Vivia, a journal

Front matter

VIVIA, A JOURNAL BT MRS J. ELPHINSTONE DALRYMPLE. IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON : HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN, 13 GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 1854. LONDON: PE1NTED BY REYNELL AND WEIGHT, LITTLE PULTENEY 8TBEET. TO SIR EDWARD LYTTON BULWER LYTTON, BART., M.P. THIS WORK IS, BY PERMISSION, DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR. VIVIA. For the first time for many years I find myself alone in my own home. The dear ones whose interests have been mine, and with whose fate my own has been so inter woven that I have, as it were, played a subordinate part in my own life, are dispersed for a time, occupied with nearer and dearer ties than those which bind them to me — and I am alone, with the memory of the past, and the hope (ever brighter as the sun of this life draws towards its setting) which is full of eternity.

In arranging my household gods, and dis- VOL. I. B VIVIA posing myself to make the most of my own resources during a solitary winter, I have had occasion to open a cabinet, containing the journals which I have kept, with few intervals, since my girlhood; and the records of more years than I care to count lie open before me. What shall I do with them ? I have, alas ! none to whom the legacy would be valuable in itself, and for my sake — dear and precious as are some who love me well, a childless widow, the last of her own family, must not look for that perfect sympathy which invests every word written by a beloved hand with an almost sacred character. There is too much of deep and painful interest to others recorded in these pages to permit of their falling, perhaps, into careless or unworthy hands.

And yet I can not make my mind up to destroy the only outward memorial of times long past, and events which all but I have probably forgotten. What ia to be done with my old journal ? VIVIA I believe that the life of every human being faithfully recorded, with its hopes, its sorrows, and its failings, would furnish lessons of momentous import to many a fellow creature subject to like grief, and struggbng with the same sinful nature ; and any one with courage thus to anatomise his own heart for the public good deserves well of his species. But I have not that courage, and my joys and sorrows have always been so closely interwoven with those of others, that I could not, if I would, lay bare many a passage of my own life, with out intruding into some other inner life whose secrets are not mine to disclose.

Chapter II

I was an orphan of some twelve years of age, with an only brother many years older than myself, when I first became acquainted with my dear friend, Eleanor Bertie. At my poor father's death, his affairs were found to be in a state of great confusion, and Lord Conings burgh, our guardian, after a long and patient investigation, saw nothing for it but that Philip should exchange out of the Guards into a regiment going to India, and leave his estate in trust for a term of years ; while I, on whom my mother's slender portion had been settled, was sent to a country boarding school, with the understanding that my holidays VIVIA were to be passed at Coningsley park. My poor brother ! it was a heavy trial to the handsome, popular Philip Mervyn, whose first and only campaign had won him notice on the plains of Flanders, and honourable mention in the Duke of York's despatches, to sever with his own hand the ties that bound him to the country he had served, and the many friends who loved him, and go into such banishment as India then was.

Of the many bitter feelings that must have filled his heart, I knew little, but I clung to him as all I had left in the world, and it was a very sad and desolate child whom Lady Coningsburgh received into her kind and motherly arms, as the post chaise in which Philip had brought me to Coningsley, went on its way to the port where he was to embark. But oh, the griefs of childhood how transient they are ! The day had scarcely closed before my tears were dried, and I was eagerly administering physic to a sick doll of Lady VIVIA, Eleanor's, whose desperate state occupied all the thoughts I could spare from the lovely little room with its gay chintz draperies and pictured walls, whieh was to be my wry own every holidays. It is true that my thoughts often turned and turned again to my poor father and dear Philip, and the mention of anything connected with India has ever since that hour caught my attention and made my heart beat ; but I must candidly record my belief that on thc evening of the day which saw my last parting from my only brother, the thought uppermost in my mind, was Lady Eleanor's sick doll.

