Ormond Volume I Part 6

CHAPTER IX.

It may be asked if a woman of this character did not attract the notice of the world. Her station, no less than her modes of thinking, excluded her from the concourse of the opulent and the gay. She kept herself in privacy: her engagements confined her to her own fireside, and her neighbours enjoyed no means of penetrating through that obscurity in which she wrapt herself. There were, no doubt, persons of her own s.e.x capable of estimating her worth, and who could have hastened to raise so much merit from the indigence to which it was condemned. She might, at least, have found a.s.sociates and friends justly ent.i.tled to her affection. But whether she were peculiarly unfortunate in this respect, or whether it arose from a jealous and unbending spirit that would remit none of its claims to respect, and was backward in its overtures to kindness and intimacy, it so happened that her hours were, for a long period, enlivened by no companion but her father and her faithful Lucy.

The humbleness of her dwelling, her plain garb, and the meanness of her occupation, were no pa.s.sports to the favour of the rich and vain. These, added to her youth and beauty, frequently exposed her to insults, from which, though productive for a time of mortification and distress, she, for the most part, extricated herself by her spirited carriage and presence of mind.

One incident of this kind it will be necessary to mention. One evening her engagements carried her abroad. She had proposed to return immediately, finding by experience the danger that was to be dreaded by a woman young and unprotected. Something occurred that unavoidably lengthened her stay, and she set out on her return at a late hour. One of the other s.e.x offered her his guardians.h.i.+p; but this she declined, and proceeded homeward alone.

Her way lay through streets but little inhabited, and whose few inhabitants were of the profligate cla.s.s. She was conscious of the inconveniences to which she was exposed, and therefore tripped along with all possible haste. She had not gone far before she perceived, through the dusk, two men standing near a porch before her. She had gone too far to recede or change her course without exciting observation, and she flattered herself that the persons would behave with decency.

Encouraged by these reflections, and somewhat hastening her pace, she went on. As soon as she came opposite the place where they stood, one of them threw himself round, and caught her arm, exclaiming, in a broad tone, "Whither so fast, my love, at this time of night?" The other, at the same time, threw his arm round her waist, crying out, "A pretty prize, by G--: just in the nick of time."

They were huge and brawny fellows, in whose grasp her feeble strength was annihilated. Their motions were so sudden that she had not time to escape by flight. Her struggles merely furnished them with a subject of laughter. He that held her waist proceeded to pollute her cheeks with his kisses, and drew her into the porch. He tore her from the grasp of him who first seized her, who seemed to think his property invaded, and said, in a surly tone, "What now, Jemmy? d.a.m.n your heart, d'ye think I'll be fobbed? Have done with your slabbering, Jemmy. First come, first served," and seemed disposed to a.s.sert his claims by force.

To this brutality Constantia had nothing to oppose but fruitless struggles and shrieks for help. Succour was, fortunately, at hand. Her exclamations were heard by a person across the street, who instantly ran, and with some difficulty disengaged her from the grasp of the ruffians. He accompanied her the rest of the way, bestowed on her every polite attention, and, though pressed to enter the house, declined the invitation. She had no opportunity of examining the appearance of her new friend: this the darkness of the night, and her own panic, prevented.

Next day a person called upon her whom she instantly recognized to be her late protector. He came with some message from his sister. His manners were simple and unostentatious and breathed the genuine spirit of civility. Having performed his commission, and once more received the thanks which she poured forth with peculiar warmth for his last night's interposition, he took his leave.

The name of this man was Balfour. He was middle-aged, of a figure neither elegant nor ungainly, and an aspect that was mild and placid, but betrayed few marks of intelligence. He was an adventurer from Scotland, whom a strict adherence to the maxims of trade had rendered opulent. He was governed by the principles of mercantile integrity in all his dealings, and was affable and kind, without being generous, in his treatment of inferiors. He was a stranger to violent emotions of any kind, and his intellectual acquisitions were limited to his own profession.

His demeanour was tranquil and uniform. He was sparing of words, and these were uttered in the softest manner. In all his transactions he wad sedate and considerate. In his dress and mode of living there were no appearances of parsimony, but there were, likewise, as few traces of profusion.

His sister had shared in his prosperity. As soon as his affairs would permit, he sent for her to Scotland, where she had lived in a state little removed from penury, and had for some years been vested with the superintendence of his household. There was a considerable resemblance between them in person and character. Her profession, or those arts in which her situation had compelled her to acquire skill, had not an equal tendency to enlarge the mind as those of her brother, but the views of each were limited to one set of objects. His superiority was owing, not to any inherent difference, but to accident.

