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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Tales and Novels, Vol. 6 + +Author: Maria Edgeworth + +Release Date: January, 2006 [EBook #9620] +Last Updated: December 20, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES AND NOVELS, VOL. 6 *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, William Flis, David Widger and the Project +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + TALES AND NOVELS + </h1> + <h3> + VOL. 6 + </h3> + <h2> + BY + </h2> + <h2> + MARIA EDGEWORTH + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>THE ABSENTEE.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> <b>MADAME DE FLEURY</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER X. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> <b>EMILIE DE COULANGES</b> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> <b>THE MODERN GRISELDA</b>. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0038"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0039"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0040"> CHAPTER VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0041"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0042"> CHAPTER IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0043"> CHAPTER X. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0044"> CHAPTER XI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0045"> CHAPTER XII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0046"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0047"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0048"> CHAPTER XV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0049"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0050"> CHAPTER XVII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0051"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0052"> CHAPTER XIX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_FOOT"> FOOTNOTES: </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE ABSENTEE. + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + “Are you to be at Lady Clonbrony’s gala next week?” said Lady Langdale to + Mrs. Dareville, whilst they were waiting for their carriages in the + crush-room of the opera-house. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes! every body’s to be there, I hear,” replied Mrs. Dareville. “Your + ladyship, of course?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I don’t know; if I possibly can. Lady Clonbrony makes it such a + point with me, that I believe I must look in upon her for a few minutes. + They are going to a prodigious expense on this occasion. Soho tells me the + reception rooms are all to be new furnished, and in the most magnificent + style.” + </p> + <p> + “At what a famous rate those Clonbronies are dashing on,” said colonel + Heathcock. “Up to any thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Who are they?—these Clonbronies, that one hears of so much of + late?” said her grace of Torcaster. “Irish absentees, I know. But how do + they support all this enormous expense?” “The son <i>will</i> have a + prodigiously fine estate when some Mr. Quin dies,” said Mrs. Dareville. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, every body who comes from Ireland <i>will</i> have a fine estate + when somebody dies,” said her grace. “But what have they at present?” + </p> + <p> + “Twenty thousand a year, they say,” replied Mrs. Dareville. + </p> + <p> + “Ten thousand, I believe,” cried Lady Langdale. + </p> + <p> + “Ten thousand, have they?—possibly,” said her grace. “I know nothing + about them—have no acquaintance among the Irish. Torcaster knows + something of Lady Clonbrony; she has fastened herself by some means upon + him; but I charge him not to <i>commit</i> me. Positively, I could not for + any body, and much less for that sort of person, extend the circle of my + acquaintance.” + </p> + <p> + “Now that is so cruel of your grace,” said Mrs. Dareville, laughing, “when + poor Lady Clonbrony works so hard, and pays so high to get into certain + circles.” + </p> + <p> + “If you knew all she endures, to look, speak, move, breathe, like an + Englishwoman, you would pity her,” said Lady Langdale. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and you <i>cawnt</i> conceive the <i>peens</i> she <i>teekes</i> to + talk of the <i>teebles</i> and <i>cheers</i>, and to thank Q, and with so + much <i>teeste</i> to speak pure English,” said Mrs. Dareville. + </p> + <p> + “Pure cockney, you mean,” said Lady Langdale. + </p> + <p> + “But does Lady Clonbrony expect to pass for English?” said the duchess. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes! because she is not quite Irish <i>bred and born</i>—only + bred, not born,” said Mrs. Dareville. “And she could not be five minutes + in your grace’s company, before she would tell you that she was <i>Henglish</i>, + born in <i>Hoxfordshire</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “She must be a vastly amusing personage—I should like to meet her if + one could see and hear her incog.,” said the duchess. “And Lord Clonbrony, + what is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, nobody,” said Mrs. Dareville: “one never even hears of him.” + </p> + <p> + “A tribe of daughters, too, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” said Lady Langdale; “daughters would be past all endurance.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s a cousin, though, a Miss Nugent,” said Mrs. Dareville, “that Lady + Clonbrony has with her.” + </p> + <p> + “Best part of her, too,” said Colonel Heathcock—“d——d + fine girl!—never saw her look better than at the opera to-night!” + </p> + <p> + “Fine <i>complexion</i>! as Lady Clonbrony says, when she means a high + colour,” said Lady Langdale. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Nugent is not a lady’s beauty,” said Mrs. Dareville. “Has she any + fortune, colonel?” + </p> + <p> + “‘Pon honour, don’t know,” said the colonel. + </p> + <p> + “There’s a son, somewhere, is not there?” said Lady Langdale. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t know, ‘pon honour,” replied the colonel. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—at Cambridge—not of age yet,” said Mrs. Dareville. “Bless + me! here is Lady Clonbrony come back. I thought she was gone half an hour + ago!” + </p> + <p> + “Mamma,” whispered one of Lady Langdale’s daughters, leaning between her + mother and Mrs. Dareville, “who is that gentleman that passed us just + now?” + </p> + <p> + “Which way?” + </p> + <p> + “Towards the door.—There now, mamma, you can see him. He is speaking + to Lady Clonbrony—to Miss Nugent—now Lady Clonbrony is + introducing him to Miss Broadhurst.” + </p> + <p> + “I see him now,” said Lady Langdale, examining him through her glass; “a + very gentlemanlike looking young man indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “Not an Irishman, I am sure, by his manner,” said her grace. + </p> + <p> + “Heathcock!” said Lady Langdale, “who is Miss Broadhurst talking to?” + </p> + <p> + “Eh! now really—‘pon honour—don’t know,” replied Heathcock. + </p> + <p> + “And yet he certainly looks like somebody one should know,” pursued Lady + Langdale, “though I don’t recollect seeing him any where before.” + </p> + <p> + “Really now!” was all the satisfaction she could gain from the insensible, + immovable colonel. However, her ladyship, after sending a whisper along + the line, gained the desired information, that the young gentleman was + Lord Colambre, son, only son, of Lord and Lady Clonbrony—that he was + just come from Cambridge—that he was not yet of age—that he + would be of age within a year; that he would then, after the death of + somebody, come into possession of a fine estate by the mother’s side; “and + therefore, Cat’rine, my dear,” said she, turning round to the daughter who + had first pointed him out, “you understand we should never talk about + other people’s affairs.” + </p> + <p> + “No, mamma, never. I hope to goodness, mamma, Lord Colambre did not hear + what you and Mrs. Dareville were saying!” + </p> + <p> + “How could he, child?—He was quite at the other end of the world.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, ma’am—he was at my elbow, close behind us; but I + never thought about him till I heard somebody say ‘my lord—‘” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens!—I hope he didn’t hear.” + </p> + <p> + “But, for my part, I said nothing,” cried Lady Langdale. + </p> + <p> + “And for my part, I said nothing but what every body knows,” cried Mrs. + Dareville. + </p> + <p> + “And for my part, I am guilty only of hearing,” said the duchess. “Do, + pray, Colonel Heathcock, have the goodness to see what my people are + about, and what chance we have of getting away to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “The Duchess of Torcaster’s carriage stops the way!”—a joyful sound + to Colonel Heathcock and to her grace, and not less agreeable, at this + instant, to Lady Langdale, who, the moment she was disembarrassed of the + duchess, pressed through the crowd to Lady Clonbrony, and addressing her + with smiles and complacency, was charmed to have a little moment to speak + to her—could <i>not</i> sooner get through the crowd—would + certainly do herself the honour to be at her ladyship’s gala. While Lady + Langdale spoke, she never seemed to see or think of any body but Lady + Clonbrony, though, all the time, she was intent upon every motion of Lord + Colambre; and whilst she was obliged to listen with a face of sympathy to + a long complaint of Lady Clonbrony’s, about Mr. Soho’s want of taste in + ottomans, she was vexed to perceive that his lordship showed no desire to + be introduced to her or to her daughters; but, on the contrary, was + standing talking to Miss Nugent. His mother, at the end of her speech, + looked round for “Colambre”—called him twice before he heard—introduced + him to Lady Langdale, and to Lady Cat’rine, and Lady Anne ——, + and to Mrs. Dareville; to all of whom he bowed with an air of proud + coldness, which gave them reason to regret that their remarks upon his + mother and his family had not been made <i>sotto voce</i>. + </p> + <p> + “Lady Langdale’s carriage stops the way!” Lord Colambre made no offer of + his services, notwithstanding a look from his mother. Incapable of the + meanness of voluntarily listening to a conversation not intended for him + to hear, he had, however, been compelled, by the pressure of the crowd, to + remain a few minutes stationary, where he could not avoid hearing the + remarks of the fashionable friends: disdaining dissimulation, he made no + attempt to conceal his displeasure. Perhaps his vexation was increased by + his consciousness that there was some mixture of truth in their sarcasms. + He was sensible that his mother, in some points—her manners, for + instance—was obvious to ridicule and satire. In Lady Clonbrony’s + address there was a mixture of constraint, affectation, and indecision, + unusual in a person of her birth, rank, and knowledge of the world. A + natural and unnatural manner seemed struggling in all her gestures, and in + every syllable that she articulated—a naturally free, familiar, + good-natured, precipitate, Irish manner, had been schooled, and schooled + late in life, into a sober, cold, still, stiff deportment, which she + mistook for English. A strong Hibernian accent she had, with infinite + difficulty, changed into an English tone. Mistaking reverse of wrong for + right, she caricatured the English pronunciation; and the extraordinary + precision of her London phraseology betrayed her not to be a Londoner, as + the man who strove to pass for an Athenian was detected by his Attic + dialect. Not aware of her real danger, Lady Clonbrony was, on the opposite + side, in continual apprehension every time she opened her lips, lest some + treacherous <i>a</i> or <i>e</i>, some strong <i>r</i>, some puzzling + aspirate or