Subscribe for ad free access & additional features for teachers. Authors: 267, Books: 3,607, Poems & Short Stories: 4,435, Forum Members: 71,154, Forum Posts: 1,238,602, Quizzes: 344

Chapter 6


WHEN we arrived at Windsor, I found that Raymond and Perdita had departed
for the continent. I took possession of my sister's cottage, and blessed
myself that I lived within view of Windsor Castle. It was a curious fact,
that at this period, when by the marriage of Perdita I was allied to one of
the richest individuals in England, and was bound by the most intimate
friendship to its chiefest noble, I experienced the greatest excess of
poverty that I had ever known. My knowledge of the worldly principles of
Lord Raymond, would have ever prevented me from applying to him, however
deep my distress might have been. It was in vain that I repeated to myself
with regard to Adrian, that his purse was open to me; that one in soul, as
we were, our fortunes ought also to be common. I could never, while with
him, think of his bounty as a remedy to my poverty; and I even put aside
hastily his offers of supplies, assuring him of a falsehood, that I needed
them not. How could I say to this generous being, "Maintain me in idleness.
You who have dedicated your powers of mind and fortune to the benefit of
your species, shall you so misdirect your exertions, as to support in
uselessness the strong, healthy, and capable?"

And yet I dared not request him to use his influence that I might obtain an
honourable provision for myself--for then I should have been obliged to
leave Windsor. I hovered for ever around the walls of its Castle, beneath
its enshadowing thickets; my sole companions were my books and my loving
thoughts. I studied the wisdom of the ancients, and gazed on the happy
walls that sheltered the beloved of my soul. My mind was nevertheless idle.
I pored over the poetry of old times; I studied the metaphysics of Plato
and Berkeley. I read the histories of Greece and Rome, and of England's
former periods, and I watched the movements of the lady of my heart. At
night I could see her shadow on the walls of her apartment; by day I viewed
her in her flower-garden, or riding in the park with her usual companions.
Methought the charm would be broken if I were seen, but I heard the music
of her voice and was happy. I gave to each heroine of whom I read, her
beauty and matchless excellences--such was Antigone, when she guided the
blind Oedipus to the grove of the Eumenides, and discharged the funeral
rites of Polynices; such was Miranda in the unvisited cave of Prospero;
such Haidee, on the sands of the Ionian island. I was mad with excess of
passionate devotion; but pride, tameless as fire, invested my nature, and
prevented me from betraying myself by word or look.

In the mean time, while I thus pampered myself with rich mental repasts, a
peasant would have disdained my scanty fare, which I sometimes robbed from
the squirrels of the forest. I was, I own, often tempted to recur to the
lawless feats of my boy-hood, and knock down the almost tame pheasants that
perched upon the trees, and bent their bright eyes on me. But they were the
property of Adrian, the nurslings of Idris; and so, although my imagination
rendered sensual by privation, made me think that they would better become
the spit in my kitchen, than the green leaves of the forest,

Nathelesse,
I checked my haughty will, and did not eat;

but supped upon sentiment, and dreamt vainly of "such morsels sweet," as
I might not waking attain.

But, at this period, the whole scheme of my existence was about to change.
The orphan and neglected son of Verney, was on the eve of being linked to
the mechanism of society by a golden chain, and to enter into all the
duties and affections of life. Miracles were to be wrought in my favour,
the machine of social life pushed with vast effort backward. Attend, O
reader! while I narrate this tale of wonders!

One day as Adrian and Idris were riding through the forest, with their
mother and accustomed companions, Idris, drawing her brother aside from the
rest of the cavalcade, suddenly asked him, "What had become of his friend,
Lionel Verney?"

"Even from this spot," replied Adrian, pointing to my sister's cottage,
"you can see his dwelling."

"Indeed!" said Idris, "and why, if he be so near, does he not come to see
us, and make one of our society?"

