The Heroine

He snatched me in a transport to his heart; and that trembling pressure, which virtue consecrated, and love understood, conveyed to each of us an unspeakable sensation; as if a beam from Heaven had passed through both our frames, and left some of its divine warmth behind it.

What followed, angels might have attested.

A ringlet had escaped from the bandage of my bodkin. He clipped it off with my scissors, and fixed it next his heart; while I prettily struggled to prevent him, with arch anger, and a pouting playfulness. A thousand saucy triumphs were basking in his eyes, when the door opened, and who should make his appearance, but – Master Bobby!

I could have boxed him.

'I avail myself,' said he, 'of the permission you gave me last night, to call on you this morning.'

Montmorenci looked from the one to the other with amazement.

'And as I am anxious,' continued Stuart, 'to speak with you in private – '

'Sir,' said I, 'any thing which you have to communicate, this gentleman, my particular friend, may hear.'

'Yes, Sir,' cried his lordship, in a haughty tone, 'for I have the honour to boast myself the protector of this lady.'

'If you mean her protector from injury and insult,' said Stuart, 'I hope, Sir, you are not on this occasion, as on others, an actor?'

'You know me then?' said his lordship.

'I saw you perform last night,' answered Stuart, 'but, to say the truth, I do not recollect your name.'

'My name is Norval on the Grampian Hills,' cried his lordship.

'Sir,' said Stuart, 'though we sometimes laugh at you, even in your grave characters, the part you have now chosen seems much too serious for drollery. Allow me to ask, Sir, by what right you feel entitled to call yourself the protector of this lady?'

'First inform me,' said Montmorenci, 'by what right you feel entitled to put that question?'

'By the right of friendship,' answered Stuart.

'No, but enmity,' cried I, 'unprovoked, unprincipled, inexorable enmity. This is the Stuart whom you have often heard me mention, as my persecutor; and I hope you will now make him repent of his temerity.'

'Sir,' said his lordship, 'I desire you to leave the house.'

'Not till you favour me with your company,' replied Stuart; 'for I find I must have some serious conversation with you.'

'Beshrew my heart!' cried Lord Altamont Mortimer Montmorenci, 'if you want satisfaction, follow me this moment. I am none of your slovenly, slobbering shots. Damme, I scorn to pistol a gentleman about the ankles. I can teach the young idea how to shoot, damme.'

He spoke, and strode out of the room.

Stuart smiled and followed him. You must know, I speculate upon a duel.

In short, my plot is entangling itself admirably; and such characters as Betterton and Stuart will not fail to keep the wheels of it going. Betterton is probably planning to carry me off by force; Stuart and our hero are coming to a misunderstanding about me; the latter will, perhaps, return with his arm in an interesting sling, and another parting-forever interview cannot be far distant.

Such is the promising aspect of affairs.

Adieu.

LETTER XV

While I was sitting in the most painful suspense, a knock came to the door, and Stuart entered.

'You terrify, shock, amaze me!' cried I. 'What dreadful blow awaits me? Speak!'

'Pray,' said he, laughing, 'what was your fancy for telling me that you were ruined?'

'And so I am,' answered I.

'At least, not in the way you wished me to suppose,' said he.

'I repeat, Sir,' cried I, 'that I am ruined: no matter in what manner; but ruined I am.'

'Your friend, the player, tells me that you are not,' said he.

'My friend, the player, is very meddling,' answered I. 'This is the way that whatever plot I lay down for my memoirs is always frustrated. Sir, I say I am ruined.'

'Well,' cried he, 'I will not dispute the point. I wish only to guard you against being ruined again. I mistrust this Grundy much. From his conversation, after we left you, I can perceive that he has a matrimonial design upon you. Pray beware of the fellow.'

'The fellow!' cried I. 'Alas! you know him not. His large and piercing eye is but the index of a soul fraught with every human virtue.'

'Ah! my friend,' said he, 'you stand on the very verge of a precipice, and I must endeavour, even at the risk of your displeasure, to snatch you from it.'

He then began a long lecture on my conduct, and asserted that my romantic turn is a sort of infatuation, amounting to little less than madness, and likely to terminate in ruin. He painted, in language pretty enough, the distraction of Wilkinson, after I had fled from his house; and, at last, contrived to extract from me (what, I remark, I can never obtain when I want them) – tears.

