A Love Story online

his habits very regular, he shortly found that his great wealth enabled
him, not only to indulge in every personal luxury at Rendlesham Park,
but to patronise largely every literary work of merit. In him the needy
man of genius found a friend, the man of wit a companion, and the
publisher a generous customer. He became famous for his house, his
library, his exclusive society. But he did not become spoilt by his
prosperity, and never neglected his old tutor.

Our party from Delmé were ushered into a large drawing-room, the sole
light of which was from an immense bow window, looking out on the
extensive lawn. The panes were of enormous size, and beautiful specimens
of classique plated glass. The only articles of furniture, were some
crimson ottomans which served to set off the splendid paintings; and one
table of the Florentine manufacture of pietra dura, on which stood a
carved bijou of Benvenuto Cellini's. Our party were early. They were
welcomed by Mr. Græme with great cordiality, and by Mr. Hargrave with
some embarrassment, for the tutor was still the bashful man of former
days. Mr. Græme's dress shamed these degenerate days of black stock and
loose trowser. Diamond buckles adorned his knees, and fastened his
shoes. His clear blue eye - the high polished forehead - the deep lines of
the countenance - revealed the man of thought and intellect. The playful
lip shewed he could yet appreciate a flash of wit or spark of humour.

"Miss Delmé, you are looking at my paintings; let me show you my late
purchases. Observe this sweet Madonna, by Murillo! I prefer it to the
one in the Munich Gallery. It may not boast Titian's glow of colour, or
Raphael's grandeur of design, - in delicate angelic beauty, it may yield
to the delightful efforts of Guido's or Correggio's pencil, - but surely
no human conception can ever have more touchingly portrayed the
beauteous resigned mother. The infant, too! how inimitably blended is
the God-like serenity of the Saviour, with the fond and graceful
witcheries of the loving child! How little we know of the beauties of
the Spanish school! Would I could ransack their ancient monasteries, and
bring a few of them to light!

"You are a chess player! Pass not by this check-mate of Caravaggio's.
What undisguised triumph in one countenance! What a struggle to repress
nature's feelings in the other! Here is a Guido! sweet, as his ever are!
He may justly be styled the female laureat. What artist can compete with
him in delineating the blooming expression, or the tender, but lighter,
shades of female loveliness? who can pause between even the Fornarina,
and that divine effort, the Beatrice Cenci of the Barberini?"

The party were by this time assembled. Besides our immediate friends,
there was his Grace the Duke of Gatten, a good-natured fox-hunting
nobleman, whose estate adjoined Mr. Græme's; there was the Viscount
Chambéry, who had penned a pamphlet on finance - indited a folio on
architecture - and astonished Europe with an elaborate dissertation on
modern cookery; there was Charles Selby, the poet and essayist;
Daintrey, the sculptor - a wonderful Ornithologist - a deep read
Historian - a learned Orientalist - and a novelist, from France; whose
works exhibited such unheard of horrors, and made man and woman so
irremediably vicious, as to make this young gentleman celebrated, even
in Paris - that Babylonian sink of iniquity.

Dinner was announced, and our host, giving his arm very stoically to
Mrs. Glenallan, his love of former days, led the way to the dining-room.
Round the table were placed beautifully carved oaken fauteuils, of a
very old pattern. The service of plate was extremely plain, but of
massive gold. But the lamp! It was of magnificent dimensions! The light
chains hanging from the frescoed ceiling, the links of which were hardly
perceptible, were of silver, manufactured in Venice; the lower part was
of opal-tinted glass, exactly portraying some voluptuous couch, on which
the beautiful Amphitrite might have reclined, as she hastened through
beds of coral to crystal grot, starred with transparent stalactites. In
the centre of this shell, were sockets, whence verged small hollow
golden tubes, resembling in shape and size the stalks of a flower. At
the drooping ends of these, were lamps shaped and coloured to imitate
the most beauteous flowers of the parterre. This bouquet of light had
been designed by Mr. Græme. Few novelties had acquired greater
celebrity than the Græme astrale. The room was warmed by heating the
pedestals of the statues.

"Potage à la fantôme, and à l'ourika."

"I will trouble you, Græme," said my Lord Chambéry, "for the fantôme. I
have dined on la pritannière for the last three months, and a novel soup
is a novel pleasure."