"I often visit him," replied Adrian; "but you may easily guess the motives,
which prevent him from coming where his presence may annoy any one among
us."

"I do guess them," said Idris, "and such as they are, I would not
venture to combat them. Tell me, however, in what way he passes his time;
what he is doing and thinking in his cottage retreat?"

"Nay, my sweet sister," replied Adrian, "you ask me more than I can well
answer; but if you feel interest in him, why not visit him? He will feel
highly honoured, and thus you may repay a part of the obligation I owe him,
and compensate for the injuries fortune has done him."

"I will most readily accompany you to his abode," said the lady, "not that
I wish that either of us should unburthen ourselves of our debt, which,
being no less than your life, must remain unpayable ever. But let us go;
to-morrow we will arrange to ride out together, and proceeding towards that
part of the forest, call upon him."

The next evening therefore, though the autumnal change had brought on cold
and rain, Adrian and Idris entered my cottage. They found me Curius-like,
feasting on sorry fruits for supper; but they brought gifts richer than the
golden bribes of the Sabines, nor could I refuse the invaluable store of
friendship and delight which they bestowed. Surely the glorious twins of
Latona were not more welcome, when, in the infancy of the world, they were
brought forth to beautify and enlighten this "sterile promontory," than
were this angelic pair to my lowly dwelling and grateful heart. We sat like
one family round my hearth. Our talk was on subjects, unconnected with the
emotions that evidently occupied each; but we each divined the other's
thought, and as our voices spoke of indifferent matters, our eyes, in mute
language, told a thousand things no tongue could have uttered.

They left me in an hour's time. They left me happy--how unspeakably
happy. It did not require the measured sounds of human language to syllable
the story of my extasy. Idris had visited me; Idris I should again and
again see--my imagination did not wander beyond the completeness of this
knowledge. I trod air; no doubt, no fear, no hope even, disturbed me; I
clasped with my soul the fulness of contentment, satisfied, undesiring,
beatified.

For many days Adrian and Idris continued to visit me thus. In this dear
intercourse, love, in the guise of enthusiastic friendship, infused more
and more of his omnipotent spirit. Idris felt it. Yes, divinity of the
world, I read your characters in her looks and gesture; I heard your
melodious voice echoed by her--you prepared for us a soft and flowery
path, all gentle thoughts adorned it--your name, O Love, was not spoken,
but you stood the Genius of the Hour, veiled, and time, but no mortal hand,
might raise the curtain. Organs of articulate sound did not proclaim the
union of our hearts; for untoward circumstance allowed no opportunity for
the expression that hovered on our lips. Oh my pen! haste thou to write what
was, before the thought of what is, arrests the hand that guides thee. If I
lift up my eyes and see the desart earth, and feel that those dear eyes
have spent their mortal lustre, and that those beauteous lips are silent,
their "crimson leaves" faded, for ever I am mute!

But you live, my Idris, even now you move before me! There was a glade, O
reader! a grassy opening in the wood; the retiring trees left its velvet
expanse as a temple for love; the silver Thames bounded it on one side, and
a willow bending down dipt in the water its Naiad hair, dishevelled by the
wind's viewless hand. The oaks around were the home of a tribe of
nightingales--there am I now; Idris, in youth's dear prime, is by my side
--remember, I am just twenty-two, and seventeen summers have scarcely
passed over the beloved of my heart. The river swollen by autumnal rains,
deluged the low lands, and Adrian in his favourite boat is employed in the
dangerous pastime of plucking the topmost bough from a submerged oak. Are
you weary of life, O Adrian, that you thus play with danger?--

He has obtained his prize, and he pilots his boat through the flood; our
eyes were fixed on him fearfully, but the stream carried him away from us;
he was forced to land far lower down, and to make a considerable circuit
before he could join us. "He is safe!" said Idris, as he leapt on shore,
and waved the bough over his head in token of success; "we will wait for
him here."

