Although the affections of Jane had sustained a blow, her pride had
received a greater, and no persuasions of her mother or sister could
induce her to leave her room. She talked little, but once or twice she
yielded to the affectionate attentions of Emily, and poured out her
sorrows into the bosom of her sister. At such moments she would declare
her intention of never appearing in the world again. One of these
paroxysms of sorrow was witnessed by her mother, and, for the first time,
self-reproach mingled in the grief of the matron. Had she trusted less to
appearances and to the opinions of indifferent and ill-judging
acquaintances, her daughter might have been apprized in season of the
character of the man who had stolen her affections. To a direct exhibition
of misery Lady Moseley was always sensible, and, for the moment, she
became alive to its causes and consequences; but a timely and judicious
safeguard against future moral evils was a forecast neither her inactivity
of mind nor abilities were equal to.
We shall leave Jane to brood over her lover's misconduct, while we regret
she is without the consolation alone able to bear her up against the
misfortunes of life, and return to the other personages of our history.
The visit to Mrs. Fitzgerald had been postponed in consequence of Jane's
indisposition; but a week after the colonel's departure, Mrs. Wilson
thought, as Jane had consented to leave her room, and Emily really began
to look pale from her confinement by the side of a sick bed, she would
redeem the pledge she had given the recluse on the following morning. They
found the ladies at the cottage happy to see them, and anxious to hear of
the health of Jane, of whose illness they had been informed by note. After
offering her guests some refreshments, Mrs. Fitzgerald, who appeared
laboring under a greater melancholy than usual, proceeded to make them
acquainted with the incidents of her life.
The daughter of an English merchant at Lisbon had fled from the house of
her father to the protection of an Irish officer in the service of his
Catholic Majesty: they were united, and the colonel immediately took his
bride to Madrid. The offspring of this union were a son and daughter. The
former, at an early age, had entered into the service of his king, and
had, as usual, been bred in the faith of his ancestors; but the Señora
McCarthy had been educated, and yet remained a Protestant, and, contrary
to her faith to her husband, secretly instructed her daughter in the same
belief. At the age of seventeen, a principal grandee of the court of
Charles sought the hand of the general's child. The Conde d'Alzada was a
match not to be refused, and they were united in the heartless and formal
manner in which marriages are too often entered into, in countries where
the customs of society prevent an intercourse between the sexes. The Conde
never possessed the affections of his wife. Of a stern and unyielding
disposition, his harshness repelled her love; and as she naturally turned
her eyes to the home of her childhood, she cherished all those peculiar
sentiments she had imbibed from her mother. Thus, although she appeared to
the world a Catholic, she lived in secret a Protestant. Her parents had
always used the English language in their family, and she spoke it as
fluently as the Spanish. To encourage her recollections of this strong
feature, which distinguished the house of her father from the others she
entered, she perused closely and constantly those books which the death of
her mother placed at her disposal. These were principally Protestant works
on religious subjects, and the countess became a strong sectarian, without
becoming a Christian. As she was compelled to use the same books in
teaching her only child, the Donna Julia, English, the consequences of the
original false step of her grandmother were perpetuated in the person of
this young lady. In learning English, she also learned to secede from the
faith of her father, and entailed upon herself a life of either
persecution or hypocrisy. The countess was guilty of the unpardonable
error of complaining to their child of the treatment she received from her
husband; and as these conversations were held in English, and were
consecrated by the tears of the mother, they made an indelible impression
on the youthful mind of Julia, who grew up with the conviction that next
to being a Catholic herself, the greatest evil of life was to be the wife
of one.
On her attaining her fifteenth year, she had the misfortune (if it could
be termed one) to lose her mother, and within the year her father
presented to her a nobleman of the vicinity as her future husband. How
long the religious faith of Julia would have endured, unsupported by
example in others, and assailed by the passions soliciting in behalf of a
young and handsome cavalier, it might be difficult to pronounce; but as
suitor was neither very young, and the reverse of very handsome, it is
certain the more he wooed, the more confirmed she became in her heresy,
until, in a moment of desperation, and as an only refuge against his
solicitations, she candidly avowed her creed. The anger of her father was
violent and lasting: she was doomed to a convent, as both a penance for
her sins and a means of reformation. Physical resistance was not in her
power, but mentally she determined never to yield. Her body was immured,
but her mind continued unshaken and rather more settled in her belief, by
the aid of those passions which had been excited by injudicious harshness.
