CHAPTER VII.
"The blush of meekness, yet with virtue's pride,
Mild with each grace, with reason's strength to soar,
Thy heart is woman's, but thy mind is more."
Upon Rosilia first awaking on the morning after she had given Douglas his final dismission, his image forcibly rushed upon her fancy, and she beheld him, as presented to her mental vision, reproaching her for her unrelenting cruelty, her perseverance in dooming him to despair. Her heart, so sensibly alive to every feeling of compassion, was then most deeply affected; every expression he had uttered sounded in her ear, and probed the inmost recesses of her soul. Her agony for a time found relief in tears. Though overwhelmed with natural weakness, she was struggling to rise superior to it. It was then she perceived the great ascendency he had gained over her affections; she had been unwilling to allow it before, but any longer to disguise it from herself was impossible. Her heart had insensibly flown to one whom neither her judgment nor her sense of virtue could approve, and she trembled at the idea of loving where she ought not to love: to her innocent mind it seemed a crime, and the contest between Duty and Inclination bathed her cheeks in tears of mingled penitence and sorrow.
Rosilia therefore resolved, if possible, to overcome her attachment, and to bury it in eternal silence. Not even to Oriana, her hitherto sweet and soothing companion whenever any trifling grief (for she had known no other) had agitated her bosom, not even to her could she impart the dreadful secret. She had never, it is true, obtained any very convincing proofs of the depravity of Douglas; but Lady Valpée's insinuations, so derogatory to his character, given in so decisive a manner, she could not but believe were well founded. The more the retrospection of the past engaged her, the more her affliction was increased: not that she lamented the conduct she had pursued; on the contrary, she felt persuaded, if the past circumstances were to occur again, she would act in the same manner. A strong internal principle of virtue, creating in her a just repugnance to the disposing of herself to one who claimed not the approbation of her understanding, had thus impelled her to the resistance of her wishes.
In the resolution of conquering her attachment, Rosilia had one most difficult task to perform. We have said she had a talent for painting: the branch in which she more particularly excelled was that of miniature; and her skill had been exerted with considerable success in producing a likeness of Douglas. In the depth of her grief upon ejaculating "I shall never see him more!" her locked-up treasure rushed upon her recollection. Flying to the bureau which contained it, she opened it with a trembling hand; and her eyes, still humid with tears, were riveted upon the portrait. She had often employed her pencil in tracing from copies features of the most accurate proportion; but they had never conveyed to her that agreeable something,—that charm, indefinable to her soul, portrayed in those before her.
How great had been her satisfaction when she first beheld her work complete, when she perceived in every trait Douglas himself—his very image!—the fine formed head, the dark and curly hair, the congeniality and harmony of features,—the tout ensemble exhibiting all that might be termed perfect in manly beauty. Such was the likeness she had seen advancing under her hand, wanting only the rapid changes of expression which the countenance of the original, glowing with animation, or clouded with sadness, betrayed, as enlivened with hope, or depressed under the resistless force of the sentiments he felt for her. A stoic indeed must have been the maid, and cold her hearty who could have remained unmoved on beholding such influence, such dominion!
The miniature was still grasped in her agitated hand; the eloquent lineaments still detained her sight, and illumined her fancy: "This," she exclaimed, "is mine; this no one can rob me of; my grief is already soothed by looking at it; it will ever have the same effect; I will contemplate it daily; it will soften my regrets for the absence of the original; it will be a harmless gratification I can always and at all times indulge in." She again deposited her treasure in the bureau, which she turned from with reluctance.
Rosilia, however, soon discovered her mistake; she found that the repeated visits she made to the bureau were more calculated to keep alive than abate her anguish. Whilst in the possession of a resemblance so perfect, how could she ever hope to efface from her memory and affections him whom she had acknowledged to herself was unworthy of them, and whom she had parted with for ever? The inconsistency of such a proceeding thus impressed upon her added to the depression of her spirits. Her dejection had been already noticed by the family, and she was apprehensive they might discover the real cause. She therefore made fresh resolutions to subdue her feelings; and endeavoured to wear a smile, even though her heart felt as if it would break in the conflict. The miniature must be destroyed: she would not allow, herself a moment's hesitation: she would not even bestow one last and parting look upon the cherished resemblance. She broke it into a thousand atoms; gathered up the scattered fragments, cast them away, and then burst into a flood of tears. It might seem as though a powerful mind only could do this, and such was Rosilia's; such the virtue and heroic firmness of that mind, which usually seemed overflowing with softness and sensibility.
The General having disposed of his villa and furniture, for a term of years, to Lord Deloraine, parted with his servants, and all the outward appendages which had given pomp and splendour to his dwelling, reserving only a travelling-carriage for the use of his family; and the day was fixed when they were to retire, with a reduced and humble fortune, into the beautiful and romantic country of Wales. They could not but feel a regret in quitting scenes which had been endeared to them by long familiarity: every well-known spot, the rustic hermitage, the sparkling fountain, the clear stream, the weeping willows reflected in its watery glass, the aqueduct; the cliffs, overspread with hanging wood; all called forth the parting sigh; till every object, thus exciting their tender emotions from the memory of the past, faded from their view.
The variety of scenes which succeeded, lively and interesting, the tranquillity of nature, the whole beautiful creation, combined to soothe the drooping Rosilia. She had melted into sadness upon bidding the last farewell to her much-loved haunts; but, fearful of encouraging dejection, she exerted every effort to join in the cheerfulness which her sister's animated remarks were calculated to inspire.
