Anna St. Ives Part 77

You know, madam, with what activity my dear Louisa exerted herself, and employed every expedient in her power. You are likewise acquainted with the zeal of Mrs. Clarke, her niece Peggy, and the two men, her husband and brother. Their ardour increased rather than abated.

Mr. Webb, whose watchings and efforts were incessant, saw Mac Fane step out of a hackney-coach into the shop where Mr. Clifton lodges. This I understand to have happened on the ninth evening of my confinement. It was natural that this circ.u.mstance should immediately excite suspicion and alarm. The coach was dismissed, Mac Fane remained, and Mr. Webb continued hovering about the door, waiting in expectation of seeing him come out, till two o'clock in the morning, but waiting in vain: after which, concluding that he had missed him, he quitted his post.

On the morrow, by very diligent enquiry, he found out Mac Fane's lodgings; but he had not been at home all night. The same ineffectual search was continued during that and the next day; but, on the morning of deliverance, Mr. Webb met a person with whom he had formerly been acquainted, who told him of the house hired by the keeper, and mentioned the names of his two a.s.sistants, with rumours and surmises sufficiently dark and unintelligible, but enough to make Mr. Webb suppose it was possible the persons he was in search of were there confined.

The intelligence was immediately brought to Louisa and Sir Arthur, and application as immediately made to the magistracy. Webb had obtained very accurate information of the site of the house; and, what was more effectual, had prevailed on his informer to lend his aid.

The relief he brought, though too late to prevent mischief, was not wholly useless; Mr. Clifton was the first object of our care; for Mr.

Henley, though bruised, cut, and mangled has received no serious injury. Laura was likewise sent for and relieved from her prison.

Proper conveyances were soon provided, and we all removed as fast as possible from this scene of horror.

You may be sure, madam, we did not forget to bring the boy with us. Mr.

Henley has an affection for him, which the poor fellow very sincerely returns; and finds himself relieved from the most miserable of situations, and placed in the most happy.

That I may wholly acquit myself of the task I have undertaken, I must just mention the Count de Beaunoir. He is a gentleman of the most pleasant temper. Urbanity is his distinctive mark, for in this quality most of his flights originate. He has thought himself my admirer, but in reality he is the general admirer of whatever he supposes excellent.

When he was told of my being affianced to Mr. Henley, instead of expressing chagrin, he broke into raptures at our mutual happiness, and how much it was merited. He does not seem to understand the selfishness of jealousy.

Perhaps, madam, you have not heard the last accounts of the physical gentlemen, relative to Mr. Clifton. The surgeon who first gave hope is now positive of a cure; and his opponents begin to own it is not impossible, but they will not yet allow that Mr. Clifton is out of danger.

The Count de Beaunoir has paid Mr. Clifton the utmost attention; he visits him twice a day, and, according to the accounts my friend gives me, infuses a spirit of benevolence and affection into his visits which are highly honourable to his heart. Indeed I and Mr. Henley have several times met him there: for you may well imagine, madam, we are not the least attentive of Mr. Clifton's visitors. It is at present the sole study of Mr. Henley, which way best to address himself to a heart and understanding so capable of generous sensations, and n.o.ble energies. There is an attachment to consistency in the human mind, which will not admit of any sudden and absolute change; it must be gradual: but thus much may with certainty be said, Mr. Clifton does not at present, and I hope will never again, treat with complacency those vindictive but erroneous notions which had so nearly proved destructive to all. He makes no professions; but so much the better; he thinks them the more strongly. His mind preserves its usual tone; is sometimes disturbed even to excess, and bitterly angry, almost to phrensy, at its own mistakes; but has lost none of those quick and powerful qualities, by which it is so highly distinguished.

Sir Arthur, madam, has desired me to communicate a circ.u.mstance, which I shall readily do, without the false delicacy of supposing that I am not the proper person. It is agreed, between him and Mr. Abimelech Henley, that the marriage between me and Mr. Frank Henley shall take place in a month; to which I thought it my duty to a.s.sent. I am sorry, madam, that Lord Fitz-Allen should continue to imagine his honour will be sullied by this marriage: but I am in like manner sorry for a thousand follies, which I daily see in the world, without having the immediate power of correcting one of them.

