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LETTER IX
TO CLEMENT MONTGOMERY

(Inclosed in the preceding.)

Do we not create our own misery, my Clement, by this submission? – Mr. Valmont separates our persons, because he cannot separate our hearts. Oh! your reasonings were false, my love; and I was only misled when I thought I was convinced! – 'But a short time,' you said, 'and Mr. Valmont shall know it all, and we will be again united.' – Why not now? I cannot feel, I cannot understand these effects of his displeasure on which you dwell. Why do you dream of future benefits, when he tells you, that you are to have none of them? when he declares to you his wealth shall not be your's? And what of that! Will joy and felicity be less ours, because we are not rich? – We know it cannot. Did you possess wealth beyond what I can name, I should share its advantages; then if poverty or disgrace be your's, I demand to participate therein. It is my right; and twenty Mr. Valmonts shall not deprive of the inestimable privilege. Let me prove by actions the boundless love I bear you. Words are feeble. Where is the language that has energy enough to describe the crowd of pleasures which rush upon my mind, while I am retracing our past scenes of happiness; or that can give its true colouring to my regret, when I call up the present separation, which bids them depart for a season?

Clement, you are dismissed that another may be introduced. The man of mystery, he whom my uncle has chosen, appears again. Say, my love! shall I tell them how useless are all their preparations? – that you and I have formed the indissoluble band? I am ready to do this. I wait but your consent. And then, if Mr. Valmont resents our conduct and will not yield me to you and your freedom, I must and shall find means to show him he has no more power over my person than my mind. I will escape him, and fly to thee.

Ever, ever, thy

SIBELLA

LETTER X
FROM LORD FILMAR TO SIR WALTER BOYER

Peaceful slumbers attend thee, Wat! The richer promising waking visions of expectation be mine! – A very pretty apostrophe that for a young viscount! I wonder if my father ever forgot to go to sleep when in bed, and sprang up again to write to some contemporary in same of his stratagems, intrigues, and toils? – Dear honest soul, no: – his sonorous breathings from the next chamber salute my ears in answer. – I certainly never was intended for the elder son of an Earl. Oh, I cry you mercy, Dame Nature! I read, I bow my head in obedience. A little twinkling star, Boyer, darting his ray throw the window, traces my destiny on this paper. 'When the heyday of the blood is past,' says the oracle, 'thou art to be a statesman.' So I will. Yes, a prime minister of Great Britain: and the more mischief I do before-hand, the better shall I be qualified for the duties of that high and important station.

The project I talked of in my last, have you not admired its tendency? Have you not rejoiced that the honours of the Elsing title is to have a fresh gilding from the Valmont coffers. If you have not already done this, I charge you neglect not a moment the duties of congratulation; for your friend, your happy friend Filmar, is assuredly, mind me assuredly, to be the husband of Miss Valmont. Therefore I will read you a letter, or at least a part of a letter, which came from her uncle to my father.

'Indeed, my Lord, to pursue this subject a little farther, it is only with a man who is prepared by such opinions as I have laid down to keep his wife in seclusion, that Sibella Valmont can be happy. I have purposely educated her to be the tractable and obedient companion of a husband, who from early disappointment and a just detestation of the miserable state of society is willing to abandon the world entirely. And, not to mislead you in any way, such a one I hold in view.'

'You, my Lord, have acted with consistent delicacy throughout our guardianship. You readily yielded to my plans, when our trust commenced; and you have never attempted to counteract them by any ill-judged interference; and I am therefore beholden to your prudence and politeness. Of your Lordship's understanding I have so good an opinion, that I cannot apprehend any offence will be taken on your part for my declining the proposed alliance of Lord Filmar for my niece. You must be aware, my Lord, how very unfit her education has rendered her to be the wife of any person who does not in all respects think as I do.

