Clermont/Chapter 16
CHAP. VI.
Let's talk of graves, and worms, and epitaphs.
Madeline rose with a heaviness of heart which left her scarcely power to move; the day was as gloomy as her mind, and added, perhaps, by its melancholy to her's:—a slow, but penetrating, rain was falling, and the cattle that grazed upon the lawn were dripping with wet, and retiring to the most sheltered parts of the wood:—the waters of the lake looked black and troubled, nor did any brightness in the sky give a promise of a finer day. To complete the dejection of Madeline, on going to the dressing-room adjoining the Countess's chamber, she was informed by Agatha, whom, with Father Bertrand, she found there, that soon after she had left the Countess, she had had a fit of the most alarming nature. "I directly called the surgeon (proceeded Agatha), and he sat with her the remainder of the night, during which she had many returns of it: he has already dressed her wound, being under a necessity of departing at an early hour, and he says it bears a much more dangerous appearance than it did at first. Her fever too is augmented; but he dreads nothing so much as a return of the fits, which, in her present exhausted state, are, he says, enough to kill her."
"Oh! why, why (cried Madeline, whose agonies, at hearing this melancholy account, were inexpressible), why was I not called when so dreadful a change took place?"
"At first we were really too much confused to think about you (said Agatha); and when my Lady recovered, and we would have gone for you, she commanded us not to disturb you."
Madeline burst into tears at this proof of her friend's consideration for her amidst her own sufferings.
"Be composed, my dear young Lady (said Father Bertrand), Providence may perhaps produce another change more favourable to our wishes."
Madeline now asked if she might not see the Countess. Agatha answered in the affirmative. She accordingly entered the chamber. The foot-curtains of the bed, and those of one of the windows, were open, and Madeline had thus sufficient light to perceive the striking alteration which had taken place in the countenance of her friend; her lips were livid, her eyes were sunk, and a ghastly paleness overspread her face. The tears of Madeline increased; and when the Countess, whose heavy eyes opened on hearing her light step, called her to her bed-side, and, extending her hand, asked her how she was? deep convulsive sobs prevented all reply.
"Pray moderate this concern (said the Countess); 'tis true it excites my gratitude, but it also gives me unutterable pain;—the soothing attention of a friend is the best cordial I can receive, but that cordial you will not be able to administer if you yield to those emotions."
"Oh! Madam (cried Madeline, sinking on her knees, and pressing the cold hand of the Countess between her's), Oh! Madam, I will try to repress them; I will try to do every thing which can give me the smallest power of serving you."
"I am convinced you will, my love (replied the Countess), and the conviction is soothing to my sick heart. Oh! Madeline, 'tis not my frame, so much as my mind, that is disordered."
Weakness precluded farther conversation for the present, and Madeline seated herself beside the bed, nor stirred till absolutely commanded by the Countess to go into the next room to breakfast. She took but little, and quickly resumed her place by her friend.
About the middle of the day, the Countess had another fit. Apprised of its danger, the distress and terror of Madeline almost reduced her to the same extremity, and some of the servants were compelled to carry her from the room till their Lady had recovered. On regaining her senses, the Countess ordered Father Bertrand to be sent for; and, on his arrival, she dismissed every one else from the room. While he was shut up with her Ladyship, dinner was served in the dressing-room for Madeline, but served in vain; the grief and anxiety of her mind would neither permit her to eat nor drink, though pressed to do so by the faithful Agatha and the voluble Floretta, both of whom, but particularly the former, had a very sincere regard for her. She was informed by the latter on Agatha's quitting the room, as a great secret, that the surgeon had been requested by the Countess to bring a notary with him the next morning from the town where he lived, in order to make her will. "We all guess, Mam'selle (said Floretta), that 'tis on your account she is going to make one."
"Heaven grant (cried Madeline with fervour), that from her own hand alone I may ever receive any mark of her regard."
"Why to be sure, Mam'selle (said Floretta), that might be as pleasant a way as the other; but 'tis a comfort at any rate to be certain of it. One way or other, I am a great advocate for people making their wills; for you must know, Mam'selle, I lost a great deal by an old uncle of mine in Burgundy dying without one. He always promised to leave me every thing he had; but he was always of a shilly-shally disposition: so death whipped him off without his putting his promise into execution, and his property was then divided amongst all his relations. Had he kept his promise, little as folks think of me now, I can assure you, Mam'selle, I should have been an heiress, for he owned two very fine vineyards and an excellent house, and several large flocks of sheep; and with all those I think I might have held up my head pretty high."
