 | CHAPTER XVIII. Ormond, or, The secret witness |  |
18. CHAPTER XVIII.
When time had somewhat mitigated the
memory of the late disaster, the intercourse between
Ormond and Constance was renewed.
The lady did not overlook her obligations to her
friend: It was to him that she was indebted for
her father's restoration to sight, and to whom
both owed, essentially, though indirectly, their
present affluence. In her mind, gratitude was
no perverse or ignoble principle. She viewed
this man as the authour of extensive benefits, of
which her situation enabled her to judge with
more accuracy than others. It created no bias
on her judgment, or, at least, none of which she
was sensible. Her equity was perfectly unfettered,
and she decided in a way contrary to his
inclination, with as little scruple as if the benefits
had been received, not by herself, but by him.
She, indeed, intended his benefit, though she
thwarted his inclinations.
She had few visitants beside himself. Their
interviews were daily and unformal. The fate
of Hellen never produced any reproaches on her
part. She saw the uselessness of recrimination,
not only because she desired to produce emotions
different from those which invective is adapted to
excite, but because it was more just to soothe
than to exasperate, the inquietudes which haunted
him.
She now enjoyed leisure. She had always been
solicitous for mental improvement. Any means
subservient to this end were valuable. The conversation
of Ormond was an inexhaustible fund.
By the variety of topics and the excitements to
knowledge was produced, than could have flowed
from any other source. There was no end to
the detailing of facts, and the canvassing of theories.
I have already said, that Ormond was engaged
in schemes of an arduous and elevated nature.
These were the topics of epistolary discussion
between him and a certain number of coadjutors,
in different parts of the world. In general discourse,
it was proper to maintain a uniform silence
respecting these, not only because they involved
principles and views, remote from vulgar
apprehension, but because their success, in some
measure, depended on their secrecy. He could
not give a stronger proof of his confidence in the
sagacity and steadiness of Constance than he now
gave, by imparting to her his schemes, and requesting
her advice and assistance in the progress
of them.
His disclosures, however, were imperfect.
What knowledge was imparted, instead of appeasing,
only tended to inflame her curiosity.
His answers to her enquiries were prompt, and at
first sight, sufficiently explicit, but upon reconsideration,
an obscurity seemed to gather round
them, to be dispelled by new interrogatories.
These, in like manner, effected a momentary
purpose, but were sure speedily to lead into new
conjectures, and re-immerse her in doubts. The
task was always new, was always in the point of
being finished, and always to be re-commenced.
Ormond aspired to nothing more ardently than
to hold the reins of opinion. To exercise absolute
power over the conduct of others, not by constraining
their limbs, or by exacting obedience to
his authority, but in a way of which his subjects
should be scarcely conscious. He desired that
his agency, when most effectual, should be least
suspected.
If he were solicitous to govern the thoughts of
Constantia, or to regulate her condition, the
mode which he pursued had hitherto been admirably
conducive to that end. To have found her
friendless and indigent, accorded, with the most
fortunate exactness, with his views. That she
should have descended to this depth, from a prosperous
height, and therefore be a stranger to the
torpor which attends hereditary poverty, and be
qualified rightly to estimate, and use the competence
to which, by his means, she was now restored,
was all that his providence would have
prescribed.
Her thoughts were equally obsequious to his
direction. The novelty and grandeur of his
schemes could not fail to transport a mind, ardent
and capacious, as that of Constance. Here his
fortune had been no less propitious. He did not
fail to discover, and was not slow to seize the advantages
flowing thence. By explaining his plans,
opportunity was furnished to lead and to confine
her meditations to the desirable tract. By adding
fictitious embellishments, he adapted it with
more exactness to his purpose. By piece-meal
and imperfect disclosures, her curiosity was kept
alive.
I have described Ormond as having contracted
a passion for Constance. This passion certainly
existed in his heart, but it must not be conceived
to be immutable, or to operate independently of
all those impulses and habits which time had interwoven
in his character. The person and affections
of this woman, were the objects sought
by him, and which it was the dearest purpose of
his existence to gain. This was his supreme
for its pre-eminence in his imagination,
were numerous and complex.
I have enumerated his opinions on the subject
of wedlock. The question will obviously occur,
whether Constantia was sought by him, with upright
or flagitious views. His sentiments and resolutions,
on this head, had for a time fluctuated,
but were now steadfast. Marriage was, in his
eyes, hateful and absurd as ever. Constance
was to be obtained by any means. If other terms
were rejected, he was willing, for the sake of
this good, to accept her as a wife; but this was a
choice to be made, only when every expedient
was exhausted, for reconciling her to a compact
of a different kind.
For this end, he prescribed to himself, a path
suited to the character of this lady. He made no
secret of his sentiments and views. He avowed
his love and described, without scruple, the scope
of his wishes. He challenged her to confute his
principles, and promised a candid audience and
profound consideration to her arguments. Her
present opinions he knew to be adverse to his
own, but he hoped to change them, by subtilty
and perseverance. His further hopes and designs,
he concealed from her. She was unaware,
that if he were unable to effect a change in
her creed, he was determined to adopt a system
of imposture. To assume the guise of a convert
to her doctrines, and appear as devout as herself
in his notions of the sanctity of marriage.
Perhaps it was not difficult, to have foreseen
the consequence of these projects. Constantia's
peril was imminent. This arose not only from
the talents and address of Ormond, but from the
community of sentiment, which already existed
between them. She was unguarded in a point,
security and strongest bulwark would have
existed. She was unacquainted with religion.
