Secresy; or, Ruin on the Rock

LETTER XI

FROM CAROLINE ASHBURN TO SIBELLA VALMONT

I charge you, Sibella, by the value you affix to my friendship, that you remain at present passive. It is a term of probation for Clement on which the colouring of your future days depends. – More of this hereafter. I write now with a kind of restless eagerness. Images, apprehensions, and even hopes, all finally resting on you, fill the place of soberer judgment. – This wood wanderer! This spirit – 'part mortal and part etherial,' – fascinates my attention. I see him gliding through the paths you had trodden. The tree which screened him from your view cannot conceal him from mine. I see him listen almost breathless to your prayer. The new-born colour on his cheek hangs trembling, daring not then to depart; and the throbbings of his agonized bosom collect themselves while restrained, and give force to that sign whose utterance has echoed a thousand times in my imagination. I see him dart the ball forward to meet your feet; and then he rushes into the thickest gloom to hide himself, if possible, even from himself.

This is no spirit of your uncle's choosing, Sibella. No: it is one who has refined upon romance; who can give, I perceive, as much enthusiasm to the affections, and carve misery for himself as ingeniously, as though he had passed his days under the safeguard of Mr. Valmont's walls and draw-bridges. 'He will protect, but cannot harm thee.' In truth, I believe it. Go to the wood then, Sibella. See him, if possible; and tell me, did symmetry ever mould a statue in finer proportions than his form can boast? His eye in its passive state is a clear grey, its shape long; and the finest eye-brow and eye-lash that ever adorned mortal face, not excepting even your's Sibella, belong to his. Hold him in conversation and you will see that eye almost emit fire; it will dazzle you with its rays; or, if a softer subject engage him, it can speak so submissively to the heart that words become but the secondary medium of his theme. Observe how his hair, bursting from confinement into natural ringlets around his temples, contrasts itself with the fairness of his complexion – fair without effeminacy. His colour is of a doubtful kind; for it retires as you perceive it, or suffuses the whole of his fine countenance, just as you had begun to lament that he was too pale. His nose and mouth, though somewhat large, and perhaps irregular, yet admirably correspond with the harmony of the whole face. You probably will think Clement's glowing face handsomer: I do not. Chase but by one smile and dissatisfaction of your spirit, and there will a radiance, if I may so call it, beam upon you, that my best art fails to delineate.

I shall not underwrite the name till you have judged of my painting. Cease your astonishment, my friend, for I am no sorceress, and the spright is too etherial, too imaginative, to hold counsel with a mere mortal like me. To the means of his being with you I confess I have no clue; but if you read my former letters you will perhaps find mention of some few of the reasons and circumstances which incline me to infer I have discovered him.

You will find though what I am now about to tell you; for my heart only transmitted it to my understanding, where it remained to have its justice and propriety closely investigated. – Yes, Sibella, wild, variable, and inconsistent, as is this spirit of your woods, I could have loved him if – 'he would have let me.' But 'tis past: 'twas a trace on the sands. Love shall never write its lasting characters on my mind, till my reason invites it: and where hopes rests not, reason cannot abide.

Clement's eagerness to cultivate our acquaintance is by no means flattering. I have known him but a week. It was at the opera that I observed Laundy's eye stealing to the adjoining box with something more than mere inquisitiveness. Mine followed. A party of young men occupied the box, all known to me except one: and from the position in which the stranger sat neither Laundy nor I could gain more than an oblique view of his face. Now I do acknowledge that even this oblique view gave promise of the whole being worthy of observation; yet my curiosity lulled itself to repose till the Dutchess de N – (constantly of our parties) arose at the end of another act, to gaze around with that confidence which women of a certain rank deem infinitely becoming in themselves, though if perceived in a shopkeeper's wife or daughter downright impudence alone would be called its proper description.

'Ah!' screamed the Dutchess, 'Le Chevalier Montgomery!'

Clement, (for it was your Clement) starting from his former posture, bowed hastily; and having carelessly looked on the rest of the party returned to his seat.