You must also suffer me to decline, for very good reasons, your request that Lord Filmar may see her. The child has beauty; and the interview for his sake is much better avoided. You, my Lord, have a title to see her whenever you are so disposed; and I hope as a proof that we understand each other, that Lord Filmar will accompany you when you honour Valmont castle with your visits. From

Your friend and servant,

'G. VALMONT'

This letter, Walter, the Earl called me back to give me at his own chamber door, after I had bade him good night. Do you not observe how artfully Valmont had arranged the manner of his refusal; or are you, as I was on its first perusal, a little chilled by the contents? I perceive, by the Earl's delivering the letter to me at a time which precluded all conversation on the subject, that he feels Valmont's refusal to be unchangeable; now I dare not tell him that I have boldly resolved to take the niece of Valmont whether her uncle pleases or not, because what he calls his honour would stand between me and my project. Honour will not pay my debts, Walter. So, honour, here you and I part. Good by to you! – There: we have shaken hands: and the musty fellow has marched off on yon straight road, while I turn aside into this. Invention aid me! Stratagem be my guide! And do thou, Walter, plot, contrive, and assist to make me matter of this prize.

Assuredly I will be the husband of Miss Valmont. This have I sworn to myself: and this have I repeated to you. I read Valmont's freezing epistle and I went to bed. Darkness and silence are admirable auxiliaries to reflection. First, past in array before me my mortgages, my debts, and the diabolical stake I lost to Spellman for which I have given notes that extend to the uttermost penny I can raise. Then, how gaily danced before me the visions I had indulged while I sounded my father about this hidden fortune of Miss Valmont, and while I reflected on the well-known wealth of her uncle. 'Ah but,' said I, 'her uncle has refused me, has already selected a husband for her!' And I shut my eyes; and sighed, Walter. That sigh proved my salvation: for it exhaled the dim vapour that had obstructed the operations of my confidence, my invention!

Then, how rapidly did my fancy teem with plan and project! How did I reject one, choose another! Till, at length, I called for light and paper, that I might cool the fever of my hopes, by laying them bare to your inspection.

I well know what you are, Walter: a compound of contradictions. When you should believe, you are sceptical; where you should doubt, your faith is unshaken; and I expect when I tell you I am more and more convinced, by the recollection of many circumstances and by the Earl's awkward evasions, that Miss Valmont is her father's heiress – I expect, I say, that you will assure me I am deceived: and, as to my resolution of stealing her, you will assert that it is a project idle, vain, and impracticable. Yet, were I now to abandon the enterprise, you would wonder at my stupidity, would declare nothing could appear so certain as her fortune, and nothing so easy as its attainment. Therefore, dear Walter, I do not ask your advice; I only ask your attention. Six or seven thousand a year! The lady a minor too from the age of six, and no expences incurred upon her education! – Think of these circumstances, Walter; and, if you love arithmetic, cast up the accumulations of all these years; and to make the sum total of my future possessions, add the 10,000l. per ann. of her uncle who never had any other heir than this untutored Sibella! Would not such a sum convert even deformity into grace? But they say too she has beauty. Her ignorance and barbarism I will forgive; for I can at all times escape from a wife, though I cannot escape from the debts which are hourly accumulating to my destruction.

Marry a fortune or fly my country: there's the alternative. I choose the former. As to flying one's country, I know of no country in which a man may drink, game, &c. &c. and spend his own and other people's money so easily as in that where, being born rather of one parent than another, the delightful privilege becomes as it were part of his legal inheritance.

It must be done too, if possible, time enough to prevent the necessity of a last mortgage to pay the notes I gave to Spellman. I was bubbled out of that money, but I was heated and the rascal so cool, I was unable to detect him; it becomes therefore a debt of honour and someway or other pay I must – Pshaw! Walter, thou wert always a dunce at school and at college. Now art thou turning over the page to seek the parting scene 'twixt me and honour. Foolish fellow! Didst thou never hear there are two sorts of honour? Honour of principle, and honour of fashion. Honour of principle says – 'Do not steal Miss Valmont out of her uncle's castle; and pay thy poor tradesmen before thou payest the gambler Spellman.' – Here advances honour of fashion. What grace, what ease in her attitudes? How unlike is she to the awkward fellow who has just spoken, and who, without one bow, one smile, stood as upright as if he dared show his face to the gods. But hark her mellifluous accents steal upon mine ear. 'Be,' says she, 'the accomplished nobleman for which nature in her happiest mood designed you. Exercise the elegance of your taste in the disposal of Miss Valmont's wealth. Above all, pay Spellman; or you forego, among the higher circles, the rapture of staking thousands on the cast of a die.'

