Guy Mannering, Vol. I

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FIRST EXTRACT

'Alas! my dearest Matilda, what a tale is mine to tell! Misfortune
from the cradle has set her seal upon your unhappy friend. That we
should be severed for so slight a cause--an ungrammatical phrase
in my Italian exercise, and three false notes in one of
Paisiello's sonatas! But it is a part of my father's character, of
whom it is impossible to say whether I love, admire, or fear him
the most. His success in life and in war, his habit of making
every obstacle yield before the energy of his exertions, even
where they seemed insurmountable--all these have given a hasty and
peremptory cast to his character, which can neither endure
contradiction nor make allowance for deficiencies. Then he is
himself so very accomplished. Do you know, there was a murmur,
half confirmed too by some mysterious words which dropped from my
poor mother, that he possesses other sciences, now lost to the
world, which enable the possessor to summon up before him the dark
and shadowy forms of future events! Does not the very idea of such
a power, or even of the high talent and commanding intellect which
the world may mistake for it,--does it not, dear Matilda, throw a
mysterious grandeur about its possessor? You will call this
romantic; but consider I was born in the land of talisman and
spell, and my childhood lulled by tales which you can only enjoy
through the gauzy frippery of a French translation. O, Matilda, I
wish you could have seen the dusky visages of my Indian
attendants, bending in earnest devotion round the magic narrative,
that flowed, half poetry, half prose, from the lips of the tale-
teller! No wonder that European fiction sounds cold and meagre,
after the wonderful effects which I have seen the romances of the
East produce upon their hearers.'

SECOND EXTRACT

'You are possessed, my dear Matilda, of my bosom-secret, in those
sentiments with which I regard Brown. I will not say his memory; I
am convinced he lives, and is faithful. His addresses to me were
countenanced by my deceased parent, imprudently countenanced
perhaps, considering the prejudices of my father in favour of
birth and rank. But I, then almost a girl, could not be expected
surely to be wiser than her under whose charge nature had placed
me. My father, constantly engaged in military duty, I saw but at
rare intervals, and was taught to look up to him with more awe
than confidence. Would to Heaven it had been otherwise! It might
have been better for us all at this day!'

THIRD EXTRACT

'You ask me why I do not make known to my father that Brown yet
lives, at least that he survived the wound he received in that
unhappy duel, and had written to my mother expressing his entire
convalescence, and his hope of speedily escaping from captivity. A
soldier, that "in the trade of war has oft slain men," feels
probably no uneasiness at reflecting upon the supposed catastrophe
which almost turned me into stone. And should I show him that
letter, does it not follow that Brown, alive and maintaining with
pertinacity the pretensions to the affections of your poor friend
for which my father formerly sought his life, would be a more
formidable disturber of Colonel Mannering's peace of mind than in
his supposed grave? If he escapes from the hands of these
marauders, I am convinced he will soon be in England, and it will
be then time to consider how his existence is to be disclosed to
my father. But if, alas! my earnest and confident hope should
betray me, what would it avail to tear open a mystery fraught with
so many painful recollections? My dear mother had such dread of
its being known, that I think she even suffered my father to
suspect that Brown's attentions were directed towards herself,
rather than permit him to discover their real object; and O,
Matilda, whatever respect I owe to the memory of a deceased
parent, let me do justice to a living one. I cannot but condemn
the dubious policy which she adopted, as unjust to my father, and
highly perilous to herself and me. But peace be with her ashes!
her actions were guided by the heart rather than the head; and
shall her daughter, who inherits all her weakness, be the first to
withdraw the veil from her defects?'

FOURTH EXTRACT 'MERVYN HALL.

'If India be the land of magic, this, my dearest Matilda, is the
country of romance. The scenery is such as nature brings together
in her sublimest moods-sounding cataracts--hills which rear their
scathed heads to the sky--lakes that, winding up the shadowy
valleys, lead at every turn to yet more romantic recesses--rocks
which catch the clouds of heaven. All the wildness of Salvator
here, and there the fairy scenes of Claude. I am happy too in
finding at least one object upon which my father can share my
enthusiasm. An admirer of nature, both as an artist and a poet, I
have experienced the utmost pleasure from the observations by
which he explains the character and the effect of these brilliant
specimens of her power. I wish he would settle in this enchanting
land. But his views lie still farther north, and he is at present
absent on a tour in Scotland, looking, I believe, for some
purchase of land which may suit him as a residence. He is partial,
from early recollections, to that country. So, my dearest Matilda,
I must be yet farther removed from you before I am established in
a home. And O how delighted shall I be when I can say, Come,
Matilda, and be the guest of your faithful Julia!

