Cecilia vol. 3

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The people of the house, concluding at first she was a woman of the
town, were going roughly to turn her out; but soon seeing their
mistake, by the evident distraction of her air and manner, they
enquired of some idle people who, late as it was, had followed her, if
any of them knew who she was, or whence she came?

They could give no account of her, but supposed she was broke loose
from Bedlam.

Cecilia then, wildly starting up, exclaimed, "No, no,--I am not mad,--
I am going to Nice--to my husband."

"She's quite crazy," said the man of the house, who was a Pawn-Broker;
"we had better get rid of her before she grows mischievous--"

"She's somebody broke out from a private mad house, I dare say," said a
man who had followed her into the shop; "and if you were to take care
of her a little while, ten to one but you'll get a reward for it."

"She's a gentlewoman, sure enough," said the mistress of the house,
"because she's got such good things on."

And then, under pretence of trying to find some direction to her upon a
letter, or paper, she insisted upon searching her pockets: here,
however, she was disappointed in her expectations: her purse was in the
custody of Mr Simkins, but neither her terror nor distress had saved
her from the daring dexterity of villainy, and her pockets, in the mob,
had been rifled of whatever else they contained. The woman therefore
hesitated some time whether to take charge of her or, not: but being
urged by the man who made the proposal, and who said they might depend
upon seeing her soon advertised, as having escaped from her keepers,
they ventured to undertake her.

Mean while she endeavoured again to get out, calling aloud upon Delvile
to rescue her, but so wholly bereft of sense and recollection, she
could give no account who she was, whence she came, or whither she
wished to go.

They then carried her up stairs, and attempted to make her lie down
upon a bed; but supposing she refused because it was not of straw, they
desisted; and, taking away the candle, locked the door, and all went to
rest.

In this miserable condition, alone and raving, she was left to pass the
night! in the early part of it, she called upon Delvile without
intermission, beseeching him to come to her defence in one moment, and
deploring his death the next; but afterwards, her strength being wholly
exhausted by these various exertions and fatigues, she threw herself
upon the floor, and lay for some minutes quite still. Her head then
began to grow cooler, as the fever into which terror and immoderate
exercise had thrown her abated, and her memory recovered its functions.

This was, however, only a circumstance of horror to her: she found
herself shut up in a place of confinement, without light, without
knowledge where she was, and not a human being near her!

Yet the same returning reason which enabled her to take this view of
her own situation, brought also to her mind that in which she had left
Delvile;--under all the perturbation of new-kindled jealousy, just
calling upon Belfield,--Belfield, tenacious of his honour even more
than himself,--to satisfy doubts of which the very mention would be
received as a challenge!

"Oh yet, oh yet," cried she, "let me fly and overtake them!--I may find
them before morning, and to-night it must surely have been too late for
this work of death!"

She then arose to feel for the door, and succeeded; but it was locked,
and no effort she could make enabled her to open it.

Her agony was unspeakable; she called out with violence upon the people
of the house, conjured them to set her at liberty, offered any reward
for their assistance, and threatened them with a prosecution if
detained.

Nobody, however, came near her: some slept on notwithstanding all the
disturbance she could make, and others; though awakened by her cries,
concluded them the ravings of a mad woman, and listened not to what she
said.

Her head was by no means in a condition to bear this violence of
distress; every pulse was throbbing, every vein seemed bursting, her
reason, so lately returned, could not bear the repetition of such a
shock, and from supplicating for help with all the energy of feeling
and understanding, she soon continued the cry from mere vehemence of
distraction.

Thus dreadfully passed the night; and in the morning, when the woman of
the house came to see after her, she found her raving with such frenzy,
and desperation, that her conscience was perfectly at ease in the
treatment she had given her, being now firmly satisfied she required
the strictest confinement.

She still, however, tried to get away; talked of Delvile without
cessation, said she should be too late to serve him, told the woman she
desired but to prevent murder, and repeatedly called out, "Oh beloved
of my heart! wait but a moment, and I will snatch thee from
destruction!"

Mrs Wyers, this woman, now sought no longer to draw from her whence she
came, or who she was, but heard her frantic exclamations without any
emotion, contentedly concluding that her madness was incurable: and
though she was in a high fever, refused all sustenance, and had every
symptom of an alarming and dangerous malady, she was fully persuaded
that her case was that of decided insanity, and had not any notion of
temporary or accidental alienation of reason.