It would be strange if a young man of my accomplishments did not know how much more useful and endearing a companion is honour of fashion than honour of principle! I will go and drink one bumper to the little solitary; then, I'll go dream. Aye: I'll dream that we are married; for I am upon honour there too. Adieu!

FILMAR

P.S. Since I wrote the above I have given four hours to deliberation on the chances for and against my design; nor have I found any obstacle which may not be overcome, though I have not yet discovered the means. Do not laugh at me, for I think it no inconsiderable step toward success to have divined all the probabilities which may oppose my success.

To-morrow, I go to the castle. Griffiths shall attend me. He was once your valet too. Need I a more skilful engineer think you? Who knows what opportunities may occur to-morrow? A sigh, a glance, a word – Oh, but I forget! I am not even to look at her, says Don Distance. Well! well! we will talk of that hereafter. Twice have I perambulated around the park; but it is so walled and wooded and moated that the great Mogul's army and elephants might be there invisible.

A propos, in the second of these circuits, which was on yesterday evening, as I was leading my horse down a hill at the bottom of which Valmont's moat forms a sudden angle, I perceived a young man walking hastily up the narrow lane towards the moat. Hearing my horse's feet, he turned towards me; then, wheeling round, he fled out of sight in a moment. In one hand he held a long pole; and in the other a small basket. His figure was uncommonly elegant; and I imagined I had some knowledge of him, but there are no gentlemen's houses in this quarter, except the castle and Monckton Hall. The little valley where I saw him is unfrequented; and scarcely passable, it is so encumbered with brambles and underwood. Woods rise immediately on the other side of the moat, whose shade, with that of the high barren and black, which shows its rugged side to the valley, spreads forbidding gloom over the whole. Who could this youth be, I wonder; and where could he be going?

Adieu, Walter! Think of to-morrow.

LETTER XI
FROM CAROLINE ASHBURN TO SIBELLA VALMONT

I charge you, Sibella, by the value you affix to my friendship, that you remain at present passive. It is a term of probation for Clement on which the colouring of your future days depends. – More of this hereafter. I write now with a kind of restless eagerness. Images, apprehensions, and even hopes, all finally resting on you, fill the place of soberer judgment. – This wood wanderer! This spirit – 'part mortal and part etherial,' – fascinates my attention. I see him gliding through the paths you had trodden. The tree which screened him from your view cannot conceal him from mine. I see him listen almost breathless to your prayer. The new-born colour on his cheek hangs trembling, daring not then to depart; and the throbbings of his agonized bosom collect themselves while restrained, and give force to that sign whose utterance has echoed a thousand times in my imagination. I see him dart the ball forward to meet your feet; and then he rushes into the thickest gloom to hide himself, if possible, even from himself.

This is no spirit of your uncle's choosing, Sibella. No: it is one who has refined upon romance; who can give, I perceive, as much enthusiasm to the affections, and carve misery for himself as ingeniously, as though he had passed his days under the safeguard of Mr. Valmont's walls and draw-bridges. 'He will protect, but cannot harm thee.' In truth, I believe it. Go to the wood then, Sibella. See him, if possible; and tell me, did symmetry ever mould a statue in finer proportions than his form can boast? His eye in its passive state is a clear grey, its shape long; and the finest eye-brow and eye-lash that ever adorned mortal face, not excepting even your's Sibella, belong to his. Hold him in conversation and you will see that eye almost emit fire; it will dazzle you with its rays; or, if a softer subject engage him, it can speak so submissively to the heart that words become but the secondary medium of his theme. Observe how his hair, bursting from confinement into natural ringlets around his temples, contrasts itself with the fairness of his complexion – fair without effeminacy. His colour is of a doubtful kind; for it retires as you perceive it, or suffuses the whole of his fine countenance, just as you had begun to lament that he was too pale. His nose and mouth, though somewhat large, and perhaps irregular, yet admirably correspond with the harmony of the whole face. You probably will think Clement's glowing face handsomer: I do not. Chase but by one smile and dissatisfaction of your spirit, and there will a radiance, if I may so call it, beam upon you, that my best art fails to delineate.