Of the fish, the soles were à la Rowena, the salmon à l'amour. Emily
flirted with the wing of a chicken sauté au suprême, coquetted with
perdrix perdu masqué à la Montmorenci, and tasted a boudin à la
Diebitsch. The wines were excellent - the Geisenheim delicious - the
Champagne sparkling like a pun of Jekyll's. But nothing aroused the
attention of the Viscount Chambéry so much as a liqueur, which Mr.
Græme assured him was new, and had just been sent him by the Conte de
Desir. The dessert had been some time on the table, when the Viscount
addressed his host.

"Græme! I am delighted to find that you at length agree with me as to
the monstrous superiority of a French repast. Your omelette imaginaire
was faultless, and as for your liqueur, I shall certainly order a supply
on my return to Paris."

"That liqueur, my dear lord," replied Mr. Græme, "is good old cowslip
mead, with a flask of Maraschino di Zara infused in it. For the rest,
the dinner has been almost as imaginaire as the omelet. The greater part
of the recipes are in an old English volume in my library, or perhaps
some owe their origin to the fertile invention of my housekeeper. Let
us style them à la Dorothée."

"Capital! I thank you, Græme!" said his Grace of Gatten, as he shook
his host by the hand, till the tears stood in his eyes.

The prescient Chambéry had made a good dinner, and bore the joke
philosophically. Coffee awaited the gentlemen in a small octagonal
chamber, adjoining the music room. There stood Mr. Græme's three
favourite modern statues: - a Venus, by Canova - a Discobole, by
Thorwaldson - and a late acquisition - the Ariadne, of Dannecker.

"This is the work of an artist," said Mr. Græme, "little known in
this country, but in Germany ranking quite as high as Thorwaldson.
This is almost a duplicate of his Ariadne at Frankfort, but the
marble is much more pure. How wonderfully fine the execution! Pray
notice the bold profile of the face; how energetic her action as she
sits on the panther!"

Mr. Græme touched the spring of a window frame. A curtain of crimson
gauze fell over a globe lamp, and threw a rich shade on the marble.
The features remained as finely chiselled, but their expression was
totally changed.

They adjourned to the music-room, which deserved its title. Save some
seats, which were artfully formed to resemble lyres, nothing broke the
continuity of music's tones, which ascended majestically to the lofty
dome, there to blend and wreath, and fall again. At one extremity of
music's hall was an organ; at the other a grand piano, built by a German
composer. Ranged on carved slabs, at intermediate distances, was placed
almost every instrument that may claim a votary. Of viols, from the violin
to the double bass, - of instruments of brass, from trombones and bass
kettledrums even unto trumpet and cymbal, - of instruments of wood, from
winding serpents to octave flute, - and of fiddles of parchment, from the
grosse caisse to the tambourine. Nor were ancient instruments wanting.
These were of quaint forms and diverse constructions. Mr. Græme would
descant for hours on an antique species of spinnet, which he procured from
the East, and which he vehemently averred, was the veritable dulcimer. He
would display with great gusto, his specimens of harps of Israel; whose
deep-toned chorus, had perchance thrilled through the breast of more than
one of Judea's dark-haired daughters. Greece, too, had her
representatives, to remind the spectators that there had been an Orpheus.
There were flutes of the Doric and of the Phrygian mode, and - let us
forget not - the Tyrrhenian trumpet, with its brazen-cleft pavilion. But by
far the greater part of his musical relics he had acquired during his stay
in Italy. He could show the litui with their carved clarions - the twisted
cornua - the tuba, a trumpet so long and taper, - the concha wound by
Tritons - and eke the buccina, a short and brattling horn.

Belliston Græme was an enthusiastic musician; and was in this peculiar,
that he loved the science for its simplicity. Musicians are but too apt
to give to music's detail and music's difficulties the homage that
should be paid to music's self: in this resembling the habitual man of
law, who occasionally forgetteth the great principles of jurisprudence,
and invests with mysterious agency such words as latitat and certiorari.
The soul of music may not have fled; - for we cultivate her
assiduously, - worship Handel - and appreciate Mozart. But music _now_
springs from the head, not the heart; is not for the mass, but for
individuals. With our increased researches, and cares, and troubles, we
have lost the faculty of being pleased. Past are those careless days,
when the shrill musette, or plain cittern and virginals, could with
their first strain give motion to the blythe foot of joy, or call from
its cell the prompt tear of pity. Those days are gone! Music may affect
some of us as deeply, but none as readily!

