Maria Edgeworth - "Tales & Novels, Vol. IX"

T.S. Arthur - "The Wedding Guest"

Gotthold Ephraim Lessing - "Die Juden"

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Tales and Novels, Vol. V by Maria Edgeworth

M >> Maria Edgeworth >> Tales and Novels, Vol. V




"She read but three lines of my letter," said he to himself; "then she
only guesses that I have an intrigue with Mrs. Wharton, without knowing
that in this very letter I used my utmost influence to recall Mrs.
Wharton to--herself."

The belief that Selina thought worse of him than he deserved was some
consolation to Vivian. He was resolved to recover her esteem: he
determined to break off all connexion with Mrs. Wharton; and, full of
this intention, he was impatient till the physicians permitted him to
go abroad. When he was at last free from their dominion, had escaped
from his chamber, and had just gained the staircase, he was stopped by
his mother.

"Charles," said she, "before you quit me again, it is my duty to say a
few words to you upon a subject of some importance."

Lady Mary led the way to her dressing-room with a dignified air; Vivian
followed with a mixture of pride and alarm in his manner. From the bare
idea of a maternal lecture his mind revolted: he imagined that she was
going to repeat the remonstrance which she had formerly made against his
intimacy with Mrs. Wharton, and against _platonics_ in general; but he
had not the least apprehension that she had discovered the whole truth:
he was, therefore, both surprised and shocked, when she spoke to him in
the following manner:

"The libertinism of the age in which we live has so far loosened all the
bonds of society, and all the ties of nature, that I doubt not but a
mother's anxiety for the morals of her son--her only son--the son over
whose education she has watched from his infancy, may appear, even in
his eyes, a fit subject for ridicule. I am well aware that my solicitude
and my counsels have long been irksome to him, I have lost his
affections by a steady adherence to my duty; but I shall persevere with
the less reluctance, since the dread of my displeasure, or the hope of
my approbation, cannot now touch his sensibility. During your illness,
you have betrayed a secret--you have reason to start with horror. Is it
possible that a son of mine, with the principles which I have
endeavoured to instil into his mind, should become so far depraved? Do I
live to hear, from his own lips, that he is the seducer of a married
woman--and that woman the wife of his friend?"

Vivian walked up and down the room in great agony: his mother continued,
with increased severity of manner, "I say nothing of your dissimulation
with me, nor of all your _platonic_ subterfuges--I know that, with a man
of intrigue, falsehood is deemed a virtue. I shall not condescend to
inquire farther into your guilty secrets--I now think myself fortunate
in having no place in your confidence. But I here declare to you, in the
most solemn manner, that I never will see you again until all connexion
between you and Mrs. Wharton is utterly dissolved. I do not advise--I
COMMAND, and must be obeyed--or I cast you off for ever."

Lady Mary left the room as she uttered these words. Her son was deeply
struck with his mother's eloquence: he knew she was right, yet his pride
was wounded by the peremptory severity of her manner:--his remorse and
his good resolutions gave place to anger. The more he felt himself in
the wrong, the less he could bear to be reproached by the voice of
authority. Even because his mother _commanded_ him to give up all
connexion with Mrs. Wharton, he was inclined to disobey--he could not
bear to seem to do right merely in compliance to her will. He went to
visit Mrs. Wharton in a very different temper from that in which, half
an hour before this conference with his mother, he had resolved to see
the lady. Mrs. Wharton knew how to take advantage both of the weakness
of his character and of the generosity of his temper. She fell into
transports of grief when she found that Lady Mary Vivian and Miss Sidney
were in possession of her secret. It was in vain that Vivian assured her
that it would he kept inviolably; she persisted in repeating, "that her
reputation was lost; that she had sacrificed every thing for a man who
would, at last, desert her in the most treacherous and barbarous manner,
leaving her at the mercy of her husband, the most profligate,
hard-hearted tyrant upon earth. As to her being reconciled to him," she
declared, "_that_ was totally out of the question; his behaviour to her
was such, that she could not live with him, even if her heart were not
fatally prepossessed in favour of another." Her passions seemed wrought
to the highest pitch. With all the eloquence of beauty in distress, she
appealed to Vivian as her only friend; she threw herself entirely upon
his protection; she vowed that she could not, would not, remain another
day in the same house with Mr. Wharton; that her destiny, her existence,
were at Vivian's mercy. Vivian had not sufficient fortitude to support
this scene. He stood irresolute. The present temptation prevailed over
his better resolutions. He was actually persuaded by this woman, whom he
did not love, whom he could not esteem, to carry her off to the
continent--whilst, at the very time, he admired, esteemed, and loved
another. The plan of the elopement was formed and settled in a few
minutes;--on Mrs. Wharton's part, apparently with all the hurry of
passion; on Vivian's with all the confusion of despair. The same
carriage, the very same horses, that had been ordered to carry our hero
to his beloved Selina, conveyed him and Mrs. Wharton the first stage of
their flight towards the continent. The next morning the following
paragraph appeared in the newspapers:--