Poor I, all flutter and palpitation, eager to know if this Montgomery was the identical Montgomery, was almost in despair that he should not avail himself of the Dutchess's recognition; but she was not to be so baffled. With some trouble, on account of the nabob's gouty toe, she displaced Sir Thomas and Lady Barlowe, and got close to the box. Already had she raised her fan to accost him with the tap of familiarity, when I heard Mr. Hanway his companion say – 'Mrs. and Miss Ashburn.' Clement's eye instantly met mine. A smile gathered round his mouth; and in two seconds he was in our box, regularly introduced by Mr. Hanway.

For the first minute, I was sure he resembled you; in the next, the likeness became indistinct; and in two more, I lost it entirely. His face, with all its advantages of complexion, colour, brilliant eyes, and exquisite teeth, has not the variety which your's possesses; though to say here that he is less handsome than any creature upon earth is almost a crime, and the ladies scruple as little to tell him he is a Phoenix as to think him one.

We had scarcely any conversation that evening; for my mother and the Dutchess vied with each other in their attention to Montgomery. Lady Barlowe could not claim a share of him, though Sir Thomas immediately recollected Clement and renewed their acquaintance with apparent pleasure.

'Don't you remember, Mr. Montgomery,' said the nabob, 'the day you and Arthur set out for the continent you dined with me? How much every body was delighted with my nephew's vivacity! That very day a gentleman said to me, Sir Thomas, – and a very great judge he was I assure you – Sir Thomas, said he, your nephew will make a figure in the world. If you bring him into parliament, what with his abilities and his relationship to you, Sir Thomas, he may stand almost any where in this country. Well, Mr. Montgomery, when I sent for him home so much sooner than I first intended, it was because this gentleman's advice appeared to me very good, and because he further told me no time was to be lost. Home Arthur came, and I could have bought him a borough the next day.' – 'No, indeed,' he said, he would neither buy votes or sell votes; nor did the conduct of parliament please him; nor could he – in short, he had so many faults to find and objections to make, that he out-talked me, and I couldn't tell what to say to him. But, thought I, he will think better of it; and I let the matter rest a while; and made another proposal in the mean time, and had he done as I wished he would now have been one of the richest men perhaps in the kingdom. Yet, upon my soul, he point blank refuses this too; and talked as much of principle and integrity and I know not what, as in t'other case! 'Twas damned insolent! and so I told him. – No, nor had he ever the modesty to ask my pardon; but took it all as coolly as you can imagine. – Well, and when I forgave him of my own accord, and behaved to him more kindly than ever, he has taken some new freak into his brain, and playing so many odd tricks of late that I am actually afraid of him.'

'Oh never was such an unaccountable!' said Lady Barlowe.

'The ball-night at Bath!' added my mother laughing.

'His letters are algebra to me;' said Clement, 'and I have been half tempted to forswear his correspondence.'

'Last winter,' said Mr. Hanway; 'he made conquests by dozens. Some cruel fair one is revenging, I suppose, her slighted sex. – In love, no doubt!'

'I believe not,' replied Clement; and the conversation ended: for the Dutchess now chose to talk; and, never having seen this incomprehensible irresistible Murden, she could not talk of him, you know.

The party adjourned to sup at Sir Thomas Barlowe's: we and the Dutchess de N – , by a previous engagement, Clement and Mr. Hanway in consequence of the baronet's pressing invitations. Mademoiselle Laundy complained of indisposition, and returned home immediately from the opera. She, as well as her friend the Dutchess, had been acquainted with Clement in Paris; but, after the first cold bow, Mademoiselle Laundy remained unnoticed by him.

No man could be more gallant, more gay, or unrestrained, than your chevalier, as the Dutchess persists in calling him. At the nabob's table we met several persons of fashion, to whom he was already known, and by whom he was treated with attention. His person and manners are no trivial recommendation; and the belief which every where prevails of his being heir to Mr. Valmont supports his consequence with its due proportion of power.

I debated with myself to determine, whether or not this belief ought to pass without contradiction; and, foreseeing many injurious consequences that might arise to Clement from the expences and dissipation which it encouraged, I resolved to seek an early opportunity of conversing with and encouraging him to disown the supposition. No opportunity occurred during that evening; but, ere we separated, Clement was engaged to dine on the succeeding day in one of my mother's private parties.

