Cecilia vol. 3
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Frances (Fanny) Burney (Madame d\'Arblay) >> Cecilia vol. 3
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Cecilia, who at this call could no longer be silent, now gathered
fortitude to say, "Whatever tie or obligation may be supposed to depend
upon me, I have already relinquished; and I am now ready to declare--"
"That you wholly give me up?" interrupted Delvile, "is that what you
would say?--Oh how have I offended you? how have I merited a
displeasure that can draw upon me such a sentence?--Answer, speak to
me, Cecilia, what is it I have done?"
"Nothing, Sir," said Cecilia, confounded at this language in the
presence of his mother, "you have done nothing,--but yet--"
"Yet what?--have you conceived to me an aversion? has any dreadful and
horrible antipathy succeeded to your esteem?--tell, tell me without
disguise, do you hate, do you abhor me?"
Cecilia sighed, and turned away her head; and Mrs Delvile indignantly
exclaimed, "What madness and absurdity! I scarce know you under the
influence of such irrational violence. Why will you interrupt Miss
Beverley in the only speech you ought to hear from her? Why, at once,
oppress her, and irritate me, by words of more passion than reason? Go
on, charming girl, finish what so wisely, so judiciously you were
beginning, and then you shall be released from this turbulent
persecution."
"No, madam, she must not go on!" cried Delvile, "if she does not
utterly abhor me, I will not suffer her to go on;--Pardon, pardon me,
Cecilia, but your too exquisite delicacy is betraying not only my
happiness, but your own. Once more, therefore, I conjure you to hear
me, and then if, deliberately and unbiassed, you renounce me, I will
never more distress you by resisting your decree."
Cecilia, abashed and changing colour, was silent, and he proceeded.
"All that has past between us, the vows I have offered you of faith,
constancy and affection, the consent I obtained from you to be legally
mine, the bond of settlement I have had drawn up, and the high honour
you conferred upon me in suffering me to lead you to the altar,--all
these particulars are already known to so many, that the least
reflection must convince you they will soon be concealed from none:
tell me, then, if your own fame pleads not for me, and if the scruples
which lead you to refuse, by taking another direction, will not, with
much more propriety, urge, nay enjoin you to accept me!--You hesitate
at least,--O Miss Beverley!--I see in that hesitation--"
"Nothing, nothing!" cried she, hastily, and checking her rising
irresolution; "there is nothing for you to see, but that every way I
now turn I have rendered myself miserable!"
"Mortimer," said Mrs Delvile, seized with terror as she penetrated into
the mental yielding of Cecilia, "you have now spoken to Miss Beverley;
and unwilling as I am to obtrude upon her our difference of sentiment,
it is necessary, since she has heard you, that I, also, should claim
her attention."
"First let her speak!" cried Delvile, who in her apparent wavering
built new hopes, "first let her answer what she has already deigned to
listen to."
"No, first let her hear!" cried Mrs Delvile, "for so only can she judge
what answer will reflect upon her most honour."
Then, solemnly turning to Cecilia, she continued: "You see here, Miss
Beverley, a young man who passionately adores you, and who forgets in
his adoration friends, family, and connections, the opinions in which
he has been educated, the honour of his house, his own former views,
and all his primitive sense of duty, both public and private!--A
passion built on such a defalcation of principle renders him unworthy
your acceptance; and not more ignoble for him would be a union which
would blot his name from the injured stock whence he sprung, than
indelicate for you, who upon such terms ought to despise him."
"Heavens, madam," exclaimed Delvile, "what a speech!"
"O never," cried Cecilia, rising, "may I hear such another! Indeed,
madam, there is no occasion to probe me so deeply, for I would not now
enter your family, for all that the whole world could offer me!"
"At length, then, madam," cried Delvile, turning reproachfully to his
mother, "are you satisfied? is your purpose now answered? and is the
dagger you have transfixed in my heart sunk deep enough to appease
you?"
"O could I draw it out," cried Mrs Delvile, "and leave upon it no stain
of ignominy, with what joy should my own bosom receive it, to heal the
wound I have most compulsatorily inflicted!--Were this excellent young
creature portionless, I would not hesitate in giving my consent; every
claim of interest would be overbalanced by her virtues, and I would not
grieve to see you poor, where so conscious you were happy; but here to
concede, would annihilate every hope with which hitherto I have looked
up to my son."