Mr. Græme had received from Paris an unpublished opera of Auber's.
Emily seated herself at the piano - her host took the violin - Clarendon
was an excellent flute player - and the tinkle of the Viscount's guitar
came in very harmoniously. By the time refreshments were introduced,
Charles Selby too was in his glory. He had already nearly convulsed the
Orientalist by a theory which he said he had formed, of a gradual
metempsychosis, or, at all events, perceptible amalgamation, of the
yellow Qui Hi to the darker Hindoo; which said theory he supported by
the most ingenious arguments.

"How did you like your stay in Scotland, Mr. Selby?" said Sir
Henry Delmé.

"I am a terrible Cockney, Sir Henry, - found it very cold, and was very
sulky. The only man I cared to see in Scotland was at the Lakes; but I
kept a register of events, which is now on the table in my
dressing-room. If Græme will read it, for I am but a stammerer, it is
at your service."

The paper was soon produced, and Mr. Græme read the following: -


"THE BRAHMIN.

"A stranger arrived from a far and foreign country. His was a mind
peculiarly humble, tremblingly alive to its own deficiencies. Yet,
endowed with this mistrust, he sighed for information, and his soul
thirsted in the pursuit of knowledge. Thus constituted, he sought the
city he had long dreamingly looked up to as the site of truth - Scotia's
capital, the modern Athens. In endeavouring to explore the mazes of
literature, he by no means expected to discover novel paths, but sought
to traverse beauteous ones; feeling he could rest content, could he meet
with but one flower, which some bolder and more experienced adventurer
might have allowed to escape him. He arrived, and cast around an anxious
eye. He found himself involved in an apparent chaos - the whirl of
distraction - imbedded amidst a ceaseless turmoil of would-be knowing
students, endeavouring to catch the aroma of the pharmacopaeia, or dive
to the deep recesses of Scotch law. He sought and cultivated the
friendship of the literati; and anticipated a perpetual feast of soul,
from a banquet to which one of the most distinguished members of a
learned body had invited him. He went with his mind braced up for the
subtleties of argument - with hopes excited, heart elate. He deemed that
the authenticity of Champolion's hieroglyphics might now be permanently
established, or a doubt thrown on them which would for ever extinguish
curiosity. He heard a doubt raised as to the probability of Dr. Knox's
connection with Burke's murders! Disappointed and annoyed, he returned
to his hotel, determined to seek other means of improvement; and to
carefully observe the manners, customs, and habits of the beings he was
among. He enquired first as to their habits, and was presented with
scones, kippered salmon, and a gallon of Glenlivet; as to their manners
and ancient costume, and was pointed out a short fat man, the head of
his clan, who promenaded the streets without trousers. Neither did he
find the delineation of their customs more satisfactory. He was made
nearly tipsy at a funeral - was shown how to carve haggis - and a fit of
bile was the consequence, of his too plentifully partaking of a
superabundantly rich currant bun. He mused over these defeats of his
object, and, unwilling to relinquish his hitherto fruitless
search, - reluctant to despair, - he bent his steps to that city, where
utility preponderates over ornament; that city which so early encouraged
that most glorious of inventions, by the aid of which he hoped, that the
diminutive barks of his countrymen might yet be propelled, thus
superseding the ponderous paddle of teak, He here expected to be
involved in an intricate labyrinth of mechanical inventions, - in a
stormy discussion on the comparative merits of rival machinery, - to be
immersed in speculative but gigantic theories. He was elected an
honorary member of a news-room; had his coat whitened with cotton; and
was obliged to confess that he knew of no beverage that could equal
their superb cold punch. Our philosopher now gave himself up to despair;
but before returning to his own warm clime, he sought to discover the
reason of his finding the flesh creep, where he had deemed the spirit
would soar. He at length came to the conclusion that we are all slaves
to the world and to circumstances; and as, with his peculiar belief, he
could look on our sacred volume with the eye of a philosopher, felt
impressed with the conviction that the history of Babel's tower is but
an allegory, which says to the pride of man,

"'Thus far shall ye go, and no farther.'"

