God be your director and comforter, as well as ours! prays
Your ever affectionate
JERONYMO.
***Mr. Grandison, having no hopes of being allowed to see the unhappy lady, set out with a heavy heart for Florence. He gave orders there, and at Leghorn, that the clerks and agents of his late friend Mr. Jervois should prepare every thing for his inspection against his return from Naples; and then he set out for that city, to attend the general.
He had other friends to whom he had endeared himself at Sienna, Ancona, and particularly at Rome, as he had also some at Naples; of whom he intended to take leave, before he set out for Paris: and therefore went to attend the general with the greater pleasure.
Within the appointed time he arrived at Naples.
The general received me, said Mr. Grandison, with greater tokens of politeness than affection. You are the happiest man in the world, chevalier, said he, after the first compliments, in escaping dangers by braving them. I do assure you, that I had great difficulties to deny myself the favour of paying you a visit in my own way at Bologna. I had indeed resolved to do it, till you proposed this visit to me here.
I should have been very sorry, replied I, to have seen a brother of Lady Clementina in any way that should not have made me consider him as her brother. But, before I say another word, let me ask after her health.
How does the most excellent of women?
You have not heard, then?
I have not, my lord: but it is not for want of solicitude: I have sent three several messengers: but can hear nothing to my satisfaction.
Nor can you hear any thing from me that will give you any.
I am grieved at my soul, that I cannot. How, my lord, do the marquis and marchioness?
Don't ask. They are extremely unhappy.
I hear that my dear friend, Signor Jeronymo, has undergone
A dreadful operation, interrupted the general.He has. Poor Jeronymo! He could not write to you. God preserve my brother! But, chevalier, you did not save half a life, though we thank you for that, when you restored him to our arms.
I had no reason to boast, my lord, of the accident. I never made a merit of it. It was a mere accident, and cost me nothing. The service was greatly over-rated.
Would to God, chevalier, it had been rendered by any other man in the world!
As it has proved, I am sure, my lord, I have reason to join in the wish.
He shewed me his pictures, statues, and cabinet of curiosities, while dinner was preparing; but rather for the ostentation of his magnificence and taste, than to do me pleasure. I even observed an increasing coldness in his behaviour; and his eye was too often cast upon me with a fierceness that shewed resentment; and not with the hospitable frankness that became him to a visitor and guest, who had undertaken a journey of above two hundred miles, principally to attend him, and to shew him the confidence he had in his honour. This, as it was more to his dishonour than mine, I pitied him for. But what most of all disturbed me, was, that I could not obtain from him any particular intelligence relating to the health of one person, whose distresses lay heavy upon my heart.
There were several persons of distinction at dinner; the discourse could therefore be only general. He paid me great respect at his table, but it was a solemn one. I was the more uneasy at it, as I apprehended, that the situation of the Bologna family was more unhappy than when I left that city.
He retired with me into his garden. You stay with me at least the week out, chevalier?
No, my lord: I have affairs of a deceased friend at Florence and at Leghorn to settle. To-morrow, as early as I can, I shall set out for Rome, in my way to Tuscany.
I am surprised, chevalier. You take something amiss in my behaviour.
I cannot say that your lordship's countenance (I am a very free speaker) has that benignity in it, that complacency, which I have had the pleasure to see in it.
By G! chevalier, I could have loved you better than any man in the world, next to the men of my own family; but I own I see you not here with so much love as admiration.
The word admiration, my lord, may require explanation. You may admire at my confidence: but I thank you for the manly freedom of your acknowledgment in general.
By admiration I mean, all that may do you honour. Your bravery in coming hither, particularly; and your greatness of mind on your taking leave of us all. But did you not then mean to insult me?
I meant to observe to you then, as I now do in your own palace, that you had not treated me as my heart told me I deserved to be treated: but when I thought your warmth was rising to the uneasiness of your assembled friends, instead of answering your question about my stay at Bologna, as you seemed to mean it, I invited myself to an attendance upon you here, at Naples, in such a manner as surely could not be construed as insult.
I own, Grandison, you disconcerted me. I had intended to save you that journey.
Was that your lordship's meaning, when, in my absence, you called at my lodgings, the day after the farewell-visit?
Not absolutely: I was uneasy with myself. I intended to talk to you. What that talk might have produced, I know not: but had I invited you out, if I had found you at home, would you have answered my demands?