We were alone together; the sun had set; the song of the nightingales
began; the evening star shone distinct in the flood of light, which was yet
unfaded in the west. The blue eyes of my angelic girl were fixed on this
sweet emblem of herself: "How the light palpitates," she said, "which is
that star's life. Its vacillating effulgence seems to say that its state,
even like ours upon earth, is wavering and inconstant; it fears, methinks,
and it loves."

"Gaze not on the star, dear, generous friend," I cried, "read not love in
its trembling rays; look not upon distant worlds; speak not of the mere
imagination of a sentiment. I have long been silent; long even to sickness
have I desired to speak to you, and submit my soul, my life, my entire
being to you. Look not on the star, dear love, or do, and let that eternal
spark plead for me; let it be my witness and my advocate, silent as it
shines--love is to me as light to the star; even so long as that is
uneclipsed by annihilation, so long shall I love you."

Veiled for ever to the world's callous eye must be the transport of that
moment. Still do I feel her graceful form press against my full-fraught
heart--still does sight, and pulse, and breath sicken and fail, at the
remembrance of that first kiss. Slowly and silently we went to meet Adrian,
whom we heard approaching.

I entreated Adrian to return to me after he had conducted his sister home.
And that same evening, walking among the moon-lit forest paths, I poured
forth my whole heart, its transport and its hope, to my friend. For a
moment he looked disturbed--"I might have foreseen this," he said, "what
strife will now ensue! Pardon me, Lionel, nor wonder that the expectation
of contest with my mother should jar me, when else I should delightedly
confess that my best hopes are fulfilled, in confiding my sister to your
protection. If you do not already know it, you will soon learn the deep
hate my mother bears to the name Verney. I will converse with Idris; then
all that a friend can do, I will do; to her it must belong to play the
lover's part, if she be capable of it."

While the brother and sister were still hesitating in what manner they
could best attempt to bring their mother over to their party, she,
suspecting our meetings, taxed her children with them; taxed her fair
daughter with deceit, and an unbecoming attachment for one whose only merit
was being the son of the profligate favourite of her imprudent father; and
who was doubtless as worthless as he from whom he boasted his descent. The
eyes of Idris flashed at this accusation; she replied, "I do not deny that
I love Verney; prove to me that he is worthless; and I will never see him
more."

"Dear Madam," said Adrian, "let me entreat you to see him, to cultivate his
friendship. You will wonder then, as I do, at the extent of his
accomplishments, and the brilliancy of his talents." (Pardon me, gentle
reader, this is not futile vanity;--not futile, since to know that Adrian
felt thus, brings joy even now to my lone heart).

"Mad and foolish boy!" exclaimed the angry lady, "you have chosen with
dreams and theories to overthrow my schemes for your own aggrandizement;
but you shall not do the same by those I have formed for your sister. I but
too well understand the fascination you both labour under; since I had the
same struggle with your father, to make him cast off the parent of this
youth, who hid his evil propensities with the smoothness and subtlety of a
viper. In those days how often did I hear of his attractions, his wide
spread conquests, his wit, his refined manners. It is well when flies only
are caught by such spiders' webs; but is it for the high-born and powerful
to bow their necks to the flimsy yoke of these unmeaning pretensions? Were
your sister indeed the insignificant person she deserves to be, I would
willingly leave her to the fate, the wretched fate, of the wife of a man,
whose very person, resembling as it does his wretched father, ought to
remind you of the folly and vice it typifies--but remember, Lady Idris,
it is not alone the once royal blood of England that colours your veins,
you are a Princess of Austria, and every life-drop is akin to emperors and
kings. Are you then a fit mate for an uneducated shepherd-boy, whose only
inheritance is his father's tarnished name?"

"I can make but one defence," replied Idris, "the same offered by my
brother; see Lionel, converse with my shepherd-boy"---The Countess
interrupted her indignantly--"Yours!"--she cried: and then, smoothing
her impassioned features to a disdainful smile, she continued--"We will
talk of this another time. All I now ask, all your mother, Idris, requests
is, that you will not see this upstart during the interval of one month."