"I think you hold it up high enough already," said Agatha, who had entered before the conclusion of the speech.
"Not higher (replied Floretta pertly), than I have a right to do."
"That point might be disputed," cried Agatha.
"Oh, not at present," said Madeline, to whom every sound was irksome, that did not convey some tidings of the Countess.
Father Bertrand continued a considerable time with the Countess; and when he left her, he passed hastily through the dressing-room. Madeline then returned to the chamber, followed by Agatha, and resumed her station. The Countess did not appear worse; and desired they might be left together.
"You have heard, my love, I suppose (said she, turning her languid eyes upon Madeline as Agatha closed the door after her), that Madame D'Alembert is sent for."
"I have, Madam," replied Madeline.
"I hope (resumed the Countess) she may not arrive too late."
"Heaven forbid! (cried Madeline shuddering); I trust when she arrives, she will find your Ladyship pretty well recovered."
"Believe me, my dear (said the Countess), 'tis on her account I principally desire to recover; she still chains me to a world, to which I am in a great degree grown indifferent, from the loss of several of my dearest connexions, as well as many other heavy calamities;—but for her, I should look forward to the idea of quitting it with pleasure, as I should to a release from pain and trouble—should consider it with delight, as a means of re-uniting me to those whom, while on earth, I must for ever mourn.
"For the sake of my beloved child I wish to be spared a little longer; with increasing years, she may perhaps acquire that fortitude which I fear she would at present want to support my loss. But should my wish be disappointed—should she arrive too late to receive my last blessing, my admonition against a sorrow, not only useless, but inimical to every duty—to you, Madeline, I entrust that blessing, that admonition for her; certain that, as one will be delivered by solemnity, so the other will be enforced with sympathy. Should it be my destiny never more to open my eyes upon her in this world, to you, Madeline, I leave the task of consoling her;—a task not unacceptable, I am convinced, to your grateful nature, and one well suited to its gentleness. She is already prepared to love and to esteem you; and, from a predilection in your favour, will listen patiently to all you say. Represent, therefore, to her (if indeed it happens), that the event she regrets, could not, according to the laws of human nature, have been much longer delayed. And, Oh! Madeline, I adjure you, never let her know how it was accelerated."
"May Heaven only prosper me (cried Madeline) as I keep inviolably from her knowledge the injury you received."
"Excuse my betraying a doubt of your doing so (resumed the Countess), after the solemn promise I have already received from you to that purpose; my fears for her urge me even to unnecessary caution. Oh! Madeline, great as was the pleasure I ever derived from your society, 'tis now heightened by considering you in the light of my child's comforter;—you will console, you will strengthen her, you will reconcile her to my loss."
"Impossible! impossible!" exclaimed Madeline, in the fullness of her heart, and bursting into tears.
"Ah! Madeline (said the Countess, affected by her emotion), do not embitter moments like these by a sorrow which will destroy all the hopes I entertained of your being a consoler to my child."
"May every event (cried Madeline, sinking on her knees), may every event (with uplifted hands) which could place her in want of consolation, be far, far distant from her. But should such an event now happen, Oh! may Heaven grant me power equal to my inclination to give it to her!"
"After my death," proceeded the Countess.
"Oh! Madam (interrupted Madeline), do not talk of it—you stab me to the very soul by doing so."
"Rather rejoice than grieve to hear me do so (said the Countess); how much more dreadful, at the very moment when I stand, perhaps, upon the brink of the grave, to find me trembling, shrinking at the idea of dissolution! I have always tried to act so as to be prepared for it; I have always prayed, that I might be composed when it approached—might be able, in the last extremity of nature, to hold out my hands to my Creator, deprecate his wrath, and implore his mercy. Oh! my love, but for the precious ties I have still remaining, I should welcome it as a release from a world that teems with troubles. But I will not, by perpetually reverting to those troubles, cast a cloud over the youthful prospects of my Madeline."
