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Mrs Costello, A Soldier’s Orphan (London: Longman, Hurst, Rees, and Orme 1809) - Vol. 3
[Source: Available at Google Books - online; accessed 09.11.2011. Page numbers in arrow brackets {}.]
| Chapter 1 |
And moody madness laughing wild,
Amid severest woe. —Gray
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They followed the man through a long gloomy passage into a parlour tolerably well furnished; but, as Louisa thought, very different from what might be expected in a house of the Countess of Delville’s. A certain air of desolation seemed to reign around, and as she cast her eyes into the garden to which the room she was now in looked, she observed {1} several persons walking separately, whose countenances, she fancied, were in unison with the scene around.
She felt a chilling sensation of horror creep through her veins; her spirits, lately so exhilarated, were suddenly depressed, and her whole frame shook with the apprehension of approaching evil.
The man having left the room, Louisa turned to Miss Freeman for the purpose of asking her some question that would relieve the dread she felt so unaccountably pervade her mind; and to her utter dismay beheld the exultation which sat on her countenance, and which she was now no longer anxious to conceal.
“It is time,” said she,“now to undeceive you: you are not in the house of the Countess of Delville, neither does she know any thing of you; but believes you capable of crimes that justly expose you to her neglect and resentment; the same opinion is entertained {2} by both those families who you have been so weak as to believe would interest themselves in your favour; therefore you need not take the trouble again to apply to them, as, I can assure you, it is to no purpose. When you recollect the provocation you have given Lady Belmour, you will perhaps not be surprised to hear that you are in a place where you cannot repeat your offence, and from which not all the art you possess will be able to release you. Mr. Melford will probably tell you more in a few days: till then I leave you to the consolation which, no doubt, your very superior virtues will afford you.”
She then retired, and Louisa, who felt stupified by this sudden reverse of fortune, was unable to stop her, or to inquire where or why she was thus betrayed.
The person whom she had first seen now returned with a fat vulgar looking woman, who, he informed Louisa, would attend to her wants, and be kind to her, if {3} she was tractable, and did riot attempt to break through any of the rules laid down by him; but if she did, the most rigid confinement would be the consequence.
Louisa, more astonished, inquired what was expected from her, and why she should be treated in a manner so incomprehensible? But the man only smiled contemptuously on her, and repeating something to the woman which Louisa did not hear, left her to the care of her new attendant, in whose countenance she could see nothing conciliating to induce her fo enter into conversation, or to ask her any questions as to the nature of the confinernent she was compelled to submit to.
The woman at length proposed that she should retire for the night; a permission Louisa rejoiced at, as she wished for solitude, that she might indulge in unrestrained grief.
In the room to which she was conducted she found a trunk belonging to herself, which contained every necessary article {4} of dress. As she had not given orders; for those things, she expressed her surprise at seeing them, which her attendant took? no notice of, but offered to assist her to undress.
Louisa would have declined her services, as she felt no inclination togotobed, but was not permitted. Neither was her request to have a light left with her allowed. Thus left in darkness, and agitated with terror, it was in vain she courted the soothing influence of sleep; or if she yielded to it for a few moments, the most frightful images swam before her eyes, or the most horrible ideas took possession of her fancy. She would then start up, trembling and terrified, and breathing a prayer to the protector of innocence, endeavour to compose herself again to sleep, hoping to enjoy a short oblivion of her fears.
But all her efforts to obtain composure were ineffectual; she had no sooner closed {5} her eyes in a short forgetfulness than she either stood on the edge of a tremendous precipice, from the top of which she was hurled by an invisible power, or she was pursued by wild animals, or more frightful cruel beings of her own. species, into whose grasp, if she fell, she imagined inevitable destruction awaited her. Just in the act of falling, or being seized, she would awake, and for a few minutes feel all the horror which actual suffering, occasioned by those causes, could possibly have inflicted.