I shall not underwrite the name till you have judged of my painting. Cease your astonishment, my friend, for I am no sorceress, and the spright is too etherial, too imaginative, to hold counsel with a mere mortal like me. To the means of his being with you I confess I have no clue; but if you read my former letters you will perhaps find mention of some few of the reasons and circumstances which incline me to infer I have discovered him.

You will find though what I am now about to tell you; for my heart only transmitted it to my understanding, where it remained to have its justice and propriety closely investigated. – Yes, Sibella, wild, variable, and inconsistent, as is this spirit of your woods, I could have loved him if – 'he would have let me.' But 'tis past: 'twas a trace on the sands. Love shall never write its lasting characters on my mind, till my reason invites it: and where hopes rests not, reason cannot abide.

Clement's eagerness to cultivate our acquaintance is by no means flattering. I have known him but a week. It was at the opera that I observed Laundy's eye stealing to the adjoining box with something more than mere inquisitiveness. Mine followed. A party of young men occupied the box, all known to me except one: and from the position in which the stranger sat neither Laundy nor I could gain more than an oblique view of his face. Now I do acknowledge that even this oblique view gave promise of the whole being worthy of observation; yet my curiosity lulled itself to repose till the Dutchess de N – (constantly of our parties) arose at the end of another act, to gaze around with that confidence which women of a certain rank deem infinitely becoming in themselves, though if perceived in a shopkeeper's wife or daughter downright impudence alone would be called its proper description.

'Ah!' screamed the Dutchess, 'Le Chevalier Montgomery!'

Clement, (for it was your Clement) starting from his former posture, bowed hastily; and having carelessly looked on the rest of the party returned to his seat.

Poor I, all flutter and palpitation, eager to know if this Montgomery was the identical Montgomery, was almost in despair that he should not avail himself of the Dutchess's recognition; but she was not to be so baffled. With some trouble, on account of the nabob's gouty toe, she displaced Sir Thomas and Lady Barlowe, and got close to the box. Already had she raised her fan to accost him with the tap of familiarity, when I heard Mr. Hanway his companion say – 'Mrs. and Miss Ashburn.' Clement's eye instantly met mine. A smile gathered round his mouth; and in two seconds he was in our box, regularly introduced by Mr. Hanway.

For the first minute, I was sure he resembled you; in the next, the likeness became indistinct; and in two more, I lost it entirely. His face, with all its advantages of complexion, colour, brilliant eyes, and exquisite teeth, has not the variety which your's possesses; though to say here that he is less handsome than any creature upon earth is almost a crime, and the ladies scruple as little to tell him he is a Phoenix as to think him one.

We had scarcely any conversation that evening; for my mother and the Dutchess vied with each other in their attention to Montgomery. Lady Barlowe could not claim a share of him, though Sir Thomas immediately recollected Clement and renewed their acquaintance with apparent pleasure.

'Don't you remember, Mr. Montgomery,' said the nabob, 'the day you and Arthur set out for the continent you dined with me? How much every body was delighted with my nephew's vivacity! That very day a gentleman said to me, Sir Thomas, – and a very great judge he was I assure you – Sir Thomas, said he, your nephew will make a figure in the world. If you bring him into parliament, what with his abilities and his relationship to you, Sir Thomas, he may stand almost any where in this country. Well, Mr. Montgomery, when I sent for him home so much sooner than I first intended, it was because this gentleman's advice appeared to me very good, and because he further told me no time was to be lost. Home Arthur came, and I could have bought him a borough the next day.' – 'No, indeed,' he said, he would neither buy votes or sell votes; nor did the conduct of parliament please him; nor could he – in short, he had so many faults to find and objections to make, that he out-talked me, and I couldn't tell what to say to him. But, thought I, he will think better of it; and I let the matter rest a while; and made another proposal in the mean time, and had he done as I wished he would now have been one of the richest men perhaps in the kingdom. Yet, upon my soul, he point blank refuses this too; and talked as much of principle and integrity and I know not what, as in t'other case! 'Twas damned insolent! and so I told him. – No, nor had he ever the modesty to ask my pardon; but took it all as coolly as you can imagine. – Well, and when I forgave him of my own accord, and behaved to him more kindly than ever, he has taken some new freak into his brain, and playing so many odd tricks of late that I am actually afraid of him.'

