 Letter 31 of the History of Lady Barton This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Linda Marie Nielsen, Vancouver, B.C. The History of Lady Barton by Elizabeth Griffith Letter 31 from Lady Barton to Miss Cleveland Southfield As I have now happily set the fair narrator down safe at the Hotel de Freeburg, you will give us both leave to rest ourselves a little, for though I am still you perceive running on, yet I find that a change of subjects relieves the fatigue of writing. While she was relating her story, I felt infinitely more than you can possibly do in reading it. The seeing the very object of distress before us is a vast improvement to the pathetic. Besides that along with my compassion towards her and my resentment against her husband, there was mixed up a certain sensation of horror at being lodged under the roof of such a villain. I honour Shakespeare for asking by the mouth of Lear, can there be any cause in nature for these hard hearts? And am charmed with saddie, the great Indian philosopher for saying that il ne fa qu'en souper de l'innocence opprimi, pour remure le monde. The extravagance of the Eastern manner of expression cannot hurt the nobleness of the sentiment. We have heard nothing from any of the party since they left us, nor have we been encumbered with neighbourly visits since our return home. But our weather is fair, our woods are dry, our hearth and hearts are warm, and Harriet, Lucy and I find sufficient society in ourselves to shorten the day and lengthen the evening, being too loath to part at night. The next post I shall resume my narrative, which may serve to divert us both from too close an attention to our own unhappiness. Till then adieu, El Barton. Letter Thirty-One Continued Lady Barton to Miss Cleveland, Southfield My story is already prefaced, so I need not but proceed, repeating as before, after, Mrs. Walter, for the first ten or twelve days that I passed at Paris, the novelty of the scene with the grandeur and brilliancy of the objects that surrounded me, lifted me, as it were, out of myself, and helped me for that time almost, to forget my misfortunes. The marchinasse made me several very considerable presence, and ordered her tradespeople to attend me, that I might choose my own clothes, only desiring they might be handsome enough to appear in along with her. Madame de Freeburg received a vast deal of company, and kept very late hours. Monsieur de Louvain was seldom of her parties, and sometimes withdrew himself entirely from the house, for a fortnight together. She used to appear dissatisfied at his absence, and frequently complained to me of the coldness and constraint of his manners towards her. He used, sometimes to visit me in my apartment, seemed fond of my little Olivia, and often wished that he had such another child. He said the marchinasse's mode of living was by much too gay and dissipated for him, and that he languished for the pleasure of society in a more rational course of life. Small as was my knowledge of the world, I could not help perceiving that there was something particular in Monsieur de Louvain's address, whenever he spoke to me. But this circumstance, however, was not of a nature to give offence, as it amounted to nothing more than additional softness in his looks and voice. The marchinasse certainly perceived it as well as I, and would often fix her piercing eyes upon me, and asked me if Colonel Walter was as handsome as Monsieur de Louvain. I always replied, as I really thought, that the Colonel was by far the handsomest man I had ever seen. She used to appear pleased with what she called my simplicity. At other times her manners were severe towards me, though perfectly convinced of my own innocence, I began soon to fear that I was become this object of her jealousy. This idea was productive of the most fatal consequences to my peace. It rendered my behaviour timid and constrained before her, and totally deprived me of that ease and cheerfulness which I had before endeavored to assume, in hopes of rendering myself agreeable to my kind benefactress. This alteration in me, which her own manners had occasioned, she construed into the effect of guilt, and became every day more cold and reserved towards me. Scarce ever asked me to go out with her, and as often affected to be surprised when she saw me coming into her drawing-room. Though my situation with the marchinasse was by no means the plued ultra of my hopes and wishes, which continually pressed forward to the meeting of Olivia's father, my still-loved, cruel husband, yet certainly I had reason to consider it an happy asylum for my child and me. Her bounty had rescued both of us from the iron hand of poverty and placed us in the lap of plenty, of honour, and of ease. How then could I bear the being suspected of repaying such benefits with the basis sort of ingratitude? It was impossible, I determined therefore, to come to an explanation with the marchinasse, if possible, to convince her of my innocence, and do all in my power to recover her esteem. But if I failed of removing her suspicions, I firmly resolved to quit her directly, to throw myself and my infant once more into a merciless world, to labour for a bread, and suffer any misery that poverty could affect me with, rather than that of embittering her life, to whom I owed the generous support of my own. I had resolved this subject in my thoughts for several days, and impatiently waited for an opportunity of executing my scheme, but the distance and auteur of Madame de Freeburg's manner overawed me still. I found I could not muster up spirit sufficient to speak on her on such an interesting topic, and I resolved therefore to communicate my sentiments to her in writing. One evening that she went to the Italian comedy, I retired to my chamber, in order to execute my purpose, and that I might not be interrupted. I desired the maid who attended Olivia to take her downstairs and amuse her till I should ring for her to come up, as I had some letters of consequence to write. She withdrew, I bolted my chamber door, sat down to the task I assigned myself. I found it infinitely more difficult than I had imagined. I wrote and burned several sheets of paper, and blotted others with my tears. In this situation I heard a key turn, as it were behind the harass, and saw Monsieur de Levain entering by a door which had been till then concealed from me. I started up, when he threw himself instantly at my feet, said he had long waited in vain for the opportunity of finding me alone for a moment, and hoped I would pardon his acquainting me, perhaps a little too abruptly, with a secret on which more of his life, his happiness, depended. To be short, he then declared his love for me with all the assertions, protestations, and transports that the most violent passion could suggest. No words can paint the surprise and confusion of my mind, which I thought it was impossible to augment, till I saw the marchiness come in at the door which Monsieur de Levain had left open, and found him on his knees before me. Luckily for me I was saved from distraction by the total suspension of all my faculties, and I sunk motionless in my chair. Many hours passed before my reason returned. My recollection of the events that had happened on the preceding night was such as one feels on awakening from a painful dream, yet I flattered myself I should still be able to undeceive the marchiness. By the most solemn assurances of my innocence, and though I could never hope to regain her favor, justice me thought ought to have restored me to the place I had before obtained her esteem. Alas, I knew not then that jealousy, like the adder, is at once sharpsided death and venomous. I rose as soon as it was day, and upon inquiring for the papers, which I left upon my table, was informed that the marchiness had taken them away. I waited impatiently for her rising. I was determined to throw myself at her feet, the moment I should be permitted to see her, to acquaint her with every sentiment of my heart, and to set hers at ease on my account by withdrawing myself from hers and Monsieur de Levéne's sight, for ever. While I was ruminating on my unhappy situation, a servant brought me the following letter. Ah Madame de Olivier, after the scene I was last night an accidental witness of, you cannot, I suppose, be weak enough to imagine that it is any longer in your power to impose upon me, or that all your art, consummate as it is, can prevail on me to continue my protection to the most ungrateful of her sex. Your deep-laid scheme of deceiving me, by that letter, which you and my unworthy husband had concerted together, can now take effect. Contempt must follow such a detection, and render you as much below my resentment as you ever were beneath my esteem. In regard to myself, I must inform you that though I have long suspected an improper intercourse between Monsieur de Levéne and you, I was not actuated by so mean a motive as seeing the conviction I met with when I entered your apartment. Impaled by the regard I once had for you, I was impatient to acquaint you with what I then imagined might have been a welcome piece of intelligence, by informing you that the person you call your husband is in Paris, and that I had seen him at the comedy. It did not, at that moment, occur to me how unwelcome both the news and the messenger might be to you. On inquiring for you, when I came home, I was told that you had bolted your door, and given orders not to be disturbed, even by your darling child. I knew not, but you might be ill or gone to bed, and therefore, to avoid alarming you, thought of the private door which your lover had been so careless to leave open behind him. I do not mean this detail as an apology to you, but as a justification to myself. I have