioning them to be prepared at a + moment’s notice; and impressing on their remembrance those small but + essential points of discipline, which a Spanish troop might well be + supposed to disregard. When Riego and his companion entered the small and + miserable hovel which constituted the headquarters of the place, this man + still remained without; and it was not till he had slackened the girths of + his Andalusian horse, and placed before it the undainty provender which + the <i>ecurie</i> afforded that he thought of rebinding more firmly the + bandages wound around a deep and painful sabre cut in the left arm, which + for several hours had been wholly neglected. The officer, whom Riego had + addressed by the name of Alphonso, came out of the hut just as his comrade + was vainly endeavouring, with his teeth and one hand, to replace the + ligature. As he assisted him, he said, “You know not, my dear Falkland, + how bitterly I reproach myself for having ever persuaded you to a cause + where contest seems to have no hope, and danger no glory.” Falkland smiled + bitterly. “Do not deceive yourself, my dear uncle,” said he; “your + persuasions would have been unavailing but for the suggestions of my own + wishes. I am not one of those enthusiasts who entered on your cause with + high hopes and chivalrous designs: I asked but forgetfulness and + excitement—I have found them! I would not exchange a single pain I + have endured for what would have constituted the pleasures of other men:—but + enough of this. What time, think you, have we for repose?” “Till the + evening,” answered Alphonso; “our route will then most probably be + directed to the Sierre Morena. The General is extremely weak and + exhausted, and needs a longer rest than we shall gain. It is singular that + with such weak health he should endure so great an excess of hardship and + fatigue.” During this conversation they entered the hut. Riego was already + asleep. As they seated themselves to the wretched provision of the place, + a distant and indistinct noise was heard. It came first on their ears like + the birth of the mountain wind-low, and hoarse, and deep: gradually it + grew loud and louder, and mingled with other sounds which they defined too + well—the hum, the murmur, the trampling of steeds, the ringing + echoes of the rapid march of armed men! They heard and knew the foe was + upon them!—a moment more, and the drum beat to arms. “By St. + Pelagio,” cried Riego, who had sprung from his light sleep at the first + sound of the approaching danger, unwilling to believe his fears, “it + cannot be: the French are far behind:” and then, as the drum beat, his + voice suddenly changed, “the enemy? the enemy! D’Aguilar, to horse!” and + with those words he rushed out of the hut. The soldiers, who had scarcely + begun to disperse, were soon re-collected. In the mean while the French + commander, D’Argout, taking advantage of the surprise he had occasioned, + poured on his troops, which consisted solely of cavalry, undaunted and + undelayed by the fire of the posts. On, on they drove like a swift cloud + charged with thunder, and gathering wrath as it hurried by, before it + burst in tempest on the beholders. They did not pause till they reached + the farther extremity of the village: there the Spanish infantry were + already formed into two squares. “Halt!” cried the French commander: the + troop suddenly stopped confronting the nearer square. There was one brief + pause-the moment before the storm. “Charge!” said D’ Argout, and the word + rang throughout the line up to the clear and placid sky. Up flashed the + steel like lightning; on went the troop like the clash of a thousand waves + when the sun is upon them; and before the breath of the riders was thrice + drawn, came the crash—the shock—the slaughter of battle. The + Spaniards made but a faint resistance to the impetuosity of the onset: + they broke on every side beneath the force of the charge, like the weak + barriers of a rapid and swollen stream; and the French troops, after a + brief but bloody victory (joined by a second squadron from the rear), + advanced immediately upon the Spanish cavalry. Falkland was by the side of + Riego. As the troop advanced, it would have been curious to notice the + contrast of expression in the face of each; the Spaniard’s features + lighted up with the daring enthusiasm of his nature; every trace of their + usual languor and exhaustion vanished beneath the unconquerable soul that + blazed out the brighter for the debility of the frame; the brow knit; the + eye flashing; the lip quivering:—and close beside, the calm, stern; + passionless repose that brooded over the severe yet noble beauty of + Falkland’s countenance. To him danger brought scorn, not enthusiasm: he + rather despised than defied it. “The dastards! they waver,” said Riego, in + an accent of despair, as his troop faltered beneath the charge of the + French: and so saying, he spurred his steed on to the foremost line. The + contest was longer, but not less decisive, than the one just concluded. + The Spaniards, thrown into confusion by the first shock, never recovered + themselves. Falkland, who, in his anxiety to rally and inspirit the + soldiers, had advanced with two other officers beyond the ranks, was soon + surrounded by a detachment of dragoons: the wound in his left arm scarcely + suffered him to guide his horse: he was in the most imminent danger. At + that moment D’Aguilar, at the head of his own immediate followers, cut his + way into the circle, and covered Falkland’s retreat; another detachment of + the enemy came up, and they were a second time surrounded. In the mean + while, the