'Oh never was such an unaccountable!' said Lady Barlowe.

'The ball-night at Bath!' added my mother laughing.

'His letters are algebra to me;' said Clement, 'and I have been half tempted to forswear his correspondence.'

'Last winter,' said Mr. Hanway; 'he made conquests by dozens. Some cruel fair one is revenging, I suppose, her slighted sex. – In love, no doubt!'

'I believe not,' replied Clement; and the conversation ended: for the Dutchess now chose to talk; and, never having seen this incomprehensible irresistible Murden, she could not talk of him, you know.

The party adjourned to sup at Sir Thomas Barlowe's: we and the Dutchess de N – , by a previous engagement, Clement and Mr. Hanway in consequence of the baronet's pressing invitations. Mademoiselle Laundy complained of indisposition, and returned home immediately from the opera. She, as well as her friend the Dutchess, had been acquainted with Clement in Paris; but, after the first cold bow, Mademoiselle Laundy remained unnoticed by him.

No man could be more gallant, more gay, or unrestrained, than your chevalier, as the Dutchess persists in calling him. At the nabob's table we met several persons of fashion, to whom he was already known, and by whom he was treated with attention. His person and manners are no trivial recommendation; and the belief which every where prevails of his being heir to Mr. Valmont supports his consequence with its due proportion of power.

I debated with myself to determine, whether or not this belief ought to pass without contradiction; and, foreseeing many injurious consequences that might arise to Clement from the expences and dissipation which it encouraged, I resolved to seek an early opportunity of conversing with and encouraging him to disown the supposition. No opportunity occurred during that evening; but, ere we separated, Clement was engaged to dine on the succeeding day in one of my mother's private parties.

I very seldom breakfast with my mother, our hours of rising and morning avocations are so different; however, I went to her dressing room that morning, purposely to talk of your Clement. I spoke much of your attachment to each other; and Mrs. Ashburn immediately declared she would take his constancy under her protection, as such elegance and accomplishments, she said, as those possessed by Mr. Montgomery would be assailed with more temptation than such charming candour and simplicity might be able to withstand. To Miss Laundy my mother appealed for her confirmation of Clement's praise; and she either did, or I fancied she did, give her assent with a languor and inattention not usual to her. I had no reason, however, to accuse her of inattention when I hinted at the change in Clement's expectations; for, although my mother suffered it to pass unnoticed, Mademoiselle Laundy thought proper to press questions on me relative to this subject. I resented her inquisitive curiosity on a point which could not in any way concern her; and, declining to answer her questions, I quitted the room.

To join a private party, my mother had invited Clement: that was fifteen visitors, placed at a table covered with the most luxurious delicacies served in gilt plate, and surrounded with attendants as numerous as the company. Mrs. Ashburn, less splendid, but more tasty than usual in her dress and ornaments, was studiously attentive to Clement; declared herself his guardian; and spoke with rapturous admiration of you, Sibella, but without naming you, Clement blushed, bowed, returned compliment for compliment; and, graceful in all his changes, assumed an air and mien of exultation. Sometimes he turned his eye toward Mademoiselle Laundy.

The evening had far advanced before I could engage him in any conversation. He then showed me a letter from your uncle, wherein to my very great surprise Mr. Valmont desires Clement to be cautious in confiding his prospects or intentions to any one; bids him study mankind and despise them; tells him he does not mean to limit him to the sum he has already in his possession if more should be necessary; and advises him to be speedy in his choice of a profession; talks of the value of disappointment, the blessings of solitude, the duty of obedience, of his own wisdom, his own prudence and power; begins with the kind of appellation of – 'My dear adopted son;' concludes with the stern Valmont-like phrase of – 'Your friend as you conduct yourself.'

Here my interference ends. Henceforward, Mr. Valmont plans and Clement executes each in his own way. Your uncle has quite an original genius, Sibella; following no common track, he labours only to make a glare by strong opposition of colours, and to surprise by contrariety of images.