"Let us now, then, madam," said Cecilia, "break up this conference. I
have spoken, I have heard, the decree is past, and therefore,"--
"You are indeed an angel!" cried Mrs Delvile, rising and embracing her;
"and never can I reproach my son with what has passed, when I consider
for what an object the sacrifice was planned. _You_ cannot be unhappy,
you have purchased peace by the exercise of virtue, and the close of
every day will bring to you a reward, in the sweets of a self-approving
mind.--But we will part, since you think it right; I do wrong to
occasion any delay."
"No, we will _not_ part!" cried Delvile, with encreasing vehemence; "if
you force me, madam, from her, you will drive me to distraction! What
is there in this world that can offer me a recompense? And what can
pride even to the proudest afford as an equivalent? Her perfections you
acknowledge, her greatness of mind is like your own; she has generously
given me her heart,--Oh sacred and fascinating charge! Shall I, after
such a deposite, consent to an eternal separation? Repeal, repeal your
sentence, my Cecilia! let us live to ourselves and our consciences, and
leave the vain prejudices of the world to those who can be paid by them
for the loss of all besides!"
"Is this conflict, then," said Mrs Delvile, "to last for-ever? Oh end
it, Mortimer, finish it, and make me happy! she is just, and will
forgive you, she is noble-minded, and will honour you. Fly, then, at
this critical moment, for in flight alone is your safety; and then will
your father see the son of his hopes, and then shall the fond blessings
of your idolizing mother soothe all your affliction, and soften all
your regret!"
"Oh madam!" cried Delvile, "for mercy, for humanity, forbear this cruel
supplication!"
"Nay, more than supplication, you have my commands; commands you have
never yet disputed, and misery, ten-fold misery, will follow their
disobedience. Hear me, Mortimer, for I speak prophetically; I know your
heart, I know it to be formed for rectitude and duty, or destined by
their neglect to repentance and horror."
Delvile, struck by these words, turned suddenly from them both, and in
gloomy despondence walked to the other end of the room. Mrs Delvile
perceived the moment of her power, and determined to pursue the blow:
taking, therefore, the hand of Cecilia, while her eyes sparkled with
the animation of reviving hope, "See," she cried, pointing to her son,
"see if I am deceived! can he bear even the suggestion of future
contrition! Think you when it falls upon him, he will support it
better? No; he will sink under it. And you, pure as you are of mind,
and steadfast in principle, what would your chance be of happiness with
a man who never erring till he knew you, could never look at you
without regret, be his fondness what it might?"
"Oh madam," cried the greatly shocked Cecilia, "let him, then, see me
no more!--take, take him all to yourself! forgive, console him! I will
not have the misery of involving him in repentance, nor of incurring
the reproaches of the mother he so much reverences!"
"Exalted creature!" cried Mrs Delvile; "tenderness such as this would
confer honour upon a monarch." Then, calling out exultingly to her son,
"See," she added, "how great a woman can act, when stimulated by
generosity, and a just sense of duty! Follow then, at least, the
example you ought to have led, and deserve my esteem and love, or be
content to forego them."
"And can I only deserve them," said Delvile, in a tone of the deepest
anguish, "by a compliance to which not merely my happiness, but my
reason must be sacrificed? What honour do I injure that is not
factitious? What evil threatens our union, that is not imaginary? In
the general commerce of the world it may be right to yield to its
prejudices, but in matters of serious importance, it is weakness to be
shackled by scruples so frivolous, and it is cowardly to be governed by
the customs we condemn. Religion and the laws of our country should
then alone be consulted, and where those are neither opposed nor
infringed, we should hold ourselves superior to all other
considerations."
"Mistaken notions!" said Mrs Delvile; "and how long do you flatter
yourself this independent happiness would endure? How long could you
live contented by mere self-gratification, in defiance of the censure
of mankind, the renunciation of your family, and the curses of your
father?"
"The curses of my father!" repeated he, starting and shuddering, "O no,
he could never be so barbarous!"
"He could," said she, steadily, "nor do I doubt but he would. If now,
however, you are affected by the prospect of his disclaiming you, think
but what you will feel when first forbid to appear before either of us!
and think of your remorse for involving Miss Beverley in such
disgrace!"
"O speak not such words!" cried he, with agonizing earnestness, "to
disgrace her,--to be banished by you,--present not, I conjure you, such
scenes to my imagination!"
"Yet would they be unavoidable," continued she; "nor have I said to you
all; blinded as you now are by passion, your nobler feelings are only
obscured, not extirpated; think, then, how they will all rise in
revenge of your insulted dignity, when your name becomes a stranger to
your ears, and you are first saluted by one so meanly adopted!--"
"Hold, hold, madam," interrupted he, "this is more than I can bear!"
