Memoirs of Emma Courtney Part 17

'My letter having been delayed a few days, through a mistake--I resume my pen; for, running my eye over what I had written, I perceive (confounded by the force of your expressions) I have granted you too much. My conduct was not, altogether, so insane as I have been willing to allow.

It is certain, that could I have attained the end proposed, my happiness had been encreased. "It is necessary for me to love and admire, or I sink into sadness." The behaviour of the man, whom I sought to move, appeared to me too inconsistent to be the result of _indifference_. To be roused and stimulated by obstacles--obstacles admitting hope, because obscurely seen--is no mark of weakness.

Could I have subdued, what I, _then_, conceived to be the _prejudices_ of a worthy man, I could have increased both his happiness and my own. I deeply reasoned, and philosophized, upon the subject. Perseverance, with little ability, has effected wonders;--with perseverance, I felt, that, I had the power of uniting ability--confiding in that power, I was the dupe of my own reason. No other man, perhaps, could have acted the part which this man has acted:--how, then, was I to take such a part into my calculations?

'Do not misconceive me--it is no miracle that I did not inspire affection. On this subject, the mortification I have suffered has humbled me, it may be, even, unduly in my own eyes--but to the emotions of my pride, I would disdain to give words. Whatever may have been my feelings, I am too proud to express the rage of slighted love!--Yet, I am sensible to all the powers of those charming lines of Pope--

"Unequal talk, a pa.s.sion to resign, For hearts so touch'd, so pierc'd, so lost, as mine!

Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state, How often must it love, how often hate; How often hope, despair, resent, regret, Conceal, disdain, _do all things but forget_!"

'But to return. I pursued, comparatively, (as I thought) a certain good; and when, at times, discouraged, I have repeated to myself--What! after all these pains, shall I relinquish my efforts, when, perhaps, on the very verge of success?--To say nothing of the difficulty of forcing an active mind out of its trains--if I desisted, what was to be the result? The sensations I now feel--apathy, stagnation, abhorred vacuity!

'You cannot resist the force of my reasoning--you, who are acquainted with, who know how to paint, in colours true to nature, the human heart--you, who admire, as a proof of power, the destructive courage of an Alexander, even the fanatic fury of a Ravaillac--you, who honour the pernicious ambition of an Augustus Caesar, as bespeaking the potent, energetic, mind!--why should _you_ affect to be intolerant to a pa.s.sion, though differing in nature, generated on the same principles, and by a parallel process. The capacity of perception, or of receiving sensation, is (or generates) the power; into what channel that power shall be directed, depends not on ourselves. Are we not the creatures of outward impressions? Without such impressions, should we be any thing? Are not pa.s.sions and powers synonimous--or can the latter be produced without the lively interest that const.i.tutes the former? Do you dream of annihilating the one--and will not the other be extinguished? With the apostle, Paul, permit me to say--"I am not mad, but speak the words of truth and soberness."

'To what purpose did you read my confessions, but to trace in them a character formed, like every other human character, by the result of unavoidable impressions, and the chain of necessary events. I feel, that my arguments are incontrovertible:--I suspect that, by affecting to deny their force, you will endeavour to deceive either me or yourself.--I have acquired the power of reasoning on this subject at a dear rate--at the expence of inconceivable suffering. Attempt not to deny me the miserable, expensive, victory. I am ready to say--(ungrateful that I am)--Why did you put me upon calling forth my strong reason?

'I perceive there is no cure for me--(apathy is, not the restoration to health, but, the morbid lethargy of the soul) but by a new train of impressions, of whatever nature, equally forcible with the past.--You will tell me, It remains with myself whether I will predetermine to resist such impressions. Is this true? Is it philosophical? Ask yourself. What!--can _even you_ shrink from the consequences of your own principles?

'One word more--You accuse me of brooding in silence over my sensations--of considering them as a "sacred deposit."

