Arthur Mervyn; Or, Memoirs of the Year 1793 Read online

  CHAPTER XXXII.

  The state of my feelings may be easily conceived to consist of mixed,but, on the whole, of agreeable, sensations. The death of Hadwin and hiselder daughter could not be thought upon without keen regrets. These itwas useless to indulge, and were outweighed by reflections on thepersonal security in which the survivor was now placed. It was hurtfulto expend my unprofitable cares upon the dead, while there existed oneto whom they could be of essential benefit, and in whose happiness theywould find an ample compensation.

  This happiness, however, was still incomplete. It was still exposed tohazard, and much remained to be done before adequate provision was madeagainst the worst of evils, poverty. I now found that Eliza, being onlyfifteen years old, stood in need of a guardian, and that the forms oflaw required that some one should make himself her father'sadministrator. Mr. Curling, being tolerably conversant with thesesubjects, pointed out the mode to be pursued, and engaged to act on thisoccasion as Eliza's friend.

  There was another topic on which my happiness, as well as that of myfriend, required us to form some decision. I formerly mentioned, that,during my abode at Malverton, I had not been insensible to theattractions of this girl. An affection had stolen upon me, for which itwas easily discovered that I should not have been denied a suitablereturn. My reasons for stifling these emotions, at that time, have beenmentioned. It may now be asked, what effect subsequent events hadproduced on my feelings, and how far partaking and relieving herdistresses had revived a passion which may readily be supposed to havebeen, at no time, entirely extinguished.

  The impediments which then existed were removed. Our union would nolonger risk the resentment or sorrow of her excellent parent. She had nolonger a sister to divide with her the property of the farm, and makewhat was sufficient for both, when living together, too little foreither separately. Her youth and simplicity required, beyond mostothers, a legal protector, and her happiness was involved in the successof those hopes which she took no pains to conceal.

  As to me, it seemed at first view as if every incident conspired todetermine my choice. Omitting all regard to the happiness of others, myown interest could not fail to recommend a scheme by which the preciousbenefits of competence and independence might be honestly obtained. Theexcursions of my fancy had sometimes carried me beyond the boundsprescribed by my situation, but they were, nevertheless, limited to thatfield to which I had once some prospect of acquiring a title. All Iwanted for the basis of my gaudiest and most dazzling structures was ahundred acres of plough-land and meadow. Here my spirit of improvement,my zeal to invent and apply new maxims of household luxury andconvenience, new modes and instruments of tillage, new arts connectedwith orchard, garden, and cornfield, were supplied with abundant scope.Though the want of these would not benumb my activity, or take awaycontent, the possession would confer exquisite and permanent enjoyments.

  My thoughts have ever hovered over the images of wife and children withmore delight than over any other images. My fancy was always active onthis theme, and its reveries sufficiently ecstatic and glowing; but,since my intercourse with this girl, my scattered visions were collectedand concentrated. I had now a form and features before me; a sweet andmelodious voice vibrated in my ear; my soul was filled, as it were, withher lineaments and gestures, actions and looks. All ideas, possessingany relation to beauty or sex, appeared to assume this shape. They keptan immovable place in my mind, they diffused around them an ineffablecomplacency. Love is merely of value as a prelude to a more tender,intimate, and sacred union. Was I not in love? and did I not pant afterthe irrevocable bounds, the boundless privileges, of wedlock?

  The question which others might ask, I have asked myself:--Was I not inlove? I am really at a loss for an answer. There seemed to beirresistible weight in the reasons why I should refuse to marry, andeven forbear to foster love in my friend. I considered my youth, mydefective education, and my limited views. I had passed from my cottageinto the world. I had acquired, even in my transient sojourn among thebusy haunts of men, more knowledge than the lucubrations and employmentsof all my previous years had conferred. Hence I might infer thechildlike immaturity of my understanding, and the rapid progress I wasstill capable of making. Was this an age to form an irrevocablecontract; to choose the companion of my future life, the associate of myschemes of intellectual and benevolent activity?