"Heavens!" still continued she, disregarding his entreaty, "what in the
universe can pay you for that first moment of indignity! Think of it
well ere you proceed, and anticipate your sensations, lest the shock
should wholly overcome you. How will the blood of your wronged
ancestors rise into your guilty cheeks, and how will your heart throb
with secret shame and reproach, when wished joy upon your marriage by
the name of _Mr Beverley_!"
Delvile, stung to the soul, attempted not any answer, but walked about
the room in the utmost disorder of mind. Cecilia would have retired,
but feared irritating him to some extravagance; and Mrs Delvile,
looking after him, added "For myself, I would still see, for I should
pity your wife,--but NEVER would I behold my son when sunk into an
object of compassion!"
"It shall not be!" cried he, in a transport of rage; "cease, cease to
distract me!--be content, madam,--you have conquered!"
"Then you are my son!" cried she, rapturously embracing him; "now I
know again my Mortimer! now I see the fair promise of his upright
youth, and the flattering completion of my maternal expectations!"
Cecilia, finding all thus concluded, desired nothing so much as to
congratulate them on their reconciliation; but having only said "Let
_me_, too,--" her voice failed her, she stopt short, and hoping she had
been unheard, would have glided out of the room.
But Delvile, penetrated and tortured, yet delighted at this
sensibility, broke from his mother, and seizing her hand, exclaimed,
"Oh Miss Beverley, if _you_ are not happy---"
"I am! I am!" cried she, with quickness; "let me pass,--and think no
more of me."
"That voice,--those looks,--" cried he, still holding her, "they speak
not serenity!--Oh if I have injured your peace,--if that heart, which,
pure as angels, deserves to be as sacred from sorrow, through my means,
or for my sake, suffers any diminution of tranquility--"
"None, none!" interrupted she, with precipitation.
"I know well," cried he, "your greatness of soul; and if this dreadful
sacrifice gives lasting torture only to myself,--if of _your_ returning
happiness I could be assured,--I would struggle to bear it."
"You _may_, be assured of it," cried she, with reviving dignity, "I
have no right to expect escaping all calamity, but while I share the
common lot, I will submit to it without repining."
"Heaven then bless, and hovering angels watch you!" cried he, and
letting go her hand, he ran hastily out of the room.
"Oh Virtue, how bright is thy triumph!" exclaimed Mrs Delvile, flying
up to Cecilia, and folding her in her arms; "Noble, incomparable young
creature! I knew not that so much worth was compatible with human
frailty!"
But the heroism of Cecilia, in losing its object, lost its force; she
sighed, she could not speak, tears gushed into her eyes, and kissing
Mrs Delvile's hand with a look that shewed her inability to converse
with her, she hastened, though scarce able to support herself, away,
with intention to shut herself up in her own apartment: and Mrs
Delvile, who perceived that her utmost fortitude was exhausted, opposed
not her going, and wisely forbore to encrease her emotion, by following
her even with her blessings.
But when she came into the hall, she started, and could proceed no
further; for there she beheld Delvile, who in too great agony to be
seen, had stopt to recover some composure before he quitted the house.
At the first sound of an opening door, he was hastily escaping; but
perceiving Cecilia, and discerning her situation, he more hastily
turned back, saying, "Is it possible?--To _me_ were you coming?"
She shook her head, and made a motion with her hand to say no, and
would then have gone on.
"You are weeping!" cried he, "you are pale!--Oh Miss Beverley! is this
your happiness!"
"I am very well,--" cried she, not knowing what she answered, "I am
quite well,--pray go,--I am very--" her words died away inarticulated.
"O what a voice is that!" exclaimed he, "it pierces my very soul!"
Mrs Delvile now came to the parlour door, and looked aghast at the
situation in which she saw them: Cecilia again moved on, and reached
the stairs, but tottered, and was obliged to cling to the banisters.
"O suffer me to support you," cried he; "you are not able to stand,--
whither is it you would go?"
"Any where,--I don't know,--" answered she, in faltering accents, "but
if you would leave me, I should be well."
And, turning from him, she walked again towards the parlour, finding by
her shaking frame, the impossibility of getting unaided up the stairs.
"Give me your hand, my love," said Mrs Delvile, cruelly alarmed by this
return; and the moment they re-entered the parlour, she said
impatiently to her son, "Mortimer, why are you not gone?"