nothing farther to add, because I must suppose it unnecessary to command you to quit my house. Your new protector will, I doubt not, furnish you with proper accommodation, and from this moment I am determined never to care, see, speak, or if possible think of you more. Mariana D. Freberg I sat down on the instant, and wrote to the marchiness, and in the strongest and most affecting terms implored her to admit not to her presence, and implored her to admit me to her presence for a few minutes, but in vain she returned my letter unopened, with a message by her woman, that she would never read a line that I should write, or ever suffer me into her presence more. I grew almost distracted at this treatment, and tried to force my way into her apartment, but was prevented from entering by her servants, and treated like what I really was a poor frantic wretch. The consciousness of my integrity might possibly have supported my spirits at any other time, but the tears I felt, lest the marchiness should see my husband before I did, and poison his mind with her unjust suspicions, were not to be endured. My situation was as completely miserable as anything, but guilt could possibly have rendered it. While I labored under these agonizing sensations, Monsieur de Levain entered my apartment, the moment I beheld him rage for the first time of my life became the predominant passion of my soul. I accused him as the author of all my wretchedness, would not suffer him to speak, though he was prostate at my feet, and commanded him to fly from my sight for ever. Unwilling to irritate me farther, he rose and retired, and had there been an instrument of death within my reach, I fear I might at that instant have put an end to a wretched being, which saw itself marked out for destruction. I was at last informed by the marchinesses' orders that a fiacra waiting to carry me where I pleased, though I had been near ten months at Paris, I was as much a stranger in that great city as on the day I first arrived there. I implored the servant who had attended Olivia not to forsake me, and to direct whither I should go, and what course I should take. She applied to her lady for leave to attend me, but she had not humanity sufficient to grant her request. The girl had, however, resolution and compassion enough to disobey her commands, and accompanied me to a small house in the suburbs of St. Germain's, that belonged to her sister. As soon as she had brought me there, she returned again to the Hotel de Freberg, without my knowledge, to pack up my clothes and her own. When she came back, she gave me a pocket book, which she said I had left behind me. As soon as I saw it, I knew it was not mine, and desired she would find the owner and restore it. She opened it, and a letter dropped out, addressed to me. The hand appeared to be the marchinesses, and it occurred to me that she might have, so far, relented, as to acquaint me with what she knew of Colonel Walter. I instantly broke the seal, and read as follows, a Madame de Olivier. Madame, if we are taught to believe, penance may atone for the greatest crimes. The true sorrow and contrucian, which I feel for having rendered you unhappy, entitles me to hope for your forgiveness. But through you should be generous enough to grant it. It is impossible that I should ever forgive myself. Do not be alarmed, Madame, at the little artifice I have used, in endeavoring to counterfeit the marchinesses' hand. I mean nothing more by it, than a plead for pardon, and to satisfy you, that I shall never more attempt to deserve your peace. The moment I have sealed this, I shall quit Paris, perhaps forever. The sight of my tyrant is now become odious to me, and I dare not flatter myself with the happiness of ever again beholding you. I go, then, Madame, to indulge my unhappy passion in silence and retirement. I fly from the object of my hatred to the contemplation of her whom I adore, of her to whom the warmest wishes of my heart shall forever be devoted, and whom I shall forever remain, yet passionate, but as honorable lover. Charles de Lovain P.S., I hear the happy possessor of your heart is now in Paris. May your virtues meet with their return from his kindness, and may be, if possible, have a high sense of them as the despairing. C.L. Enclosed in this letter, there was a bank note for two hundred Louis de Ores, which I immediately sealed up with it, and sent Maria to deliver back into the hands of Monsieur de Lovain, but he had quitted the marchinesses' house an hour before that time, and no person could tell where he was gone to. The violent agitation of spirits I had gone through brought on a feverish complaint, and though I had resolved to go, alas, I knew not where, in pursuit of Colonel Walter. I found myself unable to sit up, and was obliged to submit to my disorder. I grew worse every hour, and by the next morning I became delirious. The physician who attended me thought it was impossible that I should recover, and at the end of six weeks my being able to crawl across the chamber was deemed a prodigy. The anxiety of my mind doubtless retarded my recovery. My impatience to see Colonel Walter, or at least hear something of him, increased every day, and Maria's sister was sent to inquire for him at all the hotels and houses of English resort in Paris. But without ever receiving the least glimmering of light to trace him by, as soon as my strength would permit I was carried in a sedan to the Luxembourg Gardens. Maria attended, and I might lean on her in case I should be able to walk. I was moving slowly on in one of the most retired walks when I heard Colonel Walter's voice. I turned quick to look for him, and saw him coming towards me with another gentleman. But I saw no more. My senses forstook me. In spite of Maria's sustaining arm I fell motionless to the ground. The first emotions of humanity naturally brought both these persons to my assistance. The Colonel raised me in his arms and carried me to the next seat. But the moment he beheld my face he started from me, and cried out, Come away, my lord, and leave that abandoned woman to practice her arts on other men, for here they cannot be successful. He then took hold of his companion, dragged him off, and quitted the gardens with utmost precipitation. And though Maria had since enough to know that this must have been the person we had so long been in search of, yet it was impossible for her to quit me, in the situation I then was, in order to pursue and watch his haunts. This last shock quite overcame my spirits. I was conveyed home in a state of insensibility, fell from one fainting fit into another, and for several weeks my existence was marked only by the hourly expectations of my dissolution. Yet was I at the time more anxious to live than I have ever been before. I had seen my husband, and hoped there was a possibility of seeing him again, of clearing my innocence, and at least of placing my beloved child under the protection of her father. These were strong motives, and they operated accordingly. I recovered to the amazement of every creature that knew me, and again vainly renewed my search after my unkind fugitive. Maria used sometimes to visit a favorite fellow, servant at the Marchinesses, who told her it was universally believed in the family, that I had had an amour with Monsieur de Lovain, that he had entirely absented himself from his lady, and that she seemed inclined to console herself for his loss, by a particular intimacy with an English gentleman, who made one in all her parties, and was going with her in a few days to the waters of Barrage. The description she gave of this person exactly resembled Colonel Walter, and I was perfectly convinced that this new friend of the Marchinesses was my still beloved, deceived, and unkind husband. I had no person to consult, who was capable advising me how I should act upon this occasion, and amidst a variety of wild and romantic schemes. I at last pitched on that of writing to him, and requesting the favor of an interview in the character of a stranger. I had no doubt that if he accepted my invitation, nature would recover her rights in his heart, and that the sight of a woman whom he once fondly loved and cruelly deserted with the additional influence of his lovely child would melt his obdurate nature, or at least soften it so far as to allow me to assert my innocence, and endeavor to awaken the feelings of parental affliction, if ever other species of tenderness were even totally extinguished. Full of these fond ideas, I wrote to him an ambiguous style, disguised my hand as much as possible, and would not even venture to direct my letter, lest the recollection of my writing, which is rather particular, should prevent his opening it. Maria prevailed on her friend, who lived at the Marchinesses, to deliver this billet to his servant, and to desire that the answer might be left with her. Everything answered to my expectations, and the morning following I received a very gallant note, assuring me that the person I had honored with my invitation would most gladly accept of the favor I intended him, and have the happiness of waiting on me at eight o'clock in the evening. My poor foolish heart exalted with the joy at the success of my little stratagem, I dressed and undressed Olivia a hundred times, in order to try if I could at any ornament to her natural beauty, and render her more lovely in her father's eyes. As to myself, I disdained the aid of dress, well knowing that my wan complexion and my wasted form could only furnish him with such a reproachful idea, as my ghost might have done, of what I was when he first took me. I counted the minutes quicker than they passed, and thought them ages till the appointed hour arrived. But gracious heaven, how shall I express the astonishment