Part 17 (2/2)
”We will not antic.i.p.ate,” said Mad. de la Tour, in a voice slightly tremulous. She again resumed,
”De Courcy was the younger son of an ancient and honorable family. My sister's rank and fortune equalled his expectations, her beauty gratified the pride of his connexions, and the endearing qualities of her mind and heart won their entire approbation and regard. Their marriage was solemnized; and never was there a day of greater happiness, or one which opened more brilliant prospects for futurity. De Courcy conveyed his bride immediately to a favorite estate, which he possessed in Provence, whither I was permitted to accompany them; and six months glided away, in the full enjoyment of that felicity which their romantic hopes had antic.i.p.ated. Winter approached, and your father was importuned to visit the metropolis, and introduce his young and beautiful wife to the gay and elevated station which she was expected to fill.
”Your mother, accustomed to retirement, and completely happy in the partic.i.p.ation of its rational pleasures, with one whose taste and feelings harmonized entirely with her own, yielded, with secret reluctance, to her husband's wishes, and exchanged that peaceful retreat, for the brilliant, but heartless scenes of fas.h.i.+onable life.
The world was new to her, and no wonder if her unpractised eye was dazzled by the splendor of its pageantry. She entered a magic circle, and was borne round the ceaseless course with a rapidity which threw a deceitful l.u.s.tre on every object, and concealed the falseness of its colors. She became the idol of a courtly throng; poets sung her praises, and admirers sighed around her. Her heart remained uncorrupted by flattery; but, young and inexperienced, buoyant with health and spirits, no wonder that she yielded to the fascinations which surrounded her, or that her thoughts reverted less frequently, and less fondly, to those calm pleasures which had once const.i.tuted her only happiness. Her affection for her husband was undiminished; but the world now claimed that time and attention, which, in retirement, had been devoted to him; and, engrossed by amus.e.m.e.nts, every intellectual pursuit was abandoned; and domestic privacy, with its attendant sympathies and united interests, was, at length, entirely banished.
”De Courcy, chagrined by a change, which his experience in life should have enabled him to foresee, became melancholy and abstracted; he often secluded himself from society, entrusting his wife to some other protection, or, when induced to enter scenes which had become irksome to him, he watched, with jealousy, even the most trifling attentions that were offered her. He, who possessed such a heart, should never have doubted its truth, or wounded her affection by distrusting its fervor and sincerity. He had led her into the fatal vortex, and one word from him could have dissolved the spell; the slightest expression of his wishes, would, at any moment, have drawn her from pleasures of which she already wearied; and, amid the sweet tranquillity of nature, they might have regained that happiness, which had withered in the ungenial atmosphere of artificial life. But he was too proud to acknowledge the weakness he indulged; and when she besought him, even with tears, to explain the cause of his altered conduct, he answered her evasively, or repulsed her with a coldness, which she felt more keenly than the bitterest reproaches. Confidence, the strongest link of affection, was broken, and the golden chain trembled with the shock.
”Nothing is more galling to an ingenuous mind, than a consciousness, that the actions and feelings are misconstrued by those to whom the heart has been opened with that perfect trust and unreserve, which ought to place them beyond the shadow of suspicion. Your mother deeply felt the injustice of those doubts; and perhaps, a little natural resentment mingled with and augmented the pain, which rankled in her inmost soul.
But, satisfied of her innate rect.i.tude, and of that true and constant love, which even unkindness could not weaken, she left her innocence to vindicate itself, and made no farther attempt to penetrate the reserve which her husband had a.s.sumed, and which opposed a fatal barrier to returning harmony. Experience in the world, or a thorough knowledge of your father's peculiar disposition, might have suggested a different, and, perhaps, a more successful course. But she judged and acted from the impulse of a sensitive and ardent mind, which had freely bestowed the whole treasure of its warm and generous affections, and could ill brook a return of such unmerited coldness and distrust. Her conduct towards him was marked by the most unvarying sweetness, and a studious deference to his wishes; they, however, seldom met, but in a crowd; for she sought society with an eagerness, which seemed the result of choice, while it was, in reality, a vain attempt to relieve the restlessness and melancholy that oppressed her. In public, her spirits were supported by an artificial excitement, and her gaiety seemed unimpaired; but, when alone with me, the constant companion of her solitary hours, and the sole confidant of her thoughts, she yielded to the most alarming depression. Her health evidently suffered from this disordered state of mind; but she uttered no complaint, and from her husband, particularly, concealed every symptom of illness, and appeared with her accustomed cheerfulness. Strange as it may seem, her gaiety chagrined him; he fancied her trifling with, or indifferent to, his happiness, and satisfied with the pleasures which courted her, without a wish for his partic.i.p.ation. He little knew,--for his better feelings were warped by a morbid imagination,--how gladly she would have exchanged every other blessing for one a.s.surance of returning confidence and affection.
”Your mother's spirits faintly revived, on the approach of spring. She was weary of dissipation: the glittering bubble, which at first charmed her eye, had burst, and betrayed its emptiness. She had a mind which panted for the n.o.blest attainments, a heart formed for the enjoyment of every pure and rational pursuit. Her thoughts continually reverted to the first happy months of her union with De Courcy; and she impatiently antic.i.p.ated the moment, when they should return to those quiet scenes; fondly believing that she might there recover her husband's love, and that a new and most endearing tie would bind him more strongly to her.