All she could think of by way of indulgence to her, was to bring her a
quantity of straw, having heard that mad people were fond of it; and
putting it in a heap in one corner of the room, she expected to see her
eagerly fly at it.

Cecilia, however, distracted as she was, was eager for nothing but to
escape, which was constantly her aim, alike when violent or when quiet.
Mrs Wyers, finding this, kept her closely confined, and the door always
locked, whether absent or present.

CHAPTER vii.

AN ENCOUNTER.

Two whole days passed thus; no enquiries reached Mrs Wyers, and she
found in the news-papers no advertisement. Meanwhile Cecilia grew worse
every moment, tasted neither drink nor food, raved incessantly, called
out twenty times in a breath, "Where is he? which way is he gone?" and
implored the woman by the most pathetic remonstrances, to save her
unhappy Delvile, _dearer to her than life, more precious than peace or
rest_!

At other times she talked of her marriage, of the displeasure of his
family, and of her own remorse; entreated the woman not to betray her,
and promised to spend the remnant of her days in the heaviness of
sorrow and contrition.

Again her fancy roved, and Mr Monckton took sole possession of it. She
reproached him for his perfidy, she bewailed that he was massacred, she
would not a moment out-live him, and wildly declared _her last remains
should moulder in his hearse_! And thus, though naturally and commonly
of a silent and quiet disposition, she was now not a moment still, for
the irregular starts of a terrified and disordered imagination, were
changed into the constant ravings of morbid delirium.

The woman, growing uneasy from her uncertainty of pay for her trouble,
asked the advice of some of her friends what was proper for her to do;
and they counselled her to put an advertisement into the papers herself
the next morning.

The following, therefore, was drawn up and sent to the printer of the
Daily Advertiser.

MADNESS.

Whereas a crazy young lady, tall, fair complexioned, with blue eyes and
light hair, ran into the Three Blue Balls, in----street, on Thursday
night, the 2nd instant, and has been kept there since out of charity.
She was dressed in a riding habit. Whoever she belongs to is desired to
send after her immediately. She has been treated with the utmost care
and tenderness. She talks much of some person by the name of Delvile.

N.B.--She had no money about her.

May, 1780.

This had but just been sent off, when Mr Wyers, the man of the house,
coming up stairs, said, "Now we shall have two of them, for here's the
crazy old gentleman below, that says he has just heard in the
neighbourhood of what has happened to us, and he desires to see the
poor lady."

"It's as well let him come up, then," answered Mrs Wyers, "for he goes
to all sort of places and people, and ten to one but he'll bustle about
till he finds out who she is."

Mr Wyers then went down stairs to send him up.

He came instantly. It was Albany, who in his vagrant rambles, having
heard an unknown mad lady was at this pawn-broker's, came, with his
customary eagerness to visit and serve the unhappy, to see what could
be done for her.

When he entered the room, she was sitting upon the bed, her eyes
earnestly fixed upon the window, from which she was privately indulging
a wish to make her escape. Her dress was in much disorder, her fine
hair was dishevelled, and the feathers of her riding hat were broken
and half falling down, some shading her face, others reaching to her
shoulder.

"Poor lady!" cried Albany, approaching her, "how long has she been in
this state?"

She started at the sound of a new voice, she looked round,--but what
was the astonishment of Albany to see who it was!--He stept back,-he
came forward,--he doubted his own senses,--he looked at her earnestly,
--he turned from her to look at the woman of the house,--he cast his
eyes round the room itself, and then, lifting up his hands, "O sight of
woe!" he cried, "the generous and good! the kind reliever of distress!
the benign sustainer of misery!--is _This_ Cecilia!"--

Cecilia, imperfectly recollecting, though not understanding him, sunk
down at his feet, tremblingly called out, "Oh, if he is yet to be
saved, if already he is not murdered,--go to him! fly after him! you
will presently overtake him, he is only in the next street, I left him
there myself, his sword drawn, and covered with human blood!"

"Sweet powers of kindness and compassion!" cried the old man, "look
upon this creature with pity! she who raised the depressed, she who
cheared the unhappy! she whose liberal hand turned lamentations into
joy! who never with a tearless eye could hear the voice of sorrow!--is
_This_ she herself!--can _This_ be Cecilia!" "O do not wait to talk!"
cried she, "go to him now, or you will never see him more! the hand of
death is on him,--cold, clay-cold is its touch! he is breathing his
last--Oh murdered Delvile! massacred husband of my heart! groan not so
piteously! fly to him, and weep over him!--fly to him and pluck the
poniard from his wounded bosom!"