I felt when I saw an utter stranger enter the room? With a mixture of libertism and freedom, in his looks and manners I let go Olivia's hand, which I had held in mind, gave a loud shriek and fainted. Maria ran to my assistance. The stranger gazed intently on me and said to her, with a kind of sneer, it was a pity that her lady was subject to such violent disorders, but hoped she would recover her health before she made another assignation with him, for he had seen her faint twice, and he did not think fits were the least addition to female beauty. However, as he believed she might be in distress, he would make her a present of five guineas, for the sake of an old friend of hers honest Jack Walter, and that when he came back from barrage he would call upon her again in hopes of finding her a more ex sociable state than she appeared to be at present. Maria instantly recollected that this gentleman was with the Colonel the day we met him at the Luxembourg Gardens, and endeavored to convince him, he was not the person I expected to see, he said that was impossible, for he had my note in his pocket, and had shrewn it to Colonel Walter, who knew my writing perfectly well, though I had attempted to disguise it. She tried every argument to make him take back his money, but in vain, and as he found that I did not immediately come to myself, he quitted the house with strong expressions of dissatisfaction at his disappointment. This last stroke was infinitely more severe than all that I had yet endured. I now saw the impossibility of ever clearing my conduct to my husband, and devoted as I was by him to infamy the peaceful asylum of the sheltering grave was now become my only hope or wish. Even a mother's tenderness could not reconcile me to such unmerited and endless sufferings that virtuous fondness which had sustained me through all my former trials was now absorbed in mean self-love, and I could not refrain from praying for an end of my misery, though certain that my Olivia's misfortunes must commence from the conclusion of mine. I languished on for many months, in this state of passive despair, when the fight of the good Father Glam, who I had never heard from since I left Marseille, and of course concluded to be dead, brought back a gleam of joy. He told me that after his return to Marseille, he had a long and severe illness, and on his recovery had been obliged to go to Rome on business, that he had written me several times, and was grieved to find that his letters had miscarried. He informed me that Annette had died, in about six weeks after I left her, that she was extremely penitent for the injuries she had done me, and retracted everything she had said to my prejudice. I dropped tears at her untimely fate, while my own misery taught me to envy that lot which my humanity lamented. The Marseilless had written to Father Glam, and accused me of the basis in gratitude to her, and the most infamous conduct with regard to myself, and the good man had come on purpose, to Paris, to be, as he said, convinced of my innocence, or to relinquish his opinion of female virtue. The situation he found me in afforded him sufficient conviction of my integrity, and when I related the circumstances in which I had been involved, the gracious drops of pity that he shed for my distress were like a healing balm to my poor wounded heart. He would have gone directly to the Marseilless, and tried to undeceive her, but she had been at barrage for some time, and no one knew whether she would go from thence to Paris or Marseille. He undertook to find out Colonel Walter, for me, if he remained in Paris, and cheered my spirits with the hope that he would at least vindicate my injured character, and leave him no excuse for the inhumanity of his behavior. After a fruitless search of several weeks he learned that Colonel Walter was then at Genoa. He wrote to him in the most forcible terms, in my favor, but to this and many other letters he never deigned an answer, though we were satisfied that he had received them from the hand of a person that Father Gilom could depend on, who afterwards informed us of the Colonel's setting out for England, and of his design of returning to settle in his native country. As for myself, I had now no hope left of ever recovering his esteem, or my reputation. To my great joy I perceived I was going fast into a consumption, but though I longed for my release, it was impossible to quit my little charge exposed to all the miseries of unfriended youth, without suffering the severest agonies, and after many consultations upon the subject I at least acquisished in Father Gilom's opinion, and it was my duty not to leave her totally an orphan, but to place her and myself under the protection of her father before I should be taken from her. Upon this principle I set out for Ireland, as soon as I received information through Father Gilom's means of my husband's being there. I arrived about four months ago, my reception surpassed even my apprehensions. Inhumanity and insult were added to unkindness, and my not being turned out to perish in the highway was accounted a favour far beyond my desert. What account the Colonel gave of me to his servants? I can only suppose, but he told me that if I ever attempted to converse with one of them I should not remain another moment in his house. He commanded me never again to appear in his sight, and confined me to a wretched garret where I am supplied with such food as his servants think proper to afford me. Unworthy as I am I have often repined at the continuance of my existence, but I now bless the chastening hand that has enabled me to support my miseries to this auspicious hour when I can no longer doubt that my child shall find protection from your humanity, and no more be involved in the unhappy fate that has so long attended her true wretched mother. The agonies which Mrs. Walter sustained during the recital of her affecting story made me fear that her death would bring it to a period before she had finished the relation, but my appearing as I really was sincerely interested in her misfortunes seemed to furnish her with such a recruit of strength and spirits as enabled her to undergo the reflection and recital of her unmerited sorrows. The morning was pretty far advanced. By the time Mrs. Walter had concluded her narrative, I gave her the strongest assurances of my doing everything in my power, both for herself and her child. I pressed her to take share of my bed for a few hours, which she refused, though she seemed so faint and exhausted as to be scarce able to get up the stairs. She said if Olivia should awaken and miss her, she would be alarmed and might disturb the family. She added that one of her greatest anxieties for some time past had been for what her child should feel if she should happen to expire in the night, and that the little helpless innocent should find her cold and insensible to her soft touch and voice. As soon as she left me, I went to bed, but found it impossible to rest. I knew not in what manner to act, so William would probably be displeased at my interfering in Colonel Walter's affairs, yet was I determined at all events to fulfill my promise to this unable unfortunate and protect her and her child as far as it might be in my power. With this resolution I shall now take leave of my dearest fanny, as I am extremely factored with writing, yet would not trespass so far on your patience as to break off again till I had concluded Mrs. Walter's story, but interested as I am for her, be assured that I am much more so for my beloved fanny and Sir George. Where is he now, my sister? Has Mrs. Coville's mystery been explained? Is his heart more at ease after it, and has your hearts yet recovered that tranquility which should be the portion of the good and amiable? Alas, why is it not in alienably so? Yet Mrs. Walter wastes her days in sorrow, my fanny mourns her ill-requited love. Sir George hangs pensive o'er his delias' tune, and my sad heart too much in unison with mournful tones, responsive echoes back the size of all, and mingles plaintive notes for its own woes. Adieu, my dearest sister. Org. Recording by Devorah Allen. The History of Lady Barton. By Elizabeth Griffith. Letter 32. Miss Cleveland, to Lady Barton. A thousand thanks to my dear Louisa for the pleasing, painful entertainment which she has taken the trouble of affording me, which is at present more particularly suited to my situation than any other that could possibly be devised. In quest of happiness we should forever cast our eyes downward, and the tears that flow from them in contemplating the miseries of those who are more wretched than ourselves will at last stifle the voice of self-love, and silence the complaints that arise from lesser sorrows, sometimes imaginary ones. When I compare my sufferings with those of the unfortunate Olivia I am shocked at my own ingratitude and impiety for having ever dared to say I was unhappy. The greatest misery I have endured falls infinitely short of the least of hers. Like her I have been forsaken by the man I love, but then I have not like her been exposed to want in ignominy. Sheltered in the fostering arms of tender and affectionate friends, who sympathize even with my weakness in lamenting in it in constant lover, blessed with reputation, health and fortune, these circumstances render the comparison so very unfair that it must be disadvantageous to make it. No, she is alone the paragon of unearned sufferings, and I hope there is not any one person living who has a right to dispute the painful preeminence with her. But where is she now, Louisa? It is not possible that you can have left her in that pandemonium, which the great fiend inhabits. I cannot speak of Colonel Walter in milder terms. I am provoked that the