Bungay Castle: A Novel. v. 1

On saying this, she withdrew, and left Roseline, struck dumb with surprise, to form what conclusions she pleased. She knew not what to think from this unusually strange and unpleasant conversation, and could not comprehend either her father's or mother's reasons for being so much attached to any one, whatever might be his ranks, who was so little formed to excite any feelings but those of disgust in the minds of those unfortunate people who whom he condescended to associate. She saw and lamented that, since the Baron's arrival, neither De Clavering, De Willows, nor Hugh Camelford, came without a formal invitation from her father, while the reserve which prevailed in their parties banished all that enlivening conversation that once rendered them so pleasant. Her sisters too, the dear Edeliza, and the sweet Bertha, were kept under so much restraint before this great personage, they seemed almost afraid to speak.

Roseline, to shake off for a time these uncomfortable reflections, stole into the prisoner's room, in which she seldom failed to find her brother: there she lost all remembrance of the Baron; and, in conversing with friends so dear to her heart, progressively recovered that native cheerfulness which was one of the most engaging features of her character. – The sonnets, which her brother had so recently given her, not only served to raise her spirits, but had made an indelible impression on her mind. She smiled with something more than even her usual complacency on this love-taught poet. Of his tenderness and sincerity she could cherish no doubt. His honour and worth it was equally impossible to suspect. No one knew them better, – no one estimated them so highly as herself. To suppose he could be less amiable, less deserving of her attachment, would have appeared to her a crime of the most enormous magnitude. Thus did the fond effusions of love throw a veil over the eyes of their artless votary, in order to give a fair colouring, and to reconcile her to a conduct which, in another, her prudence would have taught her to condemn; but thus it is with too many erring mortals: when once they become the hood-winked slaves of any predominant passion, they are not only regardless of the world's opinion, but insensible to the secret admonitions of that silent monitor, which they carry in their bosom. Roseline as first acted merely from the generous impulse of pity and universal benevolence; but, in so doing, she admitted a guest to dispute with them a place in her breast, which neither time, reason, nor prudence, could banish thence.

Our artless heroine was unfortunately the darling child of sensibility, and her mind so susceptible of the miseries and misfortunes of others, that, from the moment she discovered them, they became her own. What then must be the poignancy of her feelings, when she reflected on the dependent, helpless, and unprovided state of a lover, dearer to her than life! – who dared not disclose even his name, – whose blameless conduct proved to her partial judgement that he suffered unjustly, and whose virtues could alone reconcile her to herself for having risked so much on his account, and entrusted her heart to the keeping of one whose situation precluded hope, – who had declared he belonged to no one, – a prisoner, a stranger, without fortune or friends: yet, think as she would, these cruel circumstances, after the strictest investigation, acted as a talisman in favour of her lover.

The life, which she fancied, under Providence, she had been the humble means of preserving, she concluded it was now her duty to render happy; therefore, to deprive it of its value, by affecting an indifference she did not feel, was as far from her power as her inclination; yet there were moments when she recollected, with the severest anguish, how much her brother, as well as herself, was acting in opposition to the designs and will of her parent. To deceive such parents was a thought which, in her most impassioned moments, she could not dwell upon, but love and sensibility had woven their webs so close around her heart, that she struggled in vain to disentangle herself from the bewitching snare.

Sensibility I have long thought, nine times out of ten, proves a source of misery to the generous and benevolent, and as often is merely the boast of the ignorant, who pretend to be overstocked with the milk of human kindness, and whose feelings are equally excited by the death of a husband or a lap-dog. I am satisfied there is no blessing more earnestly to be wished for than a calm and composed resignation to the events of this life, and all its complicated concerns. – It appears rather an Irishism, that to be happy we must become indifferent, – but so it is.

Real sensibility is of all burthens the heaviest to bear. Long experience and careful observation have convinced me too painfully of this truth. A thousand and a thousand times I have shed torrents of tears, and felt the most tormenting anxiety for those who would have seen me with the most stoical apathy begging through the street for bread. The pleasures attending high-raised sensibility are so much over-balanced by the painful effects they produce, that I protest I had rather be an oak, or a cabbage, than alive to such every-varying and corrosive feelings, which act upon the human mind as slow poison would upon the body.