Balfour's life had been a model of chasteness and regularity,--though this was owing more to const.i.tutional coldness, and a frugal spirit, than to virtuous forbearance; but, in his schemes for the future, he did not exclude the circ.u.mstance of marriage. Having attained a situation secure as the nature of human affairs will admit from the chances of poverty, the way was sufficiently prepared for matrimony. His thoughts had been for some time employed in the selection of a suitable companion, when this rencounter happened with Miss Dudley.

Balfour was not dest.i.tute of those feelings which are called into play by the sight of youth and beauty in distress. This incident was not speedily forgotten. The emotions produced by it were new to him. He reviewed them oftener, and with more complacency, than any which he had before experienced. They afforded him so much satisfaction, that, in order to preserve them undiminished, he resolved to repeat his visit.

Constantia treated him as one from whom she had received a considerable benefit. Her sweetness and gentleness were uniform, and Balfour found that her humble roof promised him more happiness than his own fireside, or the society of his professional brethren.

He could not overlook, in the course of such reflections as these, the question relative to marriage, and speedily determined to solicit the honour of her hand. He had not decided without his usual foresight and deliberation; nor had he been wanting in the accuracy of his observations and inquiries. Those qualifications, indeed, which were of chief value in his eyes, lay upon the surface. He was no judge of her intellectual character, or of the loftiness of her morality. Not even the graces of person, or features or manners, attracted much of his attention. He remarked her admirable economy of time, and money, and labour, the simplicity of her dress, her evenness of temper, and her love of seclusion. These ware essential requisites of a wife, in his apprehension. The insignificance of his own birth, the lowness of his original fortune, and the efficacy of industry and temperance to confer and maintain wealth, had taught him indifference as to birth or fortune in his spouse. His moderate desires in this respect were gratified, and he was anxious only for a partner that would aid him in preserving rather than in enlarging his property. He esteemed himself eminently fortunate in meeting with one in whom every matrimonial qualification concentred.

He was not deficient in modesty, but he fancied that, on this occasion, there was no possibility of miscarriage. He held her capacity in deep veneration, but this circ.u.mstance rendered him more secure of success.

He conceived this union to be even more eligible with regard to her than to himself, and confided in the rect.i.tude of her understanding for a decision favourable to his wishes.

Before any express declaration was made, Constantia easily predicted the event from the frequency of his visits; and the attentiveness of his manners. It was no difficult task to ascertain this man's character. Her modes of thinking were, in few respects, similar to those of her lover.

She was eager to investigate, in the first place, the attributes of his mind. His professional and household maxims were not of inconsiderable importance, but they were subordinate considerations. In the poverty of his discourse and ideas she quickly found reasons for determining her conduct.

Marriage she had but little considered, as it is in itself. What are the genuine principles of that relation, and what conduct with respect to it is prescribed to rational beings by their duty, she had not hitherto investigated. But she was not backward to inquire what are the precepts of duty in her own particular case. She knew herself to be young; she was sensible of the daily enlargement of her knowledge: every day contributed to rectify some error, or confirm some truth. These benefits she owed to her situation, which, whatever were its evils, gave her as much freedom from restraint as is consistent with the state of human affairs. Her poverty fettered her exertions, and circ.u.mscribed her pleasures. Poverty, therefore, was an evil, and the reverse of poverty was to be desired. But riches were not barren of constraint, and its advantages might be purchased at too dear a rate.

Allowing that the wife is enriched by marriage, how humiliating were the conditions annexed to it in the present case! The company of one with whom we have no sympathy, nor sentiments in common, is, of all species of solitude, the most loathsome and dreary. The nuptial life is attended with peculiar aggravations, since the tie is infrangible, and the choice of a more suitable companion, if such a one should offer, is for ever precluded. The hards.h.i.+ps of wealth are not incompensated by some benefits; but these benefits, false and hollow as they are, cannot be obtained by marriage. Her acceptance of Balfour would merely aggravate her indigence.

Now she was at least mistress of the product of her own labour. Her tasks were toilsome, but the profits, though slender, were sure, and she administered her little property in what manner she pleased.

Marriage would annihilate this, power. Henceforth she would he bereft even of personal freedom. So far from possessing property, she herself would become the property of another.

She was not unaware of the consequences flowing from differences of capacity, and that power, to whomsoever legally granted, will be exercised by the most addressful; but she derived no encouragement from these considerations. She would not stoop to gain her end by the hateful arts of the sycophant, and was too wise to place an unbounded reliance on the influence of truth. The character, likewise, of this man, sufficiently exempted him from either of those influences.

She did not forget the nature of the altar-vows. To abdicate the use of her own understanding was scarcely justifiable in any case; but to vow an affection that was not felt, and could not be compelled, and to promise obedience to one whose judgment was glaringly defective, were acts atrociously criminal. Education, besides, had created in her an insurmountable abhorrence of admitting to conjugal privileges the man who had no claim upon her love. It could not be denied that a state of abundant accommodation was better than the contrary; but this consideration, though, in the most rational estimate, of some weight, she was not so depraved and effeminate as to allow to overweigh the opposite evils. Homely liberty was better than splendid servitude.

