THE ORPHAN OF THE RHINE
PART 4
Chapter 5
Canst thou not minister to minds diseas'd.
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow.
Raze out the written troubles of the brain.
And with some sweet oblivious antidote.
Cleanse the foul bosom of that perilous stuff
That weighs upon the heart
--SHAKESPEARE
Julie de
Rubine was descended from an ancient and illustrious family, long resident in
the southern part of France. Her father's name was Gerard, who was the only son
of St Herbert de Rubine. He had entered at an early period of life into the
service of his country, and signalized himself in the victorious battles of
Henry the Third; but not receiving from this Monarch those honours which he
considered as the just reward of his valour, he abandoned the Court and the
sword together, and retired, with an amiable wife and his only daughter, to a
chateau on a small paternal estate in the province of Artois.
Nothing
could be more congenial to the disposition of Madame de Rubine than the
sequestered situation of this beautiful retreat. The chateau was of Gothic
construction, and seemed to have withstood the attacks of ages; but the
northern side of the edifice was now visibly falling to decay, and St Gerard's
mind was entirely occupied by endeavouring to make this part of the structure
habitable, without destroying that appearance of ancient simplicity which
formed its most striking beauty; but when this was completed, and the ardour of
pursuit was over, he again experienced all that chagrin and restless
dissatisfaction, which is too often the consequence of disappointed ambition.
This
change Madame de Rubine beheld with extreme regret, and attempted to remove the
cause with all the tenderness of a refined and inviolable affection, hoping, by
the example of her own exemplary piety, she might be enabled to elevate his
mind above the trifling consideration of worldly dignities; but she knew not
all the distresses of the unfortunate Gerard. Previous to his seclusion from
the gay circles of life he had contracted debts, that the narrowness of his
annual income, which he had long vainly hoped to increase, rendered impossible
to discharge; and the solicitude he felt in behalf of his amiable wife, had
imprudently confined the secret to his own bosom.
He had no
sooner quitted Paris than he received a letter from his principal creditor,
demanding the immediate payment of a large sum. This event determined him to
write to Madame Laronne, his only sister, who had been some years a widow, and
was left in affluent circumstances, to acquaint her with the embarrassed
situation of his affairs, and also to request the loan of a sum sufficient to
discharge the debt.
But here
his too sanguine expectations were again deceived Madame Laronne assured him,
that had it been possible, nothing would have contributed more to her happiness
than to have given him a proof of her regard by affording pecuniary assistance;
but the stile of elegance, to which she had been accustomed, was now become
necessary to her happiness; and her expenses were lately so considerably
increased, that she was sorry to add she must endure the painful sensation
which refusing his request would inevitably excite.
Grief and
resentment, the natural consequence of unexpected ingratitude, now agitated the
mind of the astonished Gerard. He knew that Madame Laronne's rank in life, and
also her ambition, required the ostentatious display of wealth and grandeur;
but he was also convinced that, without materially injuring herself, she had it
sufficiently in her power immediately to relieve his necessities. When the
mingled emotions of indignation and anguish had, in some measure, subsided, he
seemed to have lost all his energy of soul; nothing bestowed even a transitory
pleasure, and he sunk into the most alarming melancholy! Not even the
conversation of Madame de Rubine, nor the undeviating gentleness of her
manners, could for a moment withdraw his thoughts from the painful
contemplation of his real and imaginary distresses. That smile of affection,
and that look of sentiment, which once cherished his vivacity, and rewarded her
tenderness, was now lost in the gloom of disappointment, disgust, and anguish.
Julie,
having now entered upon her thirteenth year, was remarkably tall of her age,
and elegant in her person. Her disposition was mild, frank, and benevolent; and
she united, with admirable discretion the unadorned graces of youth, with the
uniform sedateness of maturer years. In obedience to the will of her father she
had learned to play upon the lute, and her voice, which was exquisitely sweet,
was perfectly adapted to the soft and plaintive tones of that charming
instrument. During the few first months of their residence at the chateau, St
Gerard frequently rambled with her by moon-light through the beautiful woods,
and sometimes over the fine range of hills which appeared so picturesque from
the chateau; where he would desire her to play one of his favourite airs,
selected from the sonnets of Ariosto, or expressing the melting sorrows of
Petrarch.
