Bungay Castle Part 18

"What! (said Camelford,) would you be peat py a prother toctor, because you would not apply a strengthening plaister of goot and smooth worts to make it stick close? would you not gif the laties a healing cordial of compliments ro reconcile them to their lofs of peauty, their lap-dog, or their lofer? Fie, man, they would not suffer you to toctor their cat!"

"What I might be tempted to do, or how far I might relax from my system, to please the ladies, (replied De Clavering,) I cannot tell till I become more _a man of the world,_ and feel myself more attached to many of its customs: but this I do know, there are a set of patients to whom I could not sacrifice my own sentiments to obtain the command of their purses. For instance,--can a man, who has wasted his youth in vice and debauchery, justly complain of a premature old age? or ought he to excite the pity of any one who knew the source whence his miseries originated? Can we sympathize with the man of business, who has brought upon himself the torturing paroxysms of a fever by the disappointment of some monopolizing plan, the success of which must have been productive of distress and misery to many hundreds of their fellow-creatures. Can the voluptuary and the drunkard think themselves ent.i.tled either to flattery or compa.s.sion, when their sufferings have been occasioned by eating till they gained a surfeit, or by drinking so hard as to make a kind of turnpike-road from their stomachs to their bowels."

"All in the way of business, (said Edwin.) Instead of quarrelling with the cause, you have nothing more to do, my good friend, but to turn their follies to your own account, and do as thousands have done before you--make them contribute in some way or other to the good of the community."

"If we were disposed to quarrel with vice and folly every time we encounter them, (said Camelford,) we should be engaged in a perpetual contest, and should only ket proken pones and the plister of contention for our pains."

"True, (replied the venerable father Anselm, who till now had observed a placid silence as he listened to the above conversation,) we should all agree to make the same allowance for the failings and frailties of others as we are inclined to do when we sit in judgement upon our own, and rather strive to find excuses than causes to condemn; like the blessed master we all unite to serve, whose precepts and practice were calculated for the good and happiness of all mankind."

"Just so would mine be, my dear father, (said De Clavering,) so far as an erring mortal can be supposed to copy a divine original; but I would not flatter people with a belief that I could feel for the miseries entailed by vice as I would for those which originated from any other cause. There are moments when I see the patient and virtuous sufferer looking up to me for health and life, that I would compound with pleasure to be any thing rather than what I am."

"Rather (said Sir Philip) endeavour to rest satisfied with being what you are,--the true Samaritan, the friendly physician, who a.s.sumes the appearance of misanthropy, without having a grain of it in his composition."

"In order to conceal feelings that do ho-honour to his profession and to human nature."

The Baron, having looked at every thing, and asked innumerable questions, the party next visited the rooms where Edwin and Roseline risked so much in daring to remove Walter, and in which he had so long remained undiscovered by the family. Here Walter himself described, in his own artless manner, the delight he felt when he, for the first time, saw the rising sun, and contemplated the brilliant scene which the moon and stars presented to his astonished sight; he mentioned likewise his rapture when first convinced that the fair Roseline felt for him a mutual pa.s.sion. He then described the conflicts he endured on the morning when he knew she was really gone to give her hand to another, and owned the miseries of that moment surpa.s.sed those of his whole life, and, if thrown into a scale against them, would have weighed down all.

He then adverted to his feelings when he approached the altar, and to the awe and respect he felt at sight of the Baron.

In the evening it was proposed to take a ramble through the gardens belonging to the castle, now profusely decorated with all the variegated beauties of the soul-enlivening spring, which were on the eve of giving place to the succeeding charms of summer. Here it was that the happy, the grateful Walter met such a succession of wonders and delight as rendered the scene doubly pleasing to those who partook in his raptures.

Every flower, plant, and shrub, every tree, leaf, and vegetable, excited his admiration and grat.i.tude. The distant fields,--the rising hills,--the water,--the numberless houses,--all were admired in turn, and became the theme of his praise.--It was a charming world,--it was the paradise of which he had read,--the very garden of Eden, such as our first parents possessed, and Roseline the magnet which gave such sweet attraction to all he saw, and all he should enjoy in it.

So much was he delighted with the scene, it was not till the shades of evening began to approach, and throw a gloom over the face of nature, that even the gentle admonitions of Roseline could prevail upon him to return to the castle. Like another Cymon, he found liberty too great a blessing, too pleasing to be willing to part with it when once he had tasted its soul-reviving influence.

Many of the following days were spent in making excursions round the country, and in shewing him every thing worthy of notice. He visited the neighbouring towns and villages, looked into the churches, saw the sea, and was conveyed on board a ship, whose wonderful construction, and the vast world of waters on which it so majestically floated, awakened every sensation of astonishment. He was next indulged by sailing on the river Waveney in an open boat, rowed by some of our old English sailors, whose rough and cheerful humour gratified and entertained him.