According as you had put them.
Will you answer them now, if I attend you as far as Rome, on your return to Florence?
If they are demands fit to be answered.
Do you expect I will make any that are not fit to be answered?
My lord, I will explain myself. You had conceived causeless prejudices against me: you seemed inclined to impute to me a misfortune that was not, could not be, greater to you than it was to me. I knew my own innocence: I knew that I was rather an injured man, in having hopes given me, in which I was disappointed, not by my own fault: whom shall an innocent and an injured man fear?Had I feared, my fear might have been my destruction. For was I not in the midst of your friends? A foreigner? If I would have avoided you, could I, had you been determined to seek me?I would choose to meet even an enemy as a man of honour, rather than to avoid him as a malefactor. In my country, the law supposes flight a confession of guilt. Had you made demands upon me that I had not chosen to answer, I would have expostulated with you. I could perhaps have done so as calmly as I now speak. If you would not have been expostulated with, I would have stood upon my defence: but for the world I would not have hurt a brother of Clementina and Jeronymo, a son of the marquis and marchioness of Porretta, could I have avoided it. Had your passion given me any advantage over you, and I had obtained your sword, (a pistol, had the choice been left to me, I had refused for both our sakes,) I would have presented both swords to you, and bared my breast: It was before penetrated by the distresses of the dear Clementina, and of all your familyPerhaps I should only have said, 'If your lordship thinks I have injured you, take your revenge.'
And now, that I am at Naples, let me say, that if you are determined, contrary to all my hopes, to accompany me to Rome, or elsewhere, on my return, with an unfriendly purpose; such, and no other, shall be my behaviour to you, if the power be given me to shew it. I will rely on my own innocence, and hope by generosity to overcome a generous man. Let the guilty secure themselves by violence and murder.
Superlative pride! angrily said he, and stood still, measuring me with his eye: And could you hope for such an advantage?
While I, my lord, was calm, and determined only upon self-defence; while you were passionate, and perhaps rash, as aggressors generally are; I did not doubt it: but could I have avoided drawing, and preserved your good opinion, I would not have drawn. Your lordship cannot but know my principles.
Grandison, I do know them; and also the general report in your favour for skill and courage. Do you think I would have heard with patience of the once proposed alliance, had not your characterAnd then he was pleased to say many things in my favour, from the report of persons who had weight with him; some of whom he named.
But still, Grandison, said he, this poor girl!She could not have been so deeply affected, had not some lover-like arts
Let me, my lord, interrupt youI cannot bear an imputation of this kind. Had such arts been used, the lady could not have been so much affected. Cannot you think of your noble sister, as a daughter of the two houses from which you sprang? Cannot you see her, as by Mrs. Beaumont's means we now so lately have been able to see her, struggling nobly with her own heart, [Why am I put upon this tender subject?] because of her duty and her religion; and resolved to die rather than encourage a wish that was not warranted by both?I cannot, my lord, urge this subject: but there never was a passion so nobly contended with. There never was a man more disinterested, and so circumstanced. Remember only, my voluntary departure from Bologna, against persuasion; and the great behaviour of your sister on that occasion; great, as it came out to be, when Mrs. Beaumont brought her to acknowledge what would have been my glory to have known, could it have been encouraged; but is now made my heaviest concern.
Indeed, Grandison, she ever was a noble girl! We are too apt perhaps to govern ourselves by events, without looking into causes: but the access you had to her; such a man! and who became known to us from circumstances so much in his favour, both as a man of principle and bravery
This, my lord, interrupted I, is still judging from events. You have seen Mrs. Beaumont's letter. Surely you cannot have a nobler monument of magnanimity in woman! And to that I refer, for a proof of my own integrity.
I have that letter: Jeronymo gave it me, at my taking leave of him; and with these words: 'Grandison will certainly visit you at Naples. I am afraid of your warmth. His spirit is well known. All my dependance is upon his principles. He will not draw but in his own defence. Cherish the noble visitor. Surely, brother, I may depend upon your hospitable temper. Read over again this letter, before you see him.'I have not yet read it, proceeded the general; but I will, and that, if you will allow me, now.
