Читать книгу The Greatest Regency Romance Novels - Maria Edgeworth - Страница 102

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Mrs. Munden was so ignorant of her own heart, in relation to what it felt on Mr. Trueworth's account, that she imagined she had only fled his presence because she could not bear a man who had courted her so long should see her thus unhappy by the choice she had made of another.

'I am well assured,' cried she, 'that he has too much generosity to triumph in my misfortune, and too much complaisance to remind me of the cause: yet would his eyes tacitly reproach my want of judgment; and mine, too, might perhaps, in spite of me, confess, as the poet says, that—

"I, like the child, whose folly prov'd it's loss,

Refus'd the gold, and did accept the dross."

This naturally leading her into some reflections on the merits of Mr. Trueworth, she could not help wondering by what infatuation she had been governed when rejecting him, or, what was tantamount to rejecting him, treating him in such a manner as might make him despair of being accepted.—'What, though my heart was insensible of love,' said she, 'my reason, nay, my very pride, might have influenced me to embrace a proposal which would have rendered me the envy of my own sex, and excited the esteem and veneration of the other.' Thinking still more deeply, 'O God!' cried she with vehemence, 'to what a height of happiness might I have been raised! and into what an abyss of wretchedness am I now plunged!—Irretrievably undone—married without loving or being beloved—lost in my bloom of years to every joy that can make life a blessing!'

Nothing so much sharpens the edge of affliction as a consciousness of having brought it upon ourselves, to remember that all we could wish for, all that could make us truly happy, was once in our power to be possessed of; and wantonly shunning the good that Heaven and fortune offered, we headlong run into the ills we mourn, rendering them doubly grievous.

This being the case with our heroine, how ought all the fair and young to guard against a vanity so fatal to a lady, who, but for that one foible, had been the happiest, as she was in all other respects the most deserving, of her sex! But to return.

A just sensibility of the errors of her past conduct, joined with some other emotions, which the reader may easily guess at, though she as yet knew not the meaning of herself, gave her but little repose that night; and, pretty early the next morning, she received no inconsiderable addition to her perplexities.

The time in which Mr. Munden had promised to give his answer to the lawyer was now near expired; yet he was as irresolute as ever: loath he was to have the affair between him and his wife made publick, and equally loath to comply with her demands. Before he did either, it therefore came into his head to try what effect menaces would produce; and accordingly wrote to her in these terms.

'To Mrs. Munden.

Madam,

Though your late behaviour has proved the little affection you have for me, I still retain too much for you to be able to part with you. No! be assured, I never will forego the right that marriage gives me over you—will never yield to live a widower while I am a husband; and, if you return not within four and twenty hours, shall take such measures as the law directs, to force you back to my embraces. By this time to-morrow you may expect to have such company at your levee as you will not be well pleased with, and from whose authority not all your friends can screen you: but, as I am unwilling to expose you, I once more court you to spare yourself this disgrace, and me the pain of inflicting it. I give you this day to consider on what you have to do. The future peace of us both depends on your result; for your own reason ought to inform you, that being brought to me by compulsion will deserve other sort of treatment than such as you might hope to find on returning of your own accord to your much-affronted husband,

G. Munden.'

This letter very much alarmed both the sister and the brother: the former trembled at the thoughts of seeing herself in the hands of the officers of justice; and the latter could not but be uneasy that a disturbance of this kind should happen in his house. They were just going to send for Mr. Markland, to consult him on what was to be done, when that gentleman, whom chance had brought that way, luckily came in. He found Mr. Thoughtless in great discomposure, and Mrs. Munden almost drowned in tears. On being informed of the occasion, 'I see no reason,' said he gravely, 'for all this: I cannot think that Mr. Munden will put in execution what he threatens; at last, not till after I have spoke to him again. I rather think he writes in this manner only to terrify you, Madam, into a submission to his will. However,' continued he, after a pretty long pause, 'to be secure from all danger of an affront this way, I think it would be highly proper you should retire to some place where he may not know to find you, till I have once more tried how far he may be prevailed upon to do you justice.'

This advice being highly approved of, 'My wife's sister,' resumed he, 'has a very pleasant and commodious house on the bank of the river on the Surrey side—she takes lodgers sometimes; but at present is without: so that, if you resolve to be concealed, you cannot find a more convenient retreat; especially as, it's being so near London, nothing of moment can happen here but what you may be apprized of in little more than an hour.'