He heard her not, however; his whole attention was upon Cecilia, who,
sinking into a chair, hid her face against Mrs Delvile: but, reviving
in a few moments, and blushing at the weakness she had betrayed, she
raised her head, and, with an assumed serenity, said, "I am better,--
much better,--I was rather sick,--but it is over; and now, if you will
excuse me, I will go to my own room."
She then arose, but her knees trembled, and her head was giddy, and
again seating herself, she forced a faint smile, and said, "Perhaps I
had better keep quiet."
"Can I bear this!" cried Delvile, "no, it shakes all my resolution!--
loveliest and most beloved Cecilia! forgive my rash declaration, which
I hear retract and forswear, and which no false pride, no worthless
vanity shall again surprise from me!--raise, then, your eyes--"
"Hot-headed young man!" interrupted Mrs Delvile, with an air of haughty
displeasure, "if you cannot be rational, at least be silent. Miss
Beverley, we will both leave him."
Shame, and her own earnestness, how restored some strength to Cecilia,
who read with terror in the looks of Mrs Delvile the passions with
which she was agitated, and instantly obeyed her by rising; but her
son, who inherited a portion of her own spirit, rushed between them
both and the door, and exclaimed, "Stay, madam, stay! I cannot let you
go: I see your intention, I see your dreadful purpose; you will work
upon the feelings of Miss Beverley, you will extort from her a promise
to see me no more!"
"Oppose not my passing!" cried Mrs Delvile, whose voice, face and
manner spoke the encreasing disturbance of her soul; "I have but too
long talked to you in vain; I must now take some better method for the
security of the honour of my family."
This moment appeared to Delvile decisive; and casting off in
desperation all timidity and restraint, he suddenly sprang forward, and
snatching the hand of Cecilia from his mother, he exclaimed, "I cannot,
I will not give her up!--nor now, madam, nor ever!--I protest it most
solemnly! I affirm it by my best hopes! I swear it by all that I hold
sacred!"
Grief and horror next to frenzy at a disappointment thus unexpected,
and thus peremptory, rose in the face of Mrs Delvile, who, striking her
hand upon her forehead, cried, "My brain is on fire!" and rushed out of
the room.
Cecilia had now no difficulty to disengage herself from Delvile, who,
shocked at the exclamation, and confounded by the sudden departure of
his mother, hastened eagerly to pursue her: she had only flown into the
next parlour; but, upon following her thither, what was his dread and
his alarm, when he saw her extended, upon the floor, her face, hands
and neck all covered with blood! "Great Heaven!" he exclaimed,
prostrating himself by her side, "what is it you have done!--where are
you wounded?--what direful curse have you denounced against your son?"
Not able to speak, she angrily shook her head, and indignantly made a
motion with her hand, that commanded him from her sight.
Cecilia, who had followed, though half dead with terror, had yet the
presence of mind to ring the bell. A servant came immediately; and
Delvile, starting up from his mother, ordered him to fetch the first
surgeon or physician he could find.
The alarm now brought the rest of the servants into the room, and Mrs
Delvile suffered herself to be raised from the ground, and seated in a
chair; she was still silent, but shewed a disgust to any assistance
from her son, that made him deliver her into the hands of the servants,
while, in speechless agony, he only looked on and watched her.
Neither did Cecilia, though forgetting her own sorrow, and no longer
sensible of personal weakness, venture to approach her: uncertain what
had happened, she yet considered herself as the ultimate cause of this
dreadful scene, and feared to risk the effect of the smallest
additional emotion.
The servant returned with a surgeon in a few minutes: Cecilia, unable
to wait and hear what he would say, glided hastily out of the room; and
Delvile, in still greater agitation, followed her quick into the next
parlour; but having eagerly advanced to speak to her, he turned
precipitately about, and hurrying into the hall, walked in hasty steps
up and down it, without courage to enquire what was passing.
At length the surgeon came out: Delvile flew to him, and stopt him, but
could ask no question. His countenance, however, rendered words
unnecessary; the surgeon understood him, and said, "The lady will do
very well; she has burst a blood vessel, but I think it will be of no
consequence. She must be kept quiet and easy, and upon no account
suffered to talk, or to use any exertion."
Delvile now let him go, and flew himself into a corner to return thanks
to heaven that the evil, however great, was less than he had at first
apprehended. He then went into the parlour to Cecilia, eagerly calling
out, "Heaven be praised, my mother has not voluntarily cursed me!"
"O now then," cried Cecilia, "once more make her bless you! the
violence of her agitation has already almost destroyed her, and her
frame is too weak for this struggle of contending passions;--go to her,
then, and calm the tumult of her spirits, by acquiescing wholly in her
will, and being to her again the son she thinks she has lost!"