"Oh sounds of anguish and horror!" cried the, melted moralist, tears
running quick down his rugged cheeks; "melancholy indeed is this sight,
humiliating to morality! such is human strength, such human felicity!--
weak as our virtues, frail as our guilty natures!"

"Ah," cried she, more wildly, "no one will save me now! I am married,
and no one will listen to me! ill were the auspices under which I gave
my hand! Oh it was a work of darkness, unacceptable and offensive! it
has been sealed, therefore, with blood, and to-morrow it will be signed
with murder!"

"Poor distracted creature!" exclaimed he, "thy pangs I have felt, but
thy innocence I have forfeited!--my own wounds bleed afresh,--my own
brain threatens new frenzy."--

Then, starting up, "Good woman," he added, "kindly attend her,--I will
seek out her friends, put her into bed, comfort, sooth, compose her.--
I will come to you again, and as soon as I can."

He then hurried away.

"Oh hour of joy!" cried Cecilia, "he is gone to rescue him! oh blissful
moment! he will yet be snatched from slaughter!"

The woman lost not an instant in obeying the orders she had received;
she was put into bed, and nothing was neglected, as far as she had
power and thought, to give a look of decency and attention to her
accommodations.

He had not left them an hour, when Mary, the maid who had attended her
from Suffolk, came to enquire for her lady. Albany, who was now
wandering over the town in search of some of her friends, and who
entered every house where he imagined she was known, had hastened to
that of Mrs Hill the first of any, as he was well acquainted with her
obligations to Cecilia; there, Mary herself, by the directions which
her lady had given Mrs Belfield, had gone; and there, in the utmost
astonishment and uneasiness, had continued till Albany brought news of
her.

She was surprised and afflicted beyond measure, not only at the state
of her mind, and her health, but to find her in a bed and an apartment
so unsuitable to her rank of life, and so different to what she had
ever been accustomed. She wept bitterly while she enquired at the bed-
side how her lady did, but wept still more, when, without answering, or
seeming to know her, Cecilia started up, and called out, "I must be
removed this moment! I must go to St James's-square,--if I stay an
instant longer, the passing-bell will toll, and then how shall I be in
time for the funeral?"

Mary, alarmed and amazed, turned hastily from her to the woman of the
house, who calmly said, the lady was only in a raving fit, and must not
be minded.

Extremely frightened at this intelligence, she entreated her to be
quiet and lie still. But Cecilia grew suddenly so violent, that force
only could keep her from rising; and Mary, unused to dispute her
commands, prepared to obey them.

Mrs Wyers now in her turn opposed in vain; Cecilia was peremptory, and
Mary became implicit, and, though not without much difficulty, she was
again dressed in her riding habit. This operation over, she moved
towards the door, the temporary strength of delirium giving, her a
hardiness that combated fever, illness, fatigue, and feebleness. Mary,
however averse and fearful, assisted her, and Mrs Wyers, compelled by
the obedience of her own servant, went before them to order a chair.

Cecilia, however, felt her weakness when she attempted to move down
stairs; her feet tottered, and her head became dizzy; she leaned it
against Mary, who called aloud for more help, and made her sit down
till it came. Her resolution, however, was not to be altered; a
stubbornness, wholly foreign to her genuine character, now made her
stern and positive; and Mary, who thought her submission indispensable,
cried, but did not offer to oppose her.

Mr and Mrs Wyers both came up to assist in supporting her, and Mr Wyers
offered to carry her in his arms; but she would not consent; when she
came to the bottom of the stairs, her head grew worse, she again lent
it upon Mary, but Mr Wyers was obliged to hold them both. She still,
however, was firm in her determination, and was making another effort
to proceed, when Delvile rushed hastily into the shop.

He had just encountered Albany; who, knowing his acquaintance, though
ignorant of his marriage, with Cecilia, had informed him where to seek
her.

He was going to make enquiry if he was come to the right house, when he
perceived her,--feeble, shaking, leaning upon one person, and half
carried by another!--he started back, staggered, gasped for breath,--
but finding they were proceeding, advanced with trepidation, furiously
calling out, "Hold! stop!--what is it you are doing? Monsters of savage
barbarity, are you murdering my wife?"

