Читать книгу The Greatest Regency Romance Novels - Maria Edgeworth - Страница 8

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THOUGH to tell me I am happy enough to be lik’d by a Woman, such, as by your Manner of Writing, I imagine you to be, is an Honour which I can never sufficiently acknowledge, yet I know not how I am able to content myself with admiring the Wonders of your Wit alone: I am certain, a Soul like yours must shine in your Eyes with a Vivacity, which must bless all they look on.—I shall, however, endeavour to restrain myself in those Bounds you are pleas’d to set me, till by the Knowledge of my inviolable Fidelity, I may be thought worthy of gazing on that Heaven I am now but to enjoy in Contemplation.—You need not doubt my glad Compliance with your obliging Summons:There is a Charm in your Lines, which gives too sweet an Idea of their lovely Author to be resisted.—I am all impatient for the blissful Moment, which is to throw me at your Feet, and give me an Opportunity of convincing you that I am,

Your everlasting Slave,

Beauplaisir.

NOTHING could be more pleas’d than she, to whom it was directed, at the Receipt of this Letter; but when she was told how inquisitive he had been concerning her Character and Circumstances, she could not forbear laughing heartily to think of the Tricks she had play’d him, and applauding her own Strength of Genius, and Force of Resolution, which by such unthought-of Ways could triumph over her Lover’s Inconstancy, and render that very Temper, which to other Women is the greatest Curse, a Means to make herself more bless’d.—Had he been faithful to me, (said she, to herself,) either as Fantomina, or Celia, or the Widow Bloomer, the most violent Passion, if it does not change its Object, in Time will wither: Possession naturally abates the Vigour of Desire, and I should have had, at best, but a cold, insipid, husband-like Lover in my Arms; but by these Arts of passing on him as a new Mistress whenever the Ardour, which alone makes Love a Blessing, begins to diminish, for the former one, I have him always raving, wild, impatient, longing, dying.—O that all neglected Wives, and fond abandon’d Nymphs would take this Method!—Men would be caught in their own Snare, and have no Cause to scorn our easy, weeping, wailing Sex! Thus did she pride herself as if secure she never should have any Reason to repent the present Gaiety of her Humour. The Hour drawing near in which he was to come, she dress’d herself in as magnificent a Manner, as if she were to be that Night at a Ball at Court, endeavouring to repair the want of those Beauties which the Vizard should conceal, by setting forth the others with the greatest Care and Exactness. Her fine Shape, and Air, and Neck, appear’d to great Advantage; and by that which was to be seen of her, one might believe the rest to be perfectly agreeable. Beauplaisir was prodigiously charm’d, as well with her Appearance, as with the Manner she entertain’d him: But though he was wild with Impatience for the Sight of a Face which belong’d to so exquisite a Body, yet he would not immediately press for it, believing before he left her he should easily obtain that Satisfaction.—A noble Collation being over, he began to sue for the Performance of her Promise of granting every Thing he could ask, excepting the Sight of her Face, and Knowledge of her Name. It would have been a ridiculous Piece of Affectation in her to have seem’d coy in complying with what she herself had been the first in desiring: She yeilded without even a Shew of Reluctance:And if there be any true Felicity in an Amour such as theirs, both here enjoy’d it to the full. But not in the Height of all their mutual Raptures, could he prevail on her to satisfy his Curiosity with the

Sight of her Face: She told him that she hop’d he knew so much of her, as might serve to convince him, she was not unworthy of his tenderest Regard; and if he cou’d not content himself with that which she was willing to reveal, and which was the Conditions of their meeting, dear as he was to her, she would rather part with him for ever, than consent to gratify an Inquisitiveness, which, in her Opinion, had no Business with his Love. It was in vain that he endeavour’d to make her sensible of her Mistake; and that this Restraint was the greatest Enemy imaginable to the Happiness of them both: She was not to be perswaded, and he was oblig’d to desist his Solicitations, though determin’d in his Mind to compass what he so ardently desir’d, before he left the House. He then turned the Discourse wholly on the Violence of the Passion he had for her; and express’d the greatest Discontent in the World at the Apprehensions of being separated;—swore he could dwell for ever in her Arms, and with such an undeniable Earnestness pressed to be permitted to tarry with her the whole Night, that had she been less charm’d with his renew’d Eagerness of Desire, she scarce would have had the Power of refusing him; but in granting this Request, she was not without a Thought that he had another Reason for making it besides the Extremity of his Passion, and had it immediately in her Head how to disappoint him.

