 | EDGAR HUNTLY.
CHAPTER V. Edgar Huntly, or, Memoirs of a sleep-walker |  |
5. EDGAR HUNTLY.
CHAPTER V.
Mrs. lorimer had a twin
brother. Nature had impressed the
same image upon them, and had modelled
them after the same pattern. The
resemblance between them was exact to
a degree almost incredible. In infancy
and childhood they were perpetually
liable to be mistaken for each other. As
they grew up nothing to a superficial
examination appeared to distinguish them
but the sexual characteristics. A sagacious
observer would, doubtless, have
noted the most essential differences. In
all those modifications of the features
no two persons were less alike.
Nature seemed to have intended them
as examples of the futility of those theories,
which ascribe every thing to conformation
and instinct, and nothing to
external circumstances; in what different
modes the same materials may be
fashioned, and to what different purposes
the same materials may be applied.
Perhaps the rudiments of their intellec
tual character as well as of their form,
were the same; but the powers, that in
one case, were exerted in the cause of
virtue, were, in the other, misapplied to
sordid and flagitious purposes.
Arthur Wiatte, that was his name,
had ever been the object of his sister's
affection. As long as he existed she
never ceased to labour in the promotion
of his happiness. All her kindness
hatred. This man was an exception to
all the rules which govern us in our
judgments of human nature. He exceeded
in depravity all that has been
imputed to the arch-foe of mankind. His
wickedness was without any of those
remorseful intermissions from which it
has been supposed that the deepest guilt
is not entirely exempt. He seemed to
relish no food but pure unadulterated
evil. He rejoiced in proportion to the
depth of that distress of which he was
the author.
His sister, by being placed most
within the reach of his enmity, experienced
its worst effects. She was the
subject on which, by being acquainted
with the means of influencing her happiness,
he could try his malignant experiments
with most hope of success. Her
parents being high in rank and wealth,
course, an object of anxious attention.
There is no event on which our felicity
and usefulness more materially depends,
and with regard to which, therefore, the
freedom of choice and the exercise of
our own understanding ought to be less
infringed, but this maxim is commonly
disregarded in proportion to the elevation
of our rank and extent of our property.
The lady made her own election, but
she was one of those who acted on a comprehensive
plan, and would not admit
her private inclination to dictate her
decision. Her happiness of others,
though founded on mistaken views, she
did not consider as unworthy of her regard.
The choice was such as was not
likely to obtain the parental sanction, to
whom the moral qualities of their son-in-law,
though not absolutely weightless in
considerations of wealth and dignity.
The brother set no value on any
thing but the means of luxury and power.
He was astonished at that perverseness
which entertained a different conception
of happiness from himself. Love and
friendship he considered as groundless
and chimerical, and believed that those
delusions, would, in people of sense, be
rectified by experience; but he knew the
obstinacy of his sister's attachment to
these phantoms, and that to bereave her
of the good they promised was the most
effectual means of rendering her miserable.
For this end he set himself to thwart
her wishes. In the imbecility and false
indulgence of his parents he found his
most powerful auxiliaries. He prevailed
upon them to forbid that union which
wanted nothing but their concurrence,
and their consent to endow her with a
completely eligible. The cause was
that of her happiness and the happiness
of him on whom she had bestowed her
heart. It behoved her, therefore, to call
forth all her energies in defence of it, to
weaken her brother's influence on the
minds of her parents, or to win him to be
her advocate. When I reflect upon her
mental powers, and the advantages
which should seem to flow from the circumstance
of pleading in the character
of daughter and sister, I can scarcely
believe that her attempts miscarried. I
should have imagined that all obstacles
would yield before her, and particularly
in a case like this, in which she must
have summoned all her forces, and never
have believed that she had struggled
sufficiently.
Certain it is that her lot was fixed.
She was not only denied the husband of
her choice, but another was imposed upon
her, whose recommendations were
irresistible in every one's apprehension
but her own. The discarded lover was
treated with every sort of contumely.