She was unhabituated to conform herself to any
standard, but that connected with the present
life. Matrimonial, as well as every other human
duty, was disconnected in her mind, with any
awful or divine sanction. She formed her estimate
of good and evil, on nothing but terestrial
and visible consequences.
This defect in her character, she owed to her
father's system of education. Mr. Dudley was
an adherent to what he conceived to be true religion.
No man was more passionate in his culogy
of his own form of devotion and belief, or in his
invectives against Atheistical dogmas; but he reflected
that religion assumed many forms, one only
of which is salutary or true, and that truth in
this respect, is incompatible with infantile and
premature instruction.
To this subject, it was requisite to apply the
force of a mature and unfettered understanding.
For this end he laboured to lead away the juvenile
reflections of Constantia, from religious topics,
to detain them in the paths of history and
eloquence. To accustom her to the accuracy of
geometrical deduction, and to the view of those
evils, that have flowed in all ages, from mistaken
piety.
In consequence of this scheme, her habits rather
than her opinions, were undevout. Religion
was regarded by her, not with disbelief, but
with absolute indifference. Her good sense forbad
her to decide before enquiry, but her modes
of study and reflection, were foreign to, and
unfitted her for this species of discussion. Her
mind was seldom called to meditate on this subject,
and when it occurred, her perceptions were
which she occupied, were calculated to suggest
to her the importance of investigation and certainty.
It becomes me to confess, however reluctantly,
thus much concerning my friend. However
abundantly endowed in other respects, she was
a stranger to the felicity and excellence flowing
from religion. In her struggles with misfortune,
she was supported and cheered by the sense of
no approbation, but her own. A defect of this
nature, will perhaps be regarded as of less moment,
when her extreme youth is remembered.
All opinions in her mind were mutable, inasmuch
as the progress of her understanding was
incessant.
If was otherwise with Ormond. His disbelief
was at once unchangeable and strenuous. The
universe was to him, a series of events, connected
by an undesigning and inscrutable necessity,
and an assemblage of forms, to which no begining
or end can be conceived. Instead of transient
views and vague ideas, his meditations, on
religious points, had been intense. Enthusiasm
was added to disbelief, and he not only dissented
but abhorred.
He deemed it prudent, however, to disguise
sentiments, which, if unfolded in their full force,
would wear to her the appearance of insanity:
But he saw and was eager to improve the advantage,
which his anti-nuptial creed derived from
the unsettled state of her opinions. He was not
unaware, likewise, of the auspicious and indispensible
co-operation of love. If this advocate were
wanting in her bosom, all his efforts would be in
vain. If this pleader were engaged in his behalf,
he entertained no doubts of his ultimate success.
whose comforts were the fruits of his beneficence,
and which afforded her no other subject of contemplation
than himself, was as favorable as possible
to the growth of this passion.
Constance was acquainted with his wishes.
She could not fail to see, that she might spcedily
be called upon to determine a momentous question.
Her own sensations and the character of
Ormond, were, therefore, scrutinized with suspicious
attention. Marriage could be justified in
her eyes, only by community of affections and
opinions. She might love without the sanction
of her judgment, but while destitute of that
sanction, she would never suffer it to sway her
conduct.
Ormond was imperfectly known. What
knowledge she had gained, flowed chiefly from
his own lips, and was therefore unattended with
certainty. What portion of deceit or disguise
was mixed with his conversation, could be
known, only by witnessing his actions with her
own eyes, and comparing his testimony with that
of others. He had embraced a multitude of opinions,
which appeared to her erroneous. Till
these were rectified, and their conclusions were
made to correspond, wedlock was improper.
Some of these obscurities might be dispelled, and
some of these discords be resolved into harmony
by time. Meanwhile it was proper to guard the
avenues to her heart, and screen herself from
self-delusion.
There was no motive to conceal her reflections,
on this topic, from her father. Mr. Dudley
discovered, without her assistance, the views
of Ormond. His daughter's happiness was
blended with his own. He lived, but in the consciousness
of her tranquility. Her image was seldom
thoughts. The emotions which it excited, sprung
but in part from the relationship of father. It
was gratitude and veneration, which she claimed
from him, and which filled him with rapture.
He ruminated deeply on the character of Ormond.
The political and anti-theological tenets
of this man, were regarded, not merely with disapprobation,
but antipathy. He was not ungrateful
for the benefits which had been conferred
upon him. Ormond's peculiarities of sentiment,
excited no impatience, as long as he was regarded
merely as a visitant. It was only as one
claiming to posses his daughter, that his presence
excited in Mr. Dudley, trepidation and loathing.
Ormond was unacquainted with what was passing
in the mind of Mr. Dudley. The latter
conceived his own benefactor and his daughter's
friend, to be entitled to the most scrupulous and
affable urbanity. His objections to a nearer alliance,
were urged with frequent and pathetic vehemence,
only in his private interviews with
Constance. Ormond and he seldom met: Mr.
Dudley, as soon as his sight was perfectly retrieved,
betook himself with eagerness to painting, an
amusement, which his late privations had only
contributed to endear to him.
Things remained nearly on their present footing
for some months. At the end of this period,
some engagement obliged Ormond to leave the
city. He promised to return with as much speed
as circumstances would admit. Meanwhile his
letters supplied her with topics of reflection.
These were frequently received, and were models
of that energy of style, which results from
simplicity of structure, from picturesque epithets,
and from the compression of much meaning into
conviction, but delight never failed to flow from
their lucid order and cogent brevity. His narratives
were unequaled for rapidity and comprehensiveness.
Every sentence was a treasury to
moralists and painters.
| CHAPTER XVIII. Ormond, or, The secret witness | |