My school time was like that of most girls who are unhappy enough to receive their education from home. I was quick-tempered, proud and affectionate, and while the majority of my school reminiscences are of insupportable weariness, and petty bickerings among my schoolmates, in which I disdained to join, and VIVIA was therefore considered " haughty," I have yet many kindly thoughts of gentle and affectionate companions, some of whom I still gladly call friends. But the chief love of a very loving heart was at that time poured out on my dear Eleanor; and the happy holiday times at Coningsley stand up as prominent landmarks in the far distance of these youthful recollec tions, and almost obliterate both the joys and sorrows of my school life. Eleanor Bertie was my senior by two years, a gracious gentle nature, perfectly unaffected and unselfish, with a highminded indifference to trifles, which however did not prevent her from extending her thoughtful care for others into the most minute details.

An only daugh ter, educated under the constant superintendence of her mother, who was herself a woman of highly cultivated mind, her acquirements so far surpassed anything that my imperfect education and smaller capacity would have VIVIA made it possible for me to attain to, that her immense superiority would have had the effect of discouraging me, had she not possessed the happy tact — another word for good feeling, which made her on all occasions seek to develope and bring forward any talents I possessed, regardless of concealing her own, and made me feel that inferior in all respects as I knew myself to be, my society was pleasant and useful to her. Years, and the events they brought with them, proved the strength and enduring nature of her friendship, and my love to her was beyond that of a sister, for loving her with all my heart, I reverenced her also as a superior being.

When I had completed my seventeenth year, I left school and returned to take up my abode at Coningsley, at least till the expiration of the period for which my brother's estate had been placed in trust should decide his future plans. I arrived late in the afternoon of a VIVIA, lovely summer day, and found Eleanor with a large and gay party on the western terrace, ad miring the beautiful sunset over the distant shire hills, laughing, talking, and gathering bou quets for the evening. I was too happy to be again with my beloved friend, to pay much atten tion to the rest of the company, and was sitting very comfortably by her side on one of the broad terrace steps, tying up the flowers we had gathered for the ladies of the party, and talking merrily of her past London season, and of my delight at having said the last farewell to Mrs Rodney, my governess, when a tall shadow came between us and the set ting sun, and a very pleasant manly voice said, " Am I to be introduced to your friend, Lady Eleanor ?

" " Of course," said she, without looking up, " Margaret, this is Mr St Aubyn." I looked up, and bowed, hist being natu- VIVIA rally shy, and the sun shining full in my eyes, I could not thc least discern what manner of man it was that sought my acquaintance. He sat down on the step be hind us, near Eleanor, and they began talking of what had been done that day, and what was to be done the next, and how absurdly Mrs Crofton had behaved about the dog in thee farm yard, and the sort of things people talk of when they have been for somo time in a country house together, but which of course had no particular interest for me. I liked to listen, however, __ ,Ppiness to me to be near Eleanor, and to feel I had come home to that beautiful "old Co'rimgsftv,' wliich I had learned to love so dearly ; and besides, the tones of Mr St Aubyn's voice were so peculi arly musical that the fact of listening to it was a pleasure, irrespective of anything he said.

So there we sat till all the flowers were VIVIA. 13 tied up, and everybody else had gone in, and tiie sun had long set, and gradually the talk be tween my two companions became more uninter rupted, and their tones lower, and at last, when the dressing-bell had sounded, and I started up declaring that I really must go and sec Lady Coningsburgh before I dressed, there was a glow on Eleanor's sweet face, and a light in Mr St Aubyn's eyes, which could not have been the reflection of the sunken sun. AVith all the deep and ardent interest of a young and somewhat romantic mind, I watched the gradual development of the at tachment between Everard St Aubyn and rny dear Eleanor, and jealously as I scanned him, I could not but own him worthy even of such a love as her's. Tall, and eminently good-looking, without being absolutely hand some, his appearance could scarcely fail of attracting attention; and the singularly sweet VIVIA voice which charmed me on our first ac quaintance gave an expression to all he said, which made it seem, on whatever subject, the best thing that could be said at the time ; though my maturer judgment, reflecting on his mental qualities, leads me to believe they were not of the highest order.