'I am at present the inmate of Mr. and Mrs. Mervyn, old friends of
my father. The latter is precisely a good sort of woman, ladylike
and housewifely; but for accomplishments or fancy--good lack, my
dearest Matilda, your friend might as well seek sympathy from Mrs.
Teach'em;--you see I have not forgot school nicknames. Mervyn is a
different--quite a different being from my father, yet he amuses
and endures me. He is fat and good-natured, gifted with strong
shrewd sense and some powers of humour; but having been handsome,
I suppose, in his youth, has still some pretension to be a beau
garcon, as well as an enthusiastic agriculturist. I delight to
make him scramble to the tops of eminences and to the foot of
waterfalls, and am obliged in turn to admire his turnips, his
lucerne, and his timothy grass. He thinks me, I fancy, a simple
romantic Miss, with some--the word will be out--beauty and some
good-nature; and I hold that the gentleman has good taste for the
female outside, and do not expect he should comprehend my
sentiments farther. So he rallies, hands, and hobbles (for the
dear creature has got the gout too), and tells old stories of high
life, of which he has seen a great deal; and I listen, and smile,
and look as pretty, as pleasant, and as simple as I can, and we do
very well.

'But, alas! my dearest Matilda, how would time pass away, even in
this paradise of romance, tenanted as it is by a pair assorting so
ill with the scenes around them, were it not for your fidelity in
replying to my uninteresting details? Pray do not fail to write
three times a week at least; you can be at no loss what to say.'

FIFTH EXTRACT

'How shall I communicate what I have now to tell! My hand and
heart still flutter so much, that the task of writing is almost
impossible! Did I not say that he lived? did I not say I would not
despair? How could you suggest, my dear Matilda, that my feelings,
considering I had parted from him so young, rather arose from the
warmth of my imagination than of my heart? O I was sure that they
were genuine, deceitful as the dictates of our bosom so frequently
are. But to my tale--let it be, my friend, the most sacred, as it
is the most sincere, pledge of our friendship.

'Our hours here are early--earlier than my heart, with its load of
care, can compose itself to rest. I therefore usually take a book
for an hour or two after retiring to my own room, which I think I
have told you opens to a small balcony, looking down upon that
beautiful lake of which I attempted to give you a slight sketch.
Mervyn Hall, being partly an ancient building, and constructed
with a view to defence, is situated on the verge of the lake. A
stone dropped from the projecting balcony plunges into water deep
enough to float a skiff. I had left my window partly unbarred,
that, before I went to bed, I might, according to my custom, look
out and see the moonlight shining upon the lake. I was deeply
engaged with that beautiful scene in the "Merchant of Venice"
where two lovers, describing the stillness of a summer night,
enhance on each other its charms, and was lost in the associations
of story and of feeling which it awakens, when I heard upon the
lake the sound of a flageolet. I have told you it was Brown's
favourite instrument. Who could touch it in a night which, though
still and serene, was too cold, and too late in the year, to
invite forth any wanderer for mere pleasure? I drew yet nearer the
window, and hearkened with breathless attention; the sounds paused
a space, were then resumed, paused again, and again reached my
ear, ever coming nearer and nearer. At length I distinguished
plainly that little Hindu air which you called my favourite. I
have told you by whom it was taught me; the instrument, the tones,
were his own! Was it earthly music, or notes passing on the wind,
to warn me of his death?

'It was some time ere I could summon courage to step on the
balcony; nothing could have emboldened me to do so but the strong
conviction of my mind that he was still alive, and that we should
again meet; but that conviction did embolden me, and I ventured,
though with a throbbing heart. There was a small skiff with a
single person. O, Matilda, it was himself! I knew his appearance
after so long an absence, and through the shadow of the night, as
perfectly as if we had parted yesterday, and met again in the
broad sunshine! He guided his boat under the balcony, and spoke to
me; I hardly knew what he said, or what I replied. Indeed, I could
scarcely speak for weeping, but they were joyful tears. We were
disturbed by the barking of a dog at some distance, and parted,
but not before he had conjured me to prepare to meet him at the
same place and hour this evening.