When Roseline was going to bed, the servant who attended her, and who, from having lived some years in the family, was indulged in the habit of conversing familiarly with the young ladies, determined to get rid of a kind of confidential secret, which had been entrusted to her by one of her fellow-servants.

"Laws, Miss Roseline, (said she,) what think you that frightful old Baron comed here for? – As I live I should not have dreamed of any thing so ludicurst!" —

"Came for? (replied Roseline,) – why he came to see my father to be sure; – what else could be his inducement for visiting this stupid place?"

"Ha, ha! I thought I should poze you, miss, (cried Audrey, drawing herself up, and giggling at her own consequence,) – why, as sure as you be borned and christened, he comed here to pick up a wife, if he can meet with one to please his own superannuated meagrims; and his man, Pedro, thinks as how a person I could name would suit him to a tee, but I thinks otherwise. – Such an old frumpish piece of crazy furniture, says I, will not suit any of the ladies that belongs to the noble genitors of Bungay Castle and its henvirons. 'You my be mistaken, dame, said the saucy fellow; – if they suit my master, my master may suit them sure, for he is as rich, – as rich as Crasus."

"For heaven's sake, (said Roseline,) what nonsense have you picked up? You must not presume, Audrey, to speak of the Baron in so disrespectful a manner. If my father and mother heard you, I am not sure that you would be permitted to stay another night in the castle."

"It would be a good story, indeed, (resumed the talkative Abigail,) to turn away a servant for such an offence! As I have a soul, which, by the goodness of father Anselm, I hope to get saved, my heart bleeds for you, miss, and I could claw out his ugly, staring eyes for to go for to think that you, who be so sweet tempered, and kind, and affabel, to your unfeerors, should have to nurse his crazy old carcase. – 'Tis vexing to – "

Roseline had started up in her bed as soon as she found herself so strangely introduced with the Baron, and seeing that Audrey had taken up the candle in order to leave the room, gently called her back, and begged some explanation of what she had heard, which she declared herself unable to comprehend.

"Mayhap you are; – so much the better, (said Audrey.) – Less said is soonest mended, as I have gone to the end of my line; – I may be turned away if I assume to speak of the beautiful old Baron; – things will all come out in time; – I can be spectful to my betters: – they that link an old husband let them have him; – 'tis no bread and butter of mine. – Good night, miss; – the Baron is a fine old Gracian, and will make his lady marvelly happy."

Saying this, she left the room, and Roseline was too much displeased to call her back a second time, but determined to question her still farther the first opportunity. "The Baron came to the castle for a wife!" – It was too ridiculous to be believed; but, if he did, he could not possibly think of uniting himself with her! Servants were ever prying into the secrets of their betters, or forming such stories as only very ignorant people could think of inventing.

She now went to sleep, forgot the Baron, and dreamed of the prisoner, whom her fancy represented as being released from confinement, and eager, with the consent of Sir Philip, to lead her in triumph to the altar of Hymen. To the delusive excursions of the soul we will for the present consign her; but, before we take leave of the inhabitants of the castle for the night, we will just take a peep into the kitchen, where, around a blazing fire, spread on a hearth four yards wide, were seated several of the domestics, earnestly engaged in talking over the affairs of the family, each of them drawing the character of their master or mistress, as the humour of the moment dictated, and giving their opinions of actions, the motives of which they knew so little, that they were just as able without a fair and candid examination.

Sir Philip, it was said, was become quite proud and penurious, – the young ladies troublesome, – and Lady De Morney cross, whimsical, and suspicious. Suddenly the door burst open, and a young man, who had been for some time an assistant in the stables, tumbled into the kitchen, and, with terror depicted on his countenance, exclaimed, "I saw it, – I saw it!==I saw the light with my own eyes! – The ghost followed me up to the door, and then vanished in a flash of fire! – Shut the door, or it may get in!"