But his heart, — manly, stedfast, fearless, staunch in right, yet tender and overflowing with love and goodwill to all, — his intuitive perception and avoidance of evil, with a large-hearted charity towards evil doers that could spring only from the deep fountain of good within his own breast — these qualities rendered Eve rard St Aubyn the model cf manly perfection to my young mind, and looking back now with reverent affection to his memory, I confirm the verdict of mv vouth. I need not dwell on thc happy summer days that witnessed the growth of affection between Eleanor and Everard St Aubyn — it VIVIA was early seen and approved of by Lord and Lady Coningsburgh, though St Aubyn's position, as the younger brother of a Devonshire Baronet, was scarcely such as their beautiful and gifted daughter had been destined, in her parents' minds, to fill.

They justly thought, however, that there were more elements of lasting happiness in Everard's true and manly nature, than could be counterbalanced by any worldly advantages : his family was as good as their own, and he possessed a small pro perty adjoining his brother's estate, which with Eleanor's portion was sufficient to maintain them in all the elegance and comfort, though without the grandeur to which she had been accustomed. The marriage was not to take place till the following Spring, as Eleanor wished both her brothers, Lord Castleford, who was at Cam bridge, and Godfrey the young soldier who was expected home on his first leave from his V I V I A regiment, to be present; and the intervening months passed joyously and rapidly to all, for the lovers both possessed that intuitive delicacy which prevented me, their almost constant companion, from ever feeling myself in the way ; though in our riding parties I not un frequently lost them as if by accident, in the glades and thickets of Coningsley Chase, and enjoyed their surprise at finding me quietly sitting at work with Lady Coningsburgh, when they returned, hours after I had left them, " to hat had become of Margaret." VIVIA

Chapter III

One day in October I had returned thus alone to the Castle, and having sent my horse away, was walking slowly up and down the western terrace, admiring for the thousandth time the soft rich evening lights on the distant hills, and the blue depth of shadow clothing the middle distance of level and woody country, when I heard my name called, and Lord Coningsburgh appeared at one of the library windows. " I should like to see you for a few minutes, my dear ; will you come to me here ? " There was a something in his face that CL. II. C VIVIA struck like ice into my heart, and I felt a dread of coming evil which I could neither under stand nor define — and which I tried to check by reminding myself that the post arrived early in the morning, and that if anything had hap pened to Philip, Lord Coningsburgh would have told me sooner — as I traversed the long corridor that led from the entrance to the small library where my guardian was.

As I entered the room, I perceived he was not alone. A gentleman in a riding dress (in those days there were greater distinctions in outward apparel than there are now) stood with him in the embrasure of a window, and was apparently speaking with some eagerness. Lord Coningsburgh came forward with his old fashioned politeness, and took my hand, leading me to a chair near the window, and saying as he did so, " this gentleman, my dear Margaret, Mr Vincent Lyle, has just returned from India, and he brings us news of Philip." VIVIA I clasped my hands and tried to say some thing, but in vain — for there was so deep a gravity in Lord Coningsburgh's tone that I felt it was meant as the prelude to some terrible intelligence — Mr Lyle saw my alarm, and moved towards me. " Philip is well," he said. " I parted from him when I embarked, and he charged me to pre sent myself here on my arrival in England, and to deliver in person this letter," and he held one towards me as he spoke.

The colour rushed to my face — how foolish I was, to alarm myself thus about nothing. I took the letter with thanks, and was pro ceeding to make some enquiries about my brother, when Lord Coningsburgh spoke again. " My dear Margaret, that letter will give you painful intelligence, and it will be better you should learn it from me, and from Mr Lyle, a true friend to your poor brother, before c VIVIA you read his own account of a most lament able affair." Most kindly and gently my dear guardian unfolded to me the sad tale, occasionally ap pealing to Mr Lyle, who stood by the window, to confirm or correct some fact of which he did not feel sure. I may spare myself the bitter recital — Philip's rashness and extravagance had so deeply pledged the little that remained to him of his heavily-burdened estate, that his only refuge from utter ruin had been to sell the property to his friend Mr Lyle, and with the slender remnant, after paying his debts in India, to embark in some of the numberless speculations which were then the fashion.

