Love and Life: An Old Story in Eighteenth Century Costume
Mr. Belamour was evidently much interested and amused by Aurelia’s small
experiences and observations, such as they were. In spite of the sense
of past omission which had been aroused by his nephew’s visit, it had
evidently raised his spirits, for he laughed when Aurelia spiced her
descriptions with a little playful archness, and his voice became more
cheery.
So, too, it was on the ensuing evening when Aurelia, to compensate for
the last day’s neglect, came primed with three or four pages of the
conversation between Priam and Achilles, which she rehearsed with great
feeling, thinking, like Pelides himself, of her own father and home. It
was requited with a murmured “Bravo,” and Mr. Belamour then begged of
her, if she were not weary, to favour him with the Nightingale Song,
Jumbo as usual accompanying her with his violin. At the close there was
again a “Bravo! Truly exquisite!” in a tone as if the hermit were really
finding youth and life again. Once more at his request, she sang, and
was applauded with even more fervour, with a certain tremulous eagerness
in the voice. Yet there was probably a dread of the excitement being
too much, for this was followed by “Thank you, kind songstress, I could
listen for ever, but it is becoming late, and I must not detain you
longer.”
She found herself handed out of the room, with somewhat curtailed good
nights, although nine o’clock, her usual signal, had not yet struck.
When she came into the lamplit hall, Jumbo was grinning and nodding like
a maniac, and when she asked what was the matter, he only rolled his
eyes, and said, “Missie good! Mas’r like music!”
The repressed excitability she had detected made her vaguely nervous
(not that she would have so called herself), and as the next day was the
blank Sunday, she appeased and worked off her restlessness by walking
with the children to Sedhurst church. It was the sixteenth Sunday after
Trinity, and the preacher, who had caught somewhat of the fire of Wesley
and Whitfield, preached a sermon which arrested her attention,
and filled her with new thoughts. Taking the Epistle and Gospel in
connection, he showed the death-in-life of indifference, and the
quickening touch of the Divine Love, awakening the dead spirit into true
life. On that life, with its glow of love, hope, and joy, the preacher
dwelt with enthusiasm such as Aurelia had never heard, and which carried
her quite out of herself. Tears of emotion trembled in her eyes, and she
felt a longing desire to walk on in that path of love to her Maker, whom
she seemed to have never known before.
She talked with a new fervour to the children of the birds and flowers,
and all the fair things they loved, as the gifts of their Father in
Heaven; and when she gathered them round the large pictured Bible, it
was to the Gospel that she turned as she strove to draw their souls to
the appreciation of the Redeeming Love there shown. She saw in Fay’s
deep eyes and thoughtful brow that the child was taking it in, though
differently from Amy, who wanted to kiss the picture, while Letty asked
those babyish material questions about Heaven that puzzle wiser heads
than Aurelia’s to answer.
So full was she of the thought, that she forgot her sense of something
strange and unaccountable in Mr. Belamour’s manner before the evening,
nor was there anything to remind her of it afresh, for he was as calmly
grave and kindly courteous as ever; and he soon led her to pour forth
all her impressions of the day. Indeed she repeated to him great part of
the sermon, with a voice quivering with earnestness and emotion. He
was not stirred in the same way as she had been, saying in his pensive
meditative way, “The preacher is right. Love is life. The misfortune is
when we stake our all on one love alone, and that melts from us. Then
indeed there is death--living death!”
“But there is never-failing love, and new life that never dies!” cried
Aurelia, almost transported out of herself.
“May you ever keep hold of both unobscured, my sweet child,” he
returned, with a sadness that repressed and drove her back into herself
again, feeling far too childish and unworthy to help him to that
new life and love; though her young heart yearned over him in his
desolation, and her soul was full of supplication for him.
CHAPTER XIV. THE CANON OF WINDSOR.
Turn, gentle hermit of the dale.--GOLDSMITH.
“My child, will you do me a favour?” said Mr. Belamour the next evening,
in a tone no longer formal, but paternal. “Take this packet” (he put
one into the girl’s hand) “to the light and inform me what is the
superscription.”
It was a thick letter, with a large red wax seal, bearing the well known
arms of Belamour and Delavie, and the address was
To AMYAS BELAMOUR, ESQ., K.C.,
OF THE INNER TEMPLE, LONDON.
To be opened after my death.]
JOVIAN BELAMOUR.
Dec. 14th, 1727.
“I thought so,” said Mr. Belamour, when she returned to him with
intelligence. “Little did my poor brother guess how long it would be
unopened! Will my gentle friend confer another obligation on me?”
Aurelia made her ready assent, hoping to be asked to read the letter,
when he continued, “I cannot read this myself. Even could I bear the
light, the attempt to fix my eyes sends darts shooting through my
brain, which would take away my very power of comprehension. But,” he
continued, “there are only two men living to whom I could entrust my
brother’s last words to me. One, your own good father, is out of
reach; the other has frequently proffered his good offices and has been
rejected. Would you add to your kindness that of writing to entreat my
old friend, Dr. Godfrey, to favour with a visit one who has too often
and ungratefully refused him admission.”
