Читать книгу The Greatest Regency Romance Novels - Maria Edgeworth - Страница 62

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If it were not for some particulars, might be as well passed over as read

Miss Betsy, one would think, had now sufficient matter to employ her meditations on the score of those two lovers who at present laid close siege to her, neither of whom she was willing to part with entirely, and to retain either she found required some management: Mr. Munden was beginning to grow impatient at the little progress his long courtship had made on her affections; and Sir Frederick Fineer, on the other hand, was for bringing things to a conclusion at once; she was also every day receiving transient addresses from many others; which, though not meant seriously by those who made them, nor taken so by her, served occasionally to fill up any vacuum in her mind; yet was it not in the power of love, gallantry, or any other amusement, to drive the memory of Mr. Trueworth wholly out of her head; which shews, that to a woman of sense, a man of real merit, even though he is not loved, can never be totally indifferent.

But she was at this time more than ordinarily agitated on that gentleman's account; she doubted not but her brother Frank either had, or would shortly have, a long conference with him, on the subject of his desisting his visits to her, and could not keep herself from feeling some palpitations for the event; for though she was not resolved to afford any recompence to his love, she earnestly wished he should continue to desire it, and that she might still preserve her former dominion over a heart which she had always looked upon as the most valuable prize of all that her beauty had ever gained.

Thus unreasonable, and indeed unjust, was she in the affairs of love: in all others she was humane, benevolent, and kind; but here covetous, even to a greediness, of receiving all, without any intention of making the least return. In fine, the time was not yet come when she should be capable of being touched with that herself which she took so much pains to inspire in others.

Though she could not love, she was pleased with being loved: no man, of what degree or circumstance soever, could offend her by declaring himself her admirer; and as much as she despised Sir Frederick Fineer for his romantick manner of expressing the passion he professed for her, yet to have missed him out of the number of her train of captives, would have been little less mortification to her than the loss of a favourite lover would have been to some other woman.

That inamorato of all inamoratoes, would not, however, suffer the flames which he flattered himself with having kindled in her, to grow cool; and, ambitious also of shewing his talents in verse as well as prose, sent to her that morning the following epistle—

'To the bright goddess of my soul, the adorable Miss Betsy Thoughtless.

Most divine source of joy!

To shew in what manner I pass the hours of absence from you, and at the same time represent the case of a lover racked with suspense, and tossed alternately between hopes and fears, I take the liberty to inscribe to you the inclosed poem, which, I most humbly beseech you to take as it is meant, the tribute of my duteous zeal, an humble offering presented at the shrine of your all-glorious beauty, from, lovely ruler of my heart, your eternally devoted, and no less faithful slave,

F. Fineer.

A true picture of my heart, in the different stages of it's worship; a poem, most humbly inscribed to the never-enough deified Miss Betsy Thoughtless.

When first from my unfinish'd sleep I start,

I feel a flutt'ring faintness round my heart;

A darksome mist, which rises from my mind,

And, like sweet sunshine, leaves your name behind.

When from your shadow to yourself I fly,

To drink in transport at my thirsty eye,

Each orb surveys you with a kindling sight,

And trembles to sustain the vast delight:

From head to foot, o'er all your heaven they stray,

Dazzled with lustre in your milky way:

At last you speak; and, as I start to hear,

My soul is all collected in my ear.

But when resistless transport makes me bold,

And your soft hand inclos'd in mine I hold,

Then flooding raptures swim through ev'ry vein,

And each swollen art'ry throbs with pleasing pain.

Fain would I snatch you to my longing arms,

And grasp in extasy your blazing charms:

O then, how vain the wish that I pursue!

I would lose all myself, and mix with you;

Involv'd—embodied, with your beauties join,

As fires meet fires, and mingle in their shine;

Absorb'd in bliss, I would dissolving lie,

Become all you, and soul and body die.

Weigh well these symptoms, and then judge, in part,

The poignant anguish of the bleeding heart

Of him, who is, with unutterable love, resplendent charmer,

Your hoping, fearing, languishing adorer,

F. Fineer.

P.S. I propose to fly to the feet of my adorable about five o'clock this afternoon; do not, I beseech you, clip the wings of my devotion, by forbidding my approach.'

How acceptable, to a vain mind is even the meanest testimony of admiration! If Miss Betsy was not charmed with the elegance of this offering, she was at least very well pleased with the pains he took in composing it. In the humour she then was, she would perhaps have rewarded the labour of his brain, with giving him an opportunity of kissing her shoe a second time; but she expected her brother Frank about the hour he mentioned, with some intelligence of Mr. Trueworth, and had engaged to pass the evening abroad, as has been already mentioned.