He failed, and involved even the price of his commission; and at this ter rible juncture my unfortunate brother compli cated his distresses by marrying a very beau tiful but utterly penniless girl of low extraction, whose fully and extravagance only aided the ruin which he had begun. VIVIA. 21 This was the tale, gently and feelingly told me by Lord Coningsburgh, and repeated with many vain regrets and bitter self-accusations by poor Philip. His letter ended thus—" And now, my poor little sister, my sweet Margaret, you know all. You learn that you must not hope, or even wish to see thc erring and unhappy brother who ought to have been your friend and protector. If you were not with such kind friends, I do not think I could bear the agony of this moment ; but rny wife depends on me for bread, and I must live — forget me then, dear Margaret — think of me as dead to you — to all I have so loved and longed to see again — but fancy that I died (as I shall die, Margaret, whenever my time comes) blessing you, and loving you still." — The tender pity of my dear Eleanor, and the almost parental kindness of Lord and Lady Coningsburgh, supported me under this heavy blow ; and after two or three days of feverish VIVIA bewilderment, when I rejoined the party, I found Mr Lyle was still my guardian's guest.

The affairs connected with the sale of The Grange were greatly complicated by my poor brother's many embarrassments, and Lord Coningsburgh having been, not only his guar dian, but the acting trustee, he and Mr Lyle had necessarily much business to transact together. When all was done, however, and The Grange had finally passed into stranger hands, Mr Lyle was still a frequent guest at Coningsley. He had travelled much, and with profit; and without being very young, or strikingly handsome, had an air of distinction which his descent from a very ancient Scottish family fully entitled him to. He spoke well and unaffectedly, and as in those days travellers from the far East were a comparative rarity, his society was always welcome to the little circle at Coningsley. I was the last, however, to perceive the attraction that drew him thither ; VIVIA and when with some formality he asked per mission of Lord Coningsburgh to pay his addresses to me, my unfeigned and rather painful surprise was the source of great amusement to Eleanor.

" My little dear Margaret, have not you had a sufficient initiation this summer into the mysteries of courtship, to open your eyes to the fact that whoever Mr Lyle might be talking to, he was always looking at you ?" " Indeed, Eleanor, I never thought or cared where he was looking — I wish some of you had told me — what shall I do ?" " Think it over seriously, darling — it seems to me to have many advantages — you would he mistress of your old home, and near papa and mamma, and you know we all like him. Indeed, he has become a great favourite of papa's — he is so clear-headed and upright, he says, though they do not agree in politics." " Don't be guided too much by Eleanor, my VIVIA dear," said kind Lady Coningsburgh — " you know she is a sworn advocate of matrimony, and must plead the cause in which she is retained.

Remember you are my second daughter, and I must take care you do not pledge your hand or your happiness rashly." Dear Lady Coningsburgh ! her judicious kindness and affection were all I had known of a mother's love, for my own mother died in giving me birth; and long and seriously did she talk to me of the momentous importance of that decision wliich fixes a woman's fate for hfe— but the more I reflected, the fewer objec tions could I urge against a step for which my heart never spoke.; and two circumstances which occurred ab^ thjisj.&me conspired ,taO decide me in favour of Air Lyle's suit. OmH was the open and excessive admiration of Lord Castleford, who returned from Cambridge about this Jj%, md paid me such attention, thafclselt as;if I ahagp^ojyedrit to thfed V I V I A 25 unvarying kindness of his dear father and mother, to put it out of his power even to con template so unsuitable a marriage.