"Alas! (thought Madeline) they are already clouded."
"Life (resumed the Countess) is a chequered scene, and, by a proper performance of our duties, we may enjoy many comforts in it; 'tis the use we make of those comforts, and the manner in which we support their loss, that fixes the peace or misery of our last moments. Oh! happy are they (continued the Countess, while a faint spark of animation was rekindled in her eye), Oh! happy are they, who can review their past conduct without regret! who can think, to use the language of a poet of a sister country, that when their bones have run their race, they may rest in blessings, and have a tomb of orphan's tears wept over them.
"But to resume the subject you interrupted.—After my death, Madame D'Alembert, I am sure, will seek retirement; and the retirement of this chateau I am confident she will prefer to that of any other place, should Monsieur D'Alembert permit her to remain in it. Till more happily settled, I hope, and believe, your father will allow you to be her companion whenever she visits, and while she continues in it alone; for your society, I am convinced, will ever prove a source of comfort to her. But remember, I never desire you to be her companion, except she is without the company of Monsieur D'Alembert: and believe me, my Madeline, I am not so selfish as not to hope that you may soon have tenderer claims to fulfil than any she can have upon you. Let not the disappointment of your first expectations make you suppress all others; oppose reason to despondence, and the latter will soon be conquered. 'Tis a duty you owe your father as well as yourself, to try and do every thing which can promote your happiness; endeavour, therefore, to erase from your heart those impressions, which can only give you pain, and to prepare it to esteem and be propitious to some worthy man.
"Should chance again throw de Sevignie in your way, fly from him instantly, I conjure you, except he offers a full explanation of his conduct. Excuse me, my love (on hearing a gentle sigh steal from Madeline) for mentioning a subject that is painful to you; but you are so innocent, so totally unacquainted with art, that too much caution cannot be used in guarding you against it. And even then (continued she, returning to the subject of de Sevignie) if he should offer to account for his conduct, do not listen to him; refer him to your father to give the explanation; for an unimpassioned ear he cannot deceive. If by any chance you should ever discover him to be the amiable character you once fancied, you will find by my will, which I purpose making to-morrow, that want of fortune will be no hindrance to your union."
Madeline could not speak, but tears, more eloquently than words could have done, expressed her feelings.
"But I am wrong (resumed the Countess), in having suggested the idea of such an union to you—an idea which may counteract all I have before been saying."
"No, Madam (said Madeline in a low voice), it will not."
"Please me, my Madeline (cried the Countess after a pause), by saying that you will remember what I have said to you."
"Remember! (repeated Madeline); Oh! Madam, could you think I could ever forget aught you said?—Remember!—I will do more—I will try to fulfil every injunction you have given me, if indeed (in a scarcely articulate voice) it should be necessary to do so."
"I thank you for saying so (replied the Countess); I thank you not only for this, but for the many proofs of affection and attention I have received from you. Your society has been a greater happiness, a greater comfort to me than I can express; it has frequently beguiled the cares which oppressed me—cares which the generality of people considered me a stranger to. I wished to be thought happy, and I endeavoured to appear so; but no tongue could describe the anguish which has long preyed upon my heart. Never, however, let this involuntary effusion of confidence escape you; let it be buried in your breast with all you know concerning the black transaction in the chapel—a transaction which I fervently hope may never be known to more than the few already unhappily acquainted with it;—from every eye I would conceal its author;—my forgiveness is his, and my earnest prayers are offered up to Heaven for its forgiveness also for him."
The evening was now far advanced, and the Countess appeared exhausted by speaking. Madeline besought her to take a reviving cordial; she complied with the entreaty, and then said she would settle herself to rest. She charged Madeline to retire at an early hour to bed. "You look pale and agitated, my love (said she); but cheer up—the mention of death does not make me nearer dying. farewell! may good angels for ever watch around you!" Madeline pressed her lips to her cheek; and then rising from her knees, closed the curtains of the bed, and withdrew. She sent Agatha and Floretta to the chamber; then retired to her own, where she offered up a fervent prayer to Heaven for the restoration of her valuable and beloved friend; after which, finding herself still very languid, and the rain being over, she descended to the garden, hoping the evening air might revive her.