infernal should have any shadow of pretense for his barbarity to his angelic wife. When the world once gets hold of a tale of scandal, it is not easy to rest it from them. That wicked Marchioness. But there will be no end to my letter if I go on entering into particulars. All I can say upon the whole is this. That I fear your bringing her to Southfield may engage Sir William in a strife, either with the Colonel or yourself. No one can tell which part he will take. I should rather apprehend his siding with the monster and quarreling with you for intermeddling. To avoid all this apprehension, if Mrs. Walter be able to bear the journey, on the easiest terms it can be made to her, request you to send her and her child over to me as quick as possible. I will receive her with open arms and do everything in my power to procure her health and peace. I have no person to whom I am accountable for my conduct, and therefore stand clearer from difficulty in this affair than you do. I hope these reasons will incline both Mrs. Walter and you to comply with my entreaty, and that I shall soon have the happiness of embracing the two lovely Olivia's. She may depend on my secrecy. I can prepare this family in half an hour for the reception of a lady and her daughter from France, whom I have invited to spend some time with me. I will carry her to Bristol or any other place that may aid her recovery. She must not die, Louisa, and for heaven's sake let me have the happiness of being concerned in her preservation. I fear self has predominated too much in this wish, for indeed I look forward with an uncommon degree of impatience to the pleasure of having it in my power to serve such an amiable creature. Do, my Louisa then, indulge me with the true enjoyment of the fortune I am possessed of. Let me know the transport of suckering merit in distress, and I shall henceforward look upon riches as a real blessing. I have this moment received a letter from our dear brother that has amazed me. What think you is the pretended request of the dying Delia? Why, nothing more than that Sir George should marry her mother. I have long suspected her passion for my brother. I knew her to be an artful, that is, in other words, a vile woman. I cannot help the evil thoughts which obtrude themselves on my mind with regard to my dear Delia's death. If Mrs. Colville be innocent, heaven forgive me, but I have not charity enough to pray for her if she should be guilty. Sir George does not express half the horror that I feel of this shocking proposal. The gratification which our vanity receives in knowing we are beloved, even by the most worthless person, can I perceive soften our contempt into compassion, and deceive us so far as to make us think such pity the offspring of our virtue. However, do not be alarmed, for though he speaks somewhat too tenderly of her pretended sorrow, I am certain no power on earth could ever make him think of such an unnatural alliance. I have little to say of myself. Nothing of moment has happened to me since I wrote last, and I endeavour to think as little as possible of what happened before. Adieu, my dear Louisa. I hope there is a letter of yours now travelling towards me, for I am most extremely impatient to know what you have done or intend to do with Mrs. Walter. I beg you to assure her of my affectionate regard, and to believe me ever most truly yours, F. Cleveland. End of Letter 32 Letters 33 and 34 Of the History of Lady Barton This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Linda Marie Nielsen, Vancouver, B.C. The History of Lady Barton By Elizabeth Griffiths Letters 33-34 From Lady Barton to Ms. Cleveland Letter 33 Southfield This letter, my fanny, shall go on in the narrative style, at least so far as it relates to Mrs. Walter, for as her adventures are entirely detached from anything relative to us, I will not mingle them with mine. I lay till it was very late, on the morning that the fair unfortunate had related her story, yet I had neither slept nor fixed upon any scheme for delivering her from her hated prison, except that of bringing her and her child to Southfield, which I foresaw must be attended with very hazardous consequences. I therefore summoned a little counsel, the moment I arose, and after communicating the most distressful circumstances of her situation to Lucy, Harriet, and my faithful Benson, I desired them to give me their advice how to act on this critical association. Having first informed them that I was determined not to desert the cause I had undertaken by leaving this amiable woman to perish at Waltersboro, various, as you may suppose, were the plans offered and rejected. It was at last agreed that we should return home as soon as possible, and that Mrs. Walter should remain where she was, for three or four days after our departure, that in that time Benson should be employed in fitting up a chamber for her reception in the house of one of our tenants, whom I formally mentioned to you as having his house burned, and who had now got a very comfortable, though small, habitation within a short walk of Southfield, that as soon as everything was prepared, Benson should come for her in my shays to a particular spot at a time appointed, and convey her and the little Olivia to this house, where she was to remain in profound secrecy till we saw what effect this innocent elopement might produce, till everything in our power should have been done for the recovery of her health, until we could fix upon some more eligible plans for her future happiness. As the Colonel's servants gave themselves not the least trouble about the fair recluse, we found it very easy to convey proper food to her, unobserved, and as I thought it right, that she should have time to consider of our scheme, I wrote to her directly and desired to have the pleasure of an interview with her in my apartment that night. I gave her to understand, in the politest manner I could, my reasons for declining to bring her directly to Southfield, at least till I had consulted my husband, and assured her in the strongest terms that while I lived, neither she nor her child should ever be reduced to the misery of seeking support or protection from the inhuman Colonel Walter. I added everything that I thought could soothe her mind and implored her to take care of her health for the sake of her lovely infant. She replied almost instantly to my letter, poured forth the warmest acknowledgments for my goodness, again called me, her guardian angel, and said she was ready to be guided by me in everything, and that, as the strongest mark of her gratitude, she would at my command endeavor to live, were it only to bless and thank me. The impatience of Lucy and Harriet to see Mrs. Walter was extreme. They looked at their watches a hundred times, and would feign have persuaded themselves they did not go from the moment it grew dusk till our hour of retiring, though it was yet a moot point, whether they were to see her or know, as I meant first to ask her permission, certainly before I should present them to her. When she entered my apartment, her continents seemed at once more animated and composed than it had been the preceding night. The effusions of her gratitude were such, as must flow from a heart like hers, and were more fully expressed by the silent eloquence of tears, than by the pomp of words. She readily and most gracefully complied, with the request I made her, of giving me leave to introduce Lucy and Harriet to her, who, notwithstanding the description I had given them of the delicacy and elegance of her form, were both amazed when they beheld her, and could hardly consider her as of flesh and blood, but rather a form of unsubstantial air, or else composed of that fine ether with which we suppose angels endued themselves, when they deigned to become visible on earth. As both Mrs. Walter and I wanted rest, we parted sooner than we had done the foregoing night, after having first settled everything for the execution of our project, and fixed on the day following for my quitting Waltersburg. Benson packed up a part of hers and Olivia's clothes with mine, and we contrived to leave her every little necessity that could be conducive to her comfort or convenience, while she remained behind us. I have now the pleasure to tell you that everything succeeded to our wishes, and that she and her sweet girl are safely and privately lodged at Honest Farmer Wilson's, for the present, are right to her every day by Benson, but have not yet ventured to see her, as I am not able to walk, and the eclat of my carriage stopping at a farmhouse might occasion suspicion. Benson assures me that she already perceives a change for the better in her appearance, and I begin to hope she may recover both her health and peace of mind. The little Olivia is quite wild with spirits, and is trying to learn English from Lucy, who visits Mrs. Walter every day, and the first words she desired to be taught were meant to express her thanks to me for my kindness to her mama. Though I reflect with sincere pleasure on having been able to rescue this amiable woman from a sense of her severest distress, yet I cannot help feeling an anxiety for her future fate, which gives me extreme pain. She cannot long remain where she is undiscovered, and no one can tell what step that barbarian, her husband, may take to distress her yet farther. My apprehensions are that he will force Olivia from her, and the loss of her child would, I am certain, occasion the loss of her life. But supposing that he should never discover her retreat, or even inquire about her, I see no asylum, except a convent where her youth and beauty will not subject her to a thousand misfortunes. You are sufficiently acquainted with my sentiments on the subject of monasteries, to know how very unwilling