Thus passed the first night of her confinement; a confinement of which she knew not the nature or the purpose, and which she in vain endeavoured to account for. She recollected the look with which Lady Belmour had regarded her at the play; but she could hardly think that she, whom she had known from infancy, and had loved very tenderly, would have the cruelty to tear her from the {6} protection of friends, and deprive her of liberty: yet Miss Freeman had said so, and she was likely to know, as she had constant intercourse with Lady Belmour. But then how came she acquainted with Melford, who, it seemed, was apprised of the step they had taken? The whole Was inexplicable to her, and the more she thought of it, the more she was puzzled to account for such wanton cruelty. With the first appearance of greyhooded morn, she arose from her uneasy couch, and sat watching the stars as they gradually receded from her view, chased by the ruddy streaks of the sun, which slowly began to tinge the horison, till by degress the east was illuminated with his all-chearing rayy; and he arose in full majesty to dispense blessings on the earth, and give new life to every created being. She found her spirits soothed, and inspired with confidence and hope, and she {7}
resolved to submit without murmuring to whatever might befal her. .....
Feeling her eyes heavy and her head ache, she opened the window to admit the refreshing air of the morning, and now observed what had before escaped her notice, that it had bars of iron placed before it, so close as to prevent her putling her head between them.
Inexpressibly shocked, she withdrew shuddering and amazed. Am I indeed in a prison! cried she, clasping her hands in extreme agony, and can the amiable Countess of Delville have joined to betray me into the power of a jealous woman, or the avaricious designs of a man like Melford? No, I cannot believe it; yet the note was from her, therefore what am I to think?
Wearied with conjecture, she passed the hours till he same person who had attended her {8} before came to invite her to breakfast. To her she applied to knowwhy her room bore the appearance of a prison; but received no other answer to her question than a look that gave her exquisite pain, though she knew not how to interpret it. She however followed the person down stairs into the same room in which-she had been the night before, where she found several persons assembled: in some she observed a kind of cheerfulness, which seemed to be excited without any visible motive; and in others, a fixed look of unutterable woe. They were all perfectly composed and silent, and each seemed enveloped in his own peculiar feelings. No attempt was made to enter into conversation by any one, or to relieve the melancholy which hung around them by the most trivial remark.
Louisa felt something like the truth flush on her mind during their morning’s repast, but she rejected the idea as a {9} thing altogether impossible. She could not believe that persons in a deranged state would be allowed to pass in and out of the house perfectly at liberty, or that they could meet and take their meals with the regularity and order which those persons did.
She was not aware that those persons, apparently so free, were strictly watched; that ft was only at intervals that they enjoyed this freedom, and that they were patients whose friends paid large sums for their admittance into this house, where they received only such as it was supposed would recover.
The gaiety of some of those she had observed affected her more than’ the fixed melancholy of others; as, inspire of her endeavour to banish the suspicions that would intrude, she could not help associating an idea with her remarks on the conduct of all she had seen, that this house must be a receptacle for {10}. lunatics; but that she was considered as one, had not yet entered her mind.
Depressed with thoughts so painful,, as those of being betrayed to a dwelling. set apart for the reception of beipgs, in the most miserable state to which humanity is subject, she requested leave to retire to her own room; which request being granted; after relieving her oppressed heart by a flood of tears, she knelt down, and addressed herself with fervent and humble piety to him. who only could assist her, in this, her utmost distress.
“If,” said she, as she concluded her prayer; ”thou hast seen fit to afflict me with poverty, with disgrace, with loss of friends, and every thing that can endear life, yet thou hast in pity and mercy preserved my reason; I have still the privilege of addressing myself to thee in prayer, and can entertain a pious hope: that thou wilt not desert me. For {11} this inestimable benefit, my God! I thank thee, and implore thee to continue thy favour towards me, that I niay not fall into that state, where hope can never come.”
Feeling her mind more tranquillised, she arose, and seating herself at the grated window, which looked into a large garden laid out in the old-fashioned stile, with broad gravel walks, and regular rows of trees on each side, which brought the following lines of Pope to her mind:
Grove nods at grove, each alley has a brother,
And half the platform just reflects the other:
She tried to divert her thoughts from dwelling on painful subjects, by fixing them on objects new to her.