"Yesterday, the beautiful and fashionable Mrs. W----, whose marriage
we announced last year to the celebrated Mr. W----, eloped from his
house in St. James's-street, in company with C---- V----, member
for ----shire. This catastrophe has caused the greatest _sensation_
and astonishment in the circles of fashion; for the lady in question
had always, till this fatal step, preserved the most unblemished
reputation; and Mr. and Mrs. W---- were considered as models of
conjugal felicity. The injured husband was attending his public duty in
the House of Commons; and, as we are credibly informed, was, with
patriotic ardour, speaking in his country's cause, when this unfortunate
event, which for ever bereaves him of domestic happiness, took place.
What must increase the poignancy of his feelings upon the occasion
remains to be stated--that the seducer was his intimate friend, a
young man, whom he had raised into notice in public life, and whom he
had, with all that warmth and confidence of heart for which he is
remarkable, introduced into his house, and trusted with his beloved
wife. Mr. W---- is, we hear, in pursuit of the fugitives."




CHAPTER VII.


In the modern fashionable code of honour, when a man has seduced or
carried off his friend's wife, the next thing he has to do is to fight
the man whom he has injured and betrayed. By thus appealing to the
ordeal of the duel, he may not only clear himself from guilt; but, if it
be done with proper spirit, he may acquire celebrity and glory in the
annals of gallantry, and in the eyes of the fair and innocent. In our
hero's place, most men of fashion would have triumphed in the notoriety
of his offence, and would have rejoiced in an opportunity of offering
the husband the satisfaction of a gentleman. But, unfortunately for
Vivian, he had not yet suited his principles to his practice: he had
acted like a man of fashion; but, alas! he still thought and felt like a
man of virtue--as the following letter will show.

"TO THE REV. HENRY RUSSELL.

"Indignant as you will be, Russell, at all you hear of me, you cannot be
more shocked than I am myself. I do not write to palliate or
apologize--my conduct admits of no defence--I shall attempt none,
private or public--I have written to my lawyer to give directions that
no sort of defence shall be set up on my part, when the affair comes
into Doctors' Commons--as it shortly will; for I understand that poor
Wharton has commenced a prosecution. As to damages he has only to name
them--any thing within the compass of my fortune he may command. Would
to God that money could make him amends! But he is too generous, too
noble a fellow--profligate as he is in some things, how incapable would
he be of acting as basely as I have done! There is not, perhaps, at this
moment, a human being who has so high an opinion of the man I have
injured as I have myself:--he did not love his wife--but that is no
excuse for me--his honour is as much wounded as if I had robbed him of
her during the time he loved her most fondly:--he once doted upon her,
and would have loved her again, when he was tired of his gallantries;
and they might then have lived together as happily as ever, if I had not
been--. What was I?--What am I?--Not a villain--or I should glory in
what I have done--but the weakest of human beings--and how true it is,
Russell, that 'all wickedness is weakness!'

"I understand that W----, wherever he goes, calls me a coward, as well
as a scoundrel; and says that I have kept out of the way to avoid
fighting him. He is mistaken. It is true, I had the utmost dread of
having his life to answer for--and nothing should have provoked me to
fire upon him;--but I had determined how to act--I would have met him,
and have stood his fire. I should not be sorry, at present, to be put
out of the world; and would rather fall by his hand than by any other.
But since this is out of the question, and that things have taken
another turn, I have only to live, as long as it shall please God, a
life of remorse--and, at least, to try to make the unfortunate woman who
has thrown herself upon my protection as happy as I can.