I should be to recommend a state of seclusion to any creature I either love or esteem, yet in her unhappy situation I see no other resource. However I shall not advise precipitally, not but that I should approve extremely of an establishment of this kind in our own country, under our own religion and laws, both equally free from tineriney, an asylum for unhappy women to retreat to, not from the world, but from the misfortunes or the slander of it, for female orphans, young widows, or still more unhappy objects, forsaken or ill-treated wives, to but take themselves too in such distresses, for in all these circumstances women who live alone have need of something more than either prudence or a fair character, to guard them from rudeness or censor. Now some sort of foundation under the government of a respectable matronage endowed for such a purpose, would certain be an institution most devoutly to be wished for, as a relief in the difficulties of these situations, I have just mentioned. Here women might enjoy all the pleasures and advantages of living still in the world, have their conduct reciprocally vouched by one another, and be screened from those artful and insidious essays which young or pretty women, when once become helpless and adjectives of society are generally liable to. I have had a letter from Sir William, and for once he seems pleased with my determination of staying in the country. This has made me very happy, though he had commanded my attendance in Dublin. I would have obeyed, for I will at least endeavour to deserve the character which the offended Moor gives of the gentle Desdemona, and you say obedient, very obedient, and, as I have already told my fanny, that is all that I can at present promise. I think it is a little century since I have heard from you. I suppose you did not choose to interrupt me in my narrative, but I expect and think reasonably that you should now hold forth in your turn, and allow me credit for the entertainment which I am certain you must have received from Mrs. Walter's story. I have this moment got a card from Miss Ashford to congratulate me on my recovery, and to let me know that Lord Lucan and she will wait on me this afternoon. It is not odd, fanny, that I should not have heard of his being at Sir Arthur Ashford's till now. Perhaps he went there directly from Waltersburg. If so, he must certainly be attached to Miss Ashford, but of what consequence are his engagements to me? I shall not know how to behave to him, uncertain as I am with regard to the unaccountable adventure at Colonel Walters. If he is innocent of that insult, he will be astonished at the coldness and distance of my manners towards him. If guilty, surely his own confusion will betray him, and he shall never see my face again. But why should he bring Miss Ashford with him to Southfield? Does not this look as if he feared an explanation? Guilty, guilty upon honour. Adieu, my sister, Louisa Barton. Letter 34 Lady Barton to Miss Cleveland I have such a variety of subjects to treat of, that I know not which to begin with, but I think I ought to pay my dear fanny the compliment of attending first to her long wish for and truly welcome letter. I had not a doubt, but that your humanity would be both affected and interested for the unhappy Mrs. Walter. The goodness both of your head and heart is eminently conspicuous in the proper use you have made of her misfortunes. To lighten and invalidate our own sufferings by comparing them with those of others is truly philosophic, but that firmness of mine, or rather toughness of heart, which enables us to bear our own miseries with patience and composure, is in general but too apt to render us callous to those tender feelings which should be excited by the woes of others. Let me then congratulate myself on having a sister whose stalatism is confined only to herself, while her tenderness and compassion are extended to the numerous, the unbounded circle of the unhappy. Yes, my fanny, your request shall be complied with. Mrs. Walter is already made happy in the hope of being known to such a generous mind as yours. She has confessed to me that in her present situation she has suffered a thousand apprehensions, lest my kindness to her might involve me in difficulties with Sir William, but that she could think of no expedient to prevent this evil, but flying to a convent which she feared to propose, as her going there must be attended with what she thought too considerable an expense. I should have strongly objected to this game from her ill state of health, though she is, however, amazingly recovered, since her enlargement from that worse than prison, where her poor mind was fettered, though her limbs were free, and I have great hopes from the calm state in which she now appears of her recovery. She has really an extraordinary understanding, allowing for her youth an inexperience, and from that I trust that she will be able to conquer the tenderness she formerly felt for the most worthless of his sex. She is to set out this night for Cork, where she is consigned to the care of an imminent merchant, a particular friend of Lucy Leisters, who will ensure her a passage in one of the best ships that sails from thence to Bristol. On her arrival there she is to be put into the care of Benson's niece, who is married to the stationeer, and is commanded by her aunt to attend her up to London and lodge her safe under your kind protection. One of Farmer Wilson's daughters goes with her to attend the little Olivia. The girl has lived in some credible families and is tolerably clever. Both Mrs. Walter and her lovely child have made an astonishing progress in learning English. They have capacities for everything. When the moment arrives of bidding her adieu, which it shortly must, I shall be sensible of a more mixed sensation than I have ever felt before. I know that I ought to rejoice at our separation, for her sake, but I cannot help being selfish enough to regret it for my own. Amazement falls infinitely short of what I felt when I read the paragraph in your letter relative to Mrs. Colville. I am shocked as well as you at the train of ideas which obtruded themselves upon me in consequence of her unnatural proposal, alarmed about my brother. No heaven forbid that I should ever think of him in such a light. He ever disliked, and he must now detest her. But Sir George is of a mild and gentle nature, not apt to give the reins to his resentments. His natural and acquired good breathing must prevent his speaking hardly of a woman who ever, who even pretends to love him, and the involuntary respect with which he is inspired for Delia's mother, must increase his restraint and silence every sarcastical reflection. Now for myself I know not what to think about Lord Lucan. Never was confusion equal to mine at seeing him this rendering me incapable of observing him, but Lucy, who was present at our interview, assured me there was nothing particular in his appearance except the paleness of his counterants, and his surprise at my manner which I am sure must have been perfectly distraught. Why did he bring Miss Ashford here? She doubtless remarked the alteration in my behaviour, and I perhaps at this moment the object of their ridicule. I never saw her look so handsome as she did that evening. I suppose they will soon be married. I wish it was over, and that they were both gone to his seat in the North. I have been extremely uneasy these three days. About my little Harriet, she looks ill and neither eats or sleeps, yet will not allow that she is sick. I should certainly apprehend her being in love, if she had seen any object lately, that could have inspired her with that passion. Know, my dear Fanny, my adventure at Waltersburg was not a dream, yet I sometimes think, with you, that Lord Lucan could never have been guilty of such an indecorum, though I do not now agree with you, that he is at all affected with any particular sentiment towards me, and I sincerely rejoice in dissenting from your opinion on the subject. By sending Mrs. Walter to you, I have barred my own hopes of seeing you in Ireland, and I alas have none of meeting you in England. I cannot let this effort of generosity pass without marking it, for perhaps it is the highest exertion of that virtue which I may ever have an opportunity of displaying. I go now to bid adieu to your future charge. She will have the happiness of seeing my Fanny, almost as soon as this can reach her hands. An involuntary sigh has just escaped me. Down, selfish thoughts, farewell, my dear sister, L. Barton. End of Letters 33 to 34. I have received your letter, my Louisa, and I have also received your fare, your lovely friend. Mrs. Walter arrived in Dover Street last night. Prepared as I was by your description, the extreme delicacy of her form surpassed my imagination. I can scarcely persuade myself that she is compounded of the same materials of which common mortals are made. At least I am certain that there must be as much difference as there is between the clay of which the finest porcelain is formed and that which makes the coarsest earthenware. I am sorry to say the simile is strengthened by an appearance of extreme fragility and weakness, which alarms one's tenderness into a kind of apprehension for her safety every moment, and is, in my mind, infinitely more interesting than the most healthful glow of beauty in its highest bloom. I am sure if I were a man I should be in love with her, and of course miserable, for I could not help considering her but as a mere beautyous shadow, which a rough blast who quickly might dissolve. But though not a lover, I am determined to cherish this fair idea, and for that purpose I shall take lodging as at Kensington Gravelpits tomorrow for three weeks or a month, as I do not think