But as the novelty of the scene could not even compensate for the want of beauty in the local situation of the place, which appeared to be in the suburbs of the city; she withdrew her eyes from the
{12} window, and leaning pensively on her hand, her mind was transported to the scenes of her early youth. Suddenly she was aroused from this train of pleasing images, which her reflections had conjured up, and on which her fancy delighted to dwell, by a sweet plaintive voice singing at a window near her own. The voice was evidently that of a female, but the stanzas were broken and irregular: in a short time, as if soothed by the melody of her own voice, the notes, which had before been tremulous and low, now assumed a fuller s tone; and the stanzas were sung without any line being disjointed; as they were several times repeated at short intervals, Louisa plainly distinguished them to be as follow:
Where art thou? On the moonbeams? Oh! no, no
But in this hard world thou art seen nonicre:
Sweet pity, o’er the wild waves let us go,
And in some flow’ry isle,
There will we rest all day; {13}
And I will kiss my love’s last tears away..
And we again shall smile,
Like infants in their sleep. Hark! ’twas the roar
Of the remorseless tempest, that whelms all,
All my fond hopes. Rock on, thou gloomy deep!
To the noise of thy tempests I call;
No, no, I will. not weep,
Tho’ they sound in my ear like despair.
Saw you a child with golden hair?
’Twas love, his eyes so sweetly shining,
All hearts to tenderness inclining.
Yet oh! beware.
How sweet was his voice, when hand link’d in hand
We pass’d o’er scenes of fairy land;
But he left me unpitied to fate.
And o’er my sinking head the storm blew desolate
Then he whom I lov’d - but I will not complain, . .
Tho’ I never, oh never, shall see him again.
In breathless anxiety lest she should lose a note so sweetly sung, Louisa listened with wonder and delight; and when she was convinced the voice had ceased, she sat fixed with admiration, vainly endeavouring to get a sight of the melancholy warbler; but the bars of her window {14} prevented her from putting her head through for that purpose.
Convinced, by this circumstance, that another female was confined in the same house, who might probably be as much the victim of usurped authority as herself, Louisa determined to attempt an introduction to her, hoping they might mutually alleviate each other’s affliction, by sharing and communicating each ether’s sorrows.
After a considerable time passed at the window in fruitless expectation of hearing a repetition of the strain which had so much interested her, she retired; and her thoughts now having a new object to employ them, she paced her chamber for some hours, regardless of the lapse of time, or of her own individual misfortunes.
The entrance of her usual attendant recalled her to herself; she came to summon {15} her to attend a person in the parlour.
Flattering herself it might be some one who came to give her liberty, Louisa hastened to the parlour; but her hopes fled, and she nearly sunk on the floor, when, instead of any one from whom she could expect redress, she saw Mr. Melford. A malignant joy seemed to hang on his dark countenance, which added more horror to the expression of it than even his habitual frown.
Louisa felt too much disgust to allow her to speak, or demand the reason of her being thus treacherously used; but the contemptuous look with which she regarded him spoke her feelings eloquently.
“You would do well, Madam,” said Mr. Melford, “to lay aside those hostile looks, as I suppose by this time you are aware it is in my power either to release {16} you from this place, or keep you here as long as I think proper. I assure you I should rejoice to take you away with me now; but it must be on condition that you consent to marry my nephew immediately: if you do not, here you must stay, and be treated as a person who is insane: the people to whom you are committed believe you to be so; therefore whatever you may say will be regarded by them as the empty talk of a mad woman.”
“That I am here,” replied Louisa, “convinces me indeed that I am in your power; a power which you have unjustifiably obtained, and which you use unlike a man possessed of one principle either of honour or honesty; but that shall not force me to alter my resolution, which is as firmly fixed as ever, never to give my hand to your nephew: had he the wealth of both Indies, I would not sully my soul by a voluntary connection {17} with a man so base as I am now assured I you are; and from what I have observed of him, I believe he is not more estimable. You widely mistake my character, if you suppose you can obtain by treachery and cruelty what was refused to apparent generosity and affection.”