This in a moment alarmed the whole set; they all crowded round the terrified man, and with one voice eagerly inquired what ghost, what lights he meant? and when and where he had seen them? After drinking a copious draught of ale, he became able to satisfy the curiosity he had excited, and told them, as he was coming from the stables, just as he passed the gate of the inner ballium, and was within forty yards of the South tower, he saw a light as plain as ever he had seen one in his life, through one of the grated windows, and, after it had disappeared a few seconds, it appeared again at a much lower window, flashed upon the wall, and smelt like sulphur. At the moment it vanished the second time, he saw something all in white, which he thought glided past him, but, on looking behind him, it was there also, and it had actually followed him till he fell into the kitchen.

"Then, as sure as we are alive,(said one of the grooms,) Thomas has seen the ghost of the lady who died for love of the young officer that was put to death in the dungeons. I have heard my grandfather say a thousand times he must have died innocent, for he was a bold as a lion till his last gasp."

"Well, (said one of the women-servants,) I shall be afraid to stir out after dark, if these confounded ghosts are again found taking their nightly rambles, and prying into every thing that is going forwards."

"I always knew (said another) this castle was disturbed ever since the great clock struck twelve twice in one night; for what on earth could touch it at that time, if it had not been a spirit?"

"Ah! (said a third,) no doubt there have been sad doings in the castle."

"Not since we came to it, (replied an old grey-headed footman.) My master has practised no deeds of darkness that would bring the dead from their graves. As to what was done before our time, that can be no business of ours, and I don't see how any ghost can have a right to frighten and interrupt, either by day or night, those who were never acquainted with it."

"Christ Jesus preserve us! (cried on of the maids,) I verily thinks I saw something glide past that door! Surely father Anselm should be sent for to give them absolution: – There! did you not hear that rustling?"

"I see and hear nothing, (said the before mentioned old servant,) but what I wish neither to see not hear. You are all a parcel of superstitious ignorant fools, and, if my master should once find out what cowards you all are, he would soon compel you to give place to a bolder set. Come, come, let us go to bed, and leave the ghosts to do the same."

The old man led the way with a candle in his hand; the rest followed, clinging to each other like a flight of bees, not one of them daring to be left behind; and the groom, who had really seen a light from the tower inhabited by the prisoner, was to convinced he had seen a ghost, that neither father Anselm, nor all the fathers in Christendom, could have persuaded him to think the contrary; and so much had it alarmed him, that his terrified imagination had mistake his own shadow for the ghost following close at his heels, and it was with some difficulty he could be prevailed upon by his fellow-servants to go to bed, lest he should see it again.

The next morning, when Audrey went to call her young lady, Roseline requested she would forgive her for having spoken so angrily the preceding evening, and with the most winning softness begged to be informed what she meant by coupling her name with that of the Baron.

Audrey, who had never before seen Roseline so much out of humour, and had neither forgotten nor forgiven the affront of being prevented from disclosing a secret which she had for several days found very troublesome to keep, replied, "I couples no one; matches are made in heaven, or in the church, or at wakes; but I think, for my part, some are made in a much worser place, and so she will think too who is tacked in hollybands with the old Baron." "But who do you think, my good Audrey, will ever be so unfortunate?" "Why will you ax me miss? I must not speak my senterments: we poor servants never knows nothing; but this I do know for certain, if ever I marries, it shall be to a young man, a pretty-looking man, – good humoured ones I loves, – something like Mr. Camelfor; – not to an old crab, sowrer than vinegar, who would not suffer me to see with my own dear eyes, nor believe with my own natural senses, – a crotched paced toad, who would shut me up for life; mayhap, if I liked a better or a younger man than himself, – an accident I think that might happen."

"But how should the Baron find out what you thought?"

"By going to a negromancer. Such old cattle are to the full as cunning as their black master, and might strike one dumb."

"That, to be sure, (replied Roseline,) would be a heavy misfortune to those who were fond of hearing the sound of their own voice in preference to that of any other person."

"For my part, (said Audrey,) voice or no voice, I verily thinks something mendusly bad after all will happen to this crazy castle, for Thomas last night saw lights in the South tower, and the ghost of a young woman followed him in such a hurry, that, if he had not ran as fast as a hound, it would have stamped upon his heels. It went away like a sky-rocket, and the smell of sulphur almost sifficated the poor fellow, who will certainly have a parletic stroke."