A house was likewise procured for him: he soon learned to ride, and became so fond of the exercise, that few days pa.s.sed without his going some miles about the country. His fine figure, expressive countenance, and conciliating manner, his gentleness, and unceasing good humour, made him an universal favourite, and all the inhabitants of Bungay welcomed his appearance among them with every testimony of respect, joy, and satisfaction.

The Baron and his friend, Sir Philip, had many consultations respecting the intended marriage of their children, whose youth and total ignorance of the world, of which Walter could scarcely be called an inhabitant, rendered it absolutely necessary that he should be properly introduced at court, in order to have his birth made known, and his right and t.i.tles ascertained. It was equally necessary that he should become more conversant with the customs and manners of that world, on whose stage he was now to make so distinguished a figure; and, as he had been prevented seeing foreign countries, it was a duty the Baron thought inc.u.mbent upon him to take care he should be well acquainted with his own, and instructed in the value of its just and equitable laws, which, he had cause to lament, were sometimes abused by the designs of artful and wicked men, though the envy of every other nation in the world.

When these designs were made known to Walter, the distress it produced is not to be described. To be separated from Roseline!--the thought was agony;--without seeing her every day, without being in the same place with her, it was not to be borne. He should never be able to acquire any knowledge unless the gentle maid, to whom he was indebted for life, was near, and by her soul-enlivening presence animated his endeavours, while in her smiles he should find a bright reward for the unwearied pains he should not shrink from encountering for her sake.

Roseline was not at all better reconciled to the plan, nor more at ease than himself. She was apprehensive he might in the great world see some one he like better than herself. She had heard men inconstant and p.r.o.ne to change. The heart she had gained in the dungeon of Bungay-castle might perchance, when engaged in the great world, surrounded by pleasure, and besieged by the bright eyes of beauty, stray from her bosom to that of a more lovely and accomplished mistress;--to a more fond and faithful on it could not be entrusted; but, as no one, she supposed, could refuse the attentions of Walter, she trembled at the idea of being separated.

These timid fears were not kept from the ear of her lover, who, in some degree, quieted them with that persuasive eloquence which love never fails to bestow on its faithful votaries. He inquired if she thought it possible he could be so great a villain as to prefer the beauties of a court to the lovely Roseline of Bungay-castle,--the gentle being who not only preserved his life, but taught him to enjoy it, whose unwearied attentions smoothed the bed of sickness, removed the veil of ignorance, and gave to his unfortunate life the first bright moment it had ever known. He vowed, if he thought any thing he might find in the world could tempt him to forgive her, or love her less than he did at that moment, he would voluntarily return to his dungeon, and never leave it more: he earnestly and pathetically pet.i.tioned his father and Sir Philip de Morney not to compel him to leave his adored Roseline till he was blessed with calling her his own.

With this request, however, they could not with prudence comply: it was not only right, but absolutely necessary he should be publicly acknowledged as the Baron's son before his marriage took place, to prevent the establishment of his rights being subject to suspicion or litigation. Against reasons so weighty and just there was no contending, and therefore they were obliged to submit, though these untaught children of simple nature yielded very reluctantly to a plan which was to secure in their possession all those fascinating enjoyments which the inhabitants of our busy world are continually pursuing, and to obtain which, without any necessity of compulsion, they often make more important sacrifices.

Albert was no longer considered or treated as a servant. The Baron generously determined, as soon as he reached town, to give such orders to his attorney as should secure him a genteel independency; and, as he was no longer distressed with the apprehension of being separated from his beloved master, he enjoyed all the comforts, with a grateful heart which the liberality of his benefactors bestowed, and met with that unfeigned respect, from every one who knew the worth and integrity of his character, to which he was so justly ent.i.tled.

As Audrey was attending her young lady, in her apartment, after she had been at the chapel to be married, and returned from thence without becoming a bride, she, as it may be supposed, was too full of the occurrences of the day to be silent on the subject every one was talking about, but which she did not, on her part, by any means approve, knowing what her own feelings would have been on a similar occasion.

"Well, to be sure and certain, miss, (cried she,) the like of this was never heard since the mencement of the world; for to go to church to be married, to take the bride's groom in your hand, as a body may say, and then to come back as you went, without being married at all! As I have a vartuous and Christian soul to be saved, if I had been volved in such a quandrary, I would never have left the chapel without a husband, young or old, let what would have been the consequence.--People fleer and jeer so about misventures of this kind, and asks one for bride's cake, and talks so indellorcatly on this subject: however, don't fret, miss; it seems you may be married still, but, for my part, I likes it best as it is."

