Duty and Inclination/Chapter 37
CHAPTER XVI.
Virtue shares the sigh,
By straining up the steep of excellence,
By battles fought, and from temptations won."
Young.
Calcutta being the final destination of the regiment, after remaining a short time at Madras, the passengers were again summoned to embark.
When arrived at Calcutta, Douglas found himself again an inhabitant of that country which he had quitted on leave of absence, solicited by him chiefly for the purpose of affording himself an opportunity of returning with a partner. Frustrated, however, in his views, nothing remained for him, as he supposed, but to continue his journey through life single; not, however, as formerly, to waste his time in luxurious indulgences, but to use it in a manner the most productive of advantage. "Here," said he to himself, in the words of the poet,
"Here let me learn the use of life,
When best enjoy'd—when most improved."
To afford diversity to his leisure hours, he was sometimes led to investigate Indian manners and customs, and to examine the original doctrines of the Gentoos, before they had degenerated into their present gross superstition, exhibiting in many respects traces of sublimity. His aim was to examine truth at its native fountain, unsullied by speculative and erroneous theories; not to float on the surface, but to dive deep, even to the gathering of its inmost treasures. It was thus that Douglas employed the dawn of his reformation.
In emerging from that twilight which preceded the survey he then took of the rising morn, much, he felt assured, was to be done, reflected on, endured, and even conquered, before his advancement to a state of more permanent and genuine virtue. A new creation had opened upon him, or rather a new life; and he was well aware that as is the rise of infancy to youth and manhood, so comparatively is the progress of the light of intelligence and the love of goodness in the human soul.
It was true he had burst the trammels of his captivity, and that the path of virtue was before him, no longer veiled and bewildered by the mists of evil and mazes of error, with all their vain and false delusions. Nevertheless, however delightful seemed the change,—the brilliant prospect before him chasing those intervals of sorrow and remorse for the ill-spent past,—yet so weak and frail is man, and difficult to reform, that Douglas often detected himself straying from the way he had proposed to tread. In the new fund of attainments he acquired, he found, by the force of his reasonings and convincing propositions, he was enabled to bear away the palm, and become the victor in almost every dispute or point of controversy, whether in philosophy, metaphysics, or theology, even with those professedly learned, and much his seniors,—receiving the suffrages bestowed upon him as due to his superior abilities.
He had yet to learn the salutary lesson, that none can arrogate aught to themselves, since man of himself is wholly destitute of intelligence. Thus self-love, with all its concomitant dangers, was yet, by further trials, mortifications, and sorrows, to be subdued, ere he could arrive to that capacity and state, fit to approach and view more closely the splendour and glory of the perfect day!
The constitution of Douglas had been already seasoned to the climate, and as he carefully avoided the least excess, his improved morals leading his choice to temperance, he became so sensible of recovery, as to feel but little diminution of his former vigour. In his desire for meditation, and the practice of self-introspection, his greatest delight was to escape from the invitations of his comrades, many of whom kept open houses for the purpose of dissipating ennui by gambling, dice and cards being their chief recreation besides attending the festival nights given by the most wealthy of the European settlers holding civil appointments in the country; those, also, held at the residence of their Colonel, formed for them a convenient lounge.
Fond of indulging in that eclât attendant upon the reception of company, the entertainments of Mrs. Melbourne were nothing inferior to any that then took place in Calcutta, and in which her protégée, Miss Airey, shone as the centre star of attraction amongst the officers, who vied in their homage to her; she never appeared in public but with a train of military, consisting chiefly of those who in their attentions seemed desirous but of amusement; more serious aspirants were therefore restrained from approaching her.
Without other advantages in life beyond the short-lived attractions of youth, dependant upon the bounty of Mrs. Melbourne, who, though a generous protectress, allowed her a too great latitude in the indulgence of pleasure, her situation was peculiarly interesting, and at the same time defenceless,—incitement sufficient for the thoughtless and unreflecting to flutter around her. Time was when Douglas, like his comrades, might also have poured into her ear the language of flattery,—when his vanity, inflated, might have built his triumphs on the weakness of her heart; now, on the contrary, such conduct was viewed by him under an aspect totally different.
To rob a young, unsuspecting, confiding creature of her peace; to sport with her nicest, tenderest, and most susceptible feelings, carried so far until even her claims upon the respect and esteem of the world might be lessened, lost, perhaps never to be recalled; or, to plunge still further into the arts of seduction, to take a greater advantage of her sensibilities, to impair her morals, and, finally, communicate to her once unsullied affections that taint, never in this life, nor perhaps even beyond the grave, to be repaired; endangering thus the happiness of an immortal soul! How solemn the reflection! And yet how many, thought Douglas, betray, forsake, abandon those of the weaker sex, upon whom their arts and insinuations have unhappily succeeded, rather than follow those obligations and duties they should feel themselves as men of honour bound to perform!