Mrs. Munden testifying as much satisfaction at this proposal as a person in her circumstances could be capable of feeling, Mr. Markland told her that he was ready to conduct her immediately to the place he mentioned; and her brother adding that he would accompany them, and see his sister safe to her new abode, they all set out together on their little voyage; Mrs. Munden having first given directions to her servants where they should follow her with such things as she thought would be wanted during her stay there.

On their arrival, they found Mr. Markland had spoken very modestly of the place he recommended: the house was pleasant almost beyond description, and rendered much more so by the obliging behaviour of its owner.

They all dined together that day; and, on parting, it was agreed that Mrs. Munden should send her man every morning to town, in order to bring her intelligence of whatever accidents had happened in relation to her affairs on the preceding day.

As much as this lady had been rejoiced at the kind reception she had met with from her brother under her misfortunes, she was now equally pleased at being removed for a time from him, not only because she thought herself secure from any insults that might be offered by her husband, but also because this private recess seemed a certain defence against the sight of Mr. Trueworth—a thing she knew not well how to have avoided in town, without breaking off her acquaintance with Lady Loveit.

After the gentlemen were gone, the sister-in-law of Mr. Markland led her fair guest into the garden, which before she had only a cursory view of. She shewed her, among many other things, several curious exotick plants, which, she told her, she had procured from the nurseries of some persons of condition to whom she had the honour to be known: but Mrs. Munden being no great connoisseur that way, did not take much notice of what she said concerning them; till, coming to the lower end, she perceived a little wicker-gate. 'To where does this lead?' cried she. 'I will shew you presently, Madam,' replied the other; and, pulling it open, they both entered into a grass-walk, hemmed in on each side with trees, which seemed as old as the creation. They had not gone many paces, before an arbour, erected between two of these venerable monuments of antiquity, and overspread with jessamines and honeysuckles, attracted Mrs. Munden's eyes. 'Oh, how delightful is this!' said she. 'It would have been much more so, Madam, if it had been placed on the other side of the walk,' said the gentlewoman; 'and, if I live till next spring, will have the position of it altered. You will presently see my reasons for it,' continued she, 'if you please to turn your eyes a little to the right.' Mrs. Munden doing as she was desired, had the prospect of a very beautiful garden, decorated with plots of flowers, statues, and trees cut in a most elegant manner. 'Does all this belong to you?' demanded she, somewhat surprized. 'No, Madam,' answered the other; 'but they are part of the same estate, and, at present, rented by a gentleman of condition, who lives at the next door. The walk we are in is also common to us both, each having a gate to enter it at pleasure; though, indeed, they little frequent it, having much finer of their own.' With such like chat they beguiled the time, till the evening dew reminded them it was best to quit the open air.

Mrs. Munden passed this night in more tranquillity than she had done many preceding ones: she awoke, however, much sooner than was her custom; and, finding herself less disposed to return to the embraces of sleep than to partake that felicity she heard a thousand chearful birds tuning their little throats in praise of, she rose, and went down into the garden: the contemplative humour she was in, led her to the arbour she had been so much charmed with the night before; she threw herself upon the mossy seat, where scenting the fragrancy of the sweets around her, made more delicious by the freshness of the morning's gale, 'How delightful, how heavenly!' said she to herself, 'is this solitude! how truly preferable to all the noisy, giddy pleasures, of the tumultuous town! yet how have I despised and ridiculed the soft sincerity of a country life!' Then recollecting some discourse she formerly had with Mr. Trueworth on that subject, 'I wonder,' cried she, 'what Mr. Trueworth would say if he knew the change that a little time has wrought in me! he would certainly find me now more deserving of his friendship than ever he could think me of his love: but he is ignorant, insensible, of my real sentiments; and if Sir Bazil and Lady Loveit should tell him with what abruptness I fled their house at the news of his approach, I must appear in his eyes the most vain, stupid, thankless, creature I once was. But, such is my unhappy situation, that I dare not even wish he should discover what passes in my heart: the just sensibility of his amiable qualities, and of the services he has done me, which would once have been meritorious in me to have avowed, would now be highly criminal.'