"I dare not comply," said Idris, "it would pain him too much. I have no
right to play with his feelings, to accept his proffered love, and then
sting him with neglect."

"This is going too far," her mother answered, with quivering lips, and eyes
again instinct by anger.

"Nay, Madam," said Adrian, "unless my sister consent never to see him
again, it is surely an useless torment to separate them for a month."

"Certainly," replied the ex-queen, with bitter scorn, "his love, and her
love, and both their childish flutterings, are to be put in fit comparison
with my years of hope and anxiety, with the duties of the offspring of
kings, with the high and dignified conduct which one of her descent ought
to pursue. But it is unworthy of me to argue and complain. Perhaps you will
have the goodness to promise me not to marry during that interval?"

This was asked only half ironically; and Idris wondered why her mother
should extort from her a solemn vow not to do, what she had never dreamed
of doing--but the promise was required and given.

All went on cheerfully now; we met as usual, and talked without dread of
our future plans. The Countess was so gentle, and even beyond her wont,
amiable with her children, that they began to entertain hopes of her
ultimate consent. She was too unlike them, too utterly alien to their
tastes, for them to find delight in her society, or in the prospect of its
continuance, but it gave them pleasure to see her conciliating and kind.
Once even, Adrian ventured to propose her receiving me. She refused with a
smile, reminding him that for the present his sister had promised to be
patient.

One day, after the lapse of nearly a month, Adrian received a letter from a
friend in London, requesting his immediate presence for the furtherance of
some important object. Guileless himself, Adrian feared no deceit. I rode
with him as far as Staines: he was in high spirits; and, since I could not
see Idris during his absence, he promised a speedy return. His gaiety,
which was extreme, had the strange effect of awakening in me contrary
feelings; a presentiment of evil hung over me; I loitered on my return; I
counted the hours that must elapse before I saw Idris again. Wherefore
should this be? What evil might not happen in the mean time? Might not her
mother take advantage of Adrian's absence to urge her beyond her
sufferance, perhaps to entrap her? I resolved, let what would befall, to
see and converse with her the following day. This determination soothed me.
To-morrow, loveliest and best, hope and joy of my life, to-morrow I will
see thee--Fool, to dream of a moment's delay!

I went to rest. At past midnight I was awaked by a violent knocking. It was
now deep winter; it had snowed, and was still snowing; the wind whistled in
the leafless trees, despoiling them of the white flakes as they fell; its
drear moaning, and the continued knocking, mingled wildly with my dreams--
at length I was wide awake; hastily dressing myself, I hurried to discover
the cause of this disturbance, and to open my door to the unexpected
visitor. Pale as the snow that showered about her, with clasped hands,
Idris stood before me. "Save me!" she exclaimed, and would have sunk to the
ground had I not supported her. In a moment however she revived, and, with
energy, almost with violence, entreated me to saddle horses, to take her
away, away to London--to her brother--at least to save her. I had no
horses--she wrung her hands. "What can I do?" she cried, "I am lost--we
are both for ever lost! But come--come with me, Lionel; here I must not
stay,--we can get a chaise at the nearest post-house; yet perhaps we have
time! come, O come with me to save and protect me!"

When I heard her piteous demands, while with disordered dress, dishevelled
hair, and aghast looks, she wrung her hands--the idea shot across me is
she also mad?--"Sweet one," and I folded her to my heart, "better repose
than wander further;--rest--my beloved, I will make a fire--you are
chill."

"Rest!" she cried, "repose! you rave, Lionel! If you delay we are lost;
come, I pray you, unless you would cast me off for ever."