"I think in this instance as you do, Audrey, (replied Roseline, with difficulty keeping herself from offending the honest-hearted Abigail, by bursting into a violent fit of laughter,) yet the Baron is certainly a fine-looking old gentleman."

"Fine feathers make fine birds, (said Audrey,) but as to his being fine-looking, Christ Jesus, miss, to be sure master Cuford, the blind G.o.d of love, has made you blinder than himself."

Roseline could no longer preserve her gravity.

"Blind, or not blind, (said she,) I a.s.sure you, Audrey, I thought the Baron looked and talked like an angel after we returned from the chapel; and, what is more, ugly as you think him, I love him dearly, and cannot help looking at him with pleasure and delight."

"To be sure, (said Audrey aside,) the disappointment has turned her head, and arranged all her interlects.--As sure as G.o.d is true, miss, (said she) you have taken strange vaggaries into your head: it was but yesterday I thought you were going into a vapid recline, as I have heard you mention, and now I verily thinks Bedlam will be your potion instead of a husband."

"As far as I know I am now in my proper senses, (cried Roseline, laughing,) notwithstanding your prognostics, and taking so much pains to convince me of the contrary."

"Well, well, it may be so, miss, (replied the mortified damsel;) I know but little of nostics; but this I do know, there is no recounting for the humour of quality people. The young Baron however, it must be said, if poor folks can see and judge, is to the full as good as his father.

Handsome as you think him, and though he cannot speak to make himself understood, and do not know his right hand from his left, or the moon from a green cheese or young gosling, he may soon be taught to know what's what. He was monstrously frightened when he saw his father, and took him for a negromancer it seems."

"You have been strangely misinformed, Audrey, (interrupted Roseline,) the young lord is neither so ignorant not so soon alarmed as you have been taught to believe. I have known him long, and therefore, if you will rely upon my word, I a.s.sure you he is one of the most amiable and best of human beings."

"Well, miss, (again continued Audrey,) I must think that your brain is cracked, or that love has overset your understanding; for I am told by Pedro, who knows every thing about every body, that, till this very blessed day, the sweet young gentleman have been chained down in a dungeon, and never looked upon the face of man, woman, or child, not even the mother who bore him. It was tirely on his account, we all thinks, that the bustle, fuss, and disturbations in the castle riginated, and I dare say if the old Baron had refused to own him for a son, we should every one of us have been witched into the Red Sea, and drowned as the Gyptens were. I hope now, however, the spells will be taken away, and we shall see only men and women, made of flesh and blood like ourselves, for I hate ghosts."

"Amen! (cried Roseline;) I trust we shall be very quiet and happy, and that neither witches nor evil spirits will have any thing to do with us."

"I say amen again, (replied Audrey,) for I always likes to pray whenever I see any one else set about it. Thank G.o.d you escaped the claws of the Baron: I verily thinks I could not have found courage enuf to have married him myself."

Roseline rejoiced when her prating attendant bade her good night, and she hoped soon to forget in the arms of sleep both the painful and pleasant events of the day; but she now found joy as great an enemy to repose as grief had been the preceding night. To find her lover, the acknowledged son of her intended husband; yet to have his consent,--the consent of her parents to love Walter, and be beloved by him,--to know he was restored to liberty, rank, and fortune, to the protection of a father, and herself released from an engagement to which she never had consented,--it was such a sudden, such an unexpected reverse of fortune, as she could scarcely prevail upon herself to believe real. She had been a.s.sured too she should one day be the wife of Walter,--be permitted to live with him,--see him always, and without fear or controul be allowed to study and contribute to his happiness;--it was rapture, it was felicity far beyond her hopes.

Having once entered on a train of thinking, so delightful to a fond imagination, it effectually precluded sleep from shedding its poppies over her pillow; besides, to have slept would have been for some hours to have lost the pleasure of thinking of Walter.

No sooner did she see the G.o.d of day break forth in all his glory from the portals of the east, than she quitted her bed. Never before had she observed the sun so brilliant,--never before had the face of nature looked so charming: every tree which she saw wave its branches had acquired new beauties, and even the st.u.r.dy and impenetrable walls of the castle seemed to be wonderfully improved.

With spirits harmonized by love and expectation, and a mind enlivened by hope, she bent her knee in humble grat.i.tude to that G.o.d who said, "Let there be light, and it was so," With a heart truly sensible of the blessings she enjoyed, and thankful for those she was permitted to behold at a distance, she fervently prayed that neither Walter nor herself might be tempted, in the midst of prosperity to forget the useful lessons they had learned in the school of adversity.

CHAP. VII.

