Part 7

But amidst the various feelings which made my cheek pale, my brow thoughtful and sad, my form meagre, and which deprived me of every thing but the mere outline of former beauty, was the consciousness that my mother's heart was estranged from my husband. He had even exceeded all her fears and expectations; and her manner to him was full of that cold civility, which when it replaces ardent affection is of all things the most terrible to endure from one whom you love and venerate. He felt it to his heart's core, and alas! he resented it by flying oftener from his home and the wife whom he thus rendered wretched.

At this period my mother was surprised by a most unexpected guest, and, situated as I was, an unwelcome visitor to both; for it was Ferdinand de Walden.

Business had brought him to England; and as time had, he believed, mellowed his attachment to me into friendship, he had no objection to visit my mother, and renew his acquaintance with me. But though she prepared him to see me much altered, as I had not, she said, recovered the loss of my child, he was so overcome when he saw me, that he was forced to leave the room; and the sight of that faded face and form, nay, I may say, the utter loss of my beauty, endeared me yet more to the heart of De Walden.

Had I been an artful, had I been a coquettish woman, this was the time to show it; for I might have easily roused the jealousy of my husband, and perhaps have terrified him back to his allegiance. But I should have felt debased if I had excited one feeling of jealousy in a husband's heart, and my manner was so cold to De Walden that he complained of it to my mother.

Mr. Oswald called on De Walden, as soon as he heard of his arrival, for he had known him abroad, and a day was fixed for our meeting him at Oswald Lodge: nay, my mother, to mark her great respect for her guest, would have joined the party had she not sprained her ankle severely the day before.

It was now some weeks since I had dined there; therefore I had not seen the great increase of intimacy which was visible between Seymour and Lady Martindale, and which I dreaded should be observed by Lord Martindale himself: but he did not seem to mind it, and looked at me with such an expression of countenance, lavishing on me at the same time such disgusting flatteries, that the dark eye of De Walden flashed fire as he regarded him, and he beheld my absorbed and inattentive husband with a look in which scorn contended with agony. But if Seymour was so completely absorbed in looking at and listening to the Syren who bewitched him, she was not equally absorbed in him: but I saw that when he was not looking at her, she was earnestly examining De Walden, and that his eye dwelt on her with a very marked and scornful meaning.

Lady Martindale was solicited at the dinner table to promise some new guests who were there, to exhibit to them the scene with the dog; but on pretence of having hurt her foot she refused. This led to a conversation on dancing, of which art, to my great surprise, De Walden declared himself a great admirer in the early part of his life. "When I was very young," said he in French, "I saw such dancing as I shall never forget. It was that of a young creature on the Paris stage, who was then called Annette Beauvais, and she quite bewitched my young heart, both on and off the stage; for I once saw her in a private party, but then I was quite a boy: she was at that time the mistress of a _fermier general_: since then she has figured, as I have heard, in many different capacities, and I should not be surprised to hear of her as a peeress, or a princess; so great and versatile were her powers."

This discussion, so little _a-propos_, for what did any one present care for Annette Beauvais? convinced me De Walden had a meaning beyond what appeared; and casting my eyes on Lord Martindale and his lady, I saw they were both covered with confusion: but the former recovering himself first, said, "Annette Beauvais! My dear Eugenie, is not that the name of the girl who was reckoned so like you?"

"_Mais oui--sans doute_--I was much sorry--for I was take for her very oft'--_et cependant elle est plus grande que moi._[3]"

[Footnote 3: Yet she is taller than I.]

"She may look taller on the stage, my lady," said De Walden, again speaking in French, that she might not lose a word; "but I would wager any money, that off the stage, no one would know Annette from you, or you from her."

"_A la bonne heure_," said she in a tone of pique, and avoiding the searching glance of his eye; then, on her making a signal to Mrs. Oswald, she rose, and we left the dining-room.