Seeing me thus affected, he turned the conversation to desultory topics. We talked of old times, of our juvenal sports and quarrels, when we were playfellows; what happened after our separation; his life at college and in the army; my studies and accomplishments. Thence we made a natural transition to the fine arts. In short, it was the first time in my life that I had a rational conversation (as it is called) with a well-informed young man, and I confess I felt gratified. Besides, even his serious remonstrances were so happily interspersed with humour and delicate irony, that I could not bring myself to be displeased with him.

He remained more than two hours, and at parting took my hand.

'I have hitherto been scolding you,' said he, with a smile, 'and I must now praise you, that I may be better entitled to scold you again. You have the elements of every thing amiable and endearing in your mind, and an admirable understanding to direct them. But you want some one to direct that understanding. Your father and I have already had a serious consultation on the subject; but till he comes, nothing can be done. Indeed, I am much alarmed at his absence. Meantime, will you permit me to legislate in his stead, and to begin by chusing more eligible lodgings for you. I confess I dread the machinations of that actor.'

As he spoke, a rap came to the door.

'Do me the favour to take tea with me this evening,' said I, 'and we will talk the matter over.'

He promised, and took his leave.

Montmorenci then made his appearance, and in visible perturbation, at having found Stuart here again. If I can constitute a jealousy between them it will add to the animation of several scenes. I therefore praised Stuart to the skies, and mentioned my having asked him to tea. His lordship flew into a violent rage, and swore that the villain wanted to unheroinize me, in order to gain me himself. He then renewed his entreaties that I would consent to an immediate marriage; but now the benefits of my fatal vow shone forth in their full lustre, and its irrevocability gave rise to some of the finest agonies that his lordship ever exhibited.

At length we separated to dress for dinner.

At my toilette I recollected with exactness every particular of his late conversation; his sentiments so congenial with mine; his manners so engaging; his countenance so noble and ingenuous.

'I shall see him no more,' said I.

A sigh that followed, told me more of my heart than I wished to know.

No, my Biddy, never, never can he be mine. I must banish his dear image from my mind; and to speak in the simple and unsophisticated language of the heroine in the Forest of Montalbo:

'Indeed, surely, I think, we ought, under existing circumstances, dearest, dearest madam, to avoid, where we can, every allusion, to this, I fear, alas! our, indeed, hopeless attachment.'

Adieu.

LETTER XVI

When Stuart came, he found his lordship, the landlady, the poet, and myself sitting round the tea-table. At first the conversation was general, and on the topics of the day. These Stuart discussed with much animation and volubility, while his lordship sat silent and contemptuous. I fancy that his illustrious tongue disdained to trifle.

Meantime Higginson, in a new coat and waistcoat, sat anglicising the Latinity of his face, and copying the manners and attitudes of Montmorenci, whom the poor man, I verily believe, is endeavouring to rival. At length the word poetry caught his ear; he gave the graces to the winds, and listened.

'Therefore,' continued Stuart to me, 'satirical poetry must be much more useful than encomiastic.'

'Sir,' said Higginson, drawing back his head and lowering his voice, as if he dreaded nothing so much as being heard, 'I must beg leave, in all humility, to coincide with your exprest proposition; but to suggest a doubt whether it be decorous to violate the repose of noble blood.'

'If the great deserve exposure as much as the mean,' said Stuart, 'their rank is rather a reason why they should be censured sooner; because their bad example is more conspicuous, and, therefore, more detrimental.' 'But,' said I, 'though satirizing the vicious may be beneficial to the community, is it always advantageous to the satirist?'

'Johnson observes,' answered Stuart, 'that it is no less a proof of eminence to have many enemies than many friends; and, indeed, without the one we seldom have the other. On the whole, however, I would advise a writer not to drop the olive-branch in grasping at the rod; though those whom he finds privately endeavouring to vilify his own character, self-defence entitles him to expose without mercy.'

'That satire is salutary to society, I am convinced,' said I. 'It becomes mischievous only when it is aimed at the worthy heart.'