It was Oriana's happy disposition ever to find food for gratification: if any painful suggestion obtruded itself she sought as instantly to banish it. Why not enjoy the present? was her argument; and, with this truly philosophical sentiment, she rallied to her aid the full force of her agreeable vivacity, not more for her own entertainment than for that of her beloved companions; receiving an increase of gaiety, in proportion to the success of her amiable endeavours to amuse. Since her visit at Valpée Court, the pleasure she had received there had been frequently recalled, accompanied by the thought of the accomplished Frederic Valpée, of his musical talents, of the more particular attentions he had paid her. Was it vanity? was it coquetry? or did those sudden elations seizing her spring from some soft, tender, new-born feelings of partiality? From whatever source they sprung, she left the Villa, undisturbed by fruitless repinings.
To avoid the inconvenience of fatigue, our party travelled leisurely, and often stopped to dwell upon some particular beauty, some favourite spot of nature; quitting the carriage to explore some wooded, winding path.
Not a breeze disturbed the mild serenity of the evening: all seemed hushed in a deep, still sleep. The sun was just declining, and the refulgent clouds of the west afforded a sight beautiful and majestic, when De Brooke opened the little wicket-gate of a country churchyard, a few miles from Chepstow, to admit his fair and dear companions. Most impressive was the scene, whilst they gently paced around the sacred edifice; the venerable oak and melancholy cypress partially yielding their solemn shade.
Strains, sweet, pious and melodious, burst upon their ears: a deep pause succeeded. Again the heavenly sounds swelled, and died away, in long and soft vibration. They had issued from within the chapel: the parish girls and boys had been singing the evening hymn of praise to their great Creator; their juvenile voices, naturally clear and touching, joined in chorus, when heard without the walls, had communicated an awful sublimity, as if proceeding from celestial beings; diffusing over the soul a serene and exalted composure. It is at such a time the delusive charms of the world fade from the view; that the contemplative and fervent mind dwells upon immortality—the promised happiness of an hereafter.
When in the church-yard's lonely shade,
The hallow'd ground I pace,
The world, and all its phantoms fade,
Its joys no more I trace.
Nor do I heed the angry storm,
That blights my early day;
This present animated form
Must pass in dust away.
'Tis then my thoughts in raptures rise,
In prayer exhales my breath;
My soul, aspiring to the skies,
Exults, nor shrinks at death!
Such was the effusion of Rosilia's infant muse. She had viewed beneath her feet the green sod, covering the remains of the departed:—they were at rest. To escape from the image of Douglas and her own thoughts, she was tempted to wish that she too was at rest. The deep impressions of her feelings had exhausted her; which being perceived by her father, he led her back to the carriage, and they resumed their journey through the rich and cultivated county of Hereford.
If the verdant and interesting scenes of England were calculated to delight them, those of Wales, in their alternate beauties of wildness and magnificence were still more so: the utmost diversity of landscape, hill and dale, wood and water, uniting and harmonizing, contributed to render the effect enchanting. At one time, the road, winding, led them along a chain of mountains, towering above each other, either wholly unproductive and desolate, or richly decorated with foliage. Sometimes a sequestered dale obscured the prospect, which opening again upon the view, exhibited boundless variety.
But the gratification of our travellers was succeeded by feelings of astonishment, not unmixed with awe, upon an abrupt transition to objects as grand as they were tremendous—the almost perpendicular precipice, the stupendous rock, the loose and broken fragments impending from its lofty summit; and where, amidst its cliffs and fallen masses the torrent roared, as it rolled along its foaming flood with impetuous force. They reached the brow of the dangerous eminence, when the drizzling rain, the uncultivated wild, the universal dreariness of the scene, was far from compensating for the difficulties they had surmounted. Nature, in her extreme of barrenness, as found in this unfrequented spot, added to a condensed and hazy atmosphere, was well adapted to impress the mind not with sadness only, but with gloom.
After a long and uninterrupted interval of sameness, light clouds were seen floating in the west, the mists by degrees dispersed, and, soon after, the sun, in all its beautiful effulgence, beamed upon the adjacent country. Having attained the summit of a second but less laborious ascent, how great was the delight of our little party, equalled only by the amazement which each could not fail to express, when they beheld a scene perfect in beauty—the most luxuriant effects of cultivation, blended with the wildest scenery, which, as it burst upon the eye, at once afforded an ample recompense for the tediousness of the past! The road they skirted was overshadowed by an impending cliff, clothed with a rich and verdant foliage; and, not far distant, a waterfall dashed its foaming sprays into the dark, rocky channel of the extensive river below, giving a character of grandeur to a scene almost unequalled even in Switzerland; a country so justly famed for its exhaustless magnificence.
Not far from this, just at the opening leading to the lovely, romantic vale of Aberdare, upon a gentle declivity, stood a cottage of simple and Gothic structure. It seldom met the eye of the traveller, and still more rarely frequented was the road which led to it. Having been left for some time unoccupied, it was soon to become the residence of those who now caught an occasional glance at it whenever the path, undulating between hills of hanging wood, permitted. One more short turning gratified the eager solicitude of our travellers; and they at last beheld, with an uninterrupted gaze, the lonely and silent dwelling they were destined to inhabit.
"One cultivated spot there was, that spread
Its flowery bosom to the noon-day beam,
Where many a rose-bud rears its blushing head."
The carriage moved slowly on through a neat white gate; after which, whatever their eyes ranged upon, within the boundary of the verdant enclosure, they could call their own. This humble abode was far different from the elegant and ornamented Villa they had quitted; but, in their present plans, unswayed by ambition, its rustic simplicity at least afforded the charm of novelty. Alighting from the carriage, they contemplated afresh their future dwelling, and not without a feeling of serenity.