Ideas such as these often suggested themselves to Douglas in his observations upon Miss Airey, who, in the exaltation of his sentiments, appeared to him sometimes as a fair deluded victim, building upon expectations eventually to be frustrated. Thus commiserating her situation, how much did he desire that he had it in his power to ward off the evils which menaced her.
Amongst the officers surrounding her, he whose flatteries seemed to gain the most upon her attention was one of all the regiment most likely to deceive her, to lead her unwarily into the supposition that the apparent devotion he paid her would be followed by an offer of his hand; when, in reality, his aim was merely to divert himself at her expense, to chase apathy, and pass away the flying minutes by the pleasures of gallantry. How remain an indifferent spectator, thought the generous Douglas, and not lend an assistant hand to save her from the impending sorrow, ere she will find herself suddenly neglected, deserted, and that perhaps at a time when her heart will have become entangled too deeply to admit of redress!
But how proceed, thought he; what steps should he take? What right had he to interfere in a point so nice and delicate, and one in which he had no concern, excepting what interest in Miss Airey, and humanity regarding her fate, dictated? Would Miss Airey receive his warnings however cautiously insinuated? It was uncertain whether she would or would not; or could it be expected that he, who was thus discreditably influenced in the pursuit of her, would listen to his expostulations, or to the most cogent argument he might adduce against his conduct? How cope with the passions of a headstrong opponent, with whom he had already acquired the character of a moralist; whose principles had been rendered severe by disappointment and melancholy; whose heart had become seared against future impressions from love, and rendered inaccesible to the charms of female sprightliness and raillery?
Thus weighing the subject, he dismissed it for the time, to be renewed in the future, under a point of view leading to greater energy and decision, worthy of one whose virtuous change of life, above the mere speculations of theory, was yet, by the practice, to give proofs of its unfeigned existence.
Disgusted with the insipid boastings of him who continued his unceasing assiduities to Miss Airey, without any advancement towards that issue doubtless anticipated by herself and friends—flirting with that young girl, until reports highly injurious to her future interests had arisen, her hand having been long since given to him; from the general principles adopted by Douglas on the subject, the only means left open to him for rescuing her from such a situation, was, he conceived, to have a conversation of a private nature with Mrs. Melbourne.
His discrimination led him to the assurance that Miss Airey, under some youthful levities, concealed solid qualities. Whenever he had been led accidentally to approach her and to address her, the gaiety of the moment instantly dispersed, whilst a shade, as of regret or reflection, passed her brow: but sentiments such as these, by the life of perpetual dissipation she led, were, he imagined, in danger of tarnish, if not of becoming entirely obscured. Nevertheless, she seemed to him so new to life, so truly a child—a reason, doubtless, more urgent to uphold and lend her his protection: the ray of humanity irradiating her features—the exclamation that burst from her, upon his first arousing from the torpor of insensibility, whilst extended in his narrow hammock on ship-board, had ever since left impressions of gratitude on his memory.
Miss Airey had often observed Douglas mingling with the crowd, an inattentive observer, she supposed, to all that was passing. Mistaken, however, in her opinion respecting herself, he had been ever far from being so: and it was on one of those gala nights given by Mrs. Melbourne, that Douglas had formed the decided resolution of saving her from the perilous situation in which he imagined he beheld her, arising from the danger of her so openly giving countenance to him whose vanity was already but too much excited—leading him, in consequence, so perseveringly to engross her.
His lofty mien, and bright blue eye,
The hero marks, in spirit high;
But still his open front and smile
Betray a gen'rous soul the while—
To succour innocence from woe,
And to forgive a vanquish'd foe.
Turning her looks unconsciously to that part of the assembly where Douglas leaned, engaged in serious contemplation, Ellina chanced to encounter his eye intently fixed upon her; the expression of which bespeaking at once pity and benevolence, her heart, mortified, reproached her for her lightness. How vain, how giddy he thinks me! it whispered. Her mirth vanished—no longer had she the power of shining in the little hemisphere of her glory.
Douglas changed his station, to withdraw himself, as the night advanced, from the crowd which began to throng the apartment. Ellina saw him no longer; then, as ever, how short seemed his notice of her! Fate seemed always to oppose an obstacle to his addressing her.
Captain Sutton still fluttered near her; his gay and sprightly sallies, he flattered himself, might still amuse and draw her from herself, even from prudence and discretion; but he was little aware that, had Douglas been within her circle, and had spoken but one word to her, it would have been more prized than whole volumes he himself might utter.
How much, therefore, was he surprised, the morning after he had thus engaged the fair Ellina, and was in the full gratification of his vanity, to find himself led into a particular dialogue with Douglas, respecting his intentions towards that young lady, on the insinuation, that after a courtship so warm and protracted, the nuptial ceremony would doubtless be the result.