'But where and to what is all this tending? Can I answer this
question? I cannot. Heaven, that saved him from death and
delivered him from captivity, that saved my father, too, from
shedding the blood of one who would not have blemished a hair of
his head, that Heaven must guide me out of this labyrinth. Enough
for me the firm resolution that Matilda shall not blush for her
friend, my father for his daughter, nor my lover for her on whom
he has fixed his affection.'

CHAPTER XVIII

Talk with a man out of a window!--a proper saying.

Much Ado about Nothing.

We must proceed with our extracts from Miss Mannering's letters,
which throw light upon natural good sense, principle, and
feelings, blemished by an imperfect education and the folly of a
misjudging mother, who called her husband in her heart a tyrant
until she feared him as such, and read romances until she became
so enamoured of the complicated intrigues which they contain as to
assume the management of a little family novel of her own, and
constitute her daughter, a girl of sixteen, the principal heroine.
She delighted in petty mystery and intrigue and secrets, and yet
trembled at the indignation which these paltry manoeuvres excited
in her husband's mind. Thus she frequently entered upon a scheme
merely for pleasure, or perhaps for the love of contradiction,
plunged deeper into it than she was aware, endeavoured to
extricate herself by new arts, or to cover her error by
dissimulation, became involved in meshes of her own weaving, and
was forced to carry on, for fear of discovery, machinations which
she had at first resorted to in mere wantonness.

Fortunately the young man whom she so imprudently introduced into
her intimate society, and encouraged to look up to her daughter,
had a fund of principle and honest pride which rendered him a
safer intimate than Mrs. Mannering ought to have dared to hope or
expect. The obscurity of his birth could alone be objected to him;
in every other respect,

With prospects bright upon the world he came,
Pure love of virtue, strong desire of fame,
Men watched the way his lofty mind would take,
And all foretold the progress he would make.

But it could not be expected that he should resist the snare which
Mrs. Mannering's imprudence threw in his way, or avoid becoming
attached to a young lady whose beauty and manners might have
justified his passion, even in scenes where these are more
generally met with than in a remote fortress in our Indian
settlements. The scenes which followed have been partly detailed
in Mannering's letter to Mr. Mervyn; and to expand what is there
stated into farther explanation would be to abuse the patience of
our readers.

We shall therefore proceed with our promised extracts from Miss
Mannering's letters to her friend.

SIXTH EXTRACT

'I have seen him again, Matilda--seen him twice. I have used every
argument to convince him that this secret intercourse is dangerous
to us both; I even pressed him to pursue his views of fortune
without farther regard to me, and to consider my peace of mind as
sufficiently secured by the knowledge that he had not fallen under
my father's sword. He answers--but how can I detail all he has to
answer? He claims those hopes as his due which my mother permitted
him to entertain, and would persuade me to the madness of a union
without my father's sanction. But to this, Matilda, I will not be
persuaded. I have resisted, I have subdued, the rebellious
feelings which arose to aid his plea; yet how to extricate myself
from this unhappy labyrinth in which fate and folly have entangled
us both!

'I have thought upon it, Matilda, till my head is almost giddy;
nor can I conceive a better plan than to make a full confession to
my father. He deserves it, for his kindness is unceasing; and I
think I have observed in his character, since I have studied it
more nearly, that his harsher feelings are chiefly excited where
he suspects deceit or imposition; and in that respect, perhaps,
his character was formerly misunderstood by one who was dear to
him. He has, too, a tinge of romance in his disposition; and I
have seen the narrative of a generous action, a trait of heroism,
or virtuous self-denial, extract tears from him which refused to
flow at a tale of mere distress. But then Brown urges that he is
personally hostile to him. And the obscurity of his birth, that
would be indeed a stumbling-block. O, Matilda, I hope none of your
ancestors ever fought at Poictiers or Agincourt! If it were not
for the veneration which my father attaches to the memory of old
Sir Miles Mannering, I should make out my explanation with half
the tremor which must now attend it.'

SEVENTH EXTRACT

'I have this instant received your letter--your most welcome
letter! Thanks, my dearest friend, for your sympathy and your
counsels; I can only repay them with unbounded confidence.

