Part 8

As soon as school was over in the morning, our little company were impatient to go into the arbour, to hear Miss Dolly’s story: but Mrs. Teachum told them they must be otherwise employed; for their writing-master, who lived some miles off; and who was expected in the afternoon, was just then come in, and begged that they would give him their attendance, though out of school-time; because he was obliged to be at home again before the afternoon, to meet a person who would confer some favour on him, and would be highly disobliged should he not keep his appointment: ‘And I know (said Mrs. Teachum) my little dears, you would rather lose your own amusement, than let any one suffer a real inconvenience on your accounts.’ They all readily complied, and cheerfully set to their writing; and in the afternoon Mrs. Teachum permitted them to leave off work an hour sooner than usual, as a reward for their readiness to lose their amusement in the morning: and being met in their arbour, Miss Dolly read as follows:

THE STORY OF CAELIA AND CHLOE.

Caelia and Chloe were both left orphans, at the tender age of six years. Amanda their aunt, who was very rich, and a maiden, took them directly under her care, and bred them up as her own children. Caelia’s mother was Amanda’s sister; and Chloe’s father was her brother; so that she was equally related to both.

They were left entirely unprovided for; were both born on the same day; and both lost their mothers on the day of their birth: their fathers were soldiers of fortune; and both killed in one day, in the fame engagement. But their fortunes were not more similar than their persons and dispositions. They were both extremely handsome; and in their Childhood were so remarkable for liveliness of parts, and sweetness of temper, that they were the admiration of the whole country where they lived.

Their aunt loved them with a sincere and equal affection, and took the greatest pleasure imaginable in their education, and particularly to encourage that love and friendship which she with pleasure perceived between them. Amanda being (as was said) very rich, and having no other relations, it was supposed that these her nieces would be very great fortunes; and as soon as they became women, they were addressed by all the men of fortune and no fortune round the neighbourhood. But as the love of admiration, and a desire of a large train of admirers, had no place in their minds, they soon dismissed, in the most civil and obliging manner, one after another, all these lovers.

The refusing such numbers of men, and some such as by the world were called good offers, soon got them the name of jilts; and by that means they were freed from any farther importunity, and for some years enjoyed that peace and quiet they had long wished. Their aunt, from being their mother and their guardian, was now become their friend. For, as she endeavoured not in the least to force their inclinations, they never kept anything concealed from her; and every action of their lives was still guided by her advice and approbation.

They lived on in this way, perfectly happy in their own little community, till they were about two-and-twenty years old when there happened to be a regiment quartered in the neighbouring town, to which their house was nearly situated; and the lieutenant-colonel, a man about four-and-thirty years old, hearing their names, had a great desire to see them. For when he was a boy of sixteen, he was put into the Army under the care of Chloe’s father, who treated him with the greatest tenderness; and (in that fatal engagement in which he lost his life) received his death’s wound by endeavouring to save him from being taken by the enemy. And gratitude to the memory of so good a friend was as great an inducement to make him desire to see his daughter, as the report he had heard both of hers and her cousin’s great beauty.

Sempronius (for so this Colonel was called) was a very sensible, well-bred, agreeable man; and from the circumstances of his former acquaintance, and his present proper and polite behaviour, he soon became very intimate in the family. The old lady was particularly pleased with him; and secretly wished, that before she died she might be so happy as to see one of her nieces married to Sempronius. She could not from his behaviour see the least particular liking to either, though he showed an equal and very great esteem and regard for both.

He in reality liked them both extremely; and the reason of making no declaration of love was, his being so undetermined in any preference that was due to either. He saw plainly that he was very agreeable to both; and with pleasure he observed, that they made use of none of those arts which women generally do to get away a disputed lover: and this sincere friendship which subsisted between them raised in him the highest degree of love and admiration. However he at last determined to make the following trial:

He went first to Chloe, and (finding her alone) told her, that he had the greatest liking in the world to her cousin; and had really a mind to propose himself to her: but as he saw a very great friendship between them, he was willing to ask her advice in the matter; and conjured her to tell him sincerely, whether there was anything in Caelia’s temper (not discoverable by him) which as a wife would make him unhappy? He told her, that, if she knew any such thing, it would be no treachery, but rather kind in her to declare it, as it would prevent her friend’s being unhappy; which must be the consequence, in marriage, of her making him so.