"The nuptial ceremony!" replied he, bursting into a laugh. "No, truly, 'old birds are not to be caught by chaff,' as the proverb has it. I love myself and liberty too well, and am not to be thus entrapped; unless, indeed whyperhaps—I might allow myself to be so, did I meet with a pretty girl who could bring me something: even if it were £10,000, I might yield. But who the devil would put themselves into chains tor nothing? This Miss Airey is, to be sure, a nice little sparkling girl, but pennyless—in want of every thing that might lead me even for a moment to think of popping the question."
Having had the patience to hear him thus express himself, Douglas, not deigning further conversation, arose from his seat with self-possession and calm dignity, and went immediately from the spot to the residence of his Colonel, where he was conducted to the apartment of Mrs. Melbourne, by whom he had been at all times held in the most favourable estimation.
Entering, therefore, at once with her upon the topic which had of late engrossed so much of his thoughts, he hinted, with the nicest circumspection, that after a courtship so perseveringly maintained by the gallant Captain Sutton with Miss Airey, her fair protégée, report had finally given them to each other.
"Never," hastily replied Mrs. Melbourne, "never has Ellina ever conceived the idea of giving herself to Captain Sutton, or disposing of herself to one so light and unthinking."
The looks of Douglas expressed the greatest surprise, as if he almost doubted the veracity of her words; and he proceeded to make some allusions to the vain boastings of that officer in his monopoly of Miss Airey, giving the public to suppose that some understanding had taken place.
"None whatever; of which I can confidently assure you," rejoined Mrs. Melbourne, whilst her countenance assumed an unusual seriousness. "Believe me, Ellina regards him but as a light, insignificant flatterer. She has been unguarded, I grant you: her total indifference to all those who have gathered around her has made her, imprudently and indiscriminately, appear pleased with the attentions of all successively, and perhaps more so with this last trifler, Captain Sutton, arising from his continued efforts to attract her notice." Re-gret and concern still predominated over the expression of Douglas's countenance; which Mrs. Melbourne perceiving, added, "Ah, Major, you but little know Ellina, who is not what she appears to be. Perhaps I am wrong in saying so, but Ellina is not without her trials, giddy as she may seem, poor thing!"
"So young!" exclaimed Douglas, "and to taste of the cup of sorrow! I should not have thought it, her general appearance indicating a life of sunshine."
"You estimate her but as she is seen in public: when engaged in the dance, as light and gay as any: but how willingly would she forego such pleasures for more solid ones, renounce all flattery and adulation, could she secure to herself the affections of one. It is to dispel her cares, and dissipate thought, that she flies into company, heedless even of the public estimation; absorbed by one ruling and prevailing sentiment, while seeming to laugh away time, her heart is lacerated. It is in secret only that her real feelings are made manifest: knowing which, I cannot bring myself to throw a check upon her moments of apparent recreation, to involve her in melancholy at home."
Douglas was too well acquainted with grief not to feel moved by Mrs. Melbourne's description of it in her protégée, "What sorrow can she have," thought he, "unless she laments her fate as an orphan? the loss of parents? But these she lost so young, and Mrs. Melbourne so fully supplies the place of a mother. Is it love which has penetrated her young heart?" For whom, he durst not venture to inquire; an inquisitiveness on such a point might be thought presumptuous.
After a pause, during which Mrs. Melbourne had seemed struggling for utterance, she said, "You are evidently, Major Douglas, much interested in the fate of Ellina."
"I am truly so" he replied; "and should rejoice were it in my power to serve her, or promote her happiness."
Mrs. Melbourne sighed deeply, and in a low and deep tone continued: "Since we have gone so far, I cannot forbear telling you, that it is in your power to promote her happiness."
Douglas started; the colour heightened and faded on his cheek. Her looks—the equivocal expressions she had made use of—what did they mean to convey?
"Forgive my indiscretion," said Mrs. Melbourne, in her turn deeply reddening, "my great inadvertency, in having thus betrayed Ellina's secret, her long and unrequited attachment, of which all have been ignorant, myself excepted. She would be still more unhappy, the most miserable of human creatures, did she know what I have done! and Colonel Melbourne would be extremely displeased. I forcibly see my error. I have pained your feelings beyond redress: you have no affections to offer Ellina. I pray you to forgive me, and bury this unpremeditated disclosure in eternal secrecy. As a man of honour, I know you will."
The door at this moment opening, Ellina herself made her appearance. Blushing, and confused, she would have retired, but Douglas instantly presenting her a seat, detained her. In his effort to command himself, the fulness of his soul seemed contained in his eyes; and those of Miss Airey, not less eloquent in their glances, after meeting his, sunk timidly to the ground. The deep crimson of her cheeks, and her hesitating accents, as she expressed her fears of intruding, rendered it quite unnecessary for her thoughts to have been verbally expressed to betray the sentiments which oppressed her.
Desirous of relieving her embarrassment, as also his own distressed situation, Douglas withdrew, and precipitately hurried to his apartment.