  I had reason to contemn my own acquisitions; but were not those of Elizastill more slender? Could I rely upon the permanence of her equanimityand her docility to my instructions? What qualities might not timeunfold, and how little was I qualified to estimate the character of onewhom no vicissitude or hardship had approached before the death of herfather,--whose ignorance was, indeed, great, when it could justly besaid even to exceed my own!

  Should I mix with the world, enroll myself in different classes ofsociety, be a witness to new scenes; might not my modes of judgingundergo essential variations? Might I not gain the knowledge of beingswhose virtue was the gift of experience and the growth of knowledge? whojoined to the modesty and charms of woman the benefits of education, thematurity and steadfastness of age, and with whose character andsentiments my own would be much more congenial than they could possiblybe with the extreme youth, rustic simplicity, and mental imperfectionsof Eliza Hadwin?

  To say truth, I was now conscious of a revolution in my mind. I canscarcely assign its true cause. No tokens of it appeared during my lateretreat to Malverton. Subsequent incidents, perhaps, joined with theinfluence of meditation, had generated new views. On my first visit tothe city, I had met with nothing but scenes of folly, depravity, andcunning. No wonder that the images connected with the city weredisastrous and gloomy; but my second visit produced somewhat differentimpressions. Maravegli, Estwick, Medlicote, and you, were beings whoinspired veneration and love. Your residence appeared to beautify andconsecrate this spot, and gave birth to an opinion that, if cities arethe chosen seats of misery and vice, they are likewise the soil of allthe laudable and strenuous productions of mind.

  My curiosity and thirst of knowledge had likewise received a newdirection. Books and inanimate nature were cold and lifelessinstructors. Men, and the works of men, were the objects of rationalstudy, and our own eyes only could communicate just conceptions of humanperformances. The influence of manners, professions, and socialinstitutions, could be thoroughly known only by direct inspection.

  Competence, fixed property and a settled abode, rural occupations andconjugal pleasures, were justly to be prized; but their value could beknown and their benefits fully enjoyed only by those who have tried allscenes; who have mixed with all classes and ranks; who have partaken ofall conditions; and who have visited different hemispheres and climatesand nations. The next five or eight years of my life should be devotedto activity and change; it should be a period of hardship, danger, andprivation; it should be my apprenticeship to fortitude and wisdom, andbe employed to fit me for the tranquil pleasures and steadfast exertionsof the remainder of my life.

  In consequence of these reflections, I determined to suppress thattenderness which the company of Miss Hadwin produced, to remove anymistakes into which she had fallen, and to put it out of my power toclaim for her more than the dues of friendship. All ambiguities, in acase like this, and all delays, were hurtful. She was not exempt frompassion, but this passion, I thought, was young, and easilyextinguished.

  In a short time her health was restored, and her grief melted down intoa tender melancholy. I chose a suitable moment, when not embarrassed bythe presence of others, to reveal my thoughts. My disclosure wasingenuous and perfect. I laid before her the whole train of my thoughts,nearly in the order, though in different and more copious terms thanthose, in which I have just explained them to you. I concealed nothing.The impression which her artless loveliness had made upon me atMalverton; my motives for estranging myself from her society; the natureof my present feelings with regard to her, and my belief of the state ofher heart; the reasonings into which I had entered; the ad
vantages ofwedlock and its inconveniences; and, finally, the resolution I hadformed of seeking the city, and, perhaps, of crossing the ocean, wereminutely detailed.

  She interrupted me not, but changing looks, blushes, flutterings, andsighs, showed her to be deeply and variously affected by my discourse. Ipaused for some observation or comment. She seemed conscious of myexpectation, but had no power to speak. Overpowered, at length, by heremotions, she burst into tears.

  I was at a loss in what manner to construe these symptoms. I waited tillher vehemence was somewhat subsided, and then said, "What think you ofmy schemes? Your approbation is of some moment: do you approve of themor not?"