The look
of settled despondency which was so strongly portrayed on the features of the
unfortunate veteran, when his new situation no longer afforded amusement and
variety, did not remain unobserved by his amiable daughter, who exerted herself
unceasingly to remove it by the sprightliness of her wit, the melody of her voice,
or the soft pathos of her lute; but his mind, enervated by sorrow, was no
longer alive to the fine touches of harmony; and frequently, in the midst of
one of his favourite songs, to which he had formerly listened with all the
rapture of enthusiasm, he would start as from a dream, and hasten from the room
as if agitated by the appearance of some frightful demon.
His
constitution, which in the early part of his life had suffered much from the
severity of military discipline, now became visibly impaired; the disorder of
his mind daily increased; melancholy became habitual to him, and so rapid was
the progress it made in undermining his health, that Madame de Rubine began to
be seriously alarmed. Advice was immediately procured, and change of air
prescribed; but not to quit the chateau was the unalterable determination of
Gerard. A nervous fever was the consequence of this resolution, which in a
short time terminated his existence.
This shock
Madame de Rubine supported with that true dignity of soul, which gave a
peculiar grace and energy to every sentiment and action. She felt severely her
loss, but she felt it with the resignation of a Christian; she mingled patience
with sorrow, and was enabled, through the most pure and elevated piety, to
triumph over the repeated attacks of calamity. But the lovely Julie possessed
not at this early period of life that exalted strength of mind, which she
admired, without being able to imitate, in the character of her mother. That
exquisite sensibility, which glowed upon her cheek, and spoke, in the fine
language of her eyes, the tenderness of a father, she had cherished as a grace,
without reflecting that, if indulged, it would degenerate into weakness, and
cease to be a virtue.
Soon after
the remains of St Gerard were deposited in the chapel of the chateau, Madame de
Rubine, whose health was much injured by her unceasing attention to her
husband, was advised by the physician who attended her, to try the effect of a
softer climate.
About this
time she received a consolatory letter from Madame Laronne, with a pressing
invitation to visit her at her seat near Turin; which proposal would have been
accepted with gratitude, had not the coldness, bordering upon contempt, which
marked her behaviour towards her brother, lessened her in the estimation of his
affectionate widow. For the sake of Julie, however, she was un willing to
refuse this offered kindness; she considered that her illness might possibly
prove fatal, and in that case it would be right to secure a friend for her
child, though she ardently wished that friend had been any other than Madame
Laronne.
Every
thing was now properly arranged for the intended journey, and the time fixed
for their departure, when Madame de Rubine as attacked by a malignant disorder,
which threatened a speedy dissolution. It was her mind only that was masculine;
for her frame being excessively slight, and delicately formed, was incapable of
sustaining unusual fatigue.
Julie, who
had not yet recovered from the shock occasioned by the death of her father, now
felt her former loss was small, when compared with what she should experience
in being parted from her beloved mother; and when she reflected upon the
probability of this event, the dreadful presentiment worked so powerfully upon
her feelings, as almost to deprive her of reason.
Madame de
Rubine beheld the anguish of her daughter with extreme concern, which was
augmented by the mournful idea of a separation, as the dangerous symptoms of
her disease hourly increased; this she believed was inevitable, and being fully
apprized of her situation, with that calm dignity which accompanied every
action of her life, she desired that a friar from a neighbouring monastery, who
was her confessor, might attend with the consecrated water, and read the
service for the dying.
This
customary ceremony being over, and the extreme unction administered, she
appeared for some moments unusually agitated; but after a second interview with
the monk, became more serene and tranquil. Being firmly persuaded that the
awful hour was approaching that was to remove her from, and dissolve all her
earthly connexions, she requested that Julie might be instantly called.
Pale and
trembling, she entered the apartment, leaning upon the arm of a servant, and
without attending to the common forms by addressing the holy visitor, who had
just risen from a small altar erected near the window, threw herself by the
side of the bed, and fixing her languid eyes upon the faded, yet interesting,
countenance of her mother, burst into a flood of tears!