Lady de Morney's bell now ringing, Audrey left the room, without having said half so much as she intended to do about the ghost, or unburthening her mind of a secret she heartily wished to reveal.

CHAP. IX

When the family met at breakfast, the Baron appeared unusually affable, and Sir Philip in high spirits. A walk was proposed to take a view of the town, nunnery, and environs of the cattle. Roseline and her sisters were requested to be of the party, and they were very soon joined by De Clavering, De Willows, and Hugh Camelford. This little promenade was so pleasant, that it seemed to harmonize every mind, and to produce a redoubled and grateful relish for the early beauties of the infant spring.

  "Already now the snow-drop dar'd appear,   The first pale blossom of th'unripened year,   As Flora's breath, by some transforming pow'r,   Had chang'd an icicle into a flow'r.   Its name and hue the scentless plant retains,   And Winter lingers in its icy veins."

The Baron, who had politely offered the assistance of his arm to Roseline, (which her father bade her accept,) whispered some very fine things in her ear in praise of her shape, beauty, and understanding, – told her it was a reproach on the taste and judgment of his sex that so charming a female had not put on hymeneal fetters; – it was a positive proof of the blindness of the god of love.

"Surely you forget, my lord, (replied the blushing Roseline,) that I have scarcely left off my leading strings, and am but just liberated from the confinement of the school."

Age, he told her, ought not to be reckoned by the number of years, but by accomplishments and good qualities.

"That kind of calculation (said De Clavering) would make your age,

Miss de Morney, more upon a par with the Baron's."

"More upon a par, you mean, (added De Willows,) with our first parent Adam."

"What Atam? (cried Hugh Camelford, skipping to the side of Roseline, and eagerly handing her over a little run of water they were obliged to cross,) – what were you saying about our crate crandfather Atam? I have often wished to see the old poy, and trink a pottle of pure water with him from the pond in the carten of Eden."

"Why so, sir?" said the stately and mortified Baron, who felt and seemed to shrink from the contrast between the active and lively gallantry of the giddy Cambrian and the slow and cautious efforts of his own.

"Why? – why? pecause he must be a prave fellow to venture matrimony with the first woman he saw."

"How the devil should he do otherwise than take the first, when there was no other to choose!" said De Clavering.

"The tevil however was even with him after all, (replied the unthinking Camelford;) – the old poy had petter have peen quiet."

"I do not see that, (said De Willows;) and, as the mischief was productive of some good, surely we have no right to criticise with severity that conduct which was forgiven by Being so much more perfect than the creature he had created."

"That is as much as to say, (rejoined Camelford,) that, when we choose to play the fool, cofet our neighbor's wife or taughter, we have only to plame our own imperfect nature, repent, and be forcifen."

"That would be to trust our hopes of forgiveness upon a very sandy foundation indeed, (said Sir Philip,) as determined guilt, or a continuance in error, can have but little chance of immortal happiness."

"And for our mortal share of that same commodity, (replied the lively Hugh,) we must not trust to matrimony, I fear, as I never heard married people found their happiness puilt upon a rock."

This speech produced a general laugh, but Sir Philip, who was by no means pleased with the subject, said with a smile to the Baron, "These young men think they know more than their forefathers."

"By which means, (replied he,) they will most assuredly entail upon themselves the mortification of knowing less."

The conversation, during the rest of the walk, was confined to such objects as occasionally presented themselves to observation. The inhabitants of the town came to their doors to catch a look at the party from the castle. To as many as were known by the governor he spoke familiarly, as did the other gentlemen, and they concluded the Baron must be some very great man, perhaps the king himself in disguise, because he did not once condescend to address them.

Roseline chatted with some young girls who came out to make their best curtesies, while the Baron thought all these attentions paid to such plebeian souls wonderfully troublesome. At dinner he scarcely spoke five words, and De Willows was do disgusted with his forbidding haughtiness, that the next day he presented to De Clavering the following satire on pride, saying it was a tribute justly due to the Baron for his supreme excellency in the display of that detestable feature in his character.