Her resolution was easily formed, but there were certain impediments in the way of its execution. These chiefly arose from deference to the opinion, and compa.s.sion for the infirmities of her father. He a.s.sumed no control over her actions. His reflections in the present case were rather understood than expressed. When uttered, it was with the mildness of equality, and the modesty of persuasion. It was this circ.u.mstance that conferred upon them all their force. His decision on so delicate a topic was not wanting in sagacity and moderation; but, as a man, he had his portion of defects, and his frame was enfeebled by disease and care; yet he set no higher value on the ease and independence of his former condition than any man of like experience. He could not endure to exist on the fruits of his daughter's labour. He ascribed her decision to a spirit of excessive refinement, and was, of course, disposed to give little quarter to maiden scruples. They were phantoms, he believed, which experience would dispel. His morality, besides, was of a much more flexible kind; and the marriage vows were, in his opinion, formal and unmeaning, and neither in themselves, nor in the opinion of the world, accompanied with any rigorous obligation. He drew more favourable omens from the known capacity of his daughter, and the flexibility of her lover.

She demanded his opinion and advice. She listened to his reasonings, and revolved them with candour and impartiality. She stated her objections with simplicity; but the difference of age and s.e.x was sufficient to preclude agreement. Arguments were of no use but to prolong the debate; but, happily, the magnanimity of Mr. Dudley would admit of no sacrifice.

Her opinions, it is true, were erroneous; but he was willing that she should regulate her conduct by her own conceptions of right, and not by those of another. To refuse Balfour's offers was an evil, but an evil inexpressibly exceeded by that of accepting them contrary to her own sense of propriety.

Difficulties, likewise, arose from the consideration of what was due to the man who had already benefited her, and who, in this act, intended to confer upon her further benefit. These, though the source of some embarra.s.sment, were not sufficient to shake her resolution. Balfour could not understand her princ.i.p.al objections. They were of a size altogether disproportioned to his capacity. Her moral speculations were quite beyond the sphere of his reflections. She could not expatiate, without a breach of civility, on the disparity of their minds, and yet this was the only or princ.i.p.al ground on which she had erected her scruples.

Her father loved her too well not to be desirous of relieving her from a painful task, though undertaken without necessity, and contrary to his opinion. "Refer him to me," said he; "I will make the best of the matter, and render your refusal as palatable as possible; but do you authorize me to make it absolute, and without appeal."

"My dear father! how good you are! but that shall be my province. If I err, let the consequences of my mistake be confined to myself. It would be cruel indeed to make you the instrument in a transaction which your judgment disapproves. My reluctance was a weak and foolish thing.

Strange, indeed, if the purity of my motives will not bear me out on this, as it has done on many more arduous occasions."

"Well, be it so; that is best I believe. Ten to one but I, with my want of eyes would blunder, while yours will be of no small use in a contest with a lover. They will serve you to watch the transitions in his placid physiognomy, and overpower his discontents."

She was aware of the inconveniences to which this resolution would subject her; but since they were unavoidable, she armed herself with the requisite patience. Her apprehensions were not without reason. More than one conference was necessary to convince him of her meaning, and in order to effect her purpose she was obliged to behave with so much explicitness as to hazard giving him offence. This affair was productive of no small vexation. He had put too much faith in the validity of his pretensions, and the benefits of perseverance, to be easily shaken off.

This decision was not borne by him with as much patience as she wished.

He deemed himself unjustly treated, and his resentment exceeded those bounds of moderation which he prescribed to himself on all other occasions. From his anger, however, there was not much to be dreaded; but, unfortunately, his sister partook of his indignation and indulged her petulance, which was enforced by every gossiping and tattling propensity, to the irreparable disadvantage of Constantia.

She owed her support to her needle. She was dependent therefore on the caprice of customers. This caprice was swayable by every breath, and paid a merely subordinate regard, in the choice of workwomen, to the circ.u.mstances of skill, cheapness and diligence. In consequence of this, her usual sources of subsistence began to fail.

Indigence, as well as wealth, is comparative. He indeed must be wretched, whose food, clothing, and shelter, are limited, both in kind and quant.i.ty, by the standard of mere necessity; who, in the choice of food, for example, is governed by no consideration but its cheapness, and its capacity to sustain nature. Yet to this degree of wretchedness was Miss Dudley reduced.

As her means of subsistence began to decay, she reflected on the change of employment that might become necessary. She was mistress of no lucrative art but that which now threatened to be useless. There was but one avenue through which she could hope to escape from the pressure of absolute want. This she regarded with an aversion that nothing but extreme necessity, and the failure of every other expedient, would be able to subdue. This was the hiring herself as a servant. Even that could not answer all her purposes. If a subsistence were provided by it for herself, whither should her father and her Lucy betake themselves for support?