“Then, Madam, here you stay,” cried Mr. Melford, rising furiously, ” nor is it in the power of your favourite minion, Lord Belmour, to set you free.” But a power, which is superior to his or yours,. I trust, will!” answered Louisa,- “that power to which the innocent look with confidence, and the guilty with terror and dismay; the God, who now beholds both you and me, is the power from, whom I expect a release from the tyranny now exercised over me: I expect it not from man, for I am. indeed a friendless orphan.”
“Your being friendless is your own fault” said Mr. Melford, in a milder {18} tone: “I wish to be your friend, but you disdain my proffered friendship, as well as that of my family.”
“I wish not for the friendship of the wicked,” answered Louisa.
“Or of the good,” retorted Melford: “If report speaks truth, which I am inclined in the present instance to believe, though apparently so virtuous, you have lost the friendship of your most intimate acquaintance by your shameless conduct with Lord Belmour; yet you dare to censure others, and set yourself up for something superior to the rest of the world. Check this inordinate vanity, and see yourself as others see you. For my own part, I believe you as good as other young women; but be assured, girl, I do not think you perfect. This boast of virtue and goodness, in either man or woman, is only a convenient cloak to cover some design, and further their own {19} interest. That person, in my opinion, has the most virtue, who has the happiest method of concealing his vices: you have wit enough to do that, therefore your faux pas shall not prevent me wishing to see you married to Frank. I shall leave you now, and call on you again in a few days to know your final determination; for, spite of your heroics, I think you have too much good tense to continue much longer blind ta your own interest. Before I go, give me leave to tell you, the letter you wrote to the Countess of Delville fell into my hands: as you recollect, no doubt, the suspicions you did me the honour to entertain of me, and attempted to make known to a person who, you trusted, would espouse your cause, and expose me, you may rely on it, I shajl not give you an opportunity of doing so again. When you are married to my nephew, {20} of course you will not be so ready, for his sake as well as your own interest, to mention the subject I allude to.”
“If the Countess did not get my letter” said Louisa, [“]how did I receive an answer to it from her? and how came she to join with you in betraying me?”
“That kind office you owe to another person, whom Lady Belmour has employed to punish you. She did it to gratify the revenge she has long-wished for. However, if you will agree to my proposals, I will deliver you from the malice of her Ladyship, and by making you vie with her in fortune, set you above scandal, the shafts of which fall impotent on the rich,”
Mr. Melford, finding she did not appear to yield either to his threats or promises, took his leave, telling Louisa he should wait on her again shortly, when -he expected to find her ready to comply {21} with his commands, as she must on reflection see they were evidently calculated for her advantage.
Louisa saw it was in vain to reason with a man so fully bent on accomplishing a favourite project; she saw also it was as useless to attempt exciting his compassion, as he had plainly proved to her that emotion was a stranger to his bosom, which seemed equally abandoned by every other gentle and honourable sentiment.
His departure gave her no pain, for she had not expected to obtain her liberty from him. His visit had given her both disgust and satisfaction: the first occasioned by the depravity of his principles; and the latter, by a conviction that Lady Delville had not been accessary to her confinement. That Lady Belmour should, though it shocked and grieved her, yet she was not surprised.
Conscious of her innocence, Louisa {22} determined to make another attempt to interest the Countess of Delville in her favour. If, thought she, I am disappointed in my hopes of obtaining the benefit of her interference, I shall at least have the satisfaction of knowing I have not supinely yielded to my fate, and neglected fromprideto justify myself against the suspicions so falsely entertained to my prejudice.
When she again saw Woodford, the female to whose particular care she was committed, she entreated to be allowed materials for writing, which, after some hesitation, were granted, but with an assurance that whatever was written must be inspected by herself or her master.
“Alas!” said Louisa, ”to whom can I write? or, if I could, should I be suffered to send it?”
“No!” replied Woodford, “you would not; therefore I may safely trust you, for you have no opportunity of sending letters from this house; and a severe punishment would await you if you attempted it.”
End Chap. 1, Vol. III.
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