A. W. ST. IVES

LETTER CXXIX

_c.o.ke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_

_London, Dover-Street_

It is not to be endured! They drive me mad! I will not have life thus palmed upon me! There is neither kindness nor justice in it. I will hear no more of duty, and philanthropy, and general good! I am all fiend!--h.e.l.l-born!--The boon companion of the foulest miscreants the womb of sin ever vomited on earth!--The arm in arm familiar of them!--In the face of the world!--This it is to be honourable!--I am a man of honour, a despiser of peasants, an a.s.sertor of rank!--

Day after day, hour after hour, here I lie, rolling, ruminating on ideas which none but demons could suggest; haunted by visions which devils only could conjure up! And wish me to live? Where is the charity of that? Angels though they be, they have made me miserable! I know I have injured them; I don't deny it. Say what they will, they cannot forgive me--Shall I ask it?--No!--h.e.l.l should not make me! I will have no more favours; I am loaded too much already.

For it cannot be true!--Their hearts can feel no kindness for me!--Oh!--

I have lost her!--For ever lost her!--Yet even this deep d.a.m.nation I could bear, I think I could, had I not made myself so very foul and detestable a villain!--It is intolerable!--The rage of cannibals to mine is patience! I could feed on human hearts; my own the first and sweetest morsel!

Well, well!--Her I have lost; him I have injured!--Injured?--Arrogance, outrage, contempt, blows, imprisonment, and murder!--These are the d.a.m.ning injuries I have done him!--took greatness upon me; I mimicked tyranny, and pretended to inflict large vengeance for petty affronts!--I trusted in wiles, and imagined mind might be caught in a net!

Lo how the adder egg of vanity can brood in its own dunghill, and hatch itself to persecution, rape, and murder!--Lo how Guilt and Folly couple, and engender darkness to hide their own deformity!--The picture is mine!--Black, midnight rape, and blood red murder! A horrid but indubitable likeness.

There are but two ways, either to live and pursue revenge, or to die and forget it--Of the pursuit I am weary. I have had a full meal of villany, and am glutted: its foulness is insufferable, and I turn from it loathing. Then welcome death! Again it would have sought me, but for their eternal officiousness. It is in vain. There are swords, pistols, and poison still. Life has a thousand outlets: and to live, knowing what I know and never can forget, would be rank and hateful cowardice!

I am determined. I will listen to their glosses no more. Persuasion is vain, and soothing mockery.

Yet one act of justice I will perform before I die. Send me my letters, Fairfax. They shall see me in my native colours!--Send them directly!--There is consolation in the thought--They have dared to shew letters that exposed them to persecution and malice--I will shew what shall expose me to contempt and hatred!--Let them equal me if they can--I am Clifton!--Inimitable in absurdity, in vice d.a.m.nable!--

Take copies if you will. Proclaim me to the world! Read them in coffee-houses, nail them up at the market cross! Let boys hoot at me, and trulls and drabs pluck me by the beard!--What can they?--It is I, myself, who hold the scorpion whip!--'Tis memory!--What! Envy, rage, revenge, hatred, rape and murder, all possessing one man?--Poor creature! Poor creature!--Pity him, Fairfax!--Pity?--Ask pity?--Despise him! Trample on him! Spit in his face!

C. CLIFTON

LETTER Cx.x.x

_Frank Henley to Oliver Trenchard_

_London, Grosvenor Street_

How violent and reiterated are the conflicts, between truth and error, in every mind of ardour!--And, of all errors, the love of self is the most rooted, the least easy to detect, and supremely difficult to eradicate. We can pardon ourselves any thing, except a want of self-respect; but that is intolerable.

I described, in my last,[1] the dissatisfied state of mind of Mr.

Clifton. But, while he imagined he should die and soon lose all memory of a scene become so irksome to him, his dissatisfaction was trifling, compared to what it is at present. Repugnant as the idea was to his habitual feelings, still I have more than half convinced him that suicide is an act as cowardly as it is criminal. Yet to live and face the world, loaded as he imagines with unpardonable crimes and everlasting ignominy, is a thing to which he knows not how to consent.