'You ask me what Brown is by origin, that his descent should be so
unpleasing to my father. His story is shortly told. He is of
Scottish extraction, but, being left an orphan, his education was
undertaken by a family of relations settled in Holland. He was
bred to commerce, and sent very early to one of our settlements in
the East, where his guardian had a correspondent. But this
correspondent was dead when he arrived in India, and he had no
other resource than to offer himself as a clerk to a counting-
house. The breaking out of the war, and the straits to which we
were at first reduced, threw the army open to all young men who
were disposed to embrace that mode of life; and Brown, whose
genius had a strong military tendency, was the first to leave what
might have been the road to wealth, and to choose that of fame.
The rest of his history is well known to you; but conceive the
irritation of my father, who despises commerce (though, by the
way, the best part of his property was made in that honourable
profession by my great-uncle), and has a particular antipathy to
the Dutch--think with what ear he would be likely to receive
proposals for his only child from Vanbeest Brown, educated for
charity by the house of Vanbeest and Vanbruggen! O, Matilda, it
will never do; nay, so childish am I, I hardly can help
sympathising with his aristocratic feelings. Mrs. Vanbeest Brown!
The name has little to recommend it, to be sure. What children we
are!'

EIGHTH EXTRACT

'It is all over now, Matilda! I shall never have courage to tell
my father; nay, most deeply do I fear he has already learned my
secret from another quarter, which will entirely remove the grace
of my communication, and ruin whatever gleam of hope I had
ventured to connect with it. Yesternight Brown came as usual, and
his flageolet on the lake announced his approach. We had agreed
that he should continue to use this signal. These romantic lakes
attract numerous visitors, who indulge their enthusiasm in
visiting the scenery at all hours, and we hoped that, if Brown
were noticed from the house, he might pass for one of those
admirers of nature, who was giving vent to his feelings through
the medium of music. The sounds might also be my apology, should I
be observed on the balcony. But last night, while I was eagerly
enforcing my plan of a full confession to my father, which he as
earnestly deprecated, we heard the window of Mr. Mervyn's library,
which is under my room, open softly. I signed to Brown to make his
retreat, and immediately reentered, with some faint hopes that our
interview had not been observed.

'But, alas! Matilda, these hopes vanished the instant I beheld Mr.
Mervyn's countenance at breakfast the next morning. He looked so
provokingly intelligent and confidential, that, had I dared, I
could have been more angry than ever I was in my life; but I must
be on good behaviour, and my walks are now limited within his farm
precincts, where the good gentleman can amble along by my side
without inconvenience. I have detected him once or twice
attempting to sound my thoughts, and watch the expression of my
countenance. He has talked of the flageolet more than once, and
has, at different times, made eulogiums upon the watchfulness and
ferocity of his dogs, and the regularity with which the keeper
makes his rounds with a loaded fowling-piece. He mentioned even
man-traps and springguns. I should be loth to affront my father's
old friend in his own house; but I do long to show him that I am
my father's daughter, a fact of which Mr. Mervyn will certainly be
convinced if ever I trust my voice and temper with a reply to
these indirect hints. Of one thing I am certain--I am grateful to
him on that account--he has not told Mrs. Mervyn. Lord help me, I
should have had such lectures about the dangers of love and the
night air on the lake, the risk arising from colds and fortune-
hunters, the comfort and convenience of sack-whey and closed
windows! I cannot help trifling, Matilda, though my heart is sad
enough. What Brown will do I cannot guess. I presume, however, the
fear of detection prevents his resuming his nocturnal visits. He
lodges at an inn on the opposite shore of the lake, under the
name, he tells me, of Dawson; he has a bad choice in names, that
must be allowed. He has not left the army, I believe, but he says
nothing of his present views.

'To complete my anxiety, my father is returned suddenly, and in
high displeasure. Our good hostess, as I learned from a bustling
conversation between her housekeeper and her, had no expectation
of seeing him for a week; but I rather suspect his arrival was no
surprise to his friend Mr. Mervyn. His manner to me was singularly
cold and constrained, sufficiently so to have damped all the
courage with which I once resolved to throw myself on his
generosity. He lays the blame of his being discomposed and out of
humour to the loss of a purchase in the south-west of Scotland on
which he had set his heart; but I do not suspect his equanimity of
being so easily thrown off its balance. His first excursion was
with Mr. Mervyn's barge across the lake to the inn I have
mentioned. You may imagine the agony with which I waited his
return! Had he recognized Brown, who can guess the consequence! He
returned, however, apparently without having made any discovery. I
understand that, in consequence of his late disappointment, he
means now to hire a house in the neighbourhood of this same
Ellangowan, of which I am doomed to hear so much; he seems to
think it probable that the estate for which he wishes may soon be
again in the market. I will not send away this letter until I hear
more distinctly what are his intentions.'