"If you have any remaining regard for a pupil who has so disgraced you,
do me one favour--Go to Miss Sidney, and give her what comfort you can.
Say nothing _for me_, or _of me_, but that I wish her to forget me as
soon as possible. She discarded me from her heart when she first
discovered this intrigue--before this last fatal step. Still I had hopes
of recovering her esteem and affection; for I had resolved--But no
matter what I resolved--all my resolutions failed; and now I am utterly
unworthy of her love. This, and all that is good and happy in life, all
the fair hopes and virtuous promises of my youth, I must give up. Early
as it is in my day, my sun has set. I truly desire that she should
forget me; for you know I am bound in honour--Honour! How dare I use the
word? I am bound, after the divorce, to marry the woman I have seduced.
Oh, Russell! what a wife for your friend!--What a daughter-in-law for my
poor mother, after all her care of my education--all her affection--all
her pride in me!--It will break her heart! Mine will not break. I shall
drag on, perhaps, to a miserable old age. I am of too feeble a nature to
feel these things as strong minds would--as you will for me; but do not
blame yourself for my faults. All that man could do for me, you did.
This must be some consolation to you, my dear and excellent friend! May
I still call you friend?--or have I no friend left upon earth?

"C. VIVIAN."

From this letter some idea may be formed of what this unhappy man
suffered at this period of his life, from "the reflections of a mind not
used to its own reproaches." The view of the future was as dreadful as
the retrospect of the past. His thoughts continually dwelt upon the
public trial which was preparing--before him he saw all its disgraceful
circumstances. Then the horror of marrying, of passing his whole future
existence with a woman whom he could not esteem or trust! These last
were secret subjects of anxiety and anguish, the more intensely felt,
because he could not speak of them to any human being. Such as Mrs.
Wharton was, she was to be his wife; and he was called upon to defend
her against reproach and insult,--if possible, from contempt. During the
course of six weeks, which they spent together in exile at Brussels,
Vivian became so altered in his appearance, that his most intimate
friends could scarcely have known him; his worst enemies, if he had had
any, could not have desired the prolongation of his sufferings.