'And yet,' said Stuart, 'those that are loudest in declaiming against the satirist, are often fondest of disseminating the satire. Now he who slanders with his tongue, is just as culpable as he who defames with his pen; for, if the one weapon be not as extensive, in its effects, as the other, the motives of those who use it are equally vile. Hume, in one of his essays, says, that a whisper may fly as quick, and be as pernicious, as a pamphlet.'

'And I think,' said I, 'that those who never allow people faults, are just as injurious to the community as those who never allow them virtues.'

'True,' said Stuart; 'and a late publication (which equals in sentiment, diction, and pictures of character, any work of the kind in our language) thus concludes a description of them: These, assuming the name of Good-nature, say, that for their part, they wish to avoid making enemies, and when they cannot speak well of people, they make it a rule not to speak of them at all. Now this is an admirable system, for thus, permitting vice, they sanction it, and by not opposing, assist its progress.'

'So you see,' said Higginson, 'that next to laws and religion, which correct the serious derelictions, writing, which chastises the smaller foibles, is the most useful instrument in a state.'

'Observe,' whispered I to Stuart, 'how the ruling passion breaks forth.'

'And, therefore,' continued Higginson, 'next to the legislator and divine, the poet is the most exalted member of the community.'

'Pardon me there,' said I. 'The most exalted members are not legislators, or divines, or poets, who prescribe, but heroes and heroines, who perform.'

'If you mean the heroes and heroines of romance,' said Stuart, 'their performances are useful in teaching us what we should shun, not what we should imitate. The heroine, in particular, quits a comfortable home, turns out to be the best pedestrian in the world; and, after weeping tears enough to float her work-basket, weds some captious, passionate, and kneeling hero.'

'Better,' cried I, 'than to remain a domesticated rosy little Miss, who romps with the squire, plays an old tune on an old piano, and reads prayers for the good family – servants and all. At last, marrying some honest gentleman, who lives on his saddle, she degenerates into a dangler of keys and whipper of children; trots up and down stairs, educates the poultry, and superintends the architecture of pies.'

'Now for my part,' said Stuart, 'I would have a young lady neither a mere homely drudge, nor a sky-rocket heroine, let off into the clouds. I would educate her heart and head, as well as her fingers and feet. She should be at once the ornament of the social group, and the delight of the domestic circle; abroad attractive, at home endearing; the enchantress to whom levity would apply for mirth, and wisdom for admonition; and her mirth should be graceful, and her admonition fascinating. If she happened to be solitary, she should have the power of contemplation, and if her needle broke, she should be capable of finding resource in a book. In a word, she should present a proof, that wit is not inconsistent with good-nature, nor liveliness with good-sense, and that to make the virtues attractive, they ought to be adorned with the graces.'

'And pray, to whom would you marry this charmer?' asked his lordship, winking at me.

'Why,' replied he, 'when she wishes to settle in life, I would have her consult her parents, and make a prudent match.'

'A prudent match!' cried I. 'Just conceive – a prudent match! Oh, Stuart, I declare I am quite ashamed of you.'

''Pon honour,' said his lordship, 'you are too severe. I will bet five to four he means well.'

'No doubt,' said I. 'And to be candid, I think him a mighty good sort of a man.'

'A proper behaved young person,' said his lordship.

'An honest bon diable!' added I.

'A worthy soul!' said he.

'A respectable character!' cried I.

'A decent creature!' said he.

'A humane and pious christian,' cried I.

This last hit was irresistible, and both of us burst out laughing, while Stuart sat silent, and even affected to smile.

'Now is your time,' whispered I, to his lordship. 'A few more sarcasms, and he crouches to you for ever.'

'I fancy, young gentleman,' said his lordship, turning full upon Stuart, and laughing so long, that I thought he would never finish the sentence; 'I fancy, my tight fellow, you may now knock under.'

'I am not always inclined to do so,' replied Stuart; 'neither am I easily provoked to knock down.'

'Knock down whom?' demanded his lordship, with the most complete frown I had ever beheld.

'A puppy,' said Stuart coolly.

'You lie!' vociferated our hero.

'Leave the room, Sir,' cried Stuart, starting from his seat.

Montmorenci rose, retreated to the door; – stopped – went on – stopped again – moved – stopped —

'Vanish!' cried Stuart, advancing.

His lordship vanished.

I ran, snatched a pen, and wrote on a scrap of paper

'Vindicate your honour, or never appear in my presence!'