These soothing hopes beguiled many an heavy hour; and, but for one fatal error, one deadly pa.s.sion, they might have been fully realized!”
Madame de la Tour abruptly stopped, overcome by the painful recollections which crowded on her mind; Lucie looked at her with tearful eyes, but offered no remark; and both remained silent for several minutes.
CHAPTER XX.
What deep wounds ever closed without a scar The heart's bleed longest, and but heal to wear That which disfigures it; and they who war With their own hopes, and have been vanquish'd, bear Silence, but not submission.
LORD BYRON.
Madame de la Tour at length proceeded:--”I have already told you, Lucie, that De Courcy viewed, with uneasiness, the homage which was paid your mother, though it did not exceed the usual devotion which Parisian gallantry is wont to offer at the shrine of female loveliness. He must have expected it; for no one could have been more conscious of her beauty, or more proud of possessing it. But he persuaded himself, that this adulation was too grateful to her; his affection was selfish and engrossing, and he wished her to receive pleasure from no praises or attentions but his own. She was, perhaps, as free from vanity as any woman could be, young, beautiful, and admired as herself; and if not indifferent to the admiration which her charms excited, it was but the natural and transient delight of a gay and innocent mind; her heart was ever loyal to her husband, and his society, his fond and approving smile, were far more prized by her, than the idle homage of a world.
”The young Count de ---- was an object of particular dislike and unceasing suspicion to De Courcy. They were distantly related; but some slight disagreement, which had taken place at an earlier period, created a coolness between them, which was never overcome. Your mother was aware of this, and, had she more closely consulted her prudence, would, probably, have avoided the attentions of one so obnoxious to her husband's prejudices. But the Count was gay and agreeable, the versatility of his talents amused her, and he seemed to possess many amiable and brilliant qualities. His manners were courteous; his attentions never presuming; and there was a frankness in his address, which formed an agreeable contrast to the studied flattery of others around her. Yet even the most distant civilities excited your father's distrust; the Count became, every day, an object of more decided and marked aversion, and your mother could not but feel herself tacitly implicated in his displeasure. Grieved that he could doubt her affection, or the rect.i.tude of her heart, and relying confidently on the purity of both, she resolved not to wound the Count's feelings, by yielding to an ungenerous prejudice, and her conduct and manners therefore continued unchanged.
”As spring advanced, your mother withdrew, almost entirely, from society; but the Count de ----, among a few others, was a privileged and frequent visitor at her house. One morning, De Courcy, contrary to his usual custom, had urged her to accompany him on some short excursion; and, equally surprised and gratified by the unexpected request, it was with extreme reluctance that she felt compelled, from indisposition, to decline it. Soon after his departure, however, I persuaded her to leave her apartment, for a few moments, to look at some choice exotics, which had just been brought to the house. She was still lingering to admire them, when the Count de ---- was announced, through the negligence of a servant, who had been ordered not to admit any visitors. It was too late to retire, un.o.bserved; and the usual greetings of civility were scarcely exchanged, when De Courcy abruptly entered the room. He started, on seeing his wife, who had so recently refused his request, on the plea of illness, apparently well, and taking advantage of his absence, to admit his supposed rival to an interview. Pale with emotion, he stood a moment, as if rooted to the spot; his eye, which flashed with scorn and anger, fixed alternately on each; then deliberately turned, and left the house. The Count had met his gaze unmoved, and with an expression of calm contempt; your mother, terrified by the storm of pa.s.sion which his countenance betrayed, fled precipitately to her own apartment. Ill as she was, however, and trembling with apprehension, she exerted herself to appear at dinner, hoping that the true explanation would appease her husband's irritation. But he met her with a gloomy reserve, which destroyed all hope of confidence; he did not allude to what had pa.s.sed; every trace of pa.s.sion was gone, and she felt re-a.s.sured by a deceitful calm, that only concealed the inward struggle.
”De Courcy left the house by day-light on the following morning; no one knew whither he was gone, but we had heard him traverse his apartment through the night, and were confident he had taken no repose. A few hours of anxious suspense pa.s.sed away, and your mother had just risen from her sleepless pillow, when he suddenly entered her dressing-room. I was alone with her, and never shall I forget the impression his appearance made on me. His dress was disordered, his countenance pale and haggard, and every feature marked with the deepest anguish. Your mother rose with a faint exclamation, but instantly sunk again upon her seat. He approached her, and took her hands, even with gentleness, between his own, though every limb trembled with agitation.
”Lucie,” he said, with unnatural calmness, and fixing his troubled eye on her face; ”I come to bid you a long,--long farewell!”
”What mean you, de Courcy?” she asked, with extreme alarm; ”speak, I conjure you, and relieve this torturing suspense!”
”My honor has been avenged!” he replied, with a hoa.r.s.e and rapid utterance; ”and from this moment we part--forever!”
”Part! de Courcy, my husband!” she exclaimed, in a voice of agony; ”tell me, what”--
”The concluding words died on her quivering lips; the sudden conflict of strong emotions could not be endured, and she sunk insensible on my bosom. Frantic with alarm, I folded my arms around her, and, unwilling to summon any witnesses, attempted to recall her senses, by administering such restoratives as were fortunately within my reach. De Courcy looked at her an instant, like one bewildered; then fiercely exclaimed,
”She loves him! see you not how she loves him?”
”Wretched man!” I said, indignantly, ”you have murdered her; go, and leave us to our misery.”
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