main body of the Spanish cavalry were flying in all directions, + and Riego’s deep voice was heard at intervals, through the columns of + smoke and dust, calling and exhorting them in vain. D’Aguilar and his + scanty troop, after a desperate skirmish, broke again through the enemy’s + line drawn up against their retreat. The rank closed after them like + waters when the object that pierced them has sunk: Falkland and his two + companions were again environed: he saw his comrades cut to the earth + before him. He pulled up his horse for one moment, clove down with one + desperate blow the dragoon with whom he was engaged, and then setting his + spurs to the very rowels into his horse, dashed at once through the circle + of his foes. His remarkable presence of mind, and the strength and + sagacity of his horse, befriended him. Three sabres flashed before him, + and glanced harmless from his raised sword, like lightning on the water. + The circle was passed! As he galloped towards Riego, his horse started + from a dead body that lay across his path. He reined up for one instant, + for the countenance, which looked upwards, struck him as familiar. What + was his horror, when in that livid and distorted face he recognised his + uncle! The thin grizzled hairs were besprent with gore and brains, and the + blood yet oozed from the spot where the ball had passed through his + temple. Falkland had but a brief interval for grief; the pursuers were + close behind: he heard the snort of the foremost horse before he again put + spurs into his own. Riego was holding a hasty consultation with his + principal officers. As Falkland rode breathless up to them, they had + decided on the conduct expedient to adopt. They led the remaining square + of infantry towards the chain of mountains against which the village, as + it were, leaned; and there the men dispersed in all directions. “For us,” + said Riego to the followers on horseback who gathered around him, “for us + the mountains still promise a shelter. We must ride, gentlemen, for our + lives—Spain will want them yet.” + </p> + <p> + Wearied and exhausted as they were, that small and devoted troop fled on + into the recesses of the mountains for the remainder of that day—twenty + men out of the two thousand who had halted at Lodar. As the evening stole + over them, they entered into a narrow defile: the tall hills rose on every + side, covered with the glory of the setting sun, as if Nature rejoiced to + grant her bulwarks as a protection to liberty. A small clear stream ran + through the valley, sparkling with the last smile of the departing day; + and ever and anon, from the scattered shrubs and the fragrant herbage, + came the vesper music of the birds, and the hum of the wild bee. + </p> + <p> + Parched with thirst, and drooping with fatigue, the wanderers sprung + forward with one simultaneous cry of joy to the glassy and refreshing wave + which burst so unexpectedly upon them: and it was resolved that they + should remain for some hours in a spot where all things invited them to + the repose they so imperiously required. They flung themselves at once + upon the grass; and such was their exhaustion, that rest was almost + synonymous with sleep. Falkland alone could not immediately forget himself + in repose: the face of his uncle, ghastly and disfigured, glared upon his + eyes whenever he closed them. Just, however, as he was sinking into an + unquiet and fitful doze, he heard steps approaching: he started up, and + perceived two men, one a peasant, the other in the dress of a hermit. They + were the first human beings the wanderers had met; and when Falkland gave + the alarm to Riego, who slept beside him, it was immediately proposed to + detain them as guides to the town of Carolina, where Riego had hopes of + finding effectual assistance, or the means of ultimate escape. The hermit + and his companion refused, with much vehemence, the office imposed upon + them; but Riego ordered them to be forcibly detained. He had afterwards + reason bitterly to regret this compulsion. + </p> + <p> + Midnight came on in all the gorgeous beauty of a southern heaven, and + beneath its stars they renewed their march. As Falkland rode by the side + of Riego, the latter said to him in a low voice, “There is yet escape for + you and my followers: none for me: they have set a price on my head, and + the moment I leave these mountains, I enter upon my own destruction.” “No, + Rafael!” replied Falkland; “you can yet fly to England, that asylum of the + free, though ally of the despotic; the abettor of tyranny, but the shelter + of its victims!” Riego answered, with the same faint and dejected tone, “I + care not now what becomes of me! I have lived solely for Freedom; I have + made her my mistress, my hope, my dream: I have no existence but in her. + With the last effort of my country let me perish also! I have lived to + view liberty not only defeated, but derided: I have seen its efforts not + aided, but mocked. In my own country, those only, who wore it, have been + respected who used it as a covering to ambition. In other nations, the + free stood aloof when the charter of their own rights was violated in the + invasion of ours. I cannot forget that the senate of that England, where + you promise me a home, rang with insulting plaudits when her statesman + breathed his ridicule on our weakness, not his sympathy for our cause; and + I—fanatic—dreamer—enthusiast, as I may be called, whose + whole life has been one unremitting struggle for the opinion I have + adopted, am at least not so blinded by my infatuation, but I can see the + mockery it incurs. If I die on the scaffold