Tales and Novels Volume VI Part 58

It was some time before she was sufficiently composed to understand clearly what was said to her by any person in the room, though she asked, half a dozen times, at least, from every one present, an explanation of all that had happened.

Lady Littleton was the only person who could give an explanation. She had contrived this meeting, and even Mrs. Somers had not foreseen the event--she never suspected that her own son was the very person to whom Emilie was attached, and that it was for Emilie's sake her son had hitherto refused to comply with her earnest desire that he should marry and settle in the world. He had no hopes that she would consent to his marrying a French girl without fortune, because she formerly quarrelled with him for refusing to marry a rich lady of quality, who happened to be, at that time, high in her favour. Upon the summons home that he received from her, he was alarmed by the apprehension that she had some new alliance in view for him, and he resolved, before he saw his mother, to trust his secret to Lady Littleton, who had always been a mediatrix and peace-maker. He declined telling the name of the object of his affections; but, from his description, and from many concomitant dates and circ.u.mstances, Lady Littleton was led to suspect that it might be Emilie de Coulanges. She consequently contrived an interview, which she knew must be decisive.

Mad. de Coulanges, whose imagination was now at Paris, felt rather disappointed at the idea of her daughter's marrying an Englishman, who was neither a count, a marquis, nor even a baron; but Lady Littleton at length obtained that consent which she knew would be necessary to render Emilie happy, even in following the dictates of her heart, or her reason.

Some conversation pa.s.sed between Lady Littleton and Mrs. Somers about a dormant t.i.tle in the Somers' family, which might be revived. This made a wonderful impression on the countess. She yielded, as she did every thing else, with a good grace.

History does not say, whether she did or did not console M. de Brisac: we are only informed that, immediately after her daughter's marriage, she returned to Paris, and gave a splendid ball at her Hotel de Coulanges. We are further a.s.sured that Mrs. Somers never quarrelled with Emilie from the day of her marriage till the day of her death--but that is incredible.

1803.

THE MODERN GRISELDA.

A TALE.

"And since in man right reason bears the sway, Let that frail thing, weak woman, have her way."

POPE.

CHAPTER I.

"Blest as th'immortal G.o.ds is he, The youth who fondly sits by thee, Who sees and hears thee all the while, Softly speak and sweetly smile."

"Is not this ode set to music, my dear Griselda?" said the happy bridegroom to his bride.

"Yes, surely, my dear: did you never hear it?"

"Never; and I am glad of it, for I shall have the pleasure of hearing it for the first time from you, my love: will you be so kind as to play it for me?"

"Most willingly," said Griselda, with an enchanting smile; "but I am afraid that I shall not be able to do it justice," added she, as she sat down to her harp, and threw her white arm across the chords.

"Charming! Thank you, my love," said the bridegroom, who had listened with enthusiastic devotion.--"Will you let me hear it once more?"

The complaisant bride repeated the strain.

"Thank you, my dear love," repeated her husband. This time he omitted the word "_charming_"--she missed it, and, pouting prettily, said,

"I never can play any thing so well the second time as the first."--She paused: but as no compliment ensued, she continued, in a more pettish tone, "And for that reason, I do hate to be made to play any thing twice over."

"I did not know that, my dearest love, or I would not have asked you to do it; but I am the more obliged to you for your ready compliance."

"Obliged!--Oh, my dear, I am sure you could not be the least obliged to me, for I know I played it horridly: I hate flattery."

"I am convinced of that, my dear, and therefore I never flatter: you know I did not say that you played as well the last time as the first, did I?"

"No, I did not say you did," cried Griselda, and her colour rose as she spoke: she tuned her harp with some precipitation--"This harp is terribly out of tune."

"Is it? I did not perceive it."

"Did not you, indeed? I am sorry for that."

"Why so, my dear?"

"Because, my dear, I own that I would rather have had the blame thrown on my harp than upon myself."

"Blame? my love!--But I threw no blame either on you or your harp. I cannot recollect saying even a syllable that implied blame."

"No, my dear, you did not say a syllable; but in some cases the silence of those we love is the worst, the most mortifying species of blame."

The tears came into Griselda's beautiful eyes.

"My sweet love," said he, "how can you let such a trifle affect you so much?"

"Nothing is a trifle to me which concerns those I love," said Griselda.--Her husband kissed away the pearly drops which rolled over her vermeil-tinctured cheeks. "My love," said he, "this is having too much sensibility."

"Yes, I own I have too much sensibility," said she, "too much--a great deal too much, for my own happiness.--Nothing ever can be a trifle to me which marks the decline of the affection of those who are most dear to me."

The tenderest protestations of undiminished and unalterable affection could not for some time rea.s.sure this timid sensibility: but at length the lady suffered herself to be comforted, and with a languid smile said, that she hoped she was mistaken--that her fears were perhaps unreasonable--that she prayed to Heaven they might in future prove groundless.

A few weeks afterwards her husband unexpectedly met with Mr. Granby, a friend, of whose company he was particularly fond: he invited him home to dinner, and was talking over past times in all the gaiety and innocence of his heart, when suddenly his wife rose and left the room.--As her absence appeared to him long, and as he had begged his friend to postpone _an excellent story_ till her return, he went to her apartment and called "Griselda!--Griselda, my love!"--No Griselda answered.--He searched for her in vain in every room in the house: at last, in an alcove in the garden, he found the fair dissolved in tears.

"Good Heavens! my dear Griselda, what can be the matter?"

A melancholy, not to say sullen, silence was maintained by his dear Griselda, till this question had been reiterated in all the possible tones of fond solicitude and alarm: at last, in broken sentences, she replied that she saw he did not love her--never had loved her; that she had now but too much reason to be convinced that all her fears were real, not imaginary; that her presentiments, alas! never deceived her; that she was the most miserable woman on earth.

Her husband's unfeigned astonishment she seemed to consider as an aggravation of her woes, and it was an additional insult to plead ignorance of his offence.

If he did not understand her feelings, it was impossible, it was needless, to explain them. He must have lost all sympathy with her, all tenderness for her, if he did not know what had pa.s.sed in her mind.

The man stood in stupid innocence. Provoked to speak more plainly, the lady exclaimed, "Unfeeling, cruel, barbarous man!--Have not you this whole day been trying your utmost skill to torment me to death? and, proud of your success, now you come to enjoy your triumph."

"Success!--triumph!"

"Yes, triumph!--I see it in your eyes--it is in vain to deny it. All this I owe to your friend Mr. Granby. Why he should be my enemy!--I who never injured him, or any body living, in thought, word, or deed--why he should be my enemy!"--

"Enemy!--My love, this is the strangest fancy! Why should you imagine that he is your enemy?"

"He _is_ my enemy--n.o.body shall ever convince me of the contrary; he has wounded me in the tenderest point, and in the basest manner: has not he done his utmost, in the most artful, insidious way,--even before my face,--to persuade you that you were a thousand times happier when you were a bachelor than you are now--than you ever have been since you married me?"

"Oh, my dear Griselda, you totally misunderstand him: such a thought never entered his mind."