Concealment is particularly repugnant to my disposition--yet a thousand delicacies--a thousand nameless solicitudes, and apprehensions, sealed my lips!--He who inspired them was, alone, the depositary of my most secret thoughts!--my heart was unreservedly open before him--I covered my paper with its emotions, and transmitted it to him--like him who whispered his secret into the earth, to relieve the burden of uncommunicated thought. My secret was equally safe, and received in equal silence! Alas! he was not then ignorant of the effects it was likely to produce!

'EMMA.'

Mr Francis continued his humane and friendly attentions; and, while he opposed my sentiments, as conceiving them destructive of my tranquillity, mingled with his opposition a gentle and delicate consideration for my feelings, that sensibly affected me, and excited my grateful attachment.

He judged right, that, by stimulating my mind into action, the sensations, which so heavily oppressed it, might be, in some measure, mitigated--by diverting the course of my ideas into different channels, and by that means abating their force. His kindness soothed and flattered me, and communications relieved my thoughts.

CHAPTER XIII

The period which succeeded these events, though tedious in wearing away, marked by no vicissitude, has left little impression behind. The tenor of my days resembled the still surface of a stagnant lake, embosomed in a deep cavern, over which the refres.h.i.+ng breezes never sweep. Sad, vacant, inactive--the faculties both of mind and body seemed almost suspended. I became weak, languid, enervated--my disorder was a lethargy of soul. This was gradually succeeded by disease of body:--an inactivity, so contrary to all the habits of my past life, generated morbid humours, and brought on a slow, remitting, fever. I recovered, by degrees, from this attack, but remained for some time in a debilitated, though convalescent, state. A few weeks after my disorder returned, lasted longer, and left me still more weakened and depressed. A third time it a.s.sailed me, at a shorter interval; and, though less violent, was more protracted, and more exhausting.

Mrs Denbeigh, alarmed by my situation, wrote to Mrs Harley, expressing the apprehensions which she entertained. From this dear friend, who was herself in a declining state of health, I received a pressing invitation to visit, once more, the village of F----; and to seek, from change of air, change of scene, and the cordial endearments of friends.h.i.+p, a restoration for my debilitated frame, and a balm for my wounded mind.

My relation, at this period, had letters from her husband, informing her, that the term of his residence in India was prolonged; pressing her to join him there, and to come over in the next s.h.i.+p. To this request she joyfully acceded; and, hearing that a packet was about to sail for Bengal, secured her pa.s.sage, and began immediately to make preparations for her departure. I no longer hesitated to comply with the entreaties of my friend; besides the tie of strong affection, which drew me to her, I had, at present, little other resource.

After affectionately embracing Mrs Denbeigh, wis.h.i.+ng a happy issue to her voyage, thanking her for all her kindness, and leaving a letter of grateful acknowledgement for Mr Francis, I quitted the metropolis, with an aching heart, and a wasted frame. My cousin accompanied me to the inn, from whence the vehicle set out that was to convey me to Mrs Harley. We parted in silence--a crowd of retrospective ideas of the past, and solicitudes respecting the future, occupied our thoughts--our sensations were too affecting for words.

The carriage quitted London at the close of the evening, and travelled all night:--it was towards the end of the year. At midnight we pa.s.sed over Hounslow and Bagshot heaths. 'The moon,' to adopt the language of Ossian, 'looked through broken clouds, and brightened their dark-brown sides.' A loud November blast howled over the heath, and whistled through the fern.--There was a melancholy desolation in the scene, that was in unison with my feelings, and which overwhelmed my spirits with a tide of tender recollections. I recalled to my imagination a thousand interesting images--I indulged in all the wild enthusiasm of my character.

My fellow-travellers slept tranquilly, while my soul was awake to agonizing sorrow. I adopted the language of the tender Eloisa--'Why,'

said I, 'am I indebted for life to his care, whose cruelty has rendered it insupportable? Inhuman, as he is, let him fly from me for ever, and deny himself the savage pleasure of being an eye-witness to my sorrows!--But why do I rave thus?--He is not to be blamed--_I, alone, am guilty_--I, alone, am the author of my own misfortunes, and should, therefore, be the only object of anger and resentment.'[19]

[Footnote 19: Rousseau.]