I very seldom breakfast with my mother, our hours of rising and morning avocations are so different; however, I went to her dressing room that morning, purposely to talk of your Clement. I spoke much of your attachment to each other; and Mrs. Ashburn immediately declared she would take his constancy under her protection, as such elegance and accomplishments, she said, as those possessed by Mr. Montgomery would be assailed with more temptation than such charming candour and simplicity might be able to withstand. To Miss Laundy my mother appealed for her confirmation of Clement's praise; and she either did, or I fancied she did, give her assent with a languor and inattention not usual to her. I had no reason, however, to accuse her of inattention when I hinted at the change in Clement's expectations; for, although my mother suffered it to pass unnoticed, Mademoiselle Laundy thought proper to press questions on me relative to this subject. I resented her inquisitive curiosity on a point which could not in any way concern her; and, declining to answer her questions, I quitted the room.

To join a private party, my mother had invited Clement: that was fifteen visitors, placed at a table covered with the most luxurious delicacies served in gilt plate, and surrounded with attendants as numerous as the company. Mrs. Ashburn, less splendid, but more tasty than usual in her dress and ornaments, was studiously attentive to Clement; declared herself his guardian; and spoke with rapturous admiration of you, Sibella, but without naming you, Clement blushed, bowed, returned compliment for compliment; and, graceful in all his changes, assumed an air and mien of exultation. Sometimes he turned his eye toward Mademoiselle Laundy.

The evening had far advanced before I could engage him in any conversation. He then showed me a letter from your uncle, wherein to my very great surprise Mr. Valmont desires Clement to be cautious in confiding his prospects or intentions to any one; bids him study mankind and despise them; tells him he does not mean to limit him to the sum he has already in his possession if more should be necessary; and advises him to be speedy in his choice of a profession; talks of the value of disappointment, the blessings of solitude, the duty of obedience, of his own wisdom, his own prudence and power; begins with the kind of appellation of – 'My dear adopted son;' concludes with the stern Valmont-like phrase of – 'Your friend as you conduct yourself.'

Here my interference ends. Henceforward, Mr. Valmont plans and Clement executes each in his own way. Your uncle has quite an original genius, Sibella; following no common track, he labours only to make a glare by strong opposition of colours, and to surprise by contrariety of images.

To Clement's murmurs against Mr. Valmont, succeeded a little species of delirium: for I named you, and no impassioned lover-like epithet was omitted in the recital of your charms. – Whatever, Sibella, may be my own vanity and pretensions I could hear praises of your beauty from a thousand tongues without envy or weariness. Yet, from Clement, a slighter mention would have pleased me better. He is the chosen of your heart; and should prize the mind you possess equal to heaven. An Angel's beauty might be forgotten, when the present and future contemplation of such a mind could be brought in view.

Alas, your lover is no philosopher! He laments the energy which I idolize. – Allow me to indulge the percipient quality I suppose myself to possess, and sketch Montgomery when my messenger, presents him the letter you inclosed to me. No sooner does he behold that writing, than Sibella rises to his view in all her grace and loveliness. Could he give existence to the vision, that moment would be too rich in transport. He trembles with an exquisite unsatisfied delight: and, while the senseless paper receives his eager kisses, he could fight dragons, or rush through fire to obtain you. – At length he reads. – Well: the same Sibella is there – she whom he calls the most perfect and lovely of all God's creatures! – the same Sibella whose enchantments cast a magic illusion around the horror-nodding woods of Valmont! – The same Sibella, but poor and dependent, is now quitting those woods for ever and ever – she leaves behind her even the trace of wealth; and flies an outcast to Clement, who, involved in the same ruin, has neither fortune, fame nor friend! – Delightful expectations vanish. Torture succeeds. And the agony of this prospect to Clement could in no one instance be equalled, except perchance by the knowledge of your being in the possession of a rival and lost to him for ever.

I suspect there are some latent shades in this picture which will displease you: but remember, my ever dear girl, that early, even at the commencement of our intimacy, we reciprocally laid it down as a solemn truth that without full and entire confidence friendship is of no value. I have said that Clement and you love from habit. Nor let it wound you that I say so still; for I am willing to seek conviction, and though I cannot be more candid than now, nor ever more worthy of your affection than while I am offending your heart to inform your judgment, yet if conviction meet me, I shall be more joyful by millions of degrees in owning I had mistaken.