The other I found in a conversation with Mr Lyle, after he had received a long letter from Philip. Lie told me my unhappy brother was reduced almost to poverty, and the death of his child, and his wife's long continued ill-health, made his circumstances the more distressing — and seeing me overcome with grief, Mr Lyle went on to say with the utmost delicacy, that the union with me for which he so ardently wished would place him in a position to assist Philip ; and that he had already laid before Lord Coningsburgh his proposals, to settle The Grange on me, and to cede my portion to Philip on our marriage. He begged that I would believe he did not say this to urge for one moment a claim to the boon he would owe only to my free will ; but he felt bound to put before me the circumstances under which alone VIVIA poor Philip's pride would consent to receive pecuniary assistance from him, and the mode in which he proposed to render it.

Long, anxious, and painful were the hours I passed in thought after this conversation, and again and again I asked myself why I could not love Mr Lyle ? But ever in my heart, as I pondered on these things, the sweet voice of Everard St Aubyn came between me and the dreams I vainly sought to form of possible happiness with Vincent Lyle ; and at length, scarcely daring even to admit in my inmost soul that which made thc step so distasteful to me, I agreed with apparent willingness to accept Mr Lyle, in the wild hope that the sacrifice might atone for my involuntary and fatal error. I have always doubted, and I doubt still, whether any motive but a decided preference for him over all other men, can justify a woman in taking her husband's happiness and honour VIVIA 27 into her keeping. All these things are now settled, to my idea, on a false and baseless system.

Marriage, in our age and country, is held up to a girl as the great aim and end of woman's existence ; and so it doubtless is ; but marriage, as it came from God's hand to our first parents — the fruition and fulness of pure, holy love ; not the marriages of the world, in which everything is considered, except the question if the two, taking on them those awful and solemn vows, feel that the outward ceremony is only the echo of their own mutually pledged hearts ; and that while they each accept the charge of the other's peace and happiness on earth, they are prepared mutually to forward each other on the way that leads to the desti nation of both, as immortal spirits — the land where there is " neither marrying, nor giving in marriage." Such a marriage as this is Heaven begun on earth— but they must necessarily be few, and VIVIA those between whom they might subsist are often doubtless by still conflicting powers, ForbiJJen bere co meet."

Wliv then hurry a young woman, before she has looked on life as the solemti edrtoest task it is — a task requiring our free and unshackled' powers, our best energies adequately to perform it — why hurry her into an union which perhaps is totally destitute of these, the necessary in gredients of married happiness, and fix her fate for life (perhaps for more), in order that she may have a house in London, or be) dallied^ My Lady ? That the system of modern education makes the young creatures but too willingly parties to tliis be_i.tiess traffic, is not to be de nied, but does not make the fact the less to be lamented. This is< only a digression, and certainly all these reflections were far enough from my mind VIVIA, at seventeen ; but they have recurred to me frequently, and with ever-increasing force in my way through life, and I record them here, not because there is anything either new or striking in the truths they contain, but because all honest testimony to a great truth is of value, however feeble the source whence it proceeds; and public protestation against errors, whether in political, national, or domestic affairs, is the only effectual method of arriving at their reform.

To return to my story. It was arranged that the marriage of Eleanor and my own should take place at tho same time, and our preparations were made in common ; for dear Lady Coningsburgh insisted that my trousseau should in every respect resemble Eleanor's, and my guardian made no difference in his gifts.iko1- us, except that he bestowed on his daughter mile.: tlie family jewels that were not heir-looms in the male line. VIVIA, My state of mind at this time was a peculiar one. I felt I was walking onward in a narrow path, difficult indeed, and without much to cheer me on, but so hedged in on every side, that I could not deviate from it without encoun tering an insuperable obstacle; and while my own mind was in this harrassed and bewildered state, I was looked on by all, as a willing, if not a very joyful bride, and a most fortunate girl — for Mr Lyle, rich and generous in money mat ters, had made over to me absolutely, as a gift on our marriage, The Grange and the whole of my paternal estate ; while his own large pro perty in Scotland, and his position as a rising Member of Parliament on the then ministerial side, made him a brilliant match for a girl with far higher pretensions than mine.