Weakened by my late indisposition, fatigued by the rough motion of the carriage, and exhausted by strong emotion, when arrived at the end of my journey, I was obliged to be lifted from the coach, and carried into the cottage of my friend. The servant led the way to the library--the door opened--Mrs Harley advanced, to receive me, with tottering steps. The ravages of grief, and the traces of sickness, were visible in her dear, affectionate, countenance. I clasped my hands, and, lifting up my eyes, beheld the portrait of Augustus--beheld again the resemblance of those features so deeply engraven on my heart! My imagination was raised--methought the lively colours of the complexion had faded, the benignant smile had vanished, and an expression of perplexity and sternness usurped its place. I uttered a faint shriek, and fell lifeless into the arms of my friend. It was some time before I returned to sense and recollection, when I found myself on the bed, in the little chamber which had formerly been appropriated to my use. My friend sat beside me, holding my hand in her's, which she bathed with her tears. 'Thank G.o.d!'

she exclaimed, in a rapturous accent, (as, with a deep sigh, I raised my languid eyes, and turned them mournfully towards her)--'she lives!--My Emma!--child of my affections!'--sobs suppressed her utterance. I drew the hand, which held mine, towards me--I pressed it to my bosom--'_My mother!_'--I would have said; but the tender appellation died away upon my lips, in inarticulate murmurs.

These severe struggles were followed by a return of my disorder. Mrs Harley would scarcely be persuaded to quit my chamber for a moment--her tenderness seemed to afford her new strength;--but these exertions accelerated the progress of an internal malady, which had for some time past been gaining ground, and gradually undermining her health.

Youth, and a good const.i.tution, aided by the kind solicitudes of friends.h.i.+p, restored me, in a few weeks, to a state of convalescence.

I observed the declining strength of my friend with terror--I accused myself of having, though involuntarily, added to these alarming symptoms, by the new fatigues and anxieties which I had occasioned her. Affection inspired me with those energies, that reason had vainly dictated. I struggled to subdue myself--I stifled the impetuous suggestions of my feelings, in exerting myself to fulfil the duties of humanity. My mind a.s.sumed a firmer tone--I became, once more, the cheerful companion, the tender consoler, the attentive nurse, of this excellent woman, to whose kindness I was so much indebted--and, if I stole a few moments in the day, while my friend reposed, to gaze on the resemblance of Augustus, to weep over the testimonies of his former respect and friends.h.i.+p, I quickly chased from my bosom, and my countenance, every trace of sadness, when summoned to attend my friend.

CHAPTER XIV

The winter came on severe and cold. Mrs Harley was forbidden to expose herself to the frosty air, which seemed to invigorate my languid frame.

I was const.i.tuted her almoner, to distribute to the neighbouring poor the scanty portion, which she was enabled, by a rigid oeconomy, to spare from her little income: yet the value of this distribution had been more than redoubled, by the gentler charities of kind accents, tender sympathy, and wholesome counsels. To these indigent, but industrious, cottagers, I studied to be the worthy representative of their amiable benefactress, and found my reward in their grateful attachment, and the approving smiles of my friend.

By degrees, she ventured to converse with me on the subject nearest her heart--the situation of her son. He had been obliged to yield to the proofs produced of his marriage, which he had, at first, seemed desirous of evading. He had written, with reserve, upon the subject to his mother; but, from the enquiries of a common friend, she had reason to apprehend, that his engagement had been of an imprudent nature. Two children, were, already the fruits of it: the mother, with a feminine helplessness of character, had a feeble const.i.tution. The small fortune, which Augustus had originally shared with his family, was greatly reduced. His education and habits had unfitted him for those exertions which the support of an encreasing family necessarily required:--his spirits (her friend had informed her) seemed broken, and his temper soured. Some efforts had been made to serve him, which his lofty spirit had repelled with disdain.