With the impression which I had just received on my mind of Lady Martindale's former profession, or rather character, I could not help replying to the attentions which she now lavished on me with distant politeness; and I saw clearly that she observed my change of manner, and, resenting it in her heart, resolved to take ample vengeance; for, as I stood with my arms folded in a long mantle which I wore, lost in reverie, it happened that I did not answer Lady Martindale when she first spoke, and when I did, it was in a cold and absent manner, and as if I addressed an inferior; on which the artful woman, who sat in a recess by the side of my husband, threw herself back, exclaiming, "_Mais voyez donc comme elle me traite! Ah! comment ai-je merite cette durete de sa part?_"[4] She accompanied these words with a few touching tears.

[Footnote 4: Only see how she treats me! How have I deserved such hard treatment from her?]

On seeing and hearing this, for the first time in his life since we married, Seymour felt irritated against me; and coming up to me, he said, in a voice nearly extinct with passion, "Mrs. Pendarves, I insist on your apologizing to that lady for the rudeness of which you have been guilty." For one moment my spirit revolted at the word "insist," and my feelings were overset by the "Mrs. Pendarves;" but it was only for a moment.

I felt that I had been rude; and I also felt that I should not have acted as I did, spite of my suspicions, if I had not been jealous of Seymour's adoration for her.

Accordingly, drawing so near to her that no one could hear what passed, I told her that at the command of my husband, I assured her I did not mean to wound or offend her, and that I was sorry I had done so.

"Ah! 'tis your husban spoak den, not your own heart--dat's wat I want."

"The feelings of my heart," said I, "are not at the command even of my husband; but my words are, and I have obeyed him--but I am really sorry when I have given pain to any one." Then with a low curtsy I left them, and retired to a further part of the room.

During this time I saw that Seymour looked still angry, and was not satisfied with my apology, or the manner in which I delivered it; and I repented I had not been more gracious. But now I was requested to sing a Venetian air to the Spanish guitar, to which I had written English words; and I complied, glad to do something to escape from my own painful reflections, and also from the earnest manner in which De Walden examined my countenance, and watched what had just passed. But in order no doubt to mortify my vanity by calling off the attention from me to herself, the moment I began, Lady Martindale set her little dog down who was lying in her lap, and began to make him dance to the tune; but as she did not get up herself and dance as usual with him, the poor beast did not know what to make of it, but set up a most violent barking. I had had resolution to go on both singing and playing during the grimaces of the dog and its mistress, even though my own husband instead of resenting the affront to me had seemed to enjoy it; but when the dog spoke I was silent; on which De Walden seized the little animal in his arms in spite of Lady Martindale's resistance, and put it out of the room. Then stooping down he whispered something in her ear which silenced her at once. During this scene I trembled in every limb; for I feared that Seymour might be mad enough to resent De Walden's conduct. I was therefore relieved when Lord Martindale came up to him, as if he meant to resent the violence offered to his lady's dog; but on approaching De Walden, he said, with great good humour--"That was right, Count De Walden; and if you had not done it, _I_ should. Only think that a beast like that should presume to interrupt a Seraph!"

"Ah! if it was but he alone that presumed in this room, it would be well; but we often make example of one who is guilty the least."

Lord Martindale did not choose to ask an explanation of these words, but, turning to me, requested me to resume my guitar and my song. But I had not yet recovered my emotion, nor perhaps would it have been consistent with my self-respect to comply.

Certainly De Walden thought not; for he said in a low voice "_Ma chere amie, de grace ne chantez pas!_"[5] and I was firm in my refusal.

[Footnote 5: My dear friend, pray do not sing!]

Perhaps it was well that I was not allowed to go on with my song, as the words were only too expressive of my own feelings, for they were as follows:--

SONG.

How bright this summer's sun appear'd! How blue to me this summer's sky! While all I saw and all I heard Could charm my ear, could bless my eye.

The lonely bower, the splendid crowd, Alike a joy for me possess'd; My heart a charm on all bestow'd, For that confiding heart was _bless'd_.