THE Hours of Repose being arriv’d, he begg’d she would retire to her Chamber; to which she consented, but oblig’d him to go to Bed first; which he did not much oppose, because he suppos’d she would not lie in her Mask, and doubted not but the Morning’s Dawn would bring the wish’d Discovery.—The two imagin’d Servants usher’d him to his new Lodging; where he lay some Moments in all the Perplexity imaginable at the Oddness of this Adventure. But she suffer’d not these Cogitations to be of any long Continuance: She came, but came in the Dark; which being no more than he expected by the former Part of her Proceedings, he said nothing of; but as much Satisfaction as he found in her Embraces, nothing ever long’d for the Approach of Day with more Impatience than he did. At last it came; but how great was his Disappointment, when by the Noises he heard in the Street, the Hurry of the Coaches, and the Crys of Penny-Merchants, he was convinc’d it was Night no where but with him? He was still in the same Darkness as before; for she had taken care to blind the Windows in such a manner, that not the least Chink was left to let in Day.—He complain’d of her Behaviour in Terms that she would not have been able to resist yielding to, if she had not been certain it would have been the Ruin of her Passion:—She, therefore, answered him only as she had done before; and getting out of the Bed from him, flew out of the Room with too much Swiftness for him to have overtaken her, if he had attempted it.The Moment she left him, the two Attendants enter’d the Chamber, and plucking down the Implements which had skreen’d him from the Knowledge of that which he so much desir’d to find out, restored his Eyes once more to Day:—They attended to assist him in Dressing, brought him Tea, and by their Obsequiousness, let him see there was but one Thing which the Mistress of them would not gladly oblige him in.—He was so much out of Humour, however, at the Disappointment of his Curiosity, that he resolv’d never to make a second Visit.—Finding her in an outer Room, he made no Scruple of expressing the Sense he had of the little Trust she reposed in him, and at last plainly told her, he could not submit to receive Obligations from a Lady, who thought him uncapable of keeping a Secret, which she made no Difficulty of letting her Servants into.—He resented,—he once more entreated,—he said all that Man could do, to prevail on her to unfold the Mystery; but all his Adjurations were fruitless; and he went out of the House determin’d never to re-enter it, till she should pay the Price of his Company with the Discovery of her Face and Circumstances.—She suffer’d him to go with this Resolution, and doubted not but he would recede from it, when he reflected on the happy Moments they had pass’d together; but if he did not, she comforted herself with the Design of forming some other Stratagem, with which to impose on him a fourth Time.

SHE kept the House, and her Gentlemen-Equipage for about a Fortnight, in which Time she continu’d to write to him as Fantomina and the Widow Bloomer, and received the Visits he sometimes made to each; but his Behaviour to both was grown so cold, that she began to grow as weary of receiving his now insipid Caresses as he was of offering them: She was beginning to think in what Manner she should drop these two Characters, when the sudden Arrival of her Mother, who had been some Time in a foreign Country, oblig’d her to put an immediate Stop to the Course of her whimsical Adventures.—That Lady, who was severely virtuous, did not approve of many Things she had been told of the Conduct of her Daughter; and though it was not in the Power of any Person in the World to inform her of the Truth of what she had been guilty of, yet she heard enough to make her keep her afterwards in a Restraint, little agreeable to her Humour, and the Liberties to which she had been accustomed.

BUT this Confinement was not the greatest Part of the Trouble of this now afflicted Lady: She found the Consequences of her amorous Follies would be, without almost a Miracle, impossible to be concealed:—She was with Child; and though she would easily have found Means to have skreen’d even this from the Knowledge of the World, had she been at liberty to have acted with the same unquestionable Authority over herself, as she did before the coming of her Mother, yet now all her Invention was at a Loss for a Stratagem to impose on a Woman of her Penetration:—By eating little, lacing prodigious strait, and the Advantage of a great Hoop-Petticoat, however, her Bigness was not taken notice of, and, perhaps, she would not have been suspected till the Time of her going into the Country, where her Mother design’d to send her, and from whence she intended to make her escape to some Place where she might be deliver’d with Secrecy,if the Time of it had not happen’d much sooner than she expected.—A Ball being at Court, the good old Lady was willing she should partake of the Diversion of it as a Farewel to the Town.—It was there she was seiz’d with those Pangs, which none in her Condition are exempt from:—She could not conceal the sudden Rack which all at once invaded her; or had her Tongue been mute, her wildly rolling Eyes, the Distortion of her Features, and the Convulsions which shook her whole Frame, in spite of her, would have reveal’d she labour’d under some terrible Shock of Nature.—Every Body was surpris’d, every Body was concern’d, but few guessed at the Occasion.—Her Mother griev’d beyond Expression, doubted not but she was struck with the Hand of Death; and order’d her to be carried Home in a Chair, while herself follow’d in another.—A Physician was immediately sent for: But he presently perceiving what was her Distemper, call’d the old Lady aside, and told her, it was not a Doctor of his Sex, but one of her own, her Daughter stood in need of.—Never was Astonishment and Horror greater than that which seiz’d the Soul of this afflicted Parent at these Words: She could not for a Time believe the Truth of what she heard; but he insisting on it, and conjuring her to send for a Midwife, she was at length convinc’d of it.—All the Pity and Tenderness she had been for some Moment before possess’d of, now vanish’d, and were succeeded by an adequate Shame and Indignation:—She flew to the Bed where her Daughter was lying, and telling her what she had been inform’d of, and which she was now far from doubting, commanded her to reveal the Name of the Person whose Insinuations had drawn her to this Dishonour.—It was a great while before she could be brought to confess any Thing, and much longer before she could be prevailed on to name the Man whom she so fatally had lov’d; but the Rack of Nature growing more fierce, and the enraged old Lady protesting no Help should be afforded her while she persisted in her Obstinacy, she, with great Difficulty and Hesitation in her Speech, at last pronounc’d the Name of Beauplaisir. She had no sooner satisfy’d her weeping Mother, than that sorrowful Lady sent Messengers at the same Time, for a Midwife, and for that Gentleman who had occasion’d the other’s being wanted.—He happen’d by Accident to be at home, and immediately obey’d the Summons, though prodigiously surpris’d what Business a Lady so much a Stranger to him could have to impart.—But how much greater was his Amazement, when taking him into her Closet, she there acquainted him with her Daughter’s Misfortune, of the Discovery she had made, and how far he was concern’d in it?—All the Idea one can form of wild Astonishment, was mean to what he felt:—He assur’d her, that the young Lady her Daughter was a Person whom he had never, more than at a