"Alas!" said he, in a tone of the deepest dejection; "I have been
preparing myself for that purpose, and waited but your commands to
finally determine me."
"Let us both go to her instantly," said Cecilia; "the least delay may
be fatal."
She now led the way, and approaching Mrs Delvile, who, faint and weak,
was seated upon an arm chair, and resting her head upon the shoulder of
a maid servant, said, "Lean, dearest madam, upon _me_, and speak not,
but hear us!"
She then took the place of the maid, and desired her and the other
servants to go out of the room. Delvile advanced, but his mother's eye,
recovering, at his sight, its wonted fire, darted upon him a glance of
such displeasure, that, shuddering with the apprehension of inflaming
again those passions which threatened her destruction, he hastily sank
on one knee, and abruptly exclaimed, "Look at me with less abhorrence,
for I come but to resign myself to your will."
"Mine, also," cried Cecilia, "that will shall be; you need not speak
it, we know it, and here solemnly we promise that we will separate for
ever."
"Revive, then, my mother," said Delvile, "rely upon our plighted
honours, and think only of your health, for your son will never more
offend you."
Mrs Delvile, much surprised, and strongly affected, held out her hand
to him, with a look of mingled compassion and obligation, and dropping
her head upon the bosom of Cecilia, who with her other arm she pressed
towards her, she burst into an agony of tears.
"Go, go, Sir!" said Cecilia, cruelly alarmed, "you have said all that
is necessary; leave Mrs Delvile now, and she will be more composed."
Delvile instantly obeyed, and then his mother, whose mouth still
continued to fill with blood, though it gushed not from her with the
violence it had begun, was prevailed upon by the prayers of Cecilia to
consent to be conveyed into her room; and, as her immediate removal to
another house might be dangerous, she complied also, though very
reluctantly, with her urgent entreaties, that she would take entire
possession of it till the next day.
This point gained, Cecilia left her, to communicate what had passed to
Mrs Charlton; but was told by one of the servants that Mr Delvile
begged first to speak with her in the next room.
She hesitated for a moment whether to grant this request; but
recollecting it was right to acquaint him with his mother's intention
of staying all night, she went to him.
"How indulgent you are," cried he, in a melancholy voice, as she opened
the door; "I am now going post to Dr Lyster, whom I shall entreat to
come hither instantly; but I am fearful of again disturbing my mother,
and must therefore rely upon you to acquaint her what is become of me."
"Most certainly; I have begged her to remain here to-night, and I hope
I shall prevail with her to continue with me till Dr Lyster's arrival;
after which she will, doubtless, be guided either in staying longer, or
removing elsewhere, by his advice."
"You are all goodness," said he, with a deep sigh; "and how I shall
support--but I mean not to return hither, at least not to this house,
--unless, indeed, Dr Lyster's account should be alarming. I leave my
mother, therefore, to your kindness, and only hope, only entreat, that
your own health,--your own peace of mind--neither by attendance upon
her--by anxiety--by pity for her son--"
He stopt, and seemed gasping for breath; Cecilia turned from him to
hide her emotion, and he proceeded with a rapidity of speech that
shewed his terror of continuing with her any longer, and his struggle
with himself to be gone: "The promise you have made in both our names
to my mother, I shall hold myself bound to observe. I see, indeed, that
her reason or her life would fall the sacrifice of further opposition:
of myself, therefore, it is no longer time to think.--I take of you no
leave--I cannot! yet I would fain tell you the high reverence--but it
is better to say nothing--"
"Much better," cried Cecilia, with a forced and faint smile; "lose not,
therefore, an instant, but hasten to this good Dr Lyster."
"I will," answered he, going to the door; but there, stopping and
turning round, "one thing I should yet," he added, "wish to say,--I
have been impetuous, violent, unreasonable,--with shame and with regret
I recollect how impetuous, and how unreasonable: I have persecuted,
where I ought in silence to have submitted; I have reproached, where I
ought in candour to have approved; and in the vehemence with which I
have pursued you, I have censured that very dignity of conduct which
has been the basis of my admiration, my esteem, my devotion! but never
can I forget, and never without fresh wonder remember, the sweetness
with which you have borne with me, even when most I offended you. For
this impatience, this violence, this inconsistency, I now most
sincerely beg your pardon; and if, before I go, you could so far
condescend as to pronounce my forgiveness, with a lighter heart, I
think, I should quit you."
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