The well-known voice no sooner struck the ears of Cecilia, than
instantly recollecting it, she screamed, and, is suddenly endeavouring
to spring forward, fell to the ground.

Delvile had vehemently advanced to catch her in his arms and save her
fall, which her unexpected quickness had prevented her attendants from
doing; but the sight of her changed complection, and the wildness of
her eyes and air, again made him start,--his blood froze through his
veins, and he stood looking at her, cold and almost petrified.

Her own recollection of him seemed lost already; and exhausted by the
fatigue she had gone through in dressing and coming down stairs, she
remained still and quiet, forgetting her design of proceeding, and
forming no new one for returning.

Mary, to whom, as to all her fellow servants, the marriage of Cecilia
had been known, before she left the country, now desired from Delvile
directions what was to be done.

Delvile, starting suddenly at this call from the deepest horror into
the most desperate rage, fiercely exclaimed, "Inhuman wretches!
unfeeling, execrable wretches, what is it you have done to her? how
came she hither?--who brought her?--who dragged her?--by what infamous
usage has she been sunk into this state?"

"Indeed, sir, I don't know!" cried Mary.

"I assure you, sir," said Mrs Wyers, "the lady--"

"Peace!" cried he, furiously, "I will not hear your falsehoods!--
peace, and begone!"--

Then, casting himself upon the ground by her side, "Oh my Cecilia," he
cried, "where hast thou been thus long? how have I lost thee? what
dreadful calamity has befallen thee?--answer me, my love! raise your
sweet head and answer me!--oh speak!--say to me any thing; the
bitterest words will be mercy to this silence!"---

Cecilia then, suddenly looking up, called out with great quickness,
"Who are you?"

"Who am I!" cried he, amazed and affrighted.

"I should be glad you would go away," cried she, in a hurrying manner,
"for you are quite unknown to me."

Delvile, unconscious of her insanity, and attributing to resentment
this aversion and repulse, hastily moved from her, mournfully
answering, "Well indeed may you disclaim me, refuse all forgiveness,
load me with hatred and reproach, and consign me to eternal anguish! I
have merited severer punishment still; I have behaved like a monster,
and I am abhorrent to myself!"

Cecilia now, half rising, and regarding him with mingled terror and
anger, eagerly exclaimed, "If you do not mean to mangle and destroy me,
begone this instant."

"To mangle you!" repeated Delvile, shuddering, "how horrible!--but I
deserve it!--look not, however, so terrified, and I will tear myself
away from you. Suffer me but to assist in removing you from this place,
and I will only watch you at a distance, and never see you more till
you permit me to approach you."

"Why, why," cried Cecilia, with a look of perplexity and impatience,
"will you not tell me your name, and where you come from?"

"Do you not know me?" said he, struck with new horror; "or do you only
mean to kill me by the question?"

"Do you bring me any message from Mr Monckton?"

"From Mr Monckton?--no; but he lives and will recover."

"I thought you had been Mr Monckton yourself."

"Too cruel, yet justly cruel Cecilia!--is then Delvile utterly
renounced?--the guilty, the unhappy Delvile!--is he cast off for ever?
have you driven him wholly from your heart? do you deny him even a
place in your remembrance?"

"Is your name, then, Delvile?"

"O what is it you mean? is it me or my name you thus disown?"

"'Tis a name," cried she, sitting up, "I well remember to have heard,
and once I loved it, and three times I called upon it in the dead of
night. And when I was cold and wretched, I cherished it; and when I was
abandoned and left alone, I repeated it and sung to it."

"All-gracious powers!" cried Delvile, "her reason is utterly gone!"
And, hastily rising, he desperately added, "what is death to this
blow?--Cecilia, I am content to part with thee!"

Mary now, and Mrs Wyers, poured upon him eagerly an account of her
illness, and insanity, her desire of removal, and their inability to
control her.

Delvile, however, made no answer; he scarce heard them: the deepest
despair took possession of his mind, and, rooted to the spot where he
stood, he contemplated iii dreadful stillness the fallen and altered
object of his best hopes and affections; already in her faded cheeks
and weakened frame, his agonising terror read the quick impending
destruction of all his earthly happiness! the sight was too much for
his fortitude, and almost for his understanding; and when his woe
became utterable, he wrung his hands, and groaning aloud, called out,
"Art thou gone so soon! my wife! my Cecilia! have I lost thee already?"