Chloe could not help seeing very plainly, that if Caelia was removed she stood the very next in Sempronius’s favour. Her lover was present--her friend was absent--and the temptation was too strong and agreeable to be resisted. She then answered, that since he insisted upon the truth, and had convinced her that it was in reality acting justly and kindly by her friend, she must confess, that Caelia was possessed (though in a very small degree) of what she had often heard him declare most against of anything in the world; and that was, an artfulness of temper, and some few sparks of envy.

Chloe’s confused manner of speaking, and frequent hesitation, as unwilling to pronounce her friend’s condemnation (which, as being unused to falsehood, was really unaffected) he imputed to tenderness and concern for Caelia; but he did not in the least doubt, but on his application to her he should soon be convinced of the truth of what Chloe had said.

He then went directly to the arbour at the end of the garden, and there to his wish he found Caelia quite alone; and he addressed her exactly in the same manner concerning her cousin, as he had before spoke to Chloe concerning her. Caelia suddenly blushed (from motives I leave those to find out who can put themselves in her circumstances) and then fetched a soft sigh, from the thought that she was hearing a man she loved declare a passion of which she was not the object. But after some little pause, she told him, that if Chloe had any faults, they were to her yet undiscovered, and she really and sincerely believed her cousin would make him extremely happy. Sempronius then said, that of all other things, TREACHERY and ENVY were what he had the greatest dislike to: and he asked her, if she did not think her cousin was a little tainted with these?--Here Caelia could not help interrupting, and assuring him, that she believed her totally free from both. And, from his casting on her friend an aspersion which her very soul abhorred, forgetting all rivalship, she could not refrain from growing quite lavish in her praise. ‘Suppose then (said Sempronius) I was to say the same to your cousin concerning my intentions towards you as I have to you concerning her, do you think she would say as many fine things in your praise as you have done in hers?’

Caelia answered, that she verily believed her cousin would say as much for her as she really deserved; but whether that would be equal to what with justice she could say of Chloe, her modesty left her in some doubt of.

Sempronius had too much penetration not to see the real and true difference in the behaviour of these two women, and could not help crying out, ‘O Caelia! your honest truth and goodness in every word and look are too visible to leave me one doubt of their reality. But, could you believe it? this friend of yours is false. I have already put her to the trial, by declaring to her my sincere and unalterable passion for you. When, on my insisting, as I did to you, upon her speaking the truth, she accused you of what nothing should now convince me you are guilty of. I own, that hitherto my regard, esteem, and love, have been equal to both; but now I offer to the sincere, artless, and charming Caelia, my whole heart, love, and affection, and the service of every minute of my future life; and from this moment I banish from my mind the false and ungrateful Chloe.’

Caelia’s friendship for Chloe was so deeply rooted in her breast, that even a declaration of love from Sempronius could not blot it one moment from her heart; and on his speaking the words ‘false Chloe,’ she burst into tears, and said, ‘Is it possible that Chloe should act such a part towards her Caelia! You must forgive her, Sempronius: it was her violent passion for you, and fear of losing you, which made her do what hitherto her nature has ever appeared averse to.’

Sempronius answered, ‘that he could not enough admire her goodness to her friend Chloe; but such proofs of passion, he said, were to him at the same time proofs of its being such a passion as he had no regard for; since it was impossible for any one to gain or increase his love by an action which at the same time lessened his esteem.’ This was so exactly Caelia’s own way of thinking, that she could not but assent to what he said.

But just as they were coming out of the arbour, Chloe, unseen by them, passed by; and from seeing him kiss her hand, and the complacency of Caelia’s look, it was easy for her to guess what had been the result of their private conference. She could not however help indulging her curiosity, so far as to walk on the other side of a thick yew hedge, to listen to their discourse; and as they walked on, she heard Sempronius entreat Caelia to be cheerful, and think no more of her treacherous friend, whose wickedness he doubted not would sufficiently punish itself. She then heard Caelia say, ‘I cannot bear, Sempronius, to hear you speak so hardly of my Chloe. Say that you forgive her, and I will indeed be cheerful.’