The
venerable friar regarding her with an aspect on which pity and affection were
strikingly depicted, endeavoured to console her with the comforts of religion,
by reminding her of the gracious promises of protection which the doctrines of
Christianity afforded, in a stile replete with simple and unaffected eloquence;
but finding that her feelings were too acute to admit of premature consolation,
with an air of tenderness mingled with sorrow, he withdrew.
Madame de
Rubine, who beheld these emotions of severe distress with inexpressible
concern, besought her to receive, and consider with gratitude, the salutary and
valuable advice of the holy father. 'Remember, my child,' added she, with the
look and accents of a departing saint, 'that this separation, though to us
mournful and afflictive, is the will of the Most High God, and that we ought to
submit without a murmur to his unerring Providence! Let us then, instead of
arrogating to ourselves the right of disputing his mercy and equity, prove, by
the most implicit obedience to his divine decrees, that we are not unworthy to
be called his servants; and give me reason to believe, my Julie, that the
lessons of fortitude, which I have so frequently given you, have not been
delivered in vain.
'I leave
you, my darling alone and, almost unfriended, in a world in which you will find
much occasion for the exercise of this estimable virtue, The only relation you
will have left is Madame Laronne; and though for many reasons she is not the
person I should have selected from all others as the guardian of my child, yet
as she is the only surviving sister of your father, it cannot easily be
dispensed with. Let me then endeavour, if possible by timely advice, to prevent
the evils which might otherwise ensue from the precepts and example of one who
may probably have some virtues, but who I fear, has many follies. I must now, my
love, enter upon a subject that appears at this crisis more than usually
important: I must demand from you, my Julie, before I leave you for ever, a
solemn promise, upon the performance of which depends both your temporal and
eternal welfare.'
Here the
meek sufferer paused, as if unable to proceed, whilst her daughter, with an
assumed resignation, that shaded but imperfectly the emotions of her soul,
assured her, that whatever was the nature of the request, she was prepared to
comply with it, and would instantly ratify her resolve with the most solemn
vow.
'You are
not, my dear, sufficiently aware,' resumed Madame de Rubine, 'of the little
respect that is paid to the religious, and even the moral, duties of life, amid
the dissipation and gaiety of the world. Madame Laronne is a woman of rank, and
undoubtedly from a motive of kindness, but, I fear, a mistaken one, will
introduce you into the most brilliant and fashionable circles. She will also
desire, in the common acceptation of the term, to see you advantageously
married; but, though desirous of leading you to happiness, she may
unfortunately mistake the way. In her choice of a husband for you, religion, I
am convinced, will be only a secondary consideration, and a disagreement of
sentiment in this important affair has been the occasion of innumerable evils.
Promise me then, my Julie, that whatever arguments may be employed to dissuade
you from your purpose, never to unite yourself to a man, however estimable in
point of morals, and however splendid in situation, who does not exactly agree
with you in all the articles of the Catholic Faith. Say then, my child, that
whatever trials and temporal distresses this resolution may involve you in,
that nothing shall prevail upon you to marry a Protestant.'
Julie, who
equally revered with her mother the doctrines of the Church of Rome, and whose
zeal in the cause of her persuasion was not less animated, readily acquiesced
in the proposal; and, having assured her dying parent in a manner the most
solemn and impressive that she should consider this promise as sacred and
inviolable, an exquisite expression of joy irradiated for a moment the features
of Madame de Rubine, who, having uttered a few words as in prayer, sunk upon
the pillow, and her spirits being greatly exhausted, fell into a slumber, from
which she awoke unrefreshed and in a few hours breathed her last!
Immediately
on the decease of Madame de Rubine, the friar, who had attended her as
confessor, came with a consolatory message and invitation to Julie from the
prioress of an adjacent convent; but this nothing could prevail upon her to
accept till the funereal rites were over, and she had paid every possible
respect to the memory of her lamented relative.
In a few
days the body of the deceased was entombed by the side of St Gerard, in the
chapel of the chateau, which was accompanied to the place of interment by a few
of the domestics, and Julie, who attended as chief mourner.