To combat this new mistake, into which he has fallen, has for some time past been my chief employment. No common efforts could a.s.suage the turbulence of his tempestuous soul. Energy superior even to his own was necessary, to subject and calm this perturbation. But, in the simplicity of truth, this energy was easy to be found: it is from self-distrust, confusion or cowardice, if it ever fail.

[Footnote 1: Omitted.]

I have just left him, and our conversation will give you the best history of his mind, which is well worthy our study. I found him verging even toward delirium, and a fever coming on, which if not impeded might soon be fatal. He keeps his bed; but instead of lying at his ease, he remained raised on his elbow, having just finished a letter to his friend. Louisa had described the state of his mind, and I resolved to catch its tone, that I might the more certainly command his attention. Without preface, and as if continuing a chain of reasoning, he addressed me; with his eye fixed, in all the ardour of enquiry.

What is man?--What are his functions, qualities, and uses?--Does he not sleep trembling, live envying, and die cursing?--And is this worth aught?--Is it to be endured?--Why do I suffer life thus to be imposed upon me?

It is not suffering: or, if it be, such sufferings are of our own creation--To the virtuous and the wise, life is joy and bliss.

Perhaps so--Wisdom there may be, and truth and virtue. And, for the virtuous and the wise, the full stream of pleasure may richly flow: but not for me! Pretend not that I may walk with the G.o.ds! I who have been the inmate of fiends! I, who proposed glory to myself from the most contemptible of pursuits! I, who could dangle after coquettes and prudes; feed on and inflate myself with the baubles of a beauty's toilette; and, in the book of vanity, inscribe myself a great hero, a mighty conqueror, for having heaped ridicule on the ridiculous; or brought innocence to shame, misery, and destruction! And this I did with a light and vain heart! Did it laughing, boasting, exulting!

Satanic dog! Pest of h.e.l.l! What! Stretch souls on the rack, and then girn and mock at them for lying there! 'Tis the sport of devils, and by devils invented!

Your present indignation is honourable both to your heart and understanding.

Oh, flatter me not!--Vain, supercilious c.o.xcomb!--I spread my wings, crowed in conceit, threatened, resolved, laughed at opposition, and kicked the world before me!--Oh, it was who but I!--And what was it I proposed?--Fair conquest?--Honourable opposition?--No!--It was treachery, covert malice, and cowardly conspiracy!--A league with h.e.l.l-dogs!--Horrible, blood-thirsty villains!--And baffled too; defeated, after all this infernal enginery! Nay, had I been so wholly devil as to have joined in murder, what would have followed? Why they would next have murdered me; and for the justice of the second murder would have hoped pardon, even for the h.e.l.l-born guilt of the first!

Do not, while you detest and shun one crime, plunge into a greater.

This agony is for having been unjust to others; you are now still more unjust to yourself. You will not suppose yourself capable of a single virtue: yet, in your most mistaken moments, you never could be so illiberal to your enemies.

Would you persuade me I am not a most guilty, foul, and hateful monster?--Oh be more worthy of yourself, avoid me, detest me, curse me!

I will answer when you are more calm.

Calm?--Never, while this degraded being shall continue, shall such a moment come!--I calm? Sleeping or waking, I at peace? I pardon hypocrisy, treachery, blows, bruises, prisons, chains, poison, rape and murder? Ministers of wrath descend, point here your flaming swords, annihilate all memory of what manhood and honour were, and fit me for the society of the d.a.m.ned!

Forbear!--(Never before did I address him in such a voice--The last dreadful word of his sentence was drowned, by my stern and awful violence; which reason dictated as the only means of recalling his maddening thoughts, from the despair and horror into which they were hurrying--I continued)--Frantic man, forbear! Recall your wild spirits and command them to order. How long will you suffer this petty slavery?

How long shall the giant rage, and expend his strength, in tearing up stubble and rending straws?--Stretch forth your hand, and grasp the oak--Labours worthy of your Herculean mind await and invite you. Away to the temple of Error; shake its pillars, and make its foundations totter!--Be yourself--Shall the soaring eagle swoop at reptiles, the prey of bats and owls?

Do not mock me with impossible hopes--What! Have you not held the mirror up to me, and shewn me my own hatefulness?