    Hell's first born exhalation sure is pride!    Who, with its sister, envy, would divide    The various blessings to poor mortals given.    By the kind bounty of indulgent heaven.    What at the last have kings to make them proud!    A gilded coffin and a satin shroud.    The lordly worm on these will quickly prey;    For worms, like kings, in turn will have their day.    What then is man who boasts his form and make?    A reptile's meal, – a worm's high-flavour'd steak,    The epicure, who caters like a slave,    Is but a pamper'd morsel for the grave.    Envy's a canker of such subtle power,    It steals all pleasure from the gayest hour.    It is the deadly nightshade of the mind;    With secret poison all its arts refin'd;    And, when attended by it vile relation,    Would spread a plague destructive to a nation.    Then send these hags back to their native hell,    With fiends and evil spirits formed to dwell.    No more on worth let man look down with scorn,    And frown on those not quite so highly born;    Nor, as the coaches rattle from his door,    Boast, like proud Haman, of not being poor!    Earth's doom'd to earth, all folly there must end, —    Then read, and own the satirist a friend.

Madeline had been invited, and obtained permission of the abbess to spend the following day at the castle. This gave additional vivacity to the lively spirits of Edwin, who, with his sister, spent as much time with the prisoner as they could steal, without exciting curiosity of suspicion. Roseline gave them with some humour the ghost-story, as imparted to her by Audrey, and cautioned Albert against having any lights seen from the windows, lest it should be productive of such inquiries as might lead to a discovery of the rooms being inhabited; but, notwithstanding all her attempts to fly from herself, and conceal from the observing eye of love her own internal conflicts, she was almost tempted to throw aside the mask, and at once confess all her apprehensions.

How were these apprehensions heightened, when, in the afternoon, her father told her in a whisper he wished to see her in his study before the family assembled at breakfast, having some intelligence of the most agreeable nature to impart, which he hoped and believed would make her one of the happiest, as it could not fail to render her one of the most envied of her sex.

Roseline trembled, turned pale, and to the earliest opportunity of withdrawing, not daring to trust Edwin with her fears, or risk feeing the prisoner for some hours, lest her agitation should betray suspicions of she knew not what, but in which her terrified imagination confirmed all the hints her maid had given her. – Marry the Baron! – it was a thought so unnatural, so repugnant to every wish, every feeling of her heart, – so inimical to the ideas she had formed of happiness, that it was not to be endured. – She wept, wrung her hands, recollected herself, and again sunk into despondency; but at all events resolved to acquire resolution to go through the interview with her father, and give him such answers as should convince him an union with his friend (if such was the painful subject he had to communicate) would make her the veriest wretch on earth. Her heart was no longer in her own possession, but that she must not dare to avow; all therefore that she could determine was, to refuse the Baron, and to love the prisoner, and him only, to the end of her life.

These important points settled for the present, gave to her perturbed spirits momentary relief, and enabled her to join the family without creating any suspicion that they were unusually depressed; when, however, she followed her brother into the prisoner's room, it was with the utmost difficulty she maintained any command over her feelings; but, unwilling to alarm of distress her unfortunate lover, till necessity compelled her to acquaint him with her sorrows, the only difference her painful struggles produced was an addition of gentle tenderness to her manner; and, though she had often thought her affection could admit of no increase, yet, at this moment, he was, if possible, still move beloved, still more endeared by the ten thousand uncommon ties which had so wonderfully tended to unite hearts that appeared to be under the directing will of Providence. The next morning, previously to seeing her father, Roseline once more ventured to question Audrey, and so earnestly begged she would explain all she meant by the hints she had given respecting the Baron, that poor Audrey, softened almost to tears by seeing her young lady really distressed, no longer remembered her former petulance, but readily complied with her request, though, in fact, all she knew amounted to little more than she had already told; – namely, that the Baron came to look for a wife to carry home, and shut up in his old castle; – that the Baron's servant had informed her he was in love with her young lady; – that Sir Philip liked him for a son-in-law, and they were soon to be married: – "But, Christ Jesus, miss! he is such an infamy man, he would no more mind ordering one of his vassals to be thrown into a fiery furnace than my master would killing a pig; and Pedro says, he ought to have been put into the spettacle court fifty and fifty times, for his entregens and fornications; for, before his first wife died – "