As the dreaded day of separation drew near, the dejection which appeared on the countenance of the lovers was too visible to escape the observation of their friends.--The Baron felt himself particularly hurt: his son had already endured so much misery by his neglect and unpardonable compliance with the wishes of an artful and designing mother-in-law, that, to inflict any farther mortifications or sufferings on him, was in reality to inflict them more severely upon himself: he therefore promised to return within six weeks, or two months, to unite the young people.

This period of time, reckoned in the usual way, was not long; but the lovers are not guided by the same rules, nor can bring themselves to calculate hours and days, weeks, and months, like other people. To repeat the tender adieus, the fears, tears, cautions, and promises, of everlasting truth, would perhaps be tiresome to some of our readers, as it would be merely a repet.i.tion of the same fine and tender things which have been said by ten thousand fond lovers, upon ten thousand interesting occasions; suffice it then to say, the Baron and his son departed from the castle at the appointed time, and left the disconsolate Roseline in a state none could envy, and all were inclined to pity; and so much was the heart of her lover afflicted at being the cause of distressing her, he could not be prevailed upon to join in any conversation, and scarcely looked up till he entered the great and busy city of London, the noise and bustle of which drew him in some measure from his reverie, which had been nearly as painful to his friends as to himself, and the Baron, eager to disperse the gloom from the countenance of his son, pointed out some of the most striking objects to engage his attention, as they were whirled along to a very n.o.ble house in ---- square, where we must leave him for the present, in order to return to the castle.

From the moment of Walter's departure the disconsolate Roseline sunk into so absolute a state of dejection, as not only distressed but alarmed her friends. She shunned society, seldom joined in conversation, and, if left a few moments by herself, fled to the apartments once inhabited by her lover;--there, and there only, did she a.s.sume the appearance of cheerfulness; every place in which she had seen him was endeared to her remembrance. The chairs on which he had rested, the table on which he had written, the window at which he had stood to listen for her coming,--all were interesting objects, and loved by her for his sake; and, in being deprived of seeing him, of hearing no longer the sound of a voice so long endeared to her fond imagination, she felt so total a deprivation of all that served to render life or fortune of real value, that the determined in her own mind, if this regretted lover should prove forgetful or inconstant, if he should return no more to the castle, to end her days in his forsaken apartments; for what would be the world to Roseline de Morney, if she should see Walter Fitzosbourne no more?

Pompey, the little dog, which she had seen the second time of going to the dungeons, and which had been the favourite and faithful companion of her lover during some years of his confinement, she would scarcely permit to be out of her sight: to him she talked of his master, and in caressing the grateful little animal felt pleasure and consolation.

Sir Philip and Lady de Morney were distressed beyond measure at seeing the despondency of their daughter, which they feared would put and end to all their flattering hopes. They endeavoured by every soothing and tender attention to reconcile her to this temporary separation, and in a short time succeeded so far as to prevail upon her to resume her usual employments. They advised her to dissipate her fears, and try to regain her spirits for the sake of the lover whose absence she lamented, reminding her how much it would hara.s.s and distress him, if, at his return to the castle, he found she had brought upon herself an indisposition which might still preclude him from enjoying her society.

But their cares and anxieties were soon increased, and their minds occupied and thrown into the utmost consternation, from a circ.u.mstance more unaccountable, inexplicable, and alarming, than anything they had ever encountered.

Madeline had escaped from the nunnery, and Edwin had left the castle. No one could tell what was become of them, but all supposed they were gone off together.--A general confusion took place; messengers were sent in pursuit of the fugitives, and a very considerable reward was offered to any who would bring tidings of Madeline. Sir Philip de Morney joined in the search, and sent out large parties of his men, in hopes they would be able to discover the place of their concealment.

Roseline, though less surprised, was extremely shocked at the dangerous step her brother and his friend had ventured to take.--The abbess was angry, the fathers enraged, and the youthful offenders threatened with the utmost severity the laws could inflict, should they be found out.

Lady de Morney was wretched beyond description, and Roseline, who almost lost the remembrance of her own sorrows at seeing the agonies of her mother, and in fears for her brother, was alarmed at the return of every messenger.--These affectionate relatives trembled lest they should bring tidings of the unfortunate lovers. A week however elapsed, and no discovery being made, Roseline secretly cherished hopes that they would be able to escape their pursuers.

She accompanied Sir Philip and Lady de Morney to the nunnery; they soon removed the displeasure of the abbess, and dispersed the gloom, which had long hung upon her brow, at their first entrance: they likewise softened the asperity of father Anselm, and the rest of his brethren, who had written to inform the father of Madeline of the occurrence which had taken place, and had received an answer dictated by the spirit of malice and revenge, vowing to renounce her for ever, unless she returned to the nunnery, and instantly took the veil; at the same time adding every thing that pa.s.sion could suggest to rouse the vengeance of the fathers for the indignity offered to their sacred order by the flight of a wretch he never again would acknowledge as a daughter.