This narration deeply affected my heart--I had resigned myself to his loss--but the idea of his suffering, I felt, was an evil infinitely severer. It was this conviction that preyed incessantly on the peace and health of his mother. My fort.i.tude failed, when I would have tried to sustain her; and I could only afford the melancholy satisfaction of mingling my sorrows with her's.

The disorder of my friend rapidly increased--her mind became weakened, and her feelings wayward and irritable. I watched her incessantly--I strove, by every alleviating care, to soften her pains. Towards the approach of spring the symptoms grew more threatening; and it was judged, by her physician, necessary to apprize her family of her immediate danger. What a trial for my exhausted heart! I traced, with a trembling hand, a line to this melancholy purpose--addressed it to Mr Harley, and through him to his younger brothers and sisters.

In a few days they arrived in the village--sending from the inn a servant, to prepare their mother for their approach. I gently intimated to her the visitants we might expect. The previous evening, a change had taken place, which indicated approaching dissolution; and her mind (not uncommon in similar cases) seemed, almost instantaneously, to have recovered a portion of its original strength. She sighed deeply, while her eyes, which were fixed wistfully on my face, were lighted with a bright, but transient, l.u.s.tre.

'My dear Emma,' said she, 'this is a trying moment for us both. I shall soon close my eyes, for ever, upon all worldly cares.--Still cherish, in your pure and ingenuous mind, a friends.h.i.+p for my Augustus--the darling of my soul! He may, in future, stand in need of consolation. I had formed hopes--vain hopes!--in which you and he were equally concerned.

In the happiness of this partially-favoured child--this idol of my affections--all mine was concentrated. He has disappointed me, and I have lost the desire of living--Yet, he has n.o.ble qualities!--Who, alas!

is perfect? Summon your fort.i.tude, collect your powers, my child, for this interview!'

She sunk on her pillow--I answered her only with my tears. A servant entered--but spoke not--her look announced her tidings--It caught the eye of Mrs Harley--

'Let them enter,' said she; and she raised herself, to receive them, and a.s.sumed an aspect of composure.

I covered my face with my handkerchief--I heard the sound of footsteps approaching the bed--I heard the murmurs of filial sorrow--The voice of Augustus, in low and interrupted accents, struck upon my ear--it thrilled through my nerves--I shuddered, involuntarily--What a moment!

My friend spoke a few words, in a faint tone.

'My children,' she added, 'repay to this dear girl,' laying her hand upon mine, 'the debt of kindness I owe her--she has smoothed the pillow of death--she is an orphan--she is tender and unfortunate.'

I ventured to remove for a moment the handkerchief from my eyes--they met those of Augustus--he was kneeling by the bed-side--his countenance was wan, and every feature sunk in dejection; a s.h.i.+vering crept through my veins, and chilled my heart with a sensation of icy coldness--he removed his eyes, fixing them on his dying mother.

'My son,' she resumed, in still fainter accents, 'behold in Emma, your sister--_your friend!_--confide in her--she is worthy of your confidence!'--'Will you not love him, my child,'--(gazing upon me,)--'with a sisterly affection?'

I hid my face upon the pillow of my friend--I threw my arms around her--'Your request is superfluous, my friend, my more than parent, _ah, how superfluous_!'

'Forgive me, I know the tenderness of your nature--yielding, in these parting moments, to the predominant affection of my heart--I fear, I have wounded that tender nature.' 'Farewell, my children! Love and a.s.sist each other--Augustus, where is your hand?--my sight fails me--G.o.d bless you and your little ones--_G.o.d bless you all_!--My last sigh--my last prayer--is yours.'

Exhausted by these efforts, she fainted--Augustus uttered a deep groan, and raised her in his arms--but life was fled.

At the remembrance of these scenes, even at this period, my heart is melted within me.

What is there of mournful magic in the emotions of virtuous sorrow, that in retracing, in dwelling upon them, mingles with our tears a sad and sublime rapture? Nature, that has infused so much misery into the cup of human life, has kindly mixed this strange and mysterious ingredient to qualify the bitter draught.