One evening, as he was sitting alone in his hotel, ruminating bitter
thoughts, a letter was brought to him from Mr. Russell; the first he had
received since he left England. Every one, who has been absent from his
friends in a foreign country, must know the sort of emotion which the
bare sight of a letter from _home_ excites; but, in Vivian's
circumstances, abandoned as he felt himself, and deserving to be
abandoned by his best friends, the sight of a letter from Russell so
struck him, that he gazed upon the direction for some minutes, almost
without power or wish to open it. At last he opened, and read, "Return
to your country, your friends, and yourself, Vivian! Your day is not yet
over! Your sun is not yet set!--Resume your energy--recover your
self-confidence--carry your good resolutions into effect--and you may
yet be an honour to your family, a delight to your fond mother, and the
pride of your friend Russell. Your remorse has been poignant and
sincere; let it be salutary and permanent in its consequences: this is
the repentance which religion requires. The part of a man of sense and
virtue is to make his past errors of use to his future conduct. Whilst I
had nothing to say that could give you pleasure, I forbore to answer
your letter; I forbore to overwhelm a mind sinking under remorse. My
sacred duty is to waken the sinner to repentance, not to shut the gates
of mercy on the penitent. Now, I can relieve your mind from part of the
load by which it has been justly oppressed. You know that nothing can
palliate your conduct in an intrigue with a married woman--from this I
had hoped your moral and religious education would have preserved you.
But of the premeditated guilt of deceiving the husband, and laying a
plan to seduce the wife, I never suspected you; and I may now tell you,
that you have not betrayed Mr. Wharton; he has betrayed you. You have
not seduced Mrs. Wharton; you have been seduced by her. You are not
bound to marry her--Wharton cannot obtain a divorce--he dare not bring
the affair to trial; if he does, he is undone. There has been collusion
between the parties. The proof of this you will find in the enclosed
paper, which will be sworn to, in due legal form, whenever it is
necessary. Even when you see them, you will scarcely believe these
'damning proofs' of Wharton's baseness. But I always knew, I always told
you, that this pretence to honour and candour, frankness and friendship,
with this avowed contempt of all principle and all virtue, could not be
safe, could not he sincere, would not _stand the test_.--No--nothing
should make me trust to the private honour of a man so corrupt in public
life as Mr. Wharton. A man who sells his conscience for his interest
will sell it for his pleasure. A man who will betray his country will
betray his friend. It is in vain to palter with our conscience: there
are not two honours--two honesties. How I rejoice at this moment, in the
reflection that your character, as a public man, is yet untarnished You
have still this great advantage:--feel its value. Return, and
distinguish yourself among your countrymen: distinguish yourself by
integrity still more than by talents. A certain degree of talents is now
cheap in England: integrity is what we want--true patriotism, true
public spirit, noble ambition not that vile scramble for places and
pensions, which some men call ambition; not that bawling, brawling,
_Thersites_ character, which other men call public spirit; not that
marketable commodity with which Wharton, and such as he, cheat popular
opinion for a season;--but that fair virtue which will endure, and abide
by its cause to the last; which, in place or out, shall be the same;
which, successful or unsuccessful, shall sustain the possessor's
character through all changes of party; which, whilst he lives, shall
command respect from even the most profligate of his contemporaries;
upon which, when he is dying, he may reflect with satisfaction; which,
after his death, shall be the consolation of his friends, and the glory
of his country. All this is yet in your power, Vivian.--Come, then, and
fulfil the promise of your early years! Come, and restore to your mother
a son worthy of her!--Come, and surpass the hopes of your true friend,

"H. RUSSELL."

The rapid succession of feelings with which Vivian read this letter can
scarcely be imagined. The paper it enclosed was from a former
waiting-maid of Mrs. Wharton's; a woman who was expected to be the
principal evidence on Mr. Wharton's side. She had been his mistress; one
of those innumerable mistresses, to whom he had, of course, addressed
his transferable promises of eternal constancy. She too, of course, had
believed the vow, in spite of all experience and probability; and while
she pardoned his infidelities to her mistress, &c. all which she deemed
_very natural for a gentleman like him_, yet she was astonished and
outrageous when she found him faithless to her own charms. In a fit of
jealousy she flew to Mr. Russell, whom she knew to be Vivian's friend;
and, to revenge herself on Wharton, revealed the secrets which she had
in her power; put into Russell's hands the proofs of collusion between
Mr. Wharton and his wife; and took malicious pains to substantiate her
evidence, to a lawyer's full satisfaction; knowing that she might
prevent the possibility of a divorce, and that she should thus punish
her perjured inconstant in the most sensible manner, by at once
depriving him of twenty thousand pounds damages, and by chaining him
again to a wife whom he abhorred.

The same post which brought Vivian this woman's deposition and Russell's
letter brought Mrs. Wharton notice that the whole plan of collusion was
discovered: she was therefore prepared for Vivian's reproaches, and
received the first burst of his astonishment and indignation with a
studied Magdalen expression of countenance: then she attempted a silly
apology, laying all the blame on her husband, and vowing that she had
acted under terror, and that her life would not have been safe in his
hands if she had not implicitly obeyed and executed his horrid plans.
She wept and kneeled in vain. Finding Vivian immoveable in his purpose
to return immediately to England, she suddenly rose from her knees, and,
all beautiful as she was, looked in Vivian's eyes like a fiend, whilst,
with an unnatural smile, she said to him, "You see, fool as I am thought
to be, I have been too clever for _some people_; and I can tell Mr.
Wharton that I have been too clever for him too. His heart is set upon a
divorce; but he can't have it. He can't marry Miss P----, nor yet her
fortune, nor ever shall! I shall remain at Brussels--I have friends
here--and friends who were my friends before I was forced to give my
hand to Mr. Wharton, or my smiles to you, sir!--people who will not
tease me with talking of remorse and repentance, and such ungallant,
ungentlemanlike stuff; nor sit bewailing themselves, like a country
parson, instead of dashing out with me here in a fashionable style, as a
man of any spirit would have done. But you!--you're neither good nor
bad; and no woman will ever love you, nor ever did. Now you know my
whole mind."