She sent, however, a very complaisant message by the servant who brought the letter; she ordered he should come up into her dining-room, and then, with a great deal of sweetness, desired him to tell his master, that she was under a necessity of spending the whole day with some relations that were just come to town, therefore entreated he would defer the honour he intended her till some other time.

Mr. Francis Thoughtless did, indeed, call upon her, as she imagined he would: he had been at the lodgings of Mr. Trueworth; but as that gentleman happened to be abroad at the time he went, and he was now obliged to go with his brother on some business relating to the commission he was about to purchase, so he could not stay long enough with her to enter into any conversation of moment.

Miss Betsy had now full two hours upon her hands after her brother left her, to which she had appointed Mr. Munden to come to conduct her to the country-dancing; and as she had not seen Miss Mabel for a good while, and had heard that lady had made her several visits when she was not at home to receive them, she thought to take this opportunity of having nothing else to do, to return part of the debt which civility demanded from her to her friend. Accordingly, she set out in a hackney-coach, but met with an accident by the way, which not only disappointed her intentions, but likewise struck a strange damp on the gaiety of her spirits.

As they were driving pretty fast through a narrow street, a gentleman's chariot ran full against them, with such rapidity, that both received a very great shock, insomuch that the wheels were locked; and it was not without some difficulty, and the assistance of several people, who seeing what had happened, ran out of their shops and houses, that the coachmen were able to keep their horses from going on; which, had they done, both the machines must inevitably have been torn to pieces: there were two gentlemen in the chariot, who immediately jumped out; Miss Betsy screaming, and frighted almost to death, was also helped out of the coach by a very civil tradesman, before whose door the accident had happened; he led her into his shop, and made her sit down, while his wife ran to fetch a glass of water, and some hartshorn-drops.

Her extreme terror had hindered her from discovering who was in the chariot, or whether any one was there; but the gentlemen having crossed the way, and come into the same shop, she presently knew the one to be Sir Bazil Loveit, and the other Mr. Trueworth; her surprize at the sight of the latter was such as might have occasioned some raillery, if it had not been concealed under that which she had sustained before: Sir Bazil approached her with a very respectful bow, and made a handsome apology for the fault his man had committed, in not giving way when a lady was in the coach; to which she modestly replied, that there could be no fault where there was no design of offending. Mr. Trueworth then drawing near, with a very cold and reserved air, told her he hoped she would receive no prejudice by the accident.

'I believe the danger is now over,' said she, struck to the very heart at finding herself accosted by him in a manner so widely different from that to which she had been accustomed: scarce had she the fortitude to bear the shock it gave her; but, summoning to her aid all that pride and disdain could supply her with, to prevent him from perceiving how much she was affected by his behaviour—'I could not, however,' pursued she, with a tone of voice perfectly ironical, 'have expected to receive any consolation under this little disaster from Mr. Trueworth; I imagined, sir, that some weeks ago you had been reposing yourself in the delightful bowers, and sweet recesses, of your country-seat. How often have I heard you repeat with pleasure these lines of Mr. Addison's—

"Bear me, ye gods! t'Umbraia's gentle seats,

Or hide me in sweet Bayia's soft retreats?"

'Yet still I find you in this noisy, bustling town.' She concluded these words with a forced smile; which Mr. Trueworth taking no notice of, replied with the same gravity as before, 'I purposed, indeed, Madam, to have returned to Oxfordshire; but events then unforeseen have detained me.'

While they were speaking, Sir Bazil recollecting the face of Miss Betsy, which till now he had not done, cried, 'I think, Madam, I have had the honour of seeing you before this?'—'Yes, Sir Bazil,' replied she, knowing very well he meant at Miss Forward's, 'you saw me once in a place where neither you, nor anyone else, will ever see me again: but I did not then know the character of the person I visited.' To which Sir Bazil only replying, that he believed she did not, Mr. Trueworth immediately rejoined, that the most cautious might be once deceived.

The emphasis with which he uttered the word once, made Miss Betsy see that he bore still in his mind the second error she had been guilty of in visiting that woman; but she had no time to give any other answer than a look of scorn and indignation, Sir Bazil's footman telling him the chariot was now at liberty, and had received no damage: on which the gentlemen took their leave of her, Mr. Trueworth shewing no more concern in doing so, than Sir Bazil himself, or any one would have done, who never had more than a mere cursory acquaintance with her.

She would not be persuaded to go into the coach again, much less could she think of going on her intended visit; but desired a chair to be called, and went directly home, in order to give vent to those emotions which may easier be conceived than represented.