The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 245: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

a a ea Ee RN i IN AE 250 THE MYSTERIES. me, I should go mad—or else I shouid end my days in suicide? I could not survive the loss of your love: it is the air which I breathe—it seems to have ab- sorbed all other ties that bound me to existence ere I knew the happiness of thus loving and being be- loved. And I will tell you what a strange—what a dreadful dream I had the other night :—indeed, it was on the very night following the day on which I procured the portrait that I call yours. On retiring to my chamber, and after Pauline was asleep, 1 sate up for an hour contemplating that picture, and com- | paring all its lineaments with your own: for your imacze is so faithfully and accurately impressed upon _ my mind, that I see you before me, even when we _ are separated, as plainly as I behold you now. Well, _ having studied that portrait until its lips appeared to smile at me and its eyes to look love to mine, I re- tired to rest. Sleep came upon me; and then me- —————— a a thought that I was seated with you in a delicious ar- bour. It was Spring-time: the blossoms fed the air with their fragrance—the heavens were of cloudless blue and stainlessly sunny—aid the birds carolled in their verdant retreats. We sate gazing upon each other in silence — our looks speaking more elo- quently than our words could have done. Oh! thus far the dream was elysian: my soul was bathed in happiness ineffable. But suddenly a gorgeous train of nobles and brilliantly-dressed iadies appeared in sight; and starting from your seat—tearing yourself from my arms—you hurried towards the procession, as it to command that it should pass on without re- cognising you. But a name was spoken by some voice—and that name was the Prince of Wales. The sickness of death came over me—and I fainted. When I returned to consciousness, I fancied that utter darkness had closed in around me. Rising from the cold ground to which I had fallen, I groped my way amidst densely interwoven shrubs and thickly growing trees, the dew from the foliage moistening all my garments and damping my hair which I believed to be streaming wildly and dis- hevelled over my shoulders. Suddenly I sawa light in the distance: I advanced towards it ;—every in- stant it grew stronger and stronger—until a glorious blaze of lustre flowed from the open portals of a church. Impelled by that strange influence which hurries us on in our dreams, and which indeed some- times prompts us in our actions when we are awake, I entered the sacred edifice. With trembling steps, and an appalling presentiment of evil lying like a weight of lead upon my heart, I approached the altar, around which { beheld assembled that gorgeous train of nobles and ladies whom I had seen in the earlier portion of my vision. But one form stood out in proud contrast trom all the rest; and that form Was thine, my George. But scarcely had my eyes thus settled upon you, when the solemn voice of the clergyman bestowed the nuptial blessing upon your- selfand a lady whose hand you hela in your own, A rending shriek escaped my lips—and I awoke. Nor was that shriek a part of the dream—but a real ex- pression of indescribable anguish: for Pauline had been awakened by it—and, seriousty alarmed, she in- quired what was the matter. I soothed her appre- ' hensions on my account by telling her that I nad ] { | | experienced a horrible dream, but the nature of which I did not unfold to her. For the remainder of the night my feverish brow pressed a sleepless pillow; and never—never was the dawn of morning more welcome. Oh! this dream has haunted me oftentimes fe ade pe ln a ny le et oe i a eee Oe eee since—yes, a hundred times during the few days which have elapsed since it occurred.” “But you put no faith in idle visions, my be- loved ?” said the Prince, more profoundly troubled than before at the strange narrative which had come from Octavia’s lips, and which he would have inter- rupted more than once during the recital, had he not been enchained by the species of fearful and pro- phetic interest wherewith it was invested. “Such a dream is easily accounted for, dearest,’’ he continued : “you had been gazing on a portrait in which you traced a resemblance to me—it was the predominant idea in your mind when sleep fell upon your eyes— and your imagination wreathed a host of wild and romantic fancies into the vivid and strongly-coloured texture of a vision.” “Oh! I am well aware that this is the true mode to account for it,” exclaimed Octavia: “ but it was not the less painful at the time—and the frequent trains of melancholy thought which its remem- branee engenders, distress me vccasionally more than I could possibly make you understand.” “ Of what nature are those thoughts, my be- loved ?” inquired the Prince, determined to probé the young lady’s mind to the very bottom, since the discourse had turned on this subject; and moreover, he felt that he was already standing on the verge of an abyss. “ You will only chide me if I give you the expla- nation you desire, dear George,” said Octavia, cast- ting a timid look upon her lover. “ No—on the contrary, I wish you to be frank and explicit, my angel,” returned the Prince; “for it is my duty and my desire to tranquillise all your misgivings,” he added insidiously, ‘“ Misgivings! Oh! I have none when with you,” eried the lovely creature, pressing her lips upon his cheek. ‘ But you asked me for an explana- tion of those thoughts which my dream has left behind, and which steal upon ine at times in spite of every effort which I make to throw them off. For, when alone, or if at all dispirited, I find my- self giving way to sad imaginings, akin to that vi- sion, and which cause me infinite torture. I re- flect that if you were indeed other than you have represented vourself—if the portrait should prove to be so perfect a resembiance of you, because you are its real original—and if I have surrendered up my heart, and what is more—my honour—to the heir-apparent to the throne of these realms,—Oh! then madness or suicide would be the result. For innocence is a balm even tothe breaking heart: but that anodyne would not be mine! On occa- sions, my thoughts are continued in another strain 5 —and instead of foreseeing madness or suicide as the crowning catastrophe, it appears to me as if all my love would turn to the bitterest hate, and that I would even throw myself at the feet of the King and demand justice against his son, my seducer! But, when [succeed in arousing my mind from these most painful reveries, lam so ashamed—so vexed—so angry at having given way to specula- tions so wild and to suspicions so injurious, my be- loved George, to you, that I am thrown into a per- fect fever of excitement; and the blood circulates like lightning in my veins—my ears tingle—my tongue grows parched—my temples throb—my eye-balls burn! And now you will pardon me, my George, for having thus frankly unbosomed myself to you;—and you will cease to be asto- GOmMIGdoo (C Sc (C@)