Feminine curiosity felt balked, but Aurelia was ashamed of the
sensation, and undertook the task. Instructions were given her that she
was to write--
“If Amyas Belamour’s old Schoolfellow and Friend can overlook and
pardon the undeserved Rebuffs to His Constancy and Solicitude for
a lonely and sullen Wretch, and will once more come and spend a
Night at Bowstead, he will confer an inestimable Favour upon one
who is more sensible of his Goodness than when it has been
previously offered.”
This letter, written in Aurelia’s best Italian hand, on a large sheet
of paper, she brought with her the next evening. She was bidden to fold
down the exact place for the signature, which Mr. Belamour proceeded
to affix, and she was then to carry it to the candles in the lobby, and
there fold, seal, and address it to the Reverend Edward Godfrey, D.D.,
Canon of Windsor, Windsor. She found the A. Belamour very fairly written
except that it was not horizontal, and she performed the rest of the
task with ladylike dexterity, sealing it with a ring that had been
supplied for the purpose. It did not, as she expected, bear the Belamour
sheaf of arrows, but was a gem, representing a sleeping Cupid with
folded wings, so beautiful that she asked leave to take another
impression for Harriet, who collected seals, after the fashion of the
day.
“You are welcome,” Mr. Belamour replied. “I doubt its great antiquity,
since the story of Cupid and Psyche cannot be traced beyond Apuleius.
I used it because Dr. Godfrey will remember it. He was with me at Rome
when I purchased it.”
The ring was of the size for a lady’s finger, and Aurelia durst ask no
more.
How the letter was sent she knew not, but Mrs. Aylward was summoned to
Mr. Belamour’s room, and desired to have a room ready at any time for
his friend.
Three days later, towards sunset, a substantial-looking clergyman,
attended by two servants, rode up to the door; and was immediately
appropriated by Jumbo, disappearing into the mysterious apartments;
Aurelia expected no summons that night, but at the usual hour, the negro
brought a special request for the honour of her society; and as she
entered the dark room, Mr. Belamour said, “My fair and charitable
visitor will permit me to present to her my old and valued friend, Dr.
Godfrey.” He laid the hand he had taken on one that returned a little
gentlemanly acknowledgment, while a kind fatherly voice said, “The lady
must pardon me if I do not venture to hand her to her chair.”
“Thank you, sir, I am close to my seat.”
“Your visitors acquire blind eyes, Belamour,” said Dr. Godfrey,
cheerfully.
“More truly they become eyes to the blind,” was the answer. “I feel
myself a man of the world again, since this amiable young lady has
conned the papers on my behalf, and given herself the trouble of
learning the choicest passages of the poets to repeat to me.”
“You are very good, sir,” returned Aurelia; “it is my great pleasure.”
“That I can well believe,” said Dr. Godfrey. “Have these agreeable
recitations made you acquainted with the new poem on the _Seasons_ by
Mr. James Thomson?”
“No,” replied Mr. Belamour, “my acquaintance with the _belles letters_
ceased nine years ago.”
“The descriptions have been thought extremely effective. Those of autumn
were recalled to my mind on my way.”
Dr. Godfrey proceeded to recite some twenty lines of blank verse, for in
those days people had more patience and fewer books, and exercised their
memories much more than their descendants do. Listening was far from
being thought tedious.
“‘But see the fading many-coloured roads,
Shade deepening over shade, the country round
Imbrown; a crowded umbrage, dusk and dim,
Of every hue, from wan, declining green,
To sooty dark.’”
The lines had a strange charm to one who had lived in darkness through
so many revolving years. Mr. Belamour eagerly thanked his friend, and on
the offer to lend him the book, begged that it might be ordered for him,
and that any other new and interesting work might be sent to him that
was suitable to the fair lips on which he was dependent.
“You are secure with Mr. Thomson,” said the Doctor. “Hear the conclusion
of his final hymn.”
“‘When even at last the solemn hour shall come,
And wing my mystic flight to future worlds,
I cheerful will obey; there with new powers
Will rising wonders sing. I cannot go
Where Universal Love not smiles around,
Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their suns,
From seeming evil still educing good,
And better thence again, and better still,
In infinite progression. But I lose
Myself in Him, in Light ineffable;
Come then expressive Silence, mine the praise.’”
“‘Universal Love!’” repeated Mr. Belamour; “the poet sings as you do, my
amiable friend! I can conceive the idea better than I could a few months
ago.”
“‘From seeming evil, still educing good,’”
quoted Dr. Godfrey earnestly, as if feeling his way.
“More of this another time,” said Mr. Belamour hastily. “What say the
critics respecting this new aspirant?”
The ensuing conversation much interested Aurelia, as it was on the men
of letters whose names had long been familiar to her, and whom the
two gentlemen had personally known. She heard of Pope, still living at
Twickenham, and of his bickerings with Lady Mary Wortley Montagu; of
young Horace Walpole, who would never rival his father as a politician,
but who was beginning his course as a _dilettante_, and actually
pretending to prefer the barbarous Gothic to the classic Italian.
However, his taste might be improved, since he was going to make the
grand tour in company with Mr. Gray, a rising young poet, in whom Dr.
Godfrey took interest, as an Etonian and a Cantab.