We were married on a bright, showery gleam ing day in April, — the day itself was not fairer than my lovely Eleanor, as with smiles on her lip, and tears in her soft eyes, she went from her VIVIA, 31 father's house to follow the chosen of her heart through new and untried paths. Strange to say, I remember far more of the proceedings of that day as they related to her, than as being myself so deeply interested in them. I had so fully made up my mind to the idea of becoming the wife of Vincent Lyle, that I felt, even before the ceremony which united us, as alreadv detached from the circle which comprised all I knew of home ; and could enter into, and fully sympathise with my dear friend in the strange complicated emotions which must assail the happiest bride, on leaving fond parents, and the home of her child hood ; and I thought more of her grief, as she clung sobbing to her mother's neck, than of the somewhat joyless prospect before me, as the life-companion of a man I had vainly striven to love.

Eleanor and Everard went at once, after their marriage, to Holcombe Manor, his home in VIVIA. Devonshire, while Mr Lyle and I had arranged to make only a short tour of the Lakes, and re turn to London for the meeting of Parliament after Easter. VIVIA. 33

Chapter IV

I shall now pass over several years, with but slisrht mention of the events thev brought O ti c. with them. My husband's time was chiefly divided between his Scottish home and the parliamentary duties which took him to London. Those were stirring times — the Peninsular war, and the mighty struggle for the free dom of Europe, decided on the plains of Waterloo, filled men's minds, and occupied a larger share of the thoughts even of women, whose chief interests were centred in home, than the happy wives and daughters VOL. i. D V I V I A of our peaceful days can well imagine. May God spare them the knowledge from their own experience! but so it was during the first ten years of my marriage; and the earnest endeavours I made to be a com panion to my husband, and to supply, by a watchful care for his welfare, and active participation in his pursuits, the absence of that keystone of human happiness, the love that I could not bestow, drew me gradually to interest myself as deeply in the momentous questions of the day, as many who had a greater share of happiness at stake.

St Aubyn, soon after his marriage, was returned for Devonshire ; although, of course, as warm a supporter of Tory politics, as my husband was theuopponent, they were always on friendly terms, and my delight in the so ciety of dear Eleanor increased with every year that developed her powers of mind and added new graces to her lovely character. VIVIA 35 We were not, however, without our trials. She lost her best-loved brother, Godfrey, on one of those fatal Spanish battle-fields, and soon after Castleford's marriage to the daughter of a minister, high in the favour of Royalty, our dear and venerable Lord Co ningsburgh died, shortly followed to the grave by his wife, who had always lived for him, and found it impossible to live ivhhoiit him. These were great and deeply felt soitows in which I took my full share, but I had others nearer and deeper.

Three lovely children were, one by one, bestowed upon me, and the precious gift was resumed by the Giver, just as my heart had learned fully to expand to the ineffable joy of mother love. O my children ! dear and precious as ye were — and dark as was my childless home, wanting your sweet voices and winning grace, I rejoice, now7 that I approach the margin of the dark river, that ye have so d VIVIA, long preceded me to the bright shore be yond. Ye have been safe, my darlings, garnered up for me in that treasure-bouse of eternity, while every day of my lonely life, when I had learned to bow with submission to your loss, has, I humbly trust, brought me nearer to our ■ jja^lfuls j re-«nicHapsi lHad I seen you wandering in the mazes of guilt, hardened by the world, or torn with such sorrow as iDhawjr. knerwn haiod wept for, how could your mother's heart have borne your grief? but ye were given me for a time, that I might for once knpwfrlthfe fulness of earthly happiness, aud thence be led to seek, in tearful hope, that blessed home where ye will be given again to me, bright and spotless, and be mine for ever !