That Idris, the princely born, nursling of wealth and luxury, should have
come through the tempestuous winter-night from her regal abode, and
standing at my lowly door, conjure me to fly with her through darkness and
storm--was surely a dream--again her plaintive tones, the sight of her
loveliness assured me that it was no vision. Looking timidly around, as if
she feared to be overheard, she whispered: "I have discovered--to-morrow
--that is, to-day--already the to-morrow is come--before dawn,
foreigners, Austrians, my mother's hirelings, are to carry me off to
Germany, to prison, to marriage--to anything, except you and my brother
--take me away, or soon they will be here!"

I was frightened by her vehemence, and imagined some mistake in her
incoherent tale; but I no longer hesitated to obey her. She had come by
herself from the Castle, three long miles, at midnight, through the heavy
snow; we must reach Englefield Green, a mile and a half further, before we
could obtain a chaise. She told me, that she had kept up her strength and
courage till her arrival at my cottage, and then both failed. Now she could
hardly walk. Supporting her as I did, still she lagged: and at the distance
of half a mile, after many stoppages, shivering fits, and half faintings,
she slipt from my supporting arm on the snow, and with a torrent of tears
averred that she must be taken, for that she could not proceed. I lifted
her up in my arms; her light form rested on my breast.--I felt no
burthen, except the internal one of contrary and contending emotions.
Brimming delight now invested me. Again her chill limbs touched me as a
torpedo; and I shuddered in sympathy with her pain and fright. Her head lay
on my shoulder, her breath waved my hair, her heart beat near mine,
transport made me tremble, blinded me, annihilated me--till a suppressed
groan, bursting from her lips, the chattering of her teeth, which she
strove vainly to subdue, and all the signs of suffering she evinced,
recalled me to the necessity of speed and succour. At last I said to her,
"There is Englefield Green; there the inn. But, if you are seen thus
strangely circumstanced, dear Idris, even now your enemies may learn your
flight too soon: were it not better that I hired the chaise alone? I will
put you in safety meanwhile, and return to you immediately."

She answered that I was right, and might do with her as I pleased. I
observed the door of a small out-house a-jar. I pushed it open; and, with
some hay strewed about, I formed a couch for her, placing her exhausted
frame on it, and covering her with my cloak. I feared to leave her, she
looked so wan and faint--but in a moment she re-acquired animation, and,
with that, fear; and again she implored me not to delay. To call up the
people of the inn, and obtain a conveyance and horses, even though I
harnessed them myself, was the work of many minutes; minutes, each
freighted with the weight of ages. I caused the chaise to advance a little,
waited till the people of the inn had retired, and then made the post-boy
draw up the carriage to the spot where Idris, impatient, and now somewhat
recovered, stood waiting for me. I lifted her into the chaise; I assured
her that with our four horses we should arrive in London before five
o'clock, the hour when she would be sought and missed. I besought her to
calm herself; a kindly shower of tears relieved her, and by degrees she
related her tale of fear and peril.

That same night after Adrian's departure, her mother had warmly
expostulated with her on the subject of her attachment to me. Every motive,
every threat, every angry taunt was urged in vain. She seemed to consider
that through me she had lost Raymond; I was the evil influence of her life;
I was even accused of encreasing and confirming the mad and base apostacy
of Adrian from all views of advancement and grandeur; and now this
miserable mountaineer was to steal her daughter. Never, Idris related, did
the angry lady deign to recur to gentleness and persuasion; if she had, the
task of resistance would have been exquisitely painful. As it was, the
sweet girl's generous nature was roused to defend, and ally herself with,
my despised cause. Her mother ended with a look of contempt and covert
triumph, which for a moment awakened the suspicions of Idris. When they
parted for the night, the Countess said, "To-morrow I trust your tone will
be changed: be composed; I have agitated you; go to rest; and I will send
you a medicine I always take when unduly restless--it will give you a
quiet night."