Deceit and violence were employed by
her brother to bring his honour, his liberty,
and even his life into hazard. All
these iniquities produced no considerable
effect on the mind of the lady. The
machinations to which her love was exposed,
would have exasperated him into
madness, had not her most strenuous
exertions been directed to appease him.
She prevailed on him at length to
abandon his country, though she thereby
merely turned her brother's depravity
into a new channel. Her parents died
without conciousness of the evils they
inflicted, but they experienced a bitter
He was the darling and stay of an ancient
and illustrious house, but his actions
reflected nothing but disgrace upon his
ancestry, and threatened to bring the
honours of their line to a period in his
person. At their death the bulk of their
patrimony devolved upon him. This he
speedily consumeed in gaming and riot.
From splendid, he descended to meaner
vices. The efforts of his sister to recall
him to virtue were unintermitted and
fruitless. Her affection for him he converted
into a means of prolonging his
selfish gratifications. She decided for
the best. It was no argument of weakness
that she was so frequently deceived.
If she had judged truly of her brother,
she would have judged not only without
example, but in opposition to the general
experience of mankind. But she was not
to be forever deceived. Her tenderness
his vices had led him from the gaming
table to the higway, when seized at length
by the ministers of law, when convicted
and sentenced to transportation, her
intercession was solicited, when all the
world knew that pardon would readily be
granted to a supplicant of her rank,
fortune, and character, when the criminal
himself, his kindred, his friends, and even
indifferent persons implored her interference,
her justice was inflexible: She
knew full well the incurableness of his
depravity; that banishment was the
mildest destiny that would befall him;
that estrangement from ancient haunts
and associates was the condition from
which his true friends had least to fear.
Finding intreaties unavailing, the
wretch delivered himself to the suggestions
of his malice, and he vowed to be
bloodily revenged on her inflexibility.
character must indeed be monstrous
from which the execution of such threats
was to be dreaded. The event sufficiently
shewed that our fears on this head
were well grounded. This event, however,
was at a great distance. It was reported
that the fellons, of whom he was one,
mutinied on board the ship in which they
had been embarked. In the affray that
succeeded it was said that he was killed.
Among the nefarious deeds which he
perpetrated was to be numbered the
seduction of a young lady, whose heart
was broken by the detection of his perfidy.
The fruit of this unhappy union was a
daughter. Her mother died shortly after
her birth. Her father was careless of her
destiny. She was consigned to the care
of an hireling, who, happily for the innocent
victim, performed the maternal
offices for her own sake, and did not allow
render her cruel or neglectful.
This orphan was sought out by the
benevolence of Mrs. Lorimer and placed
under her own protection. She received
from her the treatment of a mother. The
ties of kindred, corroborated by habit,
was not the only thing that united them.
That resemblance to herself, which had
been so deplorably defective in her brother,
was completely realized in his
offspring. Nature seemed to have precluded
every difference between them but
that of age. This darling object excited
in her bosom more than maternal sympathies.
Her soul clung to the happiness of
her Clarice, with more ardour than to that
of her own son. The latter was not only
less worthy of affection, but their separation
necessarily diminished their mutual
confidence.
It was natural for her to look forward
to the future destiny of Clarice. On
these occasions she could not help contemplating
the possibility of a union
between her son and niece. Considerable
advantages belonged to this scheme, yet
it was the subject of hope rather than
the scope of a project. The contingencies
were numerous and delicate on which
the ultimate desirableness of this union
depended. She was far from certain that
her son would be worthy of this benefit,
or that, if he were worthy, his propensities
would not select for themselves a
different object. It was equally dubious
whether the young lady would not think
proper otherwise to dispose of her affections.
These uncertainties could be
dissipated only by time. Meanwhile she
was chiefly solicitous to render them
virtuous and wise.
As they advanced in years, the hopes
that she had formed were annihilated.
The youth was not exempt from egregious
errors. In addition to this, it was
manifest that the young people were disposed
to regard each other in no other
light than that of brother and sister. I
was not unapprised of her views. I saw
that their union was impossible. I was
near enough to judge of the character
of Clarice. My youth and intellectual
constitution made me peculiarly susceptible
to female charms. I was her play-fellow
in childhood, and her associate in
studies and amusements at a maturer
age. This situation might have been
suspected of a dangerous tendency. This
tendency, however, was obviated by motives
of which I was, for a long time,
scarcely conscious.