the season far enough advance to carry her to the Hotwells, or venture her even so far as Cleveland Hall. There is, as you have already observed, something uncommonly engaging in her manner of speaking, but her sentiments need no addition. I never heard such warm yet elegant expressions of gratitude as she used in speaking of you. Her tears flowed fast while she uttered them. The little Olivia took her hand and said, Mama, Lady Barton is so good that I know it would grieve her to think she made you weep, for I am sure she meant to dry your tears. But Mrs. Walter is at this moment writing to you. I will therefore leave her to express her own sentiments, which she will do much better than I can, because she feels more. I am charmed with your scheme of an English Protestant monastery, though I am much afraid that both you wrote and I read that passage in your letter with two selfish feelings and reflections. The general idea of convents I am as much averse to as you are, and I am sure that none of those abroad would be a proper retreat for our fair client. The strictness of their institutions and the harshness of their discipline would soon dispatch her to the region of saints. Besides, such a place would be as unfit for one in her state of mind as well as of body. Need the already unhappy afflict themselves still further with austerities? There is a paragraph in your letter which gives me infinite concern. My dear Louisa must no longer boast a heart quite free from love. She is, I am afraid, a stricken deer. But I will hope that the wound is not mortal, and that it may yet be healed, though not without a cicatris. Why, ask yourself, my sister, why all these apprehensions about Miss Ashford? Why is she to be married to Lord Lucan merely because she came with him to visit you? And why should you suspect an amiable young woman of such mean malice as without provocation to attempt to render you ridiculous? These are not the genuine feelings of my Louisa's heart. The stings of jealousy have instilled its venom, and this passion has but two sources—pride and love. I most sincerely wish that Lord Lucan and Miss Ashford were married, and that they were gone to his lordship's seat in the north, or to any other point of the compass that may be most remote from the neighborhood of Southfield. I cannot help trembling for your happiness, Louisa. I well know that I have nothing else to fear for, but is not that sufficient. I have with pain long beheld your growing partiality for his lordship, yet I hoped against the conviction of my own heart, which still overflows with tenderness for an unworthy object, that you would be able to conquer it. But let me hear observe, Louisa, that our situations are so widely different that the weakness which may in mine not only be pardoned, but pitied, becomes criminal in yours. This you may possibly say is hard measure, but as we were none of us in a condition to make terms for ourselves before we came into the world, we must submit to those that this same world has imposed on us since. And believe me, that they who struggle least against those chains which custom has forged for our sex are least likely to feel their weight. The world is jealous of its rights. It haughtily resents and harshly chastises the smallest breach of them. Nor did I ever know a man or woman who boasted that they despised its laws and trusted to their own integrity, who were not soon severely punished by its contempt or censure. So much by way of censor. Now let the friend and sister plead for the preservation of your peace, which cannot be maintained with loss of fame, though conscious innocence might plead your justification ever so strongly. Should your character happen to be impeached from any misconduct of yours, remember that your husband has a right to resent your having forfeited the highest trust which manly confidence can commit to female delicacy, the preservation both of his honor and her own, and that from that moment you must appear in the light of a criminal towards him at least, though you stand ever so clear with regard to yourself. How truly humiliating must such a situation be to a mind like yours. I have drawn this sad prospect in the strongest colors, in hopes that my Louisa will start from the brink of the precipice where she now stands, and instantly retreat into the gentle path of domestic happiness. I am truly grieve that the roughness of Sir William's manners may render this walk less smooth and pleasing than it should be, yet surely it is easier to tread on pebbles than on thorns, and with the latter we shall certainly find those ways strewed that lead from the road which Providence has marked out for us. I should detest myself if I were able to add another line on this subject, yet I hope that my tears have not so much blotted what I have already written as to prevent your reading it. Mrs. Walter is determined to write to her husband, and I think her right in it, for some of the reasons given above, though heaven knows she owes him no compliment, nor scarcely duty. She shall not, however, if I can prevent it, write for some days, as it must hurry her poor weak spirits which want much to be recruited. I have not heard from my brother for some time. Adieu, my ever dear Louisa. F. Cleveland. End of Letter 35. Letter 36 of the history of Lady Barton. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The history of Lady Barton by Elizabeth Griffith. Letter 36. Lord Hume to Lord Lucan. If I were not perfectly convinced of the fallacy of judicial astrology, I should fancy you were a conjurer, Lucan, and that you had calculated Margarita's netivity. How else could you at such a distance discover that she was compounded of art, while I, who saw her every day and all the day, was so thoroughly hoodwinked by her beauty as to imagine her mind as faultless as her form. What a numbskull, what a coxcomb have I been. She had cunning enough to persuade and I folly enough to believe that she loved me to distraction. For the rest of my life I shall consider myself as an idiot, though you are to take notice that I will not be called so even by you. But the worst of it is that I am a ruined fool too. Don't laugh, Lucan. I shall be ready to cut your throat if you do so, but I know you will not when I tell you that I am severely hurt. In my last I acquainted you that I had lost a large sum at play and was waiting at Venice for remittances which arrived in a few days. Margarita had a mind as she said that we should quit Venice with a coup d'ecla and prevailed on me to hire jewels to the amount of two thousand pounds to ornament herself on the last night of our appearance at the carnival. I readily complied with her request, though I had before laid out very near that sum in the same sort of trumpery for her. She looked like an angel when she was dressed that I must acknowledge and I never once thought of searching for the cloven foot beneath such a dazzling brightness. We went together to the masquerade and with us a man she called her brother, whom I have since discovered to be her galant and a notorious sharper. I soon engaged at play, fortune favored me for a time, but before the conclusion of the night she was at her old tricks again and I lost five hundred guineas. The agitation naturally attendant on the vicissitudes of play had taken off my attention even from Margarita so that I felt no anxiety at not having seen her for several hours. It was very late when I went home and judge of my amazement when I was told she had not returned from the time we set out together. I flew back again into the street and ran like a distracted man into every house that was open, but the company were retired from every place and I could find no trace of her. I will not pretend to give you an idea of my situation, for I can now hardly recollect the state of my mind at that time, much less describe it. About nine o'clock in the morning a mendicant friar brought a letter to my door in which were contained these words. To Lord Hume, I entreat you, my dear Lord, and quantum lover, not to be uneasy on my account. I am well and happy, and before this can reach you shall be out of the Venetian dominions. All search after me will be in vain. I should not have quitted you so abruptly if I had not discovered that my staying with you would have been an injury to your fortune, which I imagine is already much hurt. But you Englishmen can always repair such damages by marriage. I therefore remove the only obstacle to the amendment of your circumstances by tearing myself from you, and do now most seriously recommend it to you to return to your own country and avail yourself of this last resource. Those trifles of yours which I have taken with me I shall still preserve as tokens of your liberality, which is allowed to be the national virtue of the English, and I shall ever remain your Lordship's much obliged and obedient servant. The reading of this letter entirely conquered every passion of my mind, but rage, and I think I could at that moment have strangled the insolent gypsy who wrote it, but I was not suffered to brood over it long, for the Jew from whom I had hired the jewels came to demand them. I knew not what to do. I had settled with my banker the day before, and as I intended leaving Venice, I had withdrawn my letter of credit, and had not have so much cash as would answer the Israelites' demand. Lord Stormont happened luckily to come in to pay me a visit. I frankly told it my distress, and he kindly let me a draft on his banker, which satisfied old Shylock. I wrote on the instant to my agent to cut down a wood that was planted for ought I know by my great grandfather, and thus my good tall oaks that have been at least four score years growing have vanished into the hands of Jews and jades for