By the time that she had with uneasy thoughts laid her fair cheek upon her
pillow, her mother's servant brought a draught; a suspicion again crossed
her at this novel proceeding, sufficiently alarming to determine her not to
take the potion; but dislike of contention, and a wish to discover whether
there was any just foundation for her conjectures, made her, she said,
almost instinctively, and in contradiction to her usual frankness, pretend
to swallow the medicine. Then, agitated as she had been by her mother's
violence, and now by unaccustomed fears, she lay unable to sleep, starting
at every sound. Soon her door opened softly, and on her springing up, she
heard a whisper, "Not asleep yet," and the door again closed. With a
beating heart she expected another visit, and when after an interval her
chamber was again invaded, having first assured herself that the intruders
were her mother and an attendant, she composed herself to feigned sleep. A
step approached her bed, she dared not move, she strove to calm her
palpitations, which became more violent, when she heard her mother say
mutteringly, "Pretty simpleton, little do you think that your game is
already at an end for ever."

For a moment the poor girl fancied that her mother believed that she had
drank poison: she was on the point of springing up; when the Countess,
already at a distance from the bed, spoke in a low voice to her companion,
and again Idris listened: "Hasten," said she, "there is no time to lose--
it is long past eleven; they will be here at five; take merely the clothes
necessary for her journey, and her jewel-casket." The servant obeyed; few
words were spoken on either side; but those were caught at with avidity by
the intended victim. She heard the name of her own maid mentioned;--"No,
no," replied her mother, "she does not go with us; Lady Idris must forget
England, and all belonging to it." And again she heard, "She will not wake
till late to-morrow, and we shall then be at sea."----"All is ready," at
length the woman announced. The Countess again came to her daughter's
bedside: "In Austria at least," she said, "you will obey. In Austria, where
obedience can be enforced, and no choice left but between an honourable
prison and a fitting marriage."

Both then withdrew; though, as she went, the Countess said, "Softly; all
sleep; though all have not been prepared for sleep, like her. I would not
have any one suspect, or she might be roused to resistance, and perhaps
escape. Come with me to my room; we will remain there till the hour agreed
upon." They went. Idris, panic-struck, but animated and strengthened even
by her excessive fear, dressed herself hurriedly, and going down a flight
of back-stairs, avoiding the vicinity of her mother's apartment, she
contrived to escape from the castle by a low window, and came through snow,
wind, and obscurity to my cottage; nor lost her courage, until she arrived,
and, depositing her fate in my hands, gave herself up to the desperation
and weariness that overwhelmed her.

I comforted her as well as I might. Joy and exultation, were mine, to
possess, and to save her. Yet not to excite fresh agitation in her, "per
non turbar quel bel viso sereno," I curbed my delight. I strove to quiet
the eager dancing of my heart; I turned from her my eyes, beaming with too
much tenderness, and proudly, to dark night, and the inclement atmosphere,
murmured the expressions of my transport. We reached London, methought, all
too soon; and yet I could not regret our speedy arrival, when I witnessed
the extasy with which my beloved girl found herself in her brother's arms,
safe from every evil, under his unblamed protection.

Adrian wrote a brief note to his mother, informing her that Idris was under
his care and guardianship. Several days elapsed, and at last an answer
came, dated from Cologne. "It was useless," the haughty and disappointed
lady wrote, "for the Earl of Windsor and his sister to address again the
injured parent, whose only expectation of tranquillity must be derived from
oblivion of their existence. Her desires had been blasted, her schemes
overthrown. She did not complain; in her brother's court she would find,
not compensation for their disobedience (filial unkindness admitted of
none), but such a state of things and mode of life, as might best reconcile
her to her fate. Under such circumstances, she positively declined any
communication with them."

Such were the strange and incredible events, that finally brought about my
union with the sister of my best friend, with my adored Idris. With
simplicity and courage she set aside the prejudices and opposition which
were obstacles to my happiness, nor scrupled to give her hand, where she
had given her heart. To be worthy of her, to raise myself to her height
through the exertion of talents and virtue, to repay her love with devoted,
unwearied tenderness, were the only thanks I could offer for the matchless
gift.

Sorry, no summary available yet.