I was habituated to consider the distinctions
of rank as indellible. The obstructions
I might form, were like those of time and
space, and as, in their own nature, insuperable.
Such was the state of things previous
to our setting out upon our travels.
Clarice was indirectly included in our
correspondence. My letters were open
to her inspection, and I was sometimes
honoured with a few complimentary lines
under her own hand. On returning to
my ancient abode, I was once more exposed
to those sinister influences which
absence had, at least, suspended. Various
suitors had, meanwhile, been rejected.
Their character, for the most part, had
been such as to account for her refusal,
without resorting to the supposition of a
lurking or unavowed attachment.
On our meeting she greeted me in a
respectful but dignified manner. Observers
to that difference of fortune
which subsisted between us. If her joy,
on that occasion, had in it some portion of
tenderness, the softness of her temper,
and the peculiar circumstances in which
we had been placed, being considered,
the most rigid censor could find no occasion
for blame or suspicion.
A year passed away, but not without
my attention being solicited by something
new and inexplicable in my own sensations.
At first I was not aware of their
true cause; but the gradual progress of
my feelings left me not long in doubt as
to their origin. I was alarmed at the
discovery, but my courage did not suddenly
desert me. My hopes seemed to
be extinguished the moment that I distinctly
perceived the point to which they
led. My mind had undergone a change.
The ideas with which it was fraught were
Clarice, was sure to occasion my mind to
advert to the recent discovery, and to
revolve the considerations naturally connected
with it. Some latent glows and
secret trepidations were likewise experienced,
when, by some accident, our
meetings were abrupt or our interviews
unwitnessed; yet my usual tranquility
was not as yet sensibly diminished. I
could bear to think of her marriage with
another without painful emotions, and
was anxious only that her choice should
be judicious and fortunate.
My thoughts could not long continue
in this state. They gradually became
more ardent and museful. The image
of Clarice occurred with unseasonable
frequency. Its charms were enhanced
by some nameless and indefinable additions.
When it met me in the way I was
irresistibly disposed to stop and survey it
cast of her features, the deep glow of her
cheek, and some catch of melting music,
she had lately breathed, stole incessantly
upon my fancy. On recovering from my
thoughtful moods, I sometimes found my
cheeks wet with tears, that had fallen
unperceived, and my bosom heaved
with involuntary sighs.
These images did not content themselves
with invading my wakeful hours;
but, likewise, incroached upon my sleep.
I could no longer resign myself to slumber
with the same ease as before. When
I slept, my visions were of the same
impassioned tenor.
There was no difficulty in judging
rightly of my situation. I knew what it
was that duty exacted from me. To remain
in my present situation was a
chimerical project. That time and reflection
would suffice to restore me to
Yet I felt an insupportable reluctance to
change it. This reluctance was owing,
not wholly or chiefly to my growing
passion, but to the attachment which
bound me to the service of my lady. All
my contemplations had hitherto been modelled
on the belief of my remaining in
my present situation during my life. My
mildest anticipations had never fashioned
an event like this. Any misfortune was
light in comparison with that which tore
me from her presence and service. But
should I ultimately resolve to separate,
how should I communicate my purpose.
The pain of parting would scarcely be
less on her side than on mine. Could I
consent to be the author of disquietude to
her? I had consecrated all my faculties
to her service. This was the recompence
which it was in my power to make
Would not this procedure bear the appearance
of the basest ingratitude? The
shaddow of an imputation like this was
more excruciating than the rack.
What motive could I assign for my
conduct? The truth must not be told.
This would be equivalent to supplicating
for a new benefit. It would more become
me to lessen than increase my
obligations. Among all my imaginations
on this subject, the possibility of a
mutual passion never occurred to me.