I then rang the bell for the maid, and slipping some silver into her hand, begged that she would deliver the paper to his lordship.

Higginson then started from his chair.

'After a deliberate consideration of the subject,' said he, 'I am more and more convinced, that a poet is the first character in society.'

During a whole hour, I remained in a state of the most distracting suspense, for he never returned! Meantime, Stuart was privately pressing me to leave my lodgings, and remain at his father's, till Wilkinson should be found. Indignant at the cowardly conduct of his lordship, I was almost consenting; when on a sudden, the door flew open, and with a slow step and dignified deportment, Lord Altamont Mortimer Montmorenci entered. All eyes were rivetted on him. He walked towards Stuart, and fell upon one knee before him:

'I come, Sir,' said he, 'to retract that abuse which I gave you just now. I submit to whatever punishment you please; nor shall I think my honour re-established till my fault is repaired. Then grant me the pardon that I beg, on whatever conditions you think proper.'

'For shame!' exclaimed I, with an indignation that I could not suppress. 'You a hero?'

His lordship instantly snatched a book from his pocket, and opening a passage, presented it to me. The book was La Nouvelle Heloise.

'You see there,' said he, 'how Lord B., after having given St. Preux the lie, begs forgiveness on his knees, and in the precise words which I have just used. Will Cherubina condemn the conduct that Heloise applauded?'

'Ever excellent, ever exalted mortal!' cried I. 'O thou art indeed all that is just, dignified, magnanimous.'

I gave him my hand, and he bowed over it. Supper was announced. Mirth ruled the night. The landlady sat gazing on his lordship; his lordship on me. Stuart uttered a thousand witticisms; and even the poet determined to be heard; for, in the midst of our merriment, I saw him, with his mouth open, and his neck stretched forward, watching for the first moment of silence. It came.

'This is the fun,Equalled by none;So never, never, never have done!'

cried the happy creature, and protruded such an exorbitant laugh as made ample amends for the gravity of his whole life.

At length Stuart took leave; and the rest of us separated to our several apartments.

That coxcomb, I see, has no notion of sentiment, and no taste for admiring those who have. There he sits, calm, unconcerned, and never once fixes his eyes on me with a speaking gaze. Oh, no; nothing but wit or wisdom for him. Not only is the fellow far from a pathetic turn himself, but he has also an odd faculty of detaching even me from my miseries, and of reducing me to horrid hilarity. It would vex a saint to see how he makes me laugh, though I am predetermined not to give him a single smile. But Montmorenci, the sentimental Montmorenci, timely interposes the fine melancholy of his features; – he looks, he sighs, he speaks; and in a moment I am recalled to the soft emotions, and a due sense of my deplorable destiny.

Adieu.

LETTER XVII

Clouds are impending, and I know not whether they will clash together, and elicit lightning, or mingle into one, and descend in refreshing showers.

This morning, Montmorenci, the hostess, and myself, breakfasted early, and then went shopping. I purchased a charming scarf, a bonnet, two dresses, a diamond cross, and a pair of pearl ear-rings. His lordship borrowed a guinea from me, and then bought a small casket, which he presented to me in the handsomest manner.

We next visited Westminster Abbey; the first that I have ever seen, though I had read of thousands. To my great disappointment, I found in it no cowled monks with scapulars, and no veiled nuns with rosaries. Nothing but statues of statesmen and warriors, in stone wigs and marble regimentals.

Soon after we had returned home, Higginson entered my room, stealing, and with a look of terror.

'My mother presents her respectful compliments,' said he in a whisper, 'and begs you will honour her with your presence, that she may do herself the pleasure of saving you from destruction.'

'Tell me,' said I, with a look that pierced into his soul, 'which character do you mean to support on this occasion? that of my friend, or of an accomplice in the plot against me?'

Higginson looked aghast.

'As to your being a principal,' continued I, 'that is not likely; but I must ascertain if your object is to be – excuse me – an understrapping ruffian. Never fear, speak your mind candidly.'

'And I was writing verses on you all the morning, and it was for you that I clipped my eyebrows, and it was for you that I – dear me, dear me!' cried the poor man, and began whimpering like a child.

'Nay,' said I, 'if it is not your taste, that is another affair; but though I cannot countenance you as a villain, I will at least respect you as an honest man. I will, I assure you; so now lead me to your mother.'