"Would to Heaven I had known it sooner!" said Vivian. "No--I rejoice
that I did not sooner know, and that I never could have suspected, such
depravity!--under such a form, too."

Mrs. Wharton's eye glanced with satisfaction upon the large mirror
opposite to her. Vivian left her in utter disgust and horror. "Drive
on!" cried he, as he threw himself into the chaise that was to carry him
away; "Faster! faster!"

The words, "and no woman will ever love you, nor ever, did," rung upon
Vivian's ear. "There she is mistaken, thank Heaven!" said he to himself:
yet the words still dwelt upon his mind, and gave him exquisite pain.
Upon looking again at Russell's letter, he observed that Selina Sidney's
name was never mentioned; that she was neither directly nor indirectly
alluded to in the whole letter. What omen to draw from this he could not
divine. Again he read it; and all that Russell said of public life, and
his exhortations to him to come and distinguish himself in public and in
the political world, struck him in a new light. It seemed as if Russell
was sensible that, there were no farther hopes of Selina, and that
therefore he tried to turn Vivian's mind from love to ambition. Fourteen
times he read over this letter before he reached England; but he could
not discover from it any thing as to the point on which his heart was
most interested. He reached London in this, uncertainty.

"Put me out of suspense, my best friend," cried he, the moment he saw
Russell: "tell me, is Selina living?"

"Yes--she has been very ill, but is now recovered--quite recovered, and
with your mother, who is grown fonder of her than ever she was."

"Selina alive! well! and with my mother!--and may I--I don't mean may I
_now_,--but may I _ever_ hope?--Believe me, I feel myself capable of any
exertions, any forbearance, to obtain her forgiveness--to merit--May I
ever hope for it?--Speak!"

Russell assured him that he need not dread Miss Sidney's resentment, for
that she felt none; she had expressed pity more than anger--that she had
taken pains to sooth his mother; and had expressed sincere satisfaction
on hearing of his _release_ from his unworthy bondage, and at his return
home to his friends.

The tone in which Russell spoke, and the seriousness and embarrassment
of his manner, alarmed Vivian inexpressibly. He stood silent, and dared
not ask farther explanation for some minutes.--At length he broke
silence, and conjured his friend to go immediately to Miss Sidney and
his mother, and to request permission for him to see them both in each
other's presence. Russell said, that if Vivian insisted, he would comply
with his request; but that he advised him not to attempt to see Miss
Sidney at present; not till he had been some time in London--till he had
given some earnest of the steadiness of his conduct--till he had
appeared again, and distinguished himself in public life. "This might
raise you again in her esteem; and," continued Russell, "you must be
aware that her love depends on her esteem--at least, that the one cannot
exist without the other."

"Will you deliver a letter to her from me?" said Vivian. "If you
think I had better not attempt to see her yet, you will deliver a
letter for me?"

After some hesitation, or rather some deliberation, Russell
answered, in a constrained voice, "I will deliver your letter, if
you insist upon it."

Vivian wrote:--Russell undertook to deliver the letter, though with
evident reluctance. In the mean time Vivian went to see his mother, whom
he longed, yet dreaded to meet. Her manner was not now severe and
haughty, as when she last addressed him; but mild and benign: she held
out her hand to him, and said, "Thank God! my son is restored to me, and
to himself!"