At all events, whether Clement approves or disapproves the intention, your leaving your uncle and his castle now would be decidedly wrong. Your education, constantly in opposition to that which a dependent should have had, unfits you for entering the world without protection. You have so much to learn of the manners of society, that perhaps any plan you might form would turn out the very reverse of your expectations. – Stay, patiently if you can: at any rate, stay, till Clement makes his final determination, and then I'll tell you more of my mind.

Be happy, my sweet my beloved friend! You have it largely in your power; and surely 'tis better to summons fortitude and walk boldly over a few thorns, than creep through miserable paths to avoid them, or sit down idly to bemoan their situation.

P.S. I have opened my letter, in consequence of a visit from Clement Montgomery. He came to me, Sibella, agitated and trembling. Your letter had conjured up a horrible train of fears and suppositions, and he was scarcely assured the evil he most dreaded had not already arrived. 'Rash, cruel Sibella!' he exclaimed, 'even now, perhaps, your have for ever undone me with Mr. Valmont!' I reminded him that you had said in the concluding lines of your letter to me that you waited, though unwillingly, for Clement's determination. 'O that is true!' cried he – 'and 'tis my salvation! Dear Miss Ashburn, conjure her, by your love and my own, to guard our secret faithfully from her uncle. Tell her, she cannot judge of the destruction she would hurl upon my head if she were now to betray me. Tell her, I intreat, I insist, that she make not one attempt to quit the castle. – Will you, dear Miss Ashburn, undertake this kind office? Will you turn the adorable romantic girl from her mad enterprise?'

'Certainly Mr. Montgomery,' I replied, 'I will deliver your own message exactly in your own words. As to my opinion, I have given it to Sibella already: it is against her quitting the castle.'

I should also have told Clement what were my motives for wishing you to remain with your uncle, had not my mother and Mademoiselle Laundy, at that instant, entered the room. Their presence, however, did not prevent Clement from thanking me with great warmth; and, the worst of his fears being now removed, his countenance again brightened into smiles, and he readily acquiesced in my mother's wish of his attending her to convey him to his lodgings to dress, and, as he quitted us, I bade him remember the purpose for which he came to London. Blushes covered his face, and he departed without speaking. Once more, adieu! Forget not the wood-haunter.

LETTER XII

FROM JANETTEA LAUNDY TO CLEMENT MONTGOMERY

Wounded pride bids me forget the cold, cruel Montgomery; but fatally for the peace of Janetta, her love, betrayed injured and neglected as it is, still is more powerful than her pride. I have seen my family stripped of their honours and possessions by a band of ruffians. I have been left a destitute orphan: and compelled to seek subsistence in a strange country: compelled to descend even to a species of servitude! Yet how trivial such misfortunes, compared with the loss of thee, Montgomery! How could you leave me unjustified and unheard? How could you meet me as you did this night? Do you never remember, Montgomery, the sacrifices made to you by the undone Janetta? Do you never remember the hours of your solicitations, vows, and promises? and if you do remember them, can you thus kill with scorn and aversion her who solicits your return to your vows with tears of passion, love, and anguish?

I did not feign when I pleaded indisposition to excuse my attendance on Mrs. Ashburn to Sir Thomas Barlowe's; for, which in your presence and restrained by the presence of others from giving freedom to my emotions, I suffered indescribable torture. What dangers do I not incur by setting the messenger who shall give you this to watch your quitting the party? But you will not, Montgomery, dear adored Montgomery, if you do hate and despise me, you will not give me up to the contempt of others! My reputation is still sacred: and, but for you, the peace within my bosom had now been inviolate.

I must see you, I will see you, Montgomery! Do not drive me to desperation! I have woes enough already. Let me but once have an interview to explain that cruel mistake of your's, concerning the Duke de N – ; and, when I have proved my innocence, if you still bid me languish under your hatred, I will then suffer in silence. No complaint shall ever reach you. Should you again smile on me – oh heavens! the rapture of that thought!