The Brahmin's adventures elicited much amusement. In a short time,
Selby was in a hot argument with the French novelist. Every now and
then, as the Frenchman answered him, he stirred his negus, and hummed a
translation of

"I'd be a butterfly."

"Erim papilio,
Natus in flosculo."




Chapter IV.

The Postman.



"Not in those visions, to the heart displaying
Forms which it sighs but to have only dream'd,
Hath aught like thee in truth or fancy seem'd;
Or, having seen thee, shall I vainly seek
To paint those charms which, imaged as they beam'd,
To such as see thee not, my words were weak;
To those who gaze on thee, what language could they speak?"


Delmé had long designed some internal improvements in the mansion;
and as workmen would necessarily be employed, had proposed that our
family party should pass a few weeks at a watering place, until these
were completed. They were not without hopes, that George might there
join them, as Emily had written to Malta, pressing him to be present
at her wedding.

We have elsewhere said, that Sir Henry had arrived at middle age,
before one feeling incompatible with his ambitious thoughts arose. It
was at Leamington this feeling had imperceptibly sprung up; and to
Leamington they were now going.

Is there an electric chain binding hearts predestined to love?

Hath Providence ordained, that on our first interview with that being,
framed to meet our wishes and our desires - the rainbow to our cloud, and
the sun to our noon-day - hath it ordained that there should also be
given us some undefinable token - some unconscious whispering from the
heart's inmost spirit?

Who may fathom these inscrutable mysteries?

Sir Henry had been visiting an old schoolfellow, who had a country seat
near Leamington. He was riding homewards, through a sequestered and
wooded part of the park, when he was aware of the presence of two
ladies, evidently a mother and daughter. They sate on one side of the
rude path, on an old prostrate beech tree. The daughter, who was very
beautiful, was sketching a piece of fern for a foreground: the mother
was looking over the drawing. Neither saw the equestrian.

It was a fair sight to regard the young artist, with her fine profile
and drooping eyelid, bending over the drawing, like a Grecian statue;
then to note the calm features upturn, and forget the statue in the
breathing woman. At intervals, her auburn tresses would fall on the
paper, and sweep the pencil's efforts. At such times, she would remove
them with her small hand, with such a soft smile, and gentle grace, that
the very action seemed to speak volumes for her feminine sympathies.
Delmé disturbed them not, but making a tour through the grove of beech
trees, reached Leamington in thoughtful mood.

It was not long before he met them in society. The mother was a Mrs.
Vernon, a widow, with a large family and small means. Of that family
Julia was the fairest flower. As Sir Henry made her acquaintance, and
her character unfolded itself, he acknowledged that few could study it
without deriving advantage; few without loving her to adoration. That
character it would be hard to describe without our description
appearing high-flown and exaggerated. It bore an impress of loftiness,
totally removed from pride; a moral superiority, which impressed all.
With this was united an innate purity, that seemed her birthright; a
purity that could not for an instant be doubted. If the libertine gazed
on her features, it awoke in him recollections that had long slumbered;
of the time when his heart beat but for one. If, in her immediate
sphere, any littleness of feeling was brought to her notice, it was met
with an intuitive doubt, followed by painful surprise, that such
feeling, foreign as she felt it to be to her own nature, could really
have existence in that of another.

Thank God! she had seen few of the trickeries of this restless world, in
which most of us are struggling against our neighbours; and, if we could
look forward with certainty, to the nature of the world beyond this, it
is most likely that we should breathe a fervent prayer that she should
never witness more.

Her person was a fit receptacle for such a mind. A face all softness,
seemed and _was_ the index to a heart all pity. Taller than her
compeers, - in all she said or did, a native dignity and a witching
grace were exquisitely blended. She was one not easily seen without
admiration; but when known, clung Cydippe-like to the heart's mirror, an
image over which neither time nor absence possessed controul.

The Delmés resided at Leamington the remainder of the winter, which
passed fleetly and happily. Emily, for the first time, gave way to that
one feeling, which, to a woman, is the all-important and engrossing one,
enjoying her happiness in that full spirit of content, which basking in
present joys, attempts not to mar them by ideal disquietudes. The Delmés
cultivated the society of the Vernons; Emily and Julia became great
friends; and Sir Henry, with all his stoicism, was nourishing an
attachment, whose force, had he been aware of it, he would have been at
some pains to repress. As it was, he totally overlooked the possibility
of his trifling with the feelings of another. He had a number of sage
aphorisms to urge against his own entanglement, and, with a moral
perverseness, from which the best of us are not free, chose to forget
that it was possible his convincing arguments, might neither be known
to, nor appreciated by one, on whom their effect might be far from
unimportant.