one night's no diversion at the carnival. Indeed, Lucan, I begin to think that we English are very silly fellows, but why should I lump my countrymen when I am really convinced that there is not such another noodle in the world as myself? How go on your love affairs they can't be in such a desperate state as mine? Our country women have not speared enough to strike such a stroke as my dear Valesa has done, and I now begin to think that a man had better be contented with the wholesome home-brewed beer of old England than paid to dear four tokay. Now I talk of England I should like very well to return there if I were not ashamed to see Fanny Cleveland and afraid of being laughed at by my old friends at all max and bootles and in short everywhere do my dear Lucan tell me what I shall do with myself for I am at present the most desolate as well as desultory of mortals but in all states I shall continue affectionately yours, Hume. End of letter 36. Letter 37 of the history of Lady Martin. List is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Ivan Yuan from Shanghai High School International Division. The history of Lady Martin by Elizabeth Griffiths. Letter 37. Lord Lucan to Lord Hume. My dear Hume, as you have made it a point I will not laugh at what you seem to consider as a misfortune but you must permit me to say that I have not received so much pleasure for a long time as from your account of Margarita's elopement. Believe me my friend you have got cheaply off even with the loss of some thousands. Character is of infinitively more value than fortune but I am persuaded that both yours would have been totally ruined. Had you considered much longer connected with slap most infamous and artful women. There is nothing so very particular in your adventure as to make you apprehend yourself peculiarly ridiculous for I will take upon me to say that there is not one in ten of our countrymen that has made the same tour which you have done who has not been duped by some jay of Italy. Don't publish the story yourself and others will be cautious how they mention it to you. I will also venture to promise that Miss Cleveland has too much delicacy herself to wound yours though I have not the honor of knowing her. If you have no other objections but those I have alluded to and which I have sufficiently obviated I would by all means wish you to return immediately to England. But preasy why my dear Hugh have you made a comparison so extreme the interest to our fair country woman whose beauty is at least the most of Europe nor do I believe that either Georgia or the Grecian Isles can produce anything that surpasses them in loveliness or elegance of form. Your home brewed beer was a family for a porter or at best for a mere hunting squire. I am firmly persuaded from this instance that you have conversed more with Englishmen than foreigners since you have been on this continent. This is one of the unpardonable absurdities common to our nation we go or are sent abroad by our friends. I had almost said our enemies at great expense and then instead of informing ourselves of the manner and police of the place we are in our first pursuit is to find out our countrymen and herd with them continually merely because they are so by which conduct we contrived still to retain those prejudices we should have left at home and cultivate only the follies and vices we meet with abroad. But a truth with reflections of every kind and in answer to your query with regard to the situation of my heart I can with truth assure you that it is infinitely more wretched than your own. I never had the least reason to flatter myself with the most distant idea of being beloved by the object of my passion yet had my vanity inspired me with the fond hope of having obtained some small share in her friendship and esteem. How I have forfeited this blessing I know not but it now is fled my friend with it all my happiness. I have been for sometimes past at the feet of thorough author Ashford you must remember him at college. He has a sister who is most handsome and agreeable and had I a disengaged heart I know no woman to whom I would sooner offer my hand but never shall I be guilty of such baseness as to defraud an innocent and amiable woman of her affections while like a wretched bankrupt I have not an equivalent to make. The circumstance of Miss Ashford's living with her brother will prevent my spending as much of my time with him as I could wish the world will be apt to suppose that her attractions might have drawn me thither and this may possibly prevent a real and deserving lover from making his addresses there I will therefore speedily retire to my own seat to solitude and thorough you are incapable of forming any idea of the charming delicate but distracted situation of my mind may have your days be you worse as you my friend lukin end of letter 37 letters 38 and 39 of the history of Lady Barton this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Linda Marie Nielsen Vancouver BC the history of Lady Barton by Elizabeth Griffith letters 38 and 39 letter 38 Lady Barton to Miss Cleveland Sofield yes fanny I confess it you have searched my bosom and found the arrow rankling in my heart too cruel sister better sure far better that you had remained ignorant of my disease unless you can prescribe a cure I now detest myself and all that generous confidence which is the true result and firm support of real virtue is forever fled I shrink even from the mild eye of friendship the tender the affectionate looks of Harriet and Lucy now distress me how then shall I endure the stern expression of contempt and rage from an offended husband's angry brow there is but one thing that could be more dreadful I mean his kindness that alone could add new horrors to my wretched state and make me feel the humiliating situation of a criminal still more than I now do I am I am a criminal alas you know not what degree I am so but I will tell you all lay bare my heart before you and beg you not to soothe but probe its wounds at about a quarter of a mile from our house there is an octagon temple which overlooks a fine piece of water adjoining to which there is a beautiful and extensive wood this room then I have fitted up in a very elegant taste as a small library or museum for myself and it is entirely devoted to my hours of retirement here I read write draw or ruminate in this spot on the day after I last wrote you I was sitting and musing I will confess it on the happiness which might have been my portion had I happened to have met Lord Lucan before I was Sir William Barton's wife the tears streamed insensibly from my eyes and so much dimmed my sight as to make it doubtful whether the figure I then saw of Lord Lucan walking by the canal was real or visionary I rose immediately to the window and perceived it to be him he came slowly on gazing intently on a miniature picture which he sometimes pressed to his lips and sometimes held at a distance as if to place it in different points of view blushing I own it Fanny I felt the pains of jealousy I doubted not but it was Miss Ashford's picture and instantly detested the original how unworthy how unworthy how unjust do I now appear in my own sight my feet became as much riveted to the place where I stood as Lord Lucan's eyes were to the picture he saw me not till he came close to the window and then in the utmost confusion slept the portrait into his pocket he came into the temple covered with blushes made a thousand apologies for having intruded upon my retirement though he said he had come on purpose to take his leave as he meant to quit Sir Arthur Ashford's and set out for his own seat the next day with more peak than prudence I told him that I was surprised at his having resolution sufficient to tear himself from a person whose picture was so dear to him as I suppose that to be to which I had seen him pay his adorations when I fancied he might have the original as a companion for life if he choose it I never saw surprise so strongly painted as in his counterance his voice faltered while he replied were that possible madame I should be the happiest man alive but alas there is a bar an unsuperable bar which cannot be surmounted therefore madame I do tear myself from the too lovely object of a despairing passion I was very near as much confused as Lord Lucan and without knowing what I said replied I pity you my lord and am truly sorry at that instant he in an exactly exclaimed oh stop most honored most beloved of women nor raise my transports to that dangerous height which may exceed to madness yet yet again repeat the charming sound and by your pity overpay my sufferings it was impossible for anyone not quite an idiot to misunderstand this declaration yet was I absurd enough to seem ignorant of his meaning and answered that I did not conceive of what use my pity could be to him as I could not hope to have more influence on Miss Ashford then himself he started from his seat and with a look that seemed to pierce through all my little artifice cried out Miss Ashford madame how is it her concern surely my lord I replied I thought it was that lady's picture with which you seem so much delighted as you walked along he gazed on me again with earnestness as he would read my thoughts and then with downcast looks as speaking to himself he said it must be so that form that angel form cannot deceive and my symmetry is yet a secret it shall remain so for I will fly forever from her sight he turned away his face to hide his tears and I had suffered a conversation to have ended there I had been far less guilty than I am but vanity that bane of frimal virtue led me on to tell him that I could not be satisfied without a farther explanation on this subject and that as he had declared Miss Ashford was not the object of his