Mindful of
the lesson of resignation that her mother had so recently delivered, she
attempted to appear tranquil; but the effort was ineffectual, and the service,
which was pronounced with peculiar solemnity, was frequently interrupted with
her convulsive sobs.
The next
day, at the request of Father Austin, the confessor, she was conducted to the
convent of St Catherine, and introduced to the superior of the order, who
received her with much apparent tenderness and concern, which Julie attempted
to repay with the modest effusions of her gratitude.
The
prioress, having been informed by the monk of the forlorn situation in which
she was left, and also of the losses she had lately sustained, took the
earliest opportunity of offering her an asylum until she could be more eligibly
accommodated; and when she beheld her, endeavoured, with the most affecting
gentleness of demeanour, to alleviate her affliction.
There was
an air of solemnity in the manners of the superior, but it was tempered with
mildness; and though the language of her countenance was expressive of sorrow,
it was sorrow softened by resignation, reflection, and piety.
After a
week's residence in the convent, Mademoiselle de Rubine, by the desire of her
new friend, wrote to Madame Laronne, her aunt, to acquaint her with the death
of her mother, and to inform her under whose care she was placed; requesting
likewise to know, whether she was to remain under the maternal protection of
the prioress, or to repair to Italy.
In a few
weeks she received an answer from her aunt, in which she expressed her concern
for the death of her sister, and also declared her intention of visiting the
Netherlands for the purpose of conveying her into Italy, which address was
concluded with many affectionate acknowledgments of unalterable regard.
The promises
of support which this letter afforded, were thankfully and cordially received
by the lovely Julie; yet the idea of being launched into a world, which she had
been taught to believe was pregnant with vice and immorality, filled her with
apprehension and uneasiness; and made her ardently wish that, instead of
attending her aunt into Italy, she might be permitted to remain in the
cloister, sheltered in the bosom of Religion and Virtue from the evils that
threatened her in the world.
Soon after
her admission into the convent, she attached herself to one of the sisters,
whose name was Ursula. She was much older than herself, and from her many
estimable qualities, had been recommended to her as a companion by the
superior. In the society of this amiable nun, and that of her noble
protectress, Julie became composed, and at times somewhat animated. Attentively
observing the rules of the order, she arose early to matins, and as regularly
attended at vespers, whilst the intermediate hours were chiefly engaged in
assisting the prioress in embroidery, or other elegant employments, who
expressed herself much gratified with her performance, and complimented her
highly on the evident superiority of her taste.
After some
time had elapsed in this calm, uninterrupted retirement, whose solitude was so
entirely congenial to her present frame of spirits, a carriage and splendid
retinue appeared at the gate, and announced the arrival of Madame Laronne.
Julie was
walking in the shrubbery with sister Ursula and another lady, who was a novice,
when she received an order to attend upon her aunt in the apartment of the
superior.
Madame
Laronne met her with many flattering appellations; but there was nothing of
that genuine sensibility in her demeanour which communicates itself to the
heart. When she condescended to listen to the plaint of misery, and to wipe
away the tear from the cheek of the unfortunate, it was evidently more to
display her own fancied superiority, than for the sake of experiencing that
pure and heartfelt satisfaction, which in amiable minds accompanies the
performance of a generous action.
After
having continued a few weeks in the convent, which time was employed in
settling the affairs of St Gerard, she desired her niece to prepare for the
intended journey, whom she rallied on her partiality to that sequestered
retreat, and her strict adherence to the rules of the institution. Julie,
having obtained permission to visit once more the grave of her beloved parents,
which she again watered with her tears, took an affectionate leave of the
prioress, her favourite Ursula, and the rest of the sisterhood; and placing
herself in the carriage with Madame Laronne, they were driven from the gate.
It was in
vain that Julie attempted to conceal her emotions when she cast her eyes, for
the last time, upon that hospitable mansion, which had so humanely afforded her
shelter; she, however, exerted her most strenuous endeavours to appear
cheerful; but these efforts were painful, and sometimes ineffectual; and Madame
Laronne condemned that sensibility, which having never felt, she knew not how
to compassionate.
To be continued