  This question excited some little resentment, and she answered, "Youhave left me nothing to say. Go, and be happy; no matter what becomes ofme. I hope I shall be able to take care of myself."

  The tone in which this was said had something in it of upbraiding. "Yourhappiness," said I, "is too dear to me to leave it in danger. In thishouse you will not need my protection, but I shall never be so far fromyou as to be disabled from hearing how you fare, by letter, and of beingactive for your good. You have some money, which you must husband well.Any rent from your farm cannot be soon expected; but what you have got,if you remain with Mr. Curling, will pay your board and all otherexpenses for two years; but you must be a good economist. I shallexpect," continued I, with a serious smile, "a punctual account of allyour sayings and doings. I must know how every minute is employed andevery penny is expended, and, if I find you erring, I must tell you soin good round terms."

  These words did not dissipate the sullenness which her looks hadbetrayed. She still forbore to look at me, and said, "I do not know howI should tell you every thing. You care so little about me that--Ishould only be troublesome. I am old enough to think and act for myself,and shall advise with nobody but myself."

  "That is true," said I. "I shall rejoice to see you independent andfree. Consult your own understanding, and act according to its dictates.Nothing more is wanting to make you useful and happy. I am anxious toreturn to the city, but, if you will allow me, will go first toMalverton, see that things are in due order, and that old Caleb is well.From thence, if you please, I will call at your uncle's, and tell himwhat has happened. He may, otherwise, entertain pretensions and formviews erroneous in themselves and injurious to you. He may think himselfentitled to manage your estate. He may either suppose a will to havebeen made, or may actually have heard from your father, or from others,of that which you burnt, and in which he was named executor. Hisboisterous and sordid temper may prompt him to seize your house andgoods, unless seasonably apprized of the truth; and, when he knows thetruth, he may start into rage, which I shall be more fitted to encounterthan you. I am told that anger transforms him into a ferocious madman.Shall I call upon him?"

  She shuddered at the picture which I had drawn of her uncle's character;but this emotion quickly gave place to self-upbraiding for the manner inwhich she had repelled my proffers of service. She melted once more intotears, and exclaimed,--

  "I am not worthy of the pains you take for me. I am unfeeling andungrateful. Why should I think ill of you for despising me, when Idespise myself?"

  "You do yourself injustice, my friend. I think I see your most secretthoughts; and these, instead of exciting anger or contempt, only awakencompassion and tenderness. You love; and must, therefore, conceive myconduct to be perverse and cruel. I counted on your harbouring suchthoughts. Time only and reflection will enable you to see my motives intheir true light. Hereafter you will recollect my words, and find themsufficient to justify my conduct. You will acknowledge the propriety ofmy engaging in the cares of the world before I sit down in retirementand ease."

  "Ah! how much you mistake me! I admire and approve of your schemes. Whatangers and distresses me is, that you think me unworthy to partake ofyour cares and labours; that you regard my company as an obstacle andencumbrance; that assistance and counsel must all proceed from you; andthat no scene is fit for me, but what you regard as slothful andinglorious.

  "Have I not the same claims to be wise, and active, and courageous, asyou? If I am ignorant and weak, do I not owe it to the same cause thathas made you so? and will not the same means which promote yourimprovement be likewise useful to me? You desire to obtain knowledge, bytravelling and conversing with many persons, and studying many sciences;but you desire it for yourself alone. Me you think poor, weak, andcontemptible; fit for nothing but to spin and churn. Provided I exist,am screened from the weather, have enough to eat and drink, you aresatisfied. As to strengthening my mind and enlarging my knowledge, thesethings are valuable to you, but on me they are thrown away. I deservenot the gift."