passion I hoped he could have no objection to shrewing me the picture of a person whom in all probability I neither did nor possibly might ever know he looked at me then with a counterance more solemn than I had ever seen him where I blushed excessively from a consciousness of my own insincerity he saw into my thoughts and with a firm and yet affecting manner spoke thus do not for your own sake madame extend the cruelty of your triumph beyond my demerits nor wantonly sport with the miseries of one whom you have though innocently rendered wretched nature formed you in her most perfect model and gave me susceptibility to admire those charms which to my endless grief were then devoted to another I sought not madame to invade his right or soil the purity of your fair bosom with one improper thought your friendship your esteem I wished to gain and for that purpose kept my love concealed chance only has revealed it how am I to blame or wherefore should I now become the object of your hatred or contempt your pity was the sole indulgence I ever should have dared to have solicited that you might without a crime have bestowed the wildness of my passion flattered my fond hopes that you had just now granted it judge of its value by my transports madame but you recall the precious gift and all that I now dare presume to ask is your forgiveness allow me that and never more shall the unhappy lukin offend your eyes or feast his own with gazing on your charms here stopped his utterance oh fanny was it possible that my eyes should be dry they streamed too surely I confess my weakness at that moment my heart first felt the luxury of tears the soft effusion flowed from pity from tenderness from dare I pronounce it love the emotion he discovered at seeing me weep was quite extravagant he threw himself at my feet snatched my hand and pressed it to his lips and vowed he would never rise till I pronounced his pardon at that instant I heard the sound of voices that approached us and exclaimed rise my lord I pardon and I pity you he had scarce time to obey me before colonel walter lucy and Harriet entered the temple the apparent confusion both of lord lukin's looks and mine with the tears that still trembled in her eyes was but too visible to pass unnoticed lucy appeared surprised at the sight of lord lukin Harriet's face was covered with blushes and the colonel by a malignant smile shrewd that he enjoyed our distress he presented me with a letter from sir william whom he had left in Dublin and said he hoped that would please his excuse for having interrupted what he thought the most agreeable party in the world a sentimental and turning briskly to lord lukin asked him if he had been relating the melancholy story of a louise and ableard or the more disastrous loves of hero and leander peak now got the better of my confusion and without waiting for lord lukin's reply I answered that we need not go so far back for melancholy tales for that I was acquainted with some persons now living whose sufferings far exceeded those of the unfortunate ladies he had mentioned he turned his piercing eyes quick upon me at those words and for the first time of his life I believe oh fanny what an indiscreet and consequently unhappy wretch is your sister thank heaven mrs. walter is out of his reach but have I not by this unguarded speech betrayed the secret to her tyrant I never shall forgive myself my lucy ever kind and attentive to her now unworthy friend relieved us all from our embarrassment by rendering the conversation general and proposed our returning to the house as there was hardly any time for me to dress before dinner and added that she would either endeavor to entertain the gentleman at the harpsichord or engage with them at billiards we then all set out seemingly at ease but who can read the human heart or the various springs that actuate its movements mine wretched as it is had then received a hateful guest unknown to it before conscientious of having aired its sure attendance fear and shame now followed close and when I reached my toilet and viewed my shadow in the glass my color varied as these passions worked and I became alternate red and pale poor binson saw the effect without the cause and was alarmed she would have got me drops which I refused sick sick at heart I was but where is the medicine that can abate its conflicts left oh for a draught of it a shower of tears somewhat relieved me I read Sir William's letter cruelest of husbands it was the kindness that he ever wrote since he obtained that title he will return to Southfield in a few days how shall I look upon him Fanny I cannot now go on my next text shall tell you all L Barton PS I have read Mrs. Walter's letter and yours but am at present incapable of answering either letter 39 Lady Barton to Miss Cleveland Southfield amidst the variety of disagreeable thoughts which had disturbed me curiosity asserted its rights in a female breast and increased my uneasiness by a wish to know how Lord Lucan had obtained my picture I never had but two miniatures taken of me one in my happy days for my dear Fanny and a second last winter in Dublin at the earnest request of my niece soon after she came to live with us it was impossible that she should be in possession of the first and a train of very unpleasant ideas succeeded to the thought of Harriet's having given him the latter I sent for her directly when she came into my dressing room I perceived she had been weeping and I also perceived my picture on her arm this put a stop to the inquiry I had designed to make and by way of saying something I asked her where Lord Lucan was she said she had just then left him in Sir William's library my curiosity was again raised to know the cause of Harriet's tears I could not ask her but my heart informed me she loves Lord Lucan unhappy girl yet still far happier than I she may without a blush a vow her passion while mine must cover me with endless shame yet wherefore should there be this false distinction if passion is involuntary it cannot be criminal this consequences only that can make it so and Harriet and the visa both may love with innocence flattering sophistry alas I would deceive myself but cannot have I not vowed even at the altar vowed to love another yet can this vow be binding which promises what is not in our power even at the time we make it but grant it were the contract sure is mutual and when one fails the other should be free wretched Louisa strived no more to varnish are thy faults though worked a criminal in the first act who wedded without love and all the miseries which proceeded from tents to justly are thy do yes fanny I will take your counsel and will patiently submit to those corrosive chains which I myself have riveted I will not murmur but I must complain to you and you alone my friend my sister desert me not while I deserve your pity and I will still endeavor to deserve it Lord Lucan is gone my entreaties have prevailed he returns not to ash park or Southfield anymore do not congratulate me on this imaginary triumph I have brought the concession but to dear I have avowed my love do not detest me fanny I saw no other way to secure my virtue by confessing my passion I have put it out of my power ever to see or converse with the object or it more he is banished forever from my sight what would my sister or what the rigid world have more with infinite difficulty I discovered that the innocent and undesigning Harriet had lent him my picture and he sent off his servant to France to get it copied who returned with it to ash park on the day I first saw it in his hand I shall never take notice of this affair to her as I too well know how difficult it must be to refuse the request of one we love but surely his making this request must have severely pained her tender heart sweet gentle innocent I must sincerely pity her distress the detestable Colonel Walter stays with us still though unasked I think he looks with prying eyes on all my actions yet what are they to him he has no friendship either for Sir William for me or anyone else cruel consciousness that compelled me to banish Lord Lucan and suffer Colonel Walter to remain in my house have I not fanny sufficiently sacrificed to forms and scruples I have this moment received a letter from Sir William business detains him for a month longer in town I rejoice for his sake as much as my own as I hope I shall recover a greater degree of composure than I am at present mistress of by the time he returns I detest dissimulation yet as Lucia says dissembling may for once be virtuous at least so far as to conceal that fault which cannot now be prevented yet trust me Sir William trust me my honored brother and beloved sister no stain shall ever rest upon your names for my misconduct I only ought and I alone will suffer my vow is passed to heaven and you this unhappy subject has so totally engrossed my thoughts that I find it impossible to think of any other excuse me therefore to our amiable friend Mrs. Walter embrace her and kiss the young Olivia for me tell me of all your health and happiness which will supply some to your ever affectionate sister El Barton PS the Colonel has never taken the least notice of the suspicious appearances in the temple he has informed us that his intended match with Miss Layton is quite off seems perfectly gay and alert and appears inclined to pay his addresses to Miss Ashford I have injured her without design but should he have the least chance to succeed there I will atone the injury I have done her by preventing the connection Lucy sets off this moment and express from her lover who lies dangerously ill in Dublin hurries her away she is distracted I envy her distraction she made to all the world declare her grief her love for the deserving cross well end of letters 38 and 39