To Clement's murmurs against Mr. Valmont, succeeded a little species of delirium: for I named you, and no impassioned lover-like epithet was omitted in the recital of your charms. – Whatever, Sibella, may be my own vanity and pretensions I could hear praises of your beauty from a thousand tongues without envy or weariness. Yet, from Clement, a slighter mention would have pleased me better. He is the chosen of your heart; and should prize the mind you possess equal to heaven. An Angel's beauty might be forgotten, when the present and future contemplation of such a mind could be brought in view.

Alas, your lover is no philosopher! He laments the energy which I idolize. – Allow me to indulge the percipient quality I suppose myself to possess, and sketch Montgomery when my messenger, presents him the letter you inclosed to me. No sooner does he behold that writing, than Sibella rises to his view in all her grace and loveliness. Could he give existence to the vision, that moment would be too rich in transport. He trembles with an exquisite unsatisfied delight: and, while the senseless paper receives his eager kisses, he could fight dragons, or rush through fire to obtain you. – At length he reads. – Well: the same Sibella is there – she whom he calls the most perfect and lovely of all God's creatures! – the same Sibella whose enchantments cast a magic illusion around the horror-nodding woods of Valmont! – The same Sibella, but poor and dependent, is now quitting those woods for ever and ever – she leaves behind her even the trace of wealth; and flies an outcast to Clement, who, involved in the same ruin, has neither fortune, fame nor friend! – Delightful expectations vanish. Torture succeeds. And the agony of this prospect to Clement could in no one instance be equalled, except perchance by the knowledge of your being in the possession of a rival and lost to him for ever.

I suspect there are some latent shades in this picture which will displease you: but remember, my ever dear girl, that early, even at the commencement of our intimacy, we reciprocally laid it down as a solemn truth that without full and entire confidence friendship is of no value. I have said that Clement and you love from habit. Nor let it wound you that I say so still; for I am willing to seek conviction, and though I cannot be more candid than now, nor ever more worthy of your affection than while I am offending your heart to inform your judgment, yet if conviction meet me, I shall be more joyful by millions of degrees in owning I had mistaken.

At all events, whether Clement approves or disapproves the intention, your leaving your uncle and his castle now would be decidedly wrong. Your education, constantly in opposition to that which a dependent should have had, unfits you for entering the world without protection. You have so much to learn of the manners of society, that perhaps any plan you might form would turn out the very reverse of your expectations. – Stay, patiently if you can: at any rate, stay, till Clement makes his final determination, and then I'll tell you more of my mind.

Be happy, my sweet my beloved friend! You have it largely in your power; and surely 'tis better to summons fortitude and walk boldly over a few thorns, than creep through miserable paths to avoid them, or sit down idly to bemoan their situation.

CAROLINE ASHBURN

P.S. I have opened my letter, in consequence of a visit from Clement Montgomery. He came to me, Sibella, agitated and trembling. Your letter had conjured up a horrible train of fears and suppositions, and he was scarcely assured the evil he most dreaded had not already arrived. 'Rash, cruel Sibella!' he exclaimed, 'even now, perhaps, your have for ever undone me with Mr. Valmont!' I reminded him that you had said in the concluding lines of your letter to me that you waited, though unwillingly, for Clement's determination. 'O that is true!' cried he – 'and 'tis my salvation! Dear Miss Ashburn, conjure her, by your love and my own, to guard our secret faithfully from her uncle. Tell her, she cannot judge of the destruction she would hurl upon my head if she were now to betray me. Tell her, I intreat, I insist, that she make not one attempt to quit the castle. – Will you, dear Miss Ashburn, undertake this kind office? Will you turn the adorable romantic girl from her mad enterprise?'

'Certainly Mr. Montgomery,' I replied, 'I will deliver your own message exactly in your own words. As to my opinion, I have given it to Sibella already: it is against her quitting the castle.'

I should also have told Clement what were my motives for wishing you to remain with your uncle, had not my mother and Mademoiselle Laundy, at that instant, entered the room. Their presence, however, did not prevent Clement from thanking me with great warmth; and, the worst of his fears being now removed, his countenance again brightened into smiles, and he readily acquiesced in my mother's wish of his attending her to convey him to his lodgings to dress, and, as he quitted us, I bade him remember the purpose for which he came to London. Blushes covered his face, and he departed without speaking. Once more, adieu! Forget not the wood-haunter.