  This strain, simple and just as it was, was wholly unexpected. I wassurprised and disconcerted. In my previous reasonings I had certainlyconsidered her sex as utterly unfitting her for those scenes andpursuits to which I had destined myself. Not a doubt of the validity ofmy conclusion had insinuated itself; but now my belief was shaken,though it was not subverted. I could not deny that human ignorance wascurable by the same means in one sex as in the other; that fortitudeand skill were of no less value to one than to the other.

  Questionless, my friend was rendered, by her age and inexperience, ifnot by sex, more helpless and dependent than I; but had I not been proneto overrate the difficulties which I should encounter? Had I not deemedunjustly of her constancy and force of mind? Marriage would render herproperty joint, and would not compel me to take up my abode in thewoods, to abide forever in one spot, to shackle my curiosity, or limitmy excursions.

  But marriage was a contract awful and irrevocable. Was this the womanwith whom my reason enjoined me to blend my fate, without the power ofdissolution? Would not time unfold qualities in her which I did not atpresent suspect, and which would evince an incurable difference in ourminds? Would not time lead me to the feet of one who more nearlyapproached that standard of ideal excellence which poets and romancershad exhibited to my view?

  These considerations were powerful and delicate. I knew not in whatterms to state them to my companion, so as to preclude the imputation ofarrogance or indecorum. It became me, however, to be explicit, and toexcite her resentment rather than mislead her judgment. She collected mymeaning from a few words, and, interrupting me, said,--

  "How very low is the poor Eliza in your opinion! We are, indeed, bothtoo young to be married. May I not see you, and talk with you, withoutbeing your wife? May I not share your knowledge, relieve your cares, andenjoy your confidence, as a sister might do? May I not accompany you inyour journeys and studies, as one friend accompanies another? Myproperty may be yours; you may employ it for your benefit and mine; notbecause you are my husband, but my friend. You are going to the city.Let me go along with you. Let me live where you live. The house that islarge enough to hold you will hold me. The fare that is good enough foryou will be luxury to me. Oh! let it be so, will you?

  "You cannot think how studious, how thoughtful, how inquisitive, I willbe. How tenderly I will nurse you when sick! it is possible you may besick, you know, and, no one in the world will be half so watchful andaffectionate as I shall be. Will you let me?"

  In saying this, her earnestness gave new pathos to her voice. Insensiblyshe put her face close to mine, and, transported beyond the usual boundsof reserve by the charms of that picture which her fancy contemplated,she put her lips to my cheek, and repeated, in a melting accent, "Willyou let me?"

  You, my friends, who have not seen Eliza Hadwin, cannot conceive whateffect this entreaty was adapted to produce in me. She has surely thesweetest voice, the most speaking features, and most delicate symmetry,that ever woman possessed. Her guileless simplicity and tenderness madeher more enchanting. To be the object of devotion to a heart so ferventand pure was, surely, no common privilege. Thus did she tender meherself; and was not the gift to be received with eagerness andgratitude?

  No. I was not so much a stranger to mankind as to acquiesce in thisscheme. As my sister
or my wife, the world would suffer us to resideunder the same roof; to apply to common use the same property; and dailyto enjoy the company of each other; but she was not my sister, andmarriage would be an act of the grossest indiscretion. I explained toher, in few words, the objections to which her project was liable.

  "Well, then," said she, "let me live in the next house, in theneighbourhood, or, at least, in the same city. Let me be where I may seeyou once a day, or once a week, or once a month. Shut me not wholly fromyour society, and the means of becoming, in time, less ignorant andfoolish than I now am."

  After a pause, I replied, "I love you too well not to comply with thisrequest. Perhaps the city will be as suitable a residence as any otherfor you, as it will, for some time, be most convenient to me. I shall bebetter able to watch over your welfare, and supply you with the means ofimprovement, when you are within a small distance. At present, you mustconsent to remain here, while I visit your uncle, and afterwards go tothe city. I shall look out for you a suitable lodging, and inform youwhen it is found. If you then continue in the same mind, I will come,and, having gained the approbation of Mr. Curling, will conduct you totown." Here ended our dialogue.