I could not be blind to the essential distinctions
that subsist among men. I could
expatiate, like others, on the futility of
ribbonds and titles, and on the dignity
that was annexed to skill and virtue; but
these, for the most part, were the incoherences
of speculation, and in no degree
influenced the stream of my actions, and
practical sentiments. The barrier that
insurmountable. This was not even
the subject of doubt. In disclosing the
truth, I should be conceived to be soliciting
my lady's mercy and intercession;
but this would be the madness of presumption.
Let me impress her with any
other opinion than that I go in search of
the happiness that I have lost under her
roof. Let me save her generous heart
from the pangs which this persuasion
would infallibly produce.
I could form no stable resolutions.
I seemed unalterably convinced of the
necessity of separation, and yet could
not execute my design. When I had
wrought up my mind to the intention of
explaining myself on the next interview,
when the next interview took place my
tongue was powerless. I admitted any
excuse for postponing my design, and
foreign to my purpose.
It must not be imagined that my
health sustained no injury from this
conflict of my passions. My patroness
perceived this alteration. She inquired
with the most affectionate solicitude, into
the cause. It could not be explained.
I could safely make light of it, and represented
it as something which would
probably disappear of itself, as it originated
without any adequate cause. She
was obliged to acquiesce in my imperfect
account.
Day after day passed in this state of
fluctuation. I was conscious of the dangers
of delay, and that procrastination,
without rendering the task less necessary,
augmented its difficulties. At
length, summoning my resolution, I
demanded an audience. She received
me with her usual affability. Common
and trepidation of my thoughts,
and quickly relinquished them. She
then noticed to me what she had observed,
and mentioned the anxiety which
these appearances had given her. She
reminded me of the maternal regard
which she had always manifested towards
me, and appealed to my own
heart whether any thing could be said in
vindication of that reserve with which I
had lately treated her, and urged me as I
valued her good opinion, to explain the
cause of a dejection that was too visible.
To all this I could make but one
answer: Think me not, Madam, perverse
or ungrateful. I came just now to apprise
you of a resolution that I had formed.
I cannot explain the motives that induce
me. In this case, to lie to you would be
unpardonable, and since I cannot assign
my true motives, I will not mislead
inform you of my intention to leave your
service, and to retire with the fruits of
your bounty, to my native village, where
I shall spend my life, I hope, in peace.
Her surprise at this declaration was
beyond measure. She could not believe
her ears. She had not heard me
rightly. She compelled me to repeat it.
Sill I was jesting. I could not possibly
mean what my words imported.
I assured her, in terms still more explicit,
that my resolution was taken and
was unalterable, and again intreated her
to spare me the task of assigning my motives.
This was a strange determination.
What could be the grounds of this new
scheme? What could be the necessity
of hiding them from her? This mystery
was not to be endured. She could by no
means away with it. She thought it
time, when she stood in particular need
of my assistance and advice. She would
refuse nothing to make my situation eligible.
I had only to point out where
she was deficient in her treatment of me
and she would endeavour to supply it.
She was willing to augment my emoluments
in any degree that I desired. She
could not think of parting with me; but,
at any rate, she must be informed of my
motives.
It is an hard task, answered I, that
I have imposed upon myself. I foresaw
its difficulties, and this foresight has
hitherto prevented me from undertaking
it; but the necessity by which I am impelled,
will no longer be withstood. I
am determined to go; but to say why, is
impossible. I hope I shall not bring
upon myself the imputation of ingratitude;
but this imputation, more intolerable
cannot be avoided but by this disclosure.
Keep your motives to yourself, said
she. I have too good an opinion of you
to suppose that you would practice concealment
without good reason. I merely
desire you to remain where you are.
Since you will not tell me why you take
up this new scheme, I can only say
that it is impossible there should be any
advantage in this scheme. I will not
hear of it I tell you. Therefore, submit
to my decree with a good grace.
Notwithstanding this prohibition I
persisted in declaring that my determination
was fixed, and that the motives
that governed me would allow of no
alternative.
So, you will go, will you, whether I
will or no? I have no power to detain
you? You will regard nothing that I can
say?