But thou art changed!--and now no more The sun is bright, or blue the sky; Now in the throng, or in the bower, I only mark thy _alter'd eye_.

And though midst crowds I still appear, And seem to list the minstrel's strain, I heed it not--I only hear My _own deep sigh_ that mourns in vain.

My carriage was announced soon afterwards; and I saw by the manner of both, that Lady Martindale was trying to persuade my husband to stay all night: but as De Walden came with us, propriety, if not inclination, forbade him to comply, and he sullenly enough followed De Walden and me to the carriage. When there, that considerate friend refused to enter it--declaring as it was moon-light he preferred walking home.

What a relief was this to my mind! for I dreaded some unpleasant altercation, especially if De Walden expressed the belief which he evidently entertained, that Lady Martindale and Annette Beauvais were the same person.

When he entered the carriage my husband threw himself into one corner of it, and remained silent. I expected this: still I did not know how to bear it; for I could not help contrasting the past with the present. Is there--no, there is not--so agonizing a feeling in the catalogue of human suffering, as the first conviction that the heart of the being whom we most tenderly love, is estranged from us? In vain could I pretend to doubt this overwhelming fact. Seymour had resented for another woman, and to me! He had even joined in, and enjoyed, the mean revenge that woman took, though that revenge was a public affront to me! And now in sullen silence, and in still rankling resentment, he was sitting as far from me as he possibly could sit, and the attachment of years seemed in one hour destroyed!

All this I felt and thought during the first mile of our drive home: but so closely does hope ever tread on the heels of despair, that one word from Pendarves banished the worst part of my misery; for in an angry tone he at length observed, "So, madam, your champion would not go with us: I think it is a pity you did not walk with him--I think you ought to have done no less, after his public gallantry in your service."

"Ha!" thought I immediately, "this is pique, this is jealousy; and perhaps he loves me still!" What a revulsion of feeling I now experienced! and never in his fondest moments did I value an expression of tenderness from him more, than I did this weak and churlish observation; for he was not silent and sullen on account of Lady Martindale's fancied injuries; but from resentment of De Walden's interference. In one moment therefore the face of nature itself seemed changed to me; and I eagerly replied, "I was certainly much obliged to De Walden--I needed a champion, and who so proper to be it as himself, the only old friend I had in the room, yourself excepted, and the only person in it probably who now (here my voice faltered) has a real regard and affection for me!"

"Helen!" cried Pendarves, starting up, "you cannot mean what you say! You do not, cannot believe that De Walden loves you better than _I_ do."

"If I had not believed it I should not have said it."

"But how could you believe it? Has he dared to talk to you of love?"

"Do you think he could forget himself so far as to do such a thing? or if he did, do you think I could forget myself so far as to listen to him? Surely, sir, you forget of whom and to whom you are speaking."

"Forgive me: I spoke from pique. And so, Helen, you think I do not love you?"

"Not as you did, certainly: but I excuse you. I know grief has changed me; and it had been better for me to have died, if it had so pleased God, when my poor child died."

"Helen! dearest! do not talk thus, I cannot bear it!" he exclaimed, clasping me to his heart; and though I then wept even more abundantly than before, I wept on his bosom, and all my sorrows were for awhile forgotten.

The next morning Pendarves told me he should certainly breakfast with me; but he must leave me soon to partake of a late breakfast at Oswald Lodge, as he had promised to go with the party to call on a family, with whom they were to arrange some private theatricals.

"And are you to engage in them?"

"Oh! to be sure: it will not be the first time of my acting."

"And will Lady Martindale act?"

"Yes: but not with us. We shall act in English: she will favour us with a mono-drame, a ballet of action, and perhaps read a French play, which she reads to perfection."

"Not better than she dances, I dare say; for dancing, I suspect, was once one of her professions."

"What nonsense is this Helen? and who has dared to give such an erroneous and false impression of this admirable woman?"