Cecilia, with utter insensibility to what was passing, now suddenly,
and with a rapid yet continued motion, turned her head from side to
side, her eyes wildly glaring, and yet apparently regarding nothing.

"Dreadful! dreadful!" exclaimed Delvile, "what a sight is this!" and
turning from her to the people of the house, he angrily said, "why is
she here upon the floor? could you not even allow her a bed? Who
attends her? Who waits upon her? Why has nobody sent for help?--Don't
answer me,--I will not hear you, fly this moment for a physician,--
bring two, bring three--bring all you can find?"

Then, still looking from Cecilia, whose sight he could no longer
support, he consulted with Mary whither she should be conveyed: and, as
the night was far advanced, and no place was prepared for her
elsewhere, they soon agreed that she could only be removed up stairs.

Delvile now attempted to carry her in his arms; but trembling and
unsteady, he had not strength to sustain her; yet not enduring to
behold the helplessness he could not assist, he conjured them to be
careful and gentle, and, committing her to their trust, ran out himself
for a physician.

Cecilia resisted them with her utmost power, imploring them not to bury
her alive, and averring she had received intelligence they meant to
entomb her with Mr Monckton.

They put her, however, to bed, but her raving grew still more wild and
incessant.

Delvile soon returned with a physician, but had not courage to attend
him to her room. He waited for him at the foot of the stairs, where,
hastily stopping him,

"Well, sir," he cried, "is it not all over? is it not impossible she
can live?"

"She is very ill, indeed, sir," he answered, "but I have given
directions which perhaps---"

"_Perhaps_!" interrupted Delvile, shuddering, "do not stab me with such
a word!"

"She is very delirious," he continued, "but as her fever is very high,
that is not so material. If the orders I have given take effect, and
the fever is got under, all the rest will be well of course."

He then went away; leaving Delvile as much thunderstruck by answers so
alarming, as if he had consulted him in full hope, and without even
suspicion of her danger.

The moment he recovered from this shock, he flew out of the house for
more advice.

He returned and brought with him two physicians. They confirmed the
directions already given, but would pronounce nothing decisively of her
situation.

Delvile, half mad with the acuteness of his misery, charged them all
with want of skill, and wrote instantly into the country for Dr Lyster.

He went out himself in search of a messenger to ride off express,
though it was midnight, with his letter; and then, returning, he was
hastening to her room, but, while yet at the door, hearing her still
raving, his horror conquered his eagerness, and, hurrying down stairs,
he spent the remnant of the long and seemingly endless night in the
shop.

CHAPTER ix.

A TRIBUTE.

Mean while Cecilia went through very severe discipline, sometimes
strongly opposing it, at other times scarce sensible what was done to
her.

The whole of the next day passed in much the same manner, neither did
the next night bring any visible alteration. She had now nurses and
attendants even more than sufficient, for Delvile had no relief but
from calling in more help. His terror of again seeing her encreased
with his forbearance; the interview which had already past had almost
torn him asunder, and losing all courage for attempting to enter her
room, he now spent almost all his time upon the stairs which led to it.
Whenever she was still, he seated himself at her chamber door, where,
if he could hear her breathe or move, a sudden hope of her recovery
gave to him a momentary extasy that recompensed all his sufferings. But
the instant she spoke, unable to bear the sound of so loved a voice
uttering nothing but the incoherent ravings of lightheadedness, he
hastened down stairs, and flying out of the house, walked in the
neighbouring streets, till he could again gather courage to enquire or
to listen how she went on.

The following morning, however, Dr Lyster came, and every hope revived.
He flew to embrace him, told him instantly his marriage with Cecilia,
and besought him by some superior effort of his extraordinary abilities
to save him the distraction of her loss.

"My good friend," cried the worthy Doctor, "what is this you ask of me?
and how can this poor young lady herself want advice more than you do?
Do you think these able physicians actually upon the spot, with all the
experience of full practice in London to assist their skill, want a
petty Doctor out of the country to come and teach them what is right?"

"I have more reliance upon you," cried Delvile, than upon the whole
faculty; come, therefore, and prescribe for her,--take some new course
"--

"Impossible, my good Sir, impossible! I must not lose my wits from
vanity, because you have lost yours from affliction. I could not refuse
to come to you when you wrote to me with such urgency, and I will now
go and see the young lady, as a _friend_, with all my heart. I am sorry
for you at my soul, Mr Mortimer! She is a lovely young creature, and
has an understanding, for her years and sex, unequalled."

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