With these reflections she took out Mr. Trueworth's picture, which she always carried about her; and, looking on it with the greatest tenderness, 'Though I no more must see himself,' said she, 'I may, at least, be allowed to pay the tribute of my gratitude to this dumb representative of the man to whom I have been so much obliged.' At this instant, a thousand proofs of love given her by the original of the copy in her hand, occurring all at once to her remembrance, tears filled her eyes, and her breast swelled with involuntary sighs.

In this painfully pleasing amusement did she continue for some time; and had, doubtless, done so much longer, if a sudden rustling among the leaves behind her, had not made her turn her head to see what had occasioned it: but where are the words that can express the surprize, the wild confusion, she was in, when the first glance of her eyes presented her with the sight of the real object, whose image she had been thus tenderly contemplating! She shrieked—the picture dropped from her hand—the use of her faculties forsook her—she sunk from the seat where she was sitting, and had certainly fainted quite away but for the immediate assistance of the person who had caused the extraordinary emotions.

Her fancy, indeed, strong as it was, had formed no visionary appearance—it was the very identical Mr. Trueworth whom chance had brought to make the discovery of a secret which, of all things in the world, he had the least suspicion of.

He was intimately acquainted with the person to whom the house adjoining to that where Mrs. Munden lodged belonged; and, hearing where he was, on his return from Oxfordshire, had come the evening before, intending to pass a day or two with him in this agreeable recess.

As he was never a friend to much sleeping, he rose that morning, and went down into the garden before the greatest part of the family had quitted their beds: he saw Mrs. Munden while at too great a distance to know who she was; yet did her air and motion, as she walked, strike him with something which made him willing to see what sort of face belonged to so genteel a form. Drawing more near, his curiosity was gratified with a sight he little expected: he was just about to accost her with the salutation of the morning, when she went into the arbour, and seated herself in the manner already described. The extreme pensiveness of her mind had hindered her from perceiving that any one was near; but the little covert under which she was placed being open on both sides, he had a full view of every thing she did. Though she was in the most negligent night-dress that could be, she seemed as lovely to him as ever; all his first flames rekindled in his heart, while gazing on her with this uninterrupted freedom: he longed to speak to her, but durst not, lest, by doing so, he should be deprived of the pleasure he now enjoyed; till, observing she had something in her hand which she seemed to look upon with great attention, and sometimes betrayed agitations he had never seen in her before, he was impatient to discover, if possible, the motive; he therefore advanced as gently as he could towards the back of the arbour; which having no wood-work, and the leafy canopy only supported by ozier boughs placed at a good distance from each other, he had a full opportunity of beholding all that the reader has been told. But what was his amazement to find it was his own picture!—that very picture, which had been taken from the painter's, was the object of her meditations! He heard her sighs—he saw her lovely hand frequently put up to wipe away the tears that fell from her eyes while looking on it; he also saw her, more than once, (though, doubtless, in those moments, not knowing what she did) press the lifeless image to her bosom with the utmost tenderness: scarce could he give credit to the testimony of his senses, near as he was to her; he even strained his sight to be more sure; and, forgetting all the precautions he had taken, thrust himself as far as he was able between the branches of which the arbour was composed.

On perceiving the effect this last action had produced, the gate, though not above twenty paces off, seemed too slow a passage to fly to her relief; and, setting his foot upon a pedestal of a statue, quick as thought, or the flash of elemental fire, sprang over the myrtle-hedge that parted the garden from the walk. 'Ah, Madam!' cried he, catching her in his arms to hinder her from falling, 'what has the unhappy Trueworth done to render his presence so alarming! How have I deserved to appear thus dreadful in your eyes!'

That admirable presence of mind which Mrs. Munden had shewn on many occasions, did not on this entirely leave her: the time he was speaking those few words sufficed to enable her to recollect her scattered spirits; and, withdrawing herself from the hold he had taken of her, and removing a little farther on the bench, as if to give him room to sit, 'Sir,' said she, with a voice pretty well composed, 'the obligations I have to you demand other sort of sentiments than those you seem to accuse me of; but I thought myself alone, and was not guarded against the surprize of meeting you in this place.'—'I ought, indeed,' replied he, 'to have been more cautious in my approach, especially as I found you deep in contemplation; which, perhaps, I have been my own enemy by interrupting.'