Hitherto her labour had been sufficient to shut out famine and the cold.

It is true she had been cut off from all the direct means of personal or mental gratification; but her const.i.tution had exempted her from the insalutary effects of sedentary application. She could not tell how long she could enjoy this exemption, but it was absurd to antic.i.p.ate those evils which might never arrive. Meanwhile, her situation was not dest.i.tute of comfort. The indirect means of intellectual improvement in conversation and reflection, the inexpensive amus.e.m.e.nt of singing, and, above all, the consciousness of performing her duty, and maintaining her independence inviolate, were still in her possession. Her lodging was humble, and her fare frugal, but these temperance and a due regard to the use of money would require from the most opulent.

Now retrenchments must be made even from this penurious provision. Her exertions might somewhat defer, but could not prevent, the ruin of her unhappy family. Their landlord was a severe exacter of his dues. The day of quarterly payment was past, and he had not failed in his usual punctuality. She was unable to satisfy his demands, and Mr. Dudley was officially informed, that unless payment was made before a day fixed, resort would be had to the law, in that case made and provided.

This seemed to be the completion of their misfortunes. It was not enough to soften the implacability of their landlord. A respite might possibly be obtained from this harsh sentence. Entreaties might prevail upon him to allow of their remaining under this roof for some time longer; but shelter at this inclement season was not enough. Without fire they must perish with the cold; and fuel could be procured only for money, of which the last s.h.i.+lling was expended. Food was no less indispensable; and, their credit being gone, not a loaf could be extorted from the avarice of the bakers in the neighbourhood.

The sensations produced by this acc.u.mulation of distress may be more easily conceived than described. Mr. Dudley sunk into despair, when Lucy informed him that the billet of wood she was putting on the fire was the last. "Well," said he, "the game is up. Where is my daughter?" The answer was, that she was up-stairs.

"Why, there she has been this hour. Tell her to come down and warm herself. She must needs be cold, and here is a cheerful blaze. I feel it myself. Like the lightning that precedes death, it beams thus brightly, though in a few moments it will be extinguished forever. Let my darling come and partake of its comforts before they expire."

Constantia had retired in order to review her situation and devise some expedients that might alleviate it. It was a sore extremity to which she was reduced. Things had come to a desperate pa.s.s, and the remedy required must be no less desperate. It was impossible to see her father perish. She herself would have died before she would have condescended to beg. It was not worth prolonging a life which must subsist upon alms.

She would have wandered into the fields at dusk, have seated herself upon an unfrequented bank, and serenely waited the approach of that death which the rigours of the season would have rendered sure. But as it was, it became her to act in a very different manner.

During her father's prosperity, some mercantile intercourse had taken place between him and a merchant of this city. The latter on some occasion had spent a few nights at her father's house. She was greatly charmed with the humanity that shone forth in his conversation and behaviour. From that time to this all intercourse had ceased. She was acquainted with the place of his abode, and knew him to be affluent. To him she determined to apply as a suppliant in behalf of her father. She did not inform Mr. Dudley of this intention, conceiving it best to wait till the event had been ascertained, for fear of exciting fallacious expectations. She was further deterred by the apprehension of awakening his pride, and bringing on herself an absolute prohibition.

She arrived at the door of Mr. Melbourne's house, and inquiring for the master of it, was informed that he had gone out of town, and was not expected to return for a week.

Her scheme, which was by no means unplausible, was thus completely frustrated. There was but one other resource, on which she had already deliberated, and to which she had determined to apply if that should fail. That was to claim a.s.sistance from the superintendants of the poor.

She was employed in considering to which of them, and in what manner she should make her application, when she turned the corner of Lombard and Second Streets. That had scarcely been done, when casting her eyes mournfully round her, she caught a glimpse of a person whom she instantly recognized pa.s.sing into the market-place. She followed him with quick steps, and on a second examination found that she had not been mistaken. This was no other than Thomas Craig, to whose malignity and cunning all her misfortunes were imputable.

She was at first uncertain what use to make of this discovery. She followed him instinctively, and saw him at length enter the Indian Queen Tavern. Here she stopped. She entertained a confused conception that some beneficial consequences might be extracted from this event. In the present hurry of her thoughts she could form no satisfactory conclusion; but it instantly occurred to her that it would at least be proper to ascertain the place of his abode. She stept into the inn, and made the suitable inquiries. She was informed that the gentleman had come from Baltimore a month before, and had since resided at that house. How soon he meant to leave the city her informant was unable to tell.

Having gained this intelligence, she returned home, and once more shut herself in her chamber to meditate on this new posture of affairs.