Distance, admir’d:—That he had indeed, spoke to her in publick Company, but that he never had a Thought which tended to her Dishonour.—His Denials, if possible, added to the Indignation she was before enflam’d with:—She had no longer Patience; and carrying him into the Chamber, where she was just deliver’d of a fine Girl, cry’d out, I will not be impos’d on:The Truth by one of you shall be reveal’d.—Beauplaisir being brought to the Bed-side, was beginning to address himself to the Lady in it, to beg she would clear the Mistake her Mother was involv’d in; when she, covering herself with the Cloaths, and ready to die a second Time with the inward Agitations of her Soul, shriek’d out, Oh, I am undone!—I cannot live, and bear this Shame!—But the old Lady believing that now or never was the Time to dive into the Bottom of this Mystery, forcing her to rear her Head, told her, she should not hope to Escape the Scrutiny of a Parent she had dishonour’d in such a Manner, and pointing to Beauplaisir, Is this the Gentleman, (said she,) to whom you owe your Ruin? or have you deceiv’d me by a fictitious Tale? Oh! no, (resum’d the trembling Creature,) he is, indeed, the innocent Cause of my Undoing:—Promise me your Pardon, (continued she,) and I will relate the Means. Here she ceas’d, expecting what she would reply, which, on hearing Beauplaisir cry out, What mean you, Madam? I your Undoing, who never harbour’d the least Design on you in my Life, she did in these Words,Though the Injury you have done your Family, (said she,) is of a Nature which cannot justly hope Forgiveness, yet be assur’d, I shall much sooner excuse you when satisfied of the Truth, than while I am kept in a Suspence, if possible, as vexatious as the Crime itself is to me. Encouraged by this she related the whole Truth. And ’tis difficult to determine, if Beauplaisir, or the Lady, were most surpris’d at what they heard; he, that he should have been blinded so often by her Artifices; or she, that so young a Creature should have the Skill to make use of them. Both sat for some Time in a profound Resvery; till at length she broke it first in these Words: Pardon, Sir, (said she,) the Trouble I have given you: I must confess it was with a Design to oblige you to repair the supposed Injury you had done this unfortunate Girl, by marrying her, but now I know not what to say:—The Blame is wholly her’s, and I have nothing to request further of you, than that you will not divulge the distracted Folly she has been guilty of.—He answered her in Terms perfectly polite; but made no Offer of that which, perhaps, she expected, though could not, now inform’d of her Daughter’s Proceedings, demand. He assured her, however, that if she would commit the new-born Lady to his Care, he would discharge it faithfully. But neither of them would consent to that; and he took his Leave, full of Cogitations, more confus’d than ever he had known in his whole Life. He continued to visit there, to enquire after her Health every Day; but the old Lady perceiving there was nothing likely to ensue from these Civilities, but, perhaps, a Renewing of the Crime, she entreated him to refrain; and as soon as her Daughter was in a Condition, sent her to a Monastery in France, the Abbess of which had been her particular Friend. And thus ended an Intreague, which, considering the Time it lasted, was as full of Variety as any, perhaps, that many Ages has produced.