'I have now had an interview with my father, as confidential as, I
presume, he means to allow me. He requested me to-day, after
breakfast, to walk with him into the library; my knees, Matilda,
shook under me, and it is no exaggeration to say I could scarce
follow him into the room. I feared I knew not what. From my
childhood I had seen all around him tremble at his frown. He
motioned me to seat myself, and I never obeyed a command so
readily, for, in truth, I could hardly stand. He himself continued
to walk up and down the room. You have seen my father, and
noticed, I recollect, the remarkably expressive cast of his
features. His eyes are naturally rather light in colour, but
agitation or anger gives them a darker and more fiery glance; he
has a custom also of drawing in his lips when much moved, which
implies a combat between native ardour of temper and the habitual
power of self-command. This was the first time we had been alone
since his return from Scotland, and, as he betrayed these tokens
of agitation, I had little doubt that he was about to enter upon
the subject I most dreaded.

'To my unutterable relief, I found I was mistaken, and that,
whatever he knew of Mr. Mervyn's suspicions or discoveries, he did
not intend to converse with me on the topic. Coward as I was, I
was inexpressibly relieved, though, if he had really investigated
the reports which may have come to his ear, the reality could have
been nothing to what his suspicions might have conceived. But,
though my spirits rose high at my unexpected escape, I had not
courage myself to provoke the discussion, and remained silent to
receive his commands.

'"Julia," he said, "my agent writes me from Scotland that he has
been able to hire a house for me, decently furnished, and with the
necessary accommodation for my family; it is within three miles of
that I had designed to purchase." Then he made a pause, and seemed
to expect an answer.

'"Whatever place of residence suits you, sir, must be perfectly
agreeable to me."

'"Umph! I do not propose, however, Julia, that you shall reside
quite alone in this house during the winter."

'"Mr. and Mrs. Mervyn," thought I to myself.--"Whatever company
is agreeable to you, sir," I answered aloud.

'"O, there is a little too much of this universal spirit of
submission, an excellent disposition in action, but your
constantly repeating the jargon of it puts me in mind of the
eternal salaams of our black dependents in the East. In short,
Julia, I know you have a relish for society, and I intend to
invite a young person, the daughter of a deceased friend, to spend
a few months with us."

'"Not a governess, for the love of Heaven, papa!" exclaimed poor
I, my fears at that moment totally getting the better of my
prudence.

'"No, not a governess, Miss Mannering," replied the Colonel,
somewhat sternly, "but a young lady from whose excellent example,
bred as she has been in the school of adversity, I trust you may
learn the art to govern yourself."

'To answer this was trenching upon too dangerous ground, so there
was a pause.

'"Is the young lady a Scotchwoman, papa?"

'"Yes"--drily enough.

'"Has she much of the accent, sir?"

'"Much of the devil!" answered my father hastily; "do you think I
care about a's and aa's, and i's and ee's,? I tell you, Julia, I
am serious in the matter. You have a genius for friendship, that
is, for running up intimacies which you call such." (Was not this
very harshly said, Matilda?) "Now I wish to give you an
opportunity at least to make one deserving friend, and therefore I
have resolved that this young lady shall be a member of my family
for some months, and I expect you will pay to her that attention
which is due to misfortune and virtue."

'"Certainly, sir. Is my future friend red-haired?"

'He gave me one of his stern glances; you will say, perhaps, I
deserved it; but I think the deuce prompts me with teasing
questions on some occasions.

'"She is as superior to you, my love, in personal appearance as in
prudence and affection for her friends."

'"Lord, papa, do you think that superiority a recommendation?
Well, sir, but I see you are going to take all this too seriously;
whatever the young lady may be, I am sure, being recommended by
you, she shall have no reason to complain of my want of
attention." After a pause--"Has she any attendant? because you
know I must provide for her proper accommodation if she is without
one."

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