Nothing upon earth can be conceived so wretched as poor Chloe, for on the first moment that she suffered herself to reflect on what she had done, she thoroughly repented, and heartily detested herself for such baseness. She went directly into the garden in hopes of meeting Sempronius, to have thrown herself at his feet, confessed her treachery, and to have begged him never to have mentioned it to Caelia; but now she was conscious her repentance would come too late; and he would despise her, if possible still more, for such a recantation, after her knowledge of what had passed between him and Caelia.

She could indeed have gone to him, and not have owned what she had seen or heard; but now her abhorrence of even the appearance of treachery or cunning was so great, that she could not bear to add the smallest grain of falsehood or deceit to the weight of her guilt, which was already almost insupportable: and should she tell him of her repentance, with a confession of her knowledge of his engagement with Caelia, it would (as has been before observed) appear both servile and insincere.

Nothing could now appear so altered as the whole face of this once happy family. Sempronius as much as possible shunned the sight of Chloe; for as she was the cause of all the confusion amongst them, he had almost an aversion to her. Though he was not of an implacable temper, yet, as the injury was intended to one he sincerely loved, he found it much harder to forgive it, than if it had even succeeded against himself; and as he still looked upon Chloe as the cause of melancholy in his dear Caelia, he could hardly have any patience with her.

No words can describe the various passions which were expressed in the sad countenance of Chloe, when first she met her friend. They were both afraid of speaking. Shame, and the fear of being (and with too good reason) suspected of insincerity, withheld Chloe; and an unwillingness to accuse or hurt her friend withheld the gentle Caelia. She sometimes indeed thought she saw repentance in Chloe’s face, and wished for nothing more than to seal her pardon. But till it was asked, she was in doubt (from what had passed) whether such pardon and proffered reconciliation might not be rejected. She knew that her friend’s passions were naturally stronger than hers; and she therefore trembled at the consequences of coming to an explanation.

But there was hardly a greater sufferer in this scene of confusion than the poor old Lady Amanda. She saw a sort of horror and wildness in the face of Chloe; and in Caelia’s a settled melancholy, and such an unusual reserve in both towards each other, as well as to herself, as quite astonished her.

Sempronius came indeed to the house as often as usual; but in his countenance she could perceive a sort of anger and concern which perfectly frightened her. But as they did not speak to her, she could not bring herself to ask the cause of this woeful change, for fear of hearing something too bad to bear.

Caelia had absolutely refused granting to Sempronius leave to ask her aunt’s consent, till she should come to some explanation with Chloe, which seemed every day farther off than ever.

The great perturbation of Chloe’s mind threw her into a disorder not many degrees short of madness; and at last she was seized with a violent fever so as to keep her bed. She said she could not bear to look on Amanda; but begged Caelia to be with her as much as possible; which she did, in hopes of bringing herself to ease her mind, by speaking to her of what had given them all this torment.

Caelia watched with her night and day for three days, when the physician who attended her pronounced that there was no hope of her life. Caelia could not any longer bear to stay in the room, and went downstairs, expecting every moment to hear she was expired.

Chloe soon perceived by Caelia’s abrupt leaving the room, and the looks of those who were left in it, that her fate was pronounced; which, instead of sinking her spirits, and making her dejected, gave a tranquillity to her mind; for she thought within herself, ‘I shall now make my dear cousin happy, by removing out of her way an object that must embitter all her joy; and now likewise, as she is convinced I am on my death-bed, she will once more believe me capable of speaking truth; and will, in the manner I could wish, receive my sincere repentance.’ Then sending for Caelia up to her bedside, she in a weak voice, with hardly strength for utterance, spoke in this manner: ‘My dear Caelia, though you know me to be a worthless base wretch, yet do not think so hardly of me, as to imagine I would deceive you with my last breath. Believe me then when I tell you, that I sincerely repent of my treachery towards you; and as sincerely rejoice that it has in reality been the cause of your happiness with Sempronius. Tell him this; and then, perhaps, he will not hate my memory.’ Here she fainted away, and they forced Caelia out of the room, thinking her breath was for ever flown. But in some time she came again to herself, and cried out, ‘What! would not my dear Caelia say that she forgave me? Methinks I would not die, till I had obtained her pardon. She is too good to refuse her friend this last request.’ Her attendants then told her, that seeing her faint away, they had forced Caelia out of the room; and they begged her to try to compose herself, for they were sure that seeing her friend again, at this time, would only disturb her mind, and do her an injury.