She could say no more; but embraced him tenderly. Russell had shown Lady
Mary that her son had been the dupe of a preconcerted scheme to work
upon his passions. She deplored his weakness, but she had been touched
by his sufferings; and was persuaded that his remorse would guard him
against future errors. Therefore not a word or look of reproach escaped
from her. When he spoke of Selina, Lady Mary, with great animation of
countenance and warmth of eulogium, declared, that it was the first wish
of her heart to see her son married to a woman of such a noble character
and angelic temper; "_but_," added her ladyship, her manner changing
suddenly, as she pronounced the word _but_--before she could explain the
_but_, Russell came into the room, and told Vivian that Miss Sidney
desired to see him. Vivian heard the words with joy; but his joy was
checked by the great gravity and embarrassment of his friend's
countenance, and by a sigh of ill omen from his mother. Eager to relieve
his suspense, he hastened to Selina, who, as Russell told him, was in
Lady Mary's dressing-room--the room in which he had first declared his
passion for her. Hope and fear alternately seized him--fear prevailed
the moment that he beheld Selina. Not that any strong displeasure
appeared in her countenance--no, it was mild and placid; but it was
changed towards him, and its very serenity was alarming. Whilst she
welcomed him to his native country and to his friends, and while she
expressed hopes for his future happiness, all hope forsook him, and, in
broken sentences, he attempted to stammer out some answer; then,
throwing himself into a chair, he exclaimed, "I see all future happiness
is lost for me--and I deserve it!"

"Do not reproach yourself," said Selina in a sweet voice; but the voice,
though sweet, was so altered to him, that it threw him into despair. "It
is my wish, not to inflict, but to spare you pain. I have, therefore,
desired to see you as soon as possible, that you might not form false
expectations."

John Crace digests High Fidelity by Nick Hornby
Review: The Thin Blue Line: How Humanitarianism Went to War by Conor FoleyAid worker Foley conducts a fascinating and important analysis of recent wars and disasters around the world, says Steven Poole

Review: Under Two Dictators: Prisoner of Stalin and Hitler by Margarete Buber-Neumann

He might be almost 90 years old in real terms, but Christopher Robin and his bear of very little brain are set to make a literary comeback after the estate of AA Milne agreed to authorise the first-ever official sequel to the much-loved children's books.

Return to the Hundred Acre Wood by author David Benedictus picks up from the poignant ending of Milne's last Pooh book, The House at Pooh Corner, in which Christopher Robin is growing up and heading away to school. "Pooh, promise you won't forget about me, ever. Not even when I'm a hundred," he tells the bear, and they leave together.

The estates of Milne and EH Shepard, who provided the simple but enduring illustrations for the books, said they had been searching for a sequel that would do justice to the original stories for "a good many years".

Although Disney has franchised the characters in a number of films, there has not previously been an authorised literary sequel to Milne's books, Winnie-the-Pooh and The House at Pooh Corner, first published in 1926 and 1928. Milne wrote the books for his son Christopher Robin, naming Pooh after his teddy bear.

The sequel, to be published by Egmont Publishing in Britain and Penguin imprint Dutton Children's Books in the US, is due out on 5 October, illustrated by Mark Burgess. Benedictus, who is familiar with the world of Winnie the Pooh after adapting and producing audio versions of the books starring Judi Dench, Stephen Fry and Jane Horrocks, did not reveal any more details, but promised that the book would both "complement and maintain Milne's idea that whatever happens, a little boy and his bear will always be playing".

Michael Brown, chairman of Pooh Properties, which manages the affairs of the Milne and Shepard estates, said the sequel would capture "the spirit and quality" of the original books.

Benedictus said all Milne's well-loved characters, from Tigger to Eeyore, would be making an appearance in his sequel, which features 10 stories and around 150 illustrations. The stories retain their original 1920s setting.

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Review: The Error World: An Affair with Stamps by Simon Garfield

One might say that Margarete Buber-Neumann had a charmed life, had it not been so horrible. She was fortunate - if that is the word - to be sent to a Soviet labour camp in 1939, during a momentary lull in the mass shooting of prisoners. Handed over to the Nazis in 1940, she was similarly lucky to be released from an SS concentration camp in 1945, just days before the remaining prisoners were forced on evacuation marches ending in death. It is a measure of the dismal times she lived through that such events marked her as fortunate, and it is a testament to her skill as a writer that this thoughtful, humane memoir (published in English in 1949) became an international bestseller. From the very first page we are with her, scurrying through Moscow surrounded by images of Stalin. We accompany her throughout the gruelling years ahead, encountering a host of characters, good and bad, and share in her dogged attempt to make sense of the madness of totalitarianism. This revised text is the definitive edition.

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