"Surely you must have perceived that De Walden meant to insinuate that she and Annette Beauvais are the same person?"

"Then he is a vile calumniator."

"Not so: he is only a mistaken man."

"But it seems you think he cannot be mistaken: he is an oracle!"

"My love," replied I, "we had better not talk of De Walden."

"You are right, Helen, quite right; for I am conscious of great irritation when I think of him: for I feel, I cannot but feel, how much more worthy of you he is than I am; and yet, foolish girl, you gave him up for me. O Helen! when I saw him, impatient of affront to you, step forward with that flashing eye, that commanding air, to seize the offending brute, though I could have stabbed him, I could also have embraced him; and I said within myself, 'And to this man Helen preferred me! How she must repent her folly now!'"

"She never has repented, she never can repent it," said I, throwing myself upon his neck. "You know I took you with all your faults open to my view."

"Yes: but you fancied love and you would reform them!"

"I did--and I think we may do so still: but you must not let me fancy you do not love me, Seymour; if you do, I shall pine and mope, and become the object of your aversion."

"Impossible! do you think I can ever dislike you, Helen?"

"Is thy servant a dog that he should do this thing?" said I, returning his embrace.

"I will hear no more of such horrible surmises: I have now outstaid my time."

Then mounting his horse, he was out of sight in a moment.

Soon after my mother appeared, and, to my surprise, unaccompanied by De Walden.

"Where is our friend?" was my first salutation.

"On the road to London."

"London! And why?"

"He had his reasons for going; and, as usual, they do honour both to his head and heart."

"May I not know them?"

"I would not tell them to all women under your circumstances; but I can trust you. He finds that he has not conquered his attachment; and that he cannot behold the affecting change in your appearance, and reflect on the cause, without feeling what his principles disapprove. Besides, he is afraid of getting involved in a quarrel with Pendarves, as, I suppose, you guess who this Lady Martindale is."

"I do. Well, I am glad De Walden is gone; for I know Pendarves will rejoice."

I then related to her my conversation with my husband; and I did it with so much cheerfulness, and such an evident revival of hope, that I imparted some of the feelings which I experienced; and my mother's heart was visibly softened towards Seymour, while she uttered, "Poor fellow! he does indeed justly judge himself: you did prefer the brilliant to the diamond. But where is he?"

"Gone out with the party at the lodge on particular business; and will not return till night."

On hearing this my mother's countenance fell; and kissing my cheek, she shook her head mournfully, and changed the conversation.

Pendarves came home that evening in great spirits. Every thing was arranged for the theatricals, and the play fixed upon. It was to be the Belle's Stratagem, and he was to play Doricourt, a part he had often played before. The part of Letitia Hardy, was given to a young lady who was an actress on private theatres; and every part was filled but that of Lady Frances Touchwood.

"Oh, Helen!" cried he, "how happy should I be if you would give over all your dismals, lay aside your scruples, and make me your slave for life, by undertaking this mild and modest part!"

"You bribe high," I replied (turning pale at the apprehension of any thing so contrary to my habits and my sense of right): "but you know my aversion to things of the sort."

"I do: but I also know your high sense of a wife's duty; and that you cannot but own a wife ought to obey her husband's will, when not contrary to the will of God."

"You seem to have high though just ideas of a wife's duty," said I, smiling; "now, perhaps, you will favour me with your opinion of a husband's duty."

"Willingly. It is to wean a beloved wife, if possible, from gloomy thoughts; to keep amusing company himself, and to make her join it: in short, when he has engaged in private theatricals, it is his _duty_ to get his wife to engage in them also: and if you think such things dangerous to good morals, you are the more bound to engage in them, in order to watch over _mine_."

I suspected he was right, and that the general duty should, in this instance, give way to the particular one; but I shrunk with aversion from the long and intimate association with these disagreeable if not disreputable people, to which it would oblige me; and after expressing this dislike I begged time to consider of his request.