We proceeded up stairs, and entered a garret; where his mother, a corpulent old lady, was lying in a fit of the gout.

Higginson having introduced us: 'Miss,' said she, 'I sent for you to tell you that I have just overheard your hostess, and an old gentleman (Betterton, I think she called him), planning something against you. They were in the next room, and thought I could not hear; but this I know, that he offered her fifty pounds, if she would assist him in obtaining you. And so, Miss, from all my son says of you, and sure enough he raves of you like mad, I thought you would wish to be saved from ruin.'

'Certainly, Madam,' answered I. 'At the same time, I must beg permission to remark, that you have destroyed half the interest of this intrigue against me, by forewarning me of it.'

'May be so, Miss,' said she. 'I have done my duty as a Christian, however.'

'Nay,' said I, 'do not suppose I resent your conduct, old lady. I am sure you meant all for the best, and I sincerely wish you health and happiness. Farewell.'

On returning to my room, I found Betterton there before me. He came to request that I would accept of a ticket for the masquerade, at the Pantheon: and he gave another to the landlady; who, he said, must accompany me thither: so 'tis clear that he means to decoy me from it. Unhappy girl! But how can I refuse going? A heroine, you know, never misses a masquerade: it is always the scene of her best adventure; and to say the truth, I cannot resist the temptation of so delightful an amusement. Now to consult about my character.

LETTER XVIII

At dinner, yesterday, I bespoke his lordship as an escort to the masquerade; and we then held a council of dress. It was resolved, that I should appear in the character of Sterne's Maria, and his lordship as Corporal Trim.

This morning, just as I had finished reading the closet-scene, in the Children of the Abbey, Betterton and the landlady came into my room; and in a short time, I perceived the purport of their visit; as they began requesting that I would not take either Stuart or Montmorenci with me to the masquerade.

'The fact is, Miss,' said the landlady, 'that I have heard your real story. Mr. Grundy is not your cousin at all, and your name is Wilkinson, not Donald. Howsomever, as I believe you meant no harm, in this deception, I am willing, at the solicitations of this excellent gentleman, to let you remain in my house, provided you promise not to receive any more visits from that Stuart, who is the greatest villain unhanged; or from Mr. Grundy, who has certainly bad designs on you; though he made proposals of marriage to myself, no longer ago than yesterday.'

A tapping at my door prevented me from expressing my total disbelief in her latter assertion. It struck me that should the person prove to be his lordship, I might make her look extremely foolish, by letting her overhear his declarations of attachment to me. 'Conceal yourselves in this closet,' whispered I to my visitors. 'I have particular reasons.' They looked at each other, and hesitated.

'In, in!' said I; 'for I suspect that this visit is from a villain, and I wish you to hear what passes.'

Both then went into the closet. I opened the door of my chamber, and, to my great disappointment, the poet appeared at it, with his eyes rolling, and his mouth ajar.

'What is the matter?' asked I.

He gaped still wider, but said nothing.

'Ah,' cried I, 'that is an awkward attempt at expressing horror. If you have any hideous news to communicate, why do you not rush into the room, tossing your hands on high, and exclaiming, "Fly, fair lady, all is lost!"'

'Indeed, Miss,' said he, 'I was never in the way of learning good breeding. But don't go to the masquerade, Miss, Oh, don't! My mother overheard old Betterton just now planning with the landlady, to carry you from it by force. But, Miss, I have a fine sword, above stairs, three feet and a half long, and I will rub off the rust, and – '

A knock at the street-door interrupted him. I was in a hiding mood. Already the scene promised wonders; and I resolved not to damp its rising spirit; so made the simple Higginson get underneath the sofa.

The next moment my door opened, and Vixen, Montmorenci's terrier, came bounding towards me.

'Go, dear Vixen,' cried I, snatching her to my bosom; 'carry back to your master all that nourishes his remembrance. Go, dear Vixen, guard him by night, and accompany him by day, serve him with zeal, and love him with fidelity!'

I turned round, and perceived – Montmorenci! The poor timid girl bent her eyes to the ground.

'Yes, dear Vixen,' said he, 'you have now indeed a claim to my regard; and with the fondest gratitude will I cherish you!'