He took it out of his pocket, walked from me, and read it; and then came to me, and took my handI am half ashamed of myself, my dear Grandison: I own I wanted magnanimity. All the distresses of our family, on this unhappy girl's account, were before my eyes, and I received you, I behaved to you, as the author of them. I was contriving to be dissatisfied with you: Forgive me, and command my best services. I will let our Jeronymo know how greatly you subdued me before I had recourse to the letter; but that I have since read that part of it which accounts for my sister's passion, and wish I had read it with equal attention before. I acquit you: I am proud of my sister. Yet I observe from this very letter, that Jeronymo's gratitude has contributed to the evil we deplore. ButLet us not say one word more of the unhappy girl: It is painful to me to talk of her.
Not ask a question, my lord?
Don't, Grandison, don't!Jeronymo and Clementina are my soul's woeBut they are not worse than might be apprehended. You go to court with me to-morrow: I will present you to the king.
I have had that honour formerly. I must depart to-morrow morning early. I have already taken leave of several of my friends here: I have some to make my compliments to at Rome, which I reserved for my return.
You stay with me to-night?I intend it, my lord.
Well, we will return to company. I must make my excuses to my friends. Your departure to-morrow must be one. They all admire you. They are acquainted with your character. They will join with me to engage you, if possible, to stay longer.We returned to the company.
LETTER IV
MISS BYRON, TO MISS SELBY
Receive now, my dear, the doctor's thirteenth letter, and the last he intends to favour us with, till he entertains us with the histories of Mrs. Beaumont, and Lady Olivia.
***DR. BARTLETT'S THIRTEENTH LETTERMr. Grandison set out next morning. The general's behaviour to him at his departure, was much more open and free than it was at receiving him.
Mr. Grandison, on his return to Florence, entered into the affairs of his late friend Mr. Jervois, with the spirit, and yet with the temper, for which he is noted, when he engages in any business. He put every thing in a happy train in fewer days than it would have cost some other persons months; for he was present himself on every occasion, and in every business, where his presence would accelerate it; yet he had embarrassments from Olivia.
He found, before he set out for Naples, that Mrs. Beaumont, at the earnest request of the marchioness, was gone to Bologna. At his return, not hearing any thing from Signor Jeronymo, he wrote to Mrs. Beaumont, requesting her to inform him of the state of things in that family, as far as she thought proper; and, particularly, of the health of that dear friend, on whose silence to three letters he had written, he had the most melancholy apprehensions. He let that lady know, that he should set out in a very few days for Paris, if he had no probability of being of service to the family she favoured with her company.
To this letter Mrs. Beaumont returned the following answer:
SIR,I have the favour of yours. We are very miserable here. The servants are forbidden to answer any inquiries, but generally; and that not truly.
Your friend, Signor Jeronymo, has gone through a severe operation. He has been given over; but hopes are now entertained, not of his absolute recovery, but that he will be no worse than he was before the necessity for the operation arose. Poor man! He forgot not, however, his sister and you, when he was out of the power of the opiates that were administered to him.
On my coming hither, I found Lady Clementina in a deplorable way: Sometimes raving, sometimes gloomy; and in bondsTwice had she given them apprehensions of fatal attempts: they, therefore, confined her hands.
They have been excessively wrong in their management of her: now soothing, now severe; observing no method.
She was extremely earnest to see you before you left Bologna. On her knees repeatedly she besought this favour, and promised to be easy if they would comply; but they imagined that their compliance would aggravate the symptoms.
I very freely blamed them for not complying, at the time when she was so desirous of seeing you. I told them, that soothing her would probably then have done good.
When they knew you were actually gone from Bologna, they told her so. Camilla shocked me with the description of her rage and despair, on the communication. This was followed by fits of silence, and the deepest melancholy.
They had hopes, on my arrival, that my company would have been of service to her: but for two days together she regarded me not, nor any thing I could say to her. On the third of my arrival, finding her confinement extremely uneasy to her, I prevailed, but with great difficulty, to have her restored to the use of her hands; and to be allowed to walk with me in the garden. They had hinted to me their apprehensions about a piece of water.
Her woman being near us, if there had been occasion for assistance, I insensibly led that way. She sat down on a seat over-against the great cascade; but she made no motion that gave me apprehensions. From this time she has been fonder of me than before. The day I obtained this liberty for her, she often clasped her arms about me, and laid her face in my bosom; and I could plainly see, it was in gratitude for restoring to her the use of her arms: but she cared not to speak.