to-morrow, I shall have + nothing of martyrdom but its doom; not the triumph—the incense—the + immortality of popular applause: I should have no hope to support me at + such a moment, gleaned from the glories of the future—nothing but + one stern and prophetic conviction of the vanity of that tyranny by which + my sentence will be pronounced.” Riego paused for a moment before he + resumed, and his pale and death-like countenance received an awful and + unnatural light from the intensity of the feeling that swelled and burned + within him. His figure was drawn up to its full height, and his voice rang + through the lonely hills with a deep and hollow sound, that had in it a + tone of prophecy, as he resumed “It is in vain that they oppose OPINION; + anything else they may subdue. They may conquer wind, water, nature + itself; but to the progress of that secret, subtle, pervading spirit, + their imagination can devise, their strength can accomplish, no bar: its + votaries they may seize, they may destroy; itself they cannot touch. If + they check it in one place, it invades them in another. They cannot build + a wall across the whole earth; and, even if they could, it would pass over + its summit! Chains cannot bind it, for it is immaterial—dungeons + enclose it, for it is universal. Over the faggot and the scaffold—over + the bleeding bodies of its defenders which they pile against its path, it + sweeps on with a noiseless but unceasing march. Do they levy armies + against it, it presents to them no palpable object to oppose. Its camp is + the universe; its asylum is the bosoms of their own soldiers. Let them + depopulate, destroy as they please, to each extremity of the earth; but as + long as they have a single supporter themselves—as long as they + leave a single individual into whom that spirit can enter—so long + they will have the same labours to encounter, and the same enemy to + subdue.” + </p> + <p> + As Riego’s voice ceased, Falkland gazed upon him with a mingled pity and + admiration. Sour and ascetic as was the mind of that hopeless and + disappointed man, he felt somewhat of a kindred glow at the pervading and + holy enthusiasm of the patriot to whom he had listened; and though it was + the character of his own philosophy to question the purity of human + motives, and to smile at the more vivid emotions he had ceased to feel, he + bowed his soul in homage to those principles whose sanctity he + acknowledged, and to that devotion of zeal and fervour with which their + defender cherished and enforced them. Falkland had joined the + constitutionalists with respect, but not ardour, for their cause. He + demanded excitation; he cared little where he found it. He stood in this + world a being who mixed in all its changes, performed all its offices, + took, as if by the force of superior mechanical power, a leading share in + its events; but whose thoughts and soul were as offsprings of another + planet, imprisoned in a human form, and <i>longing for their home</i>! + </p> + <p> + As they rode on, Riego continued to converse with that imprudent unreserve + which the openness and warmth of his nature made natural to him: not one + word escaped the hermit and the peasant (whose name was Lopez Lara) as + they rode on two mules behind Falkland and Riego. “Remember,” whispered + the hermit to his comrade, “the reward!” + </p> + <p> + “I do,” muttered the peasant. + </p> + <p> + Throughout the whole of that long and dreary night, the—wanderers + rode on incessantly, and found themselves at daybreak near a farm-house: + this was Lara’s own home. They made the peasant Lara knock; his own + brother opened the door. Fearful as they were of the detection to which so + numerous a party might conduce, only Riego, another officer (Don Luis de + Sylva), and Falkland entered the house. The latter, whom nothing ever + seemed to render weary or forgetful, fixed his cold stern eye upon the two + brothers, and, seeing some signs pass between them, locked the door, and + so prevented their escape. For a few hours they reposed in the stables + with their horses, their drawn swords by their sides. On waking, Riego + found it absolutely necessary that his horse should be shod. Lopez started + up, and offered to lead it to Arguillas for that purpose. “No,” said + Riego, who, though naturally imprudent, partook in this instance of + Falkland’s habitual caution: “your brother shall go and bring hither the + farrier.” Accordingly the brother went: he soon returned. “The farrier,” + he said, “was already on the road.” Riego and his companions, who were + absolutely fainting with hunger, sat down to breakfast; but Falkland, who + had finished first, and who had eyed the man since his return with the + most scrutinising attention, withdrew towards the window, looking out from + time to time with a telescope which they had carried about them, and + urging them impatiently to finish. “Why?” said Riego, “famished men are + good for nothing, either to fight or fly—and we must wait for the + farrier.” “True,” said Falkland, “but—” he stopped abruptly. Sylva + had his eyes on his face at that moment. Falkland’s colour suddenly + changed: he turned round with a loud cry. “Up! up! Riego! Sylva! We are + undone—the soldiers are upon us!” “Arm!” cried Riego, starting up. + At that moment Lopez and his brother seized their own carbines, and + levelled them at the betrayed constitutionalists. “The first who moves,” + cried the former, “is a dead man!” “Fools!” said Falkland, with a calm + bitterness, advancing deliberately towards them. He moved only three steps—Lopez + fired. Falkland staggered a few paces, recovered himself, sprang towards + Lara, clove him at one blow from the skull to the jaw, and fell with his + victim, lifeless upon the floor. “Enough!” said Riego to the remaining + peasant; “we are your prisoners; bind us!” In two minutes more the + soldiers entered, and they were conducted to Carolina. Fortunately + Falkland was known, when at Paris, to a French officer of high rank then + at Carolina. He was removed to the Frenchman’s quarters. Medical aid was + instantly procured. The first examination of his wound was decisive; + recovery was hopeless! + </p> + <p> + Night came on again, with her pomp of light and shade—the night that + for Falkland had no morrow. One solitary lamp burned in the chamber where + he lay alone with God and his own heart. He had desired his couch to be + placed by the window and requested his attendants to withdraw. The gentle + and balmy air stole over him, as free and bland as if it were to breathe + for him for ever; and the silver moonlight came gleaming through the + lattice and played upon his wan brow, like the tenderness of a bride that + sought to kiss him to repose. “In a few hours,” thought he, as he lay + gazing on the high stars which seemed such silent witnesses of an eternal + and unfathomed mystery, “in a few hours either this feverish and wayward + spirit will be at rest for ever, or it will have commenced a new career in + an untried and unimaginable existence! In a very few hours I may be + amongst the very heavens that I survey—a part of their own glory—a + new link in a new order of beings—breathing amidst the elements of a + more gorgeous world—arrayed myself in the attributes of a purer and + diviner nature—a wanderer among the planets—an associate of + angels—the beholder of the arcana of the great God-redeemed, + regenerate, immortal, or—dust! + </p> + <p> + “There is no OEdipus to solve the enigma of life. We are—whence came + we? We are not—whither do we go? All things in our existence have + their object: existence has none. We live, move, beget our species, perish—and + for what? We ask the past its moral; we question the gone years of the + reason of our being, and from the clouds of a thousand ages there goes + forth no answer. Is it merely to pant beneath this weary load; to sicken + of the sun; to grow old; to drop like leaves into the grave; and to + bequeath to our heirs the worn garments of toil and labour that we leave + behind? Is it to sail for ever on the same sea, ploughing the ocean of + time with new furrows, and feeding its billows with new wrecks, or—” + and his thoughts paused blinded and bewildered. + </p> + <p> + No man, in whom the mind has not been broken by the decay of the body, has + approached death in full consciousness as Falkland did that moment, and + not thought intensely on the change he was about to undergo; and yet what + new discoveries upon that subject has any one bequeathed us? There the + wildest imaginations are driven from originality into triteness: there all + minds, the frivolous and the strong, the busy and the idle, are compelled + into the same path and limit of reflection. Upon that unknown and + voiceless gulf of inquiry broods an eternal and impenetrable gloom; no + wind breathes over it—no wave agitates its stillness: over the dead + and solemn calm there is no change propitious to adventure—there + goes forth no vessel of research, which is not driven, baffled and broken, + again upon the shore. + </p> + <p> + The moon waxed high in her career. Midnight was gathering slowly over the + earth; the beautiful, the mystic hour, blent with a thousand memories, + hallowed by a thousand dreams, made tender to remembrance by the vows our + youth breathed beneath its star, and solemn by the olden legends which are + linked to its majesty and peace—the hour in which, men should die; + the isthmus between two worlds; the climax of the past day; the verge of + that which is to come; wrapping us in sleep after a weary travail, and + promising us a morrow which, since the first birth of Creation has never + failed. As the minutes glided on, Falkland felt himself grow gradually + weaker and weaker. The pain of his wound had ceased, but a deadly sickness + gathered over his heart: the room reeled before his eyes, and the damp + chill mounted from his feet up—up to the breast in which the + life-blood waxed dull and thick. + </p> + <p> + As the hand of the clock pointed to the half-hour after midnight the + attendants who waited in the adjoining room heard a faint cry. They rushed + hastily into Falkland’s chamber; they found him stretched half out of the + bed. His hand was raised towards the opposite wall; it dropped gradually + as they approached him; and his brow, which was at first stern and bent, + softened, shade by shade, into his usual serenity. But the dim film + gathered fast over his eye, and the last coldness upon his limbs. He + strove to raise himself as if to speak; the effort failed, and he fell + motionless on his face. They stood by the bed for some moments in silence: + at length they raised him. Placed against his heart was an open locket of + dark hair, which one hand still pressed convulsively. They looked upon his + countenance—(a single glance was sufficient)—it was hushed—proud—passionless—the + seal of Death was upon it. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s Falkland, Complete, by Edward Bulwer-Lytton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FALKLAND, COMPLETE *** + +***** This file should be named 7761-h.htm or 7761-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/7/6/7761/ + +Produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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