Till he spoke in this manner, she was not quite assured how far he had been witness of her behaviour; but what he now said confirming her of what she had but feared before, threw her into a second confusion little inferior to the former. He saw it—but saw it without that pity he would have felt had it proceeded from any other motive; and, eager to bring her to a more full eclaircissement, 'If you really think, Madam,' said he, 'that you have any obligations to me, you may requite them all by answering sincerely to one question. Tell me, I beseech you,' continued he, taking up the picture, which she had neither thought nor opportunity to remove from the place where it had fallen; 'resolve me how this little picture came into your possession?' What was now the condition of Mrs. Munden! She could neither find any pretence to evade the truth, nor fit words to confess it; till Mr. Trueworth repeating his request, and vowing he would never leave her till she granted it, 'What need have I to answer?' said she, blushing. 'You know it what manner it was taken from the painter's; and the sight of it in my hand is sufficient to inform you of the whole.'

'Charming declaration!—transporting, ravishing, to thought!' cried he, kissing her hand. 'O had I known it sooner, engaged as I then was to one who well deserved my love; could I have guessed Miss Betsy Thoughtless was the contriver of that tender fraud; I know not what revolution might have happened in my heart! the empire you had there was never totally extirpated; and kindness might have regained what cruelty had lost!'—'Do not deceive yourself, Sir,' said she, interrupting him with all the courage she could assume; 'nor mistake that for love which was only the effect of mere gratitude.' These words were accompanied with a look which once would have struck him with the most submissive awe; but he was now too well acquainted with the sentiments she had for him to be deterred by any other outward shew of coldness. 'Call it by what name you please,' cried he, 'so you permit me the continuance of it, and vouchsafe me the same favours you bestow on my insensible resemblance.' In speaking this, he threw his arms about her waist, not regarding the efforts she made to hinder him, and clasped her to his breast with a vehemence which in all his days of courtship to her he never durst attempt. 'Forbear, Sir,' said she; 'you know I am not at liberty to be entertained with discourses, or with actions, of this nature. Loose me this moment! or be assured, all the kind thoughts I had of you, and on which you have too much presumed, will be converted into the extremest hatred and detestation!' The voice in which she uttered this menace convincing him how much she was in earnest, he let go his hold, removed some paces from her, and beheld her for some moments with a silent admiration. 'I have obeyed you, Madam!' cried he, with a deep sigh; 'you are all angel—be all angel still! Far be it from me to tempt you from the glorious height you stand in: yet how unhappy has this interview made me! I love you without daring even to wish for a return! nay, so fully has your virtue conquered, that I must love you more for the repulse you have given my too audacious hopes. You may at least pity the fate to which I am condemned.'

'It would be in vain for me,' replied she, in a voice somewhat broken by the inward conflict she sustained, 'to endeavour to conceal what my inadvertencies have so fully betrayed to you; and you may assure yourself, that I shall think on you with all the tenderness that honour, and the duties of my station, will admit. But remember, Sir, I am a wife; and, being such, ought never to see you more: in regard, therefore, to my reputation and peace of mind, I must intreat you will henceforth avoid my presence with the same care I will do yours.'

'Severe as this injunction is,' replied he, 'my soul avows the justice of it; and I submit.'—'Farewel, then!' said she, rising from her feet. 'Oh, farewel!' cried he, and kissed her hand with emotions not to be expressed. 'Farewel for ever!' rejoined she, turning hastily away to prevent his seeing the tears with which her eyes were overcharged, and in that cruel instant overflowed her cheeks. She advanced with all the speed she could towards the wicker-gate; but, when there, could not forbear giving one look behind; and, perceiving he had left the walk, and was proceeding through the garden, with folded arms, and a dejected pace, 'Poor Trueworth!' cried she, and pursued him with her eyes till he was quite out of sight.

Some readers may, perhaps, blame Mr. Trueworth, as having presumed too far on the discovery of the lady's passion; and others, of a contrary way of thinking, laugh at him for being so easily repulsed: but all, in general, must applaud the conduct of Mrs. Munden. Till this dangerous instance, she had never had an opportunity of shewing the command she had over herself; and, as Mr. Eastcourt justly says—

'Ne'er let the fair-one boast of virtue prov'd,

Till she has well refus'd the man she truly lov'd.'