Be assured I can prove my innocence. Be assured you were utterly mistaken. It was a scheme, a stratagem for purposes I can easily explain if you will but give me an interview. The Dutchess de N – is to this hour my very best friend; it was she who brought me to England. Alas, what a sad reverse of situation is mine! thus to sue with tears and intreaty for one short hour's conversation to him who, but a few months past, languished for the slightest of my favours! Think what a preference I gave you over the many who followed me with their sighs; think what I was; what I have endured; and drive not to rage and despair her who is ever your's and your's alone:

LETTER XIII

FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME

Last night I obeyed the impulses of an unfortunate passion, renewed in its utmost violence and weakness by the unexpected sight of you. I now obey the dictates of prudence and reflection, and decline the interview I last night solicited.

Yes, Montgomery! I see evidently that I am sacrificed to some rival. Be it so. I am content to resign you. Content to endure this penance for my past mistakes. We will henceforward meet only as strangers. I am resolved. Never will I again trouble you in any way; nor ever again yield to that delusion which has brought upon me so much misfortune and misery.

I have but one request to make; and that, Sir, is a last request. Remember that I am friendless and dependent. Be generously silent. You are likely to be on terms of intimacy in this family, and Miss Ashburn is as severe as penetrating. Guard carefully a secret that would ruin me in my situation; and every service that gratitude can inspire shall by your's from

LETTER XIV

FROM CLEMENT MONTGOMERY TO ARTHUR MURDEN

Mr. Valmont, dear Arthur, has sent me to London with 500l. in my pocket to choose a profession. 'Be not rash nor hasty in your determination, Clement,' said he when we parted. 'Associate with such persons as have already made their choice; and have from practice, from success, or disappointment, learned the exact value of their several professions. But associate with them as an independent man, one who seeks a variety of knowledge rather from inclination than necessity; and under these appearances, Clement, they will court you to receive their confidence, even their envy of your independence will increase the freedom of their communications.'

And do you dream, Arthur, that I am practicing these grave maxims, and hearkening to the jargon of law, physic and divinity? No indeed, not I. The variety of knowledge I seek is variety in pleasures. My teachers are divinities whose oracles, more precious than wisdom, can lead the senses captive and enchain the will.

'Be secret,' said Mr. Valmont. Most readily can I be secret. I would have it remain a profound and everlasting secret, never to interrupt the delicious enjoyments which now again hover within my reach, which I must seize on. I have not the cold ability to chase from me the present smiling hour of offered delight, because a future hour may frown. Pleasure beckons, and I follow. I tread the mazy round of her varieties. Youth, vigour, and fancy conduct me to her shrine, the most indefatigable of her votaries. Alike, I abjure retrospect and foreboding. As long as I can find means, will I elude the horrible change; and, if the fatal hour of darkness must arrive, why, Arthur, it is but to exert a little manhood, it is but to remember that all the charms of life are passed by, and boldly to plunge into everlasting darkness.

Imagine not, dear Arthur, by that doleful conclusion that I at all dread the possibility of its arrival; for, on the contrary, I believe my dismission is a mere farce, a something with Mr. Valmont to vary project and prolong inconsistency. I have compared his letters and his speeches; combined circumstances; and find them, though so various and contradictory, yet full of hope and promise.

One cause of dread, indeed, will assail me. I dread the rashness of Sibella. Could you suppose, Murden, that she has even talked of explaining the nature of our intimacy to her uncle, and of quitting his castle? Was ever any thing so violent, so absurd, so pregnant with evil at this scheme? When I had read her letter, I thought every chair in my apartment was stuffed with thorns. Nay, I endured for a time the torments of the rack. Thank heaven! Miss Ashburn adopted my sense of the extravagant proposition, undertook to dissuade Sibella, and restored me once more to gaiety, courage, and happiness.

Yes, Arthur, established in my former lodgings, courted, surrounded, congratulated by my former friends, I want but your society and the embraces of my divine girl to be the happiest of the happy. Thanks, Murden, for your silence on the subject of Mr. Valmont's threatened disposal of me. I am every where received like my former self. Oh! had I met one repulsive look, or supercilious brow, with – your servant, Mr. Montgomery – I surely should have run mad!