At this stage, Clarendon thought it his duty to warn Delmé; and, to his
credit be it said, shrunk not from it.

"Excuse me, Delmé," said he, "will you allow me to say one word to you
on a subject that nearly concerns yourself?"

Sir Henry briefly assented.

"You see a great deal of Miss Vernon. She is a very fascinating and a
very amiable person; but from something you once said to me, it has
struck me that in some respects she might not suit you."

"I like her society," replied his friend; "but you are right. She would
_not_ suit me. _You_ know me pretty well. My hope has ever been to
increase, and not diminish the importance of my house. It once stood
higher both in wealth and consideration. I see many families springing
up around me, that can hardly lay claim to a descent so unblemished I
speak not in a spirit of intolerance, nor found my family claim solely
on its pedigree; but my ancestors have done good in their generation,
and it is a proud thing to be 'the scion of a noble race!'"

"It may be;" said Clarendon quietly, "but I cannot help thinking, that
with your affluence, you have every right to follow your own
inclination. I know that few of my acquaintances are so independent of
the world."

Sir Henry shook his head.

"The day is not very distant, Gage, when a Dacre would hardly have
returned two members for my county, if a Delmé had willed it otherwise.
But there is little occasion for me to have said thus much. Miss Vernon,
I trust, has other plans; and I believe my own feelings are not enlisted
deep enough, to make me forget the hopes and purposes of half a
life-time."

It was some few days after this, when Emily had almost given up looking
with interest to the postman's visit, that a letter at last came,
directed to Sir Henry; not indeed in George's hand-writing, but with
the Malta post mark. Delmé read it over thoughtfully, and, assuring
Emily that there was nothing to alarm her, left the room to consider
its contents.

By the way, we have thought over heartless professions, and cannot help
conceiving that of a postman, (it may be conceit!) the most callous and
unfeeling of all. He is waited for with more anxiety than any guest of
the morning; for his visits invariably convey something new to the mind.
He is not love! but he bears it in his pocket; he cannot be friendship!
but he daily hawks about its assurances. With all this, knowing his
importance, aware of the sensation his appearance calls forth, his very
knock is heartless - the tones of his voice cold. Feeling seems denied
him; his head is a debtor and creditor account, his departure the
receipt, and time alone can say, whether your bargain has been a good or
a bad one. He has certainly no assumption - it is one of his few good
traits; he walks with his arms in motion, but attempts not a swagger;
his knock is unassuming, and his words, though much attended to, are
few, and to the point. Why, then, abuse him? We know not, but believe it
originates in fear. An intuitive feeling of dread - a rushing
presentiment of evil - crosses our mind, as our eye dwells on his
thread-bare coat, with its capacious pockets. News of a death - or a
marriage - the tender valentine - the remorseless dun - your having been
left an estate, or cut off with a shilling - fortune, and misfortune - he
quietly dispenses, as if totally unconscious. Surely such a man - his
round performed - cannot quietly sink to the private individual. Can such
a man caress his wife, or kiss his child, when he knows not how many
hearts are bursting with joy, or breaking with sorrow, from the tidings
_he_ has conveyed? To our mind, a postman should be an abstracted
visionary being, endowed with a peculiar countenance, betraying the
unnatural sparkle of the opium-eater, and evincing intense anxiety at
the delivery of each sheet. But these, - they wait not to hear the joyful
shout, or heart-rending moan - to know if hope deferred be at length
joyful certainty, or bitter only half-expected woe. We dread a postman.
Our hand shook, as we last year paid the man of many destinies his
demanded Christmas box.

The amount was double that we gave to the minister of our corporeal
necessities - the butcher's boy - not from a conviction of the superior
services or merit of the former, but from an uneasy desire to bribe, if
we could, that Mercury of fate.

The letter to Sir Henry, was from the surgeon of George's regiment. It
stated that George had been severely ill, and that connected with his
illness, were symptoms which made it imperative on the medical adviser,
to recommend the immediate presence of his nearest male relative.
Apologies were made for the apparent mystery of the communication, with