For two years she continued in her novitiate, obstinately refusing to take
the vows of the order, and at the end of that period the situation of her
country had called her father and uncle to the field as defenders of the
rights of their lawful prince. Perhaps to this it was owing that harsher
measures were not adopted in her case.
The war now raged around them in its greatest horrors, until at length a
general battle was fought in the neighborhood, and the dormitories of the
peaceful nuns were crowded with wounded British officers. Amongst others
of his nation was a Major Fitzgerald, a young man of strikingly handsome
countenance and pleasant manners. Chance threw him under the more
immediate charge of Julia: his recovery was slow, and for a time doubtful,
and as much owing to good nursing as science. The major was grateful, and
Julia unhappy as she was beautiful. That love should be the offspring of
this association, will excite no surprise. A brigade of British encamping
in the vicinity of the convent, the young couple sought its protection
from Spanish vengeance and Romish cruelty. They were married by the
chaplain of the brigade, and for a month they were happy.
As Napoleon was daily expected in person at the seat of war, his generals
were alive to their own interests, if not to that of their master. The
body of troops in which Fitzgerald had sought a refuge, being an advanced
party of the main army, were surprised and defeated with loss. After doing
his duty as a soldier at his post, the major, in endeavoring to secure the
retreat of Julia, was intercepted, and they both fell into the hands of
the enemy. They were kindly treated, and allowed every indulgence their
situation admitted, until a small escort of prisoners was sent to the
frontiers; in this they were included, and had proceeded to the
neighborhood of the Pyrenees, when, in their turn, the French were
assailed suddenly, and entirely routed; and the captive Spaniards, of
which the party, with the exception of our young couple, consisted,
released. As the French guard made a resistance until overpowered by
numbers, an unfortunate ball struck Major Fitzgerald to the earth--he
survived but an hour, and died where he fell, on the open field. An
English officer, the last of his retiring countrymen, was attracted by the
sight of a woman weeping over the body of a fallen man, and approached
them. In a few words Fitzgerald explained his situation to this gentleman,
and exacted a pledge from him to guard his Julia, in safety, to his mother
in England.
The stranger promised everything the dying husband required, and by the
time death had closed the eyes of Fitzgerald, he had procured from some
peasants a rude conveyance, into which the body, with its almost equally
lifeless widow, were placed. The party which intercepted the convoy of
prisoners, had been out from the British camp on other duty, but its
commander hearing of the escort, had pushed rapidly into a country covered
by the enemy to effect their rescue; and his service done, he was
compelled to make a hasty retreat to ensure his own security. To this was
owing the indifference, which left the major to the care of the Spanish
peasantry who had gathered to the spot, and the retreating troops had got
several miles on their return, before the widow and her protector
commenced their journey. It was impossible to overtake them, and the
inhabitants acquainting the gentleman that a body of French dragoons were
already harassing their rear, he was compelled to seek another route to
the camp. This, with some trouble and no little danger, he at last
effected; and the day following the skirmish, Julia found herself lodged
in a retired Spanish dwelling, several miles within the advanced posts of
the British army. The body of her husband was respectfully interred, and
Julia was left to mourn her irretrievable loss, uninterrupted by anything
but by the hasty visits of the officer in whose care she had been
left--visits which he stole from his more important duties as a soldier.
A month glided by in this melancholy manner, leaving to Mrs. Fitzgerald
the only consolation she would receive--her incessant visits to the grave
of her husband. The calls of her protector, however, became more frequent;
and at length he announced his intended departure for Lisbon, on his way
to England. A small covered vehicle, drawn by one horse, was to convey
them to the city, at which place he promised to procure her a female
attendant, and necessaries for the voyage home. It was no time or place
for delicate punctilio; and Julia quietly, but with a heart nearly broken,
prepared to submit to the wishes of her late husband. After leaving the
dwelling, the manners of her guide sensibly altered; he became
complimentary and assiduous to please, but in a way rather to offend than
conciliate; until his attentions became so irksome, that Julia actually
meditated stopping at some of the villages through which they passed, and
abandoning the attempt of visiting England entirely. But the desire to
comply with Fitzgerald's wish, that she would console his mother for the
loss of an only child, and the dread of the anger of her relatives,
determined her to persevere until they reached Lisbon, where she was
resolved to separate for ever from the disagreeable and unknown guardian
into whose keeping she had been thrown by chance.