Believe me, madam, no resolution
ever was formed after a more vehement
struggle. If my motives were known,
you would not only cease to oppose, but
would hasten my departure. Honour
me so far with your good opinion, as to
believe that, in saying this, I say nothing
but the truth, and render my duty less
burthensome by cheerfully acquiescing
in its dictates.
I would, replied my lady, I could
find somebody that has more power
over you than I have. Whom shall I
call in to aid me in this arduous task?
Nay, dear madam, if I can resist your
intreaties, surely no other can hope to
succeed.
I am not sure of that, said my friend,
archly; there is one person in the world
whose supplications, I greatly suspect,
you would not withstand.
Whom do you mean? said I, in some
trepidation.
You will know presently. Unless I
can prevail upon you, I shall be obliged
to call for assistance.
Spare me the pain of repeating that
no power on earth can change my resolution.
That's a fib, she rejoined, with increased
archness. You know it is. If
a certain person intreat you to stay, you
will easily comply. I see I cannot hope
to prevail by my own strength. That
is a mortifying consideration, but we
must not part, that is a point settled. If
nothing else will do, I must go and fetch
my advocate. Stay here a moment.
I had scarcely time to breathe, before
she returned, leading in Clarice. I did
not yet comprehend the meaning of this
ceremony. The lady was overwhelmed
with sweet confusion. Averted eyes
to me the purpose of this meeting, if
I had believed that purpose to be possible.
I felt the necessity of new fortitude,
and struggled to recollect the motives
that had hitherto sustained me.
There, said my patroness, I have
been endeavouring to persuade this
young man to live with us a little longer.
He is determined, it seems, to change
his abode. He will not tell why, and I
do not care to know, unless I could shew
his reasons to be groundless. I have
merely remonstrated with him on the
folly of his scheme, but he has proved
refractory to all I can say. Perhaps your
efforts may meet with better success.
Clarice said not a word. My own
embarrassment equally disabled me from
speaking. Regarding us both, for some
time, with a benign aspect, Mrs. Lorimer
joining them together.
I very well know what it was that
suggested this scheme. It is strange that
you should suppose me so careless an observer
as not to note, or not to understand
your situation. I am as well acquainted
with what is passing in your heart as you
yourself are, but why are you so anxious
to conceal it. You know less of the adventurousness
of love than I should have
suspected. But I will not trifle with
your feelings.
You, Clithero, know the wishes that
I once cherished. I had hoped that my
son would have found, in this darling
child, an object worthy of his choice, and
that my girl would have preferred him
to all others. But I have long since discovered
that this could not be. They
are nowise suited to each other. There
is one thing in the next place desirable,
I see that you love each other, and
never, in my opinion, was a passion
more rational and just. I should think
myself the worst of beings if I did not
contribute all in my power to your happiness.
There is not the shadow of objection
to your union. I know your scruples,
Clithero, and am sorry to see that you
harbour them for a moment. Nothing is
more unworthy of your good sense.
I found out this girl long ago. Take
my word for it, young man, she does not
fall short of you in the purity and tenderness
of her attachment. What need
is there of tedious preliminaries. I
will leave you together, and hope you
will not be long in coming to a mutual
understanding. Your union cannot be
completed too soon for my wishes.
Clarice is my only and darling daughter.
that treatment from me, not only to which
your own merit intitles you, but which
is due to the husband of my daughter.---With
these words she retired and left us
together.
Great God! deliver me from the torments
of this remembrance. That a
being by whom I was snatched from
penury and brutal ignorance, exalted to
some rank in the intelligent creation,
reared to affluence and honour, and thus,
at last, spontaneously endowed with all
that remained to complete the sum of my
felicity, that a being like this---but such
thoughts must not yet be---I must shut
them out, or I shall never arrive at the
end of my tale. My efforts have been
thus far successful. I have hitherto been
able to deliver a coherent narrative.
Let the last words that I shall speak afford
Let me execute without faltering the
only task that remains for me.
| EDGAR HUNTLY.
CHAPTER V. Edgar Huntly, or, Memoirs of a sleep-walker | |