The next day I went to consult my mother, who at first would not hear the plan named, and declared that her child should not so far degrade herself as to allow her person to be profaned by such familiarities as acting must induce and she must suffer. But when I told her Mr. Oswald was to act Sir George Touchwood, a quiet, elderly married man, she was more reconciled to it on that score, but she disliked it as much as I did on other grounds. However, having convinced myself, I at length convinced her, that it was my duty to make myself as dear and as agreeable to my husband as I could, and not leave him thus exposed to the every day increasing fascinations of another woman.

"But can you, my dear child," said she, "have fortitude enough to bear for days together the sight of his attentions to your rival? Will it not make you pettish, grave, and unamiable, and cloud your eyes in tears, which will incense and not affect, because they will seem a reproach?"

"It will be a difficult task, and a severe trial, I own; but I humbly hope to be supported under it: and though the risk is great, the ultimate success is worth the venture."

"Helen," said my mother, "till now I thought my trials as a wife great, and my duties severe; but I am convinced that they were easy to bear and easy to perform, compared to what a fond wife feels, who is forced to mask misery with smiles; to substitute undeserved kindness for just reproach; and to submit even her own superior judgement, and her own sense of right and wrong, to the will of her husband."

"But, dear mother! I shall be repaid and rewarded at last!"

"Repaid, rewarded, Helen! how? Who or what is to repay you? As well can _assignats_ repay bullion, as the love of a being who has grossly erred can reward that of one to whom error is unknown."

"But he has not grossly erred; and if he had, I love him," cried I, deeply wounded and appalled at the truth of what she said.

"Ah! there it is," she replied; "and thus does love level all in their turns; the weak with the strong, the sensible with the foolish. One thing more, Helen, before you go--You shall have your mother's countenance and presence to support you under your new trials: I will condescend to invite myself to attend rehearsals, and I will be at the representation."

I received this offer with gratitude, and then returned to tell my husband that I would perform the part of Lady Frances Touchwood.

He was delighted with my compliance; and on making me read the part aloud directly he declared that I should perform to admiration.

"I should have played Letitia Hardy better," said I.

"You! how conceited!"

"I got that part by heart once, and I have often acted it quite through for my own amusement when I was quite alone. But I prefer playing Lady Frances now, for the days of my vanity are pretty well over."

"No, no, child, they are only now beginning, according to this; and little did I think I had married a great actress."

Pendarves then departed in high spirits to his friends, and I sat down to study my part. But bitter were the tears I shed over it. And was I, so lately the mourner over a dying and a dead child, was I about to engage in dissipations like these?--But humbly hoping my motive sanctified my deed, I shook off overwhelming recollections, and resolved to persevere in my new task.

For some days, and till all was ready for rehearsals, Pendarves rehearsed his part to me, and I to him; but at length he found it pleasanter to have Lady Martindale hear him, he said, for her broken English was so amusing.

I could not oppose to this excellent reason my being a better judge of his performance, but I was forced to submit in silence. Now, however, I was soon called to rehearsals, and my mother was allowed to accompany me.

My first performance was wretched, and I thought Seymour looked ashamed of me; but my mother said she should have been mortified if I had done better the first time. The next I gained credit; but on the third day I found the party in great distress. The Letitia Hardy had been sent for to a dying father, and there was no one to undertake her part. You may easily guess that Seymour immediately told tales of me, and I undertook that prominent character: but I did not shrink from it, for my husband was to act with me; and Letitia Hardy was not more eager to charm Doricourt, than I to charm my husband.

You know there is a minuet to be danced, and a song to be sung; and as Le Piq and Madame Rossi were the first dancers when I was young, I had taken lessons of both in London, and was said to dance a minuet well. Pendarves was equally celebrated in that dance; and as we rehearsed our minuet often at home, each declared the other perfect; nor was the little song less warmly applauded, which I substituted for the original, and adapted to a Scotch air. It applied to my own situation and feelings as well as to those of the heroine, and was as follows:

SONG.