The last day of their weary ride, while passing a wood, the officer so far
forgot his own character and Julia's misfortunes, as to offer personal
indignities. Grown desperate from her situation, Mrs. Fitzgerald sprang
from the vehicle, and by her cries attracted the notice of an officer who
was riding express on the same road with themselves. He advanced to her
assistance at speed, but as he arrived near them, a pistol fired from the
carriage brought his horse down, and the treacherous friend was enabled to
escape undetected. Julia endeavored to explain her situation to her
rescuer; and by her distress and appearance, satisfied him at once of its
truth. Within a short time, a strong escort of light dragoons came up, and
the officer despatched some for a conveyance, and others in pursuit of
that disgrace to the army, the villanous guide: the former was soon
obtained, but no tidings could be had of the latter. The carriage was
found at a short distance, without the horse and with the baggage of
Julia, but with no vestige of its owner. She never knew his name, and
either accident or art had so completely enveloped him in mystery, that
all efforts to unfold it then were fruitless, and had continued so ever
since.
On their arrival in Lisbon, every attention was shown to the disconsolate
widow the most refined delicacy could, dictate, and every comfort and
respect were procured for her which the princely fortune, high rank, and
higher character of the Earl of Pendennyss, could, command. It was this
nobleman, who, on his way from head-quarters with despatches for England,
had been the means of preserving Julia from a fate worse than death. A
packet was in waiting for the earl, and they proceeded in her for home.
The Donna Lorenza was the widow of a subaltern Spanish officer, who had
fallen under the orders and near Pendennyss, and the interest he took in
her brave husband had induced him to offer her, in the destruction of her
little fortune by the enemy, his protection: for near two years he had
maintained her at Lisbon and now, judging her a proper person, had
persuaded her to accompany Mrs. Fitzgerald to England.
On the passage, which was very tedious, the earl became more intimately
acquainted with the history and character of his young friend, and by a
course of gentle yet powerful expedients had drawn her mind gradually from
its gloomy contemplation of futurity, to a juster sense of good and evil
The peculiarity of her religious persuasion afforded an introduction to
frequent discussions of the real opinions of that church, to which Julia
had hitherto belonged, although ignorant of all its essential and vital
truths. These conversations, which were renewed repeatedly in their
intercourse while under the protection of his sister in London, laid the
foundations of a faith which left her nothing to hope for but the happy
termination of her earthly probation.
The mother of Fitzgerald was dead, and as he had no near relative left,
Julia found herself alone in the world. Her husband had taken the
precaution to make a will in season it was properly authenticated, and his
widow, by the powerful assistance of Pendennyss, was put in quiet
possession of a little independency. It was while waiting the decision of
this affair that Mrs. Fitzgerald resided for a short time near Bath. As
soon as it was terminated, the earl and his sister had seen her settled in
her present abode, and once since had they visited her; but delicacy had
kept him away from the cottage, although his attempts to serve her had
been constant, though not always successful. He had, on his return to
Spain, seen her father, and interceded with him on her behalf, but in
vain. The anger of the Spaniard remained unappeased, and for a season he
did not renew his efforts; out having heard that her father was
indisposed, Julia had employed the earl once more to make her peace with
him, without prevailing. The letter the ladies had found her weeping over
was from Pendennyss, informing her of his want of success on that
occasion.
The substance of the foregoing narrative was related by Mrs. Fitzgerald to
Mrs. Wilson, who repeated it to Emily in their ride home. The compassion
of both ladies was strongly moved in behalf of the young widow; yet Mrs.
Wilson did not fail to point out to her niece the consequences of
deception, and chiefly the misery which had followed from an abandonment
of some of the primary duties of life--obedience and respect to her parent
Emily, though keenly alive to all the principles inculcated by her aunt,
found so much to be pitied in the fate of her friend, that her failings
lost their proper appearance in her eyes, and for a while she could think
of nothing but Julia and her misfortunes. Previously to their leaving the
cottage, Mrs. Fitzgerald, with glowing cheeks and some hesitation,
informed Mrs. Wilson she had yet another important communication to make,
but would postpone it until her next visit, which Mrs. Wilson promised
should be on the succeeding day.