non-aspirate, some unguarded note, interrogative, or + expostulatory, should betray her to be an Irishwoman. Mrs. Dareville had, + in her mimicry, perhaps, a little exaggerated, as to the <i>teebles</i> + and <i>cheers</i>, but still the general likeness of the representation of + Lady Clonbrony was strong enough to strike and vex her son. He had now, + for the first time, an opportunity of judging of the estimation in which + his mother and his family were held by certain leaders of the ton, of + whom, in her letters, she had spoken so much, and into whose society, or + rather into whose parties, she had been admitted. He saw that the renegado + cowardice with which she denied, abjured, and reviled her own country, + gained nothing but ridicule and contempt. He loved his mother; and, whilst + he endeavoured to conceal her faults and foibles as much as possible from + his own heart, he could not endure those who dragged them to light and + ridicule. The next morning, the first thing that occurred to Lord + Colambre’s remembrance, when he awoke, was the sound of the contemptuous + emphasis which had been laid on the words IRISH ABSENTEES!—This led + to recollections of his native country, to comparisons of past and present + scenes, to future plans of life. Young and careless as he seemed, Lord + Colambre was capable of serious reflection. Of naturally quick and strong + capacity, ardent affections, impetuous temper, the early years of his + childhood passed at his father’s castle in Ireland, where, from the lowest + servant to the well-dressed dependent of the family, every body had + conspired to wait upon, to fondle, to flatter, to worship, this darling of + their lord. Yet he was not spoiled—not rendered selfish; for in the + midst of this flattery and servility, some strokes of genuine generous + affection had gone home to his little heart: and though unqualified + submission had increased the natural impetuosity of his temper, and though + visions of his future grandeur had touched his infant thought, yet, + fortunately, before he acquired any fixed habits of insolence or tyranny, + he was carried far away from all that were bound or willing to submit to + his commands, far away from all signs of hereditary grandeur—plunged + into one of our great public schools—into a new world. Forced to + struggle, mind and body, with his equals, his rivals, the little lord + became a spirited school-boy, and in time, a man. Fortunately for him, + science and literature happened to be the fashion among a set of clever + young men with whom he was at Cambridge. His ambition for intellectual + superiority was raised, his views were enlarged, his tastes and his + manners formed. The sobriety of English good sense mixed most + advantageously with Irish vivacity: English prudence governed, but did not + extinguish, his Irish enthusiasm. But, in fact, English and Irish had not + been invidiously contrasted in his mind: he had been so long resident in + England, and so intimately connected with Englishmen, that he was not + obvious to any of the commonplace ridicule thrown upon Hibernians; and he + had lived with men who were too well informed and liberal to misjudge or + depreciate a sister country. He had found, from experience, that, however + reserved the English may be in manner, they are warm at heart; that, + however averse they may be from forming new acquaintance, their esteem and + confidence once gained, they make the most solid friends. He had formed + friendships in England; he was fully sensible of the superior comforts, + refinement, and information, of English society; but his own country was + endeared to him by early association, and a sense of duty and patriotism + attached him to Ireland.—“And shall I too be an absentee?” was a + question which resulted from these reflections—a question which he + was not yet prepared to answer decidedly. + </p> + <p> + In the mean time, the first business of the morning was to execute a + commission for a Cambridge friend. Mr. Berryl had bought from Mr. + Mordicai, a famous London coachmaker, a curricle, <i>warranted sound</i>, + for which he had paid a sound price, upon express condition that Mr. + Mordicai should be answerable for all repairs of the curricle for six + months. In three, both the carriage and body were found to be good for + nothing—the curricle had been returned to Mordicai—nothing had + since been heard of it, or from him; and Lord Colambre had undertaken to + pay him and it a visit, and to make all proper inquiries. Accordingly, he + went to the coachmaker’s; and, obtaining no satisfaction from the + underlings, desired to see the head of the house. He was answered that Mr. + Mordicai was not at home. His lordship had never seen Mr. Mordicai; but + just then he saw, walking across the yard, a man who looked something like + a Bond-street coxcomb, but not the least like a gentleman, who called, in + the tone of a master, for “Mr. Mordicai’s barouche!”—It appeared; + and he was stepping into it, when Lord Colambre took the liberty of + stopping him; and, pointing to the wreck of Mr. Berryl’s curricle, now + standing in the yard, began a statement of his friend’s grievances, and an + appeal to common justice and conscience, which he, unknowing the nature of + the man with whom he had to deal, imagined must be irresistible. Mr. + Mordicai stood without moving a muscle of his dark wooden face—indeed, + in his face there appeared to be no muscles, or none which could move; so + that, though he had what are generally called handsome features, there + was, altogether, something unnatural and shocking in his countenance. + When, at last, his eyes turned and his lips opened, this seemed to be done + by machinery, and not by the will of a living creature, or from the + impulse of a rational soul. Lord Colambre was so much struck with this + strange physiognomy, that he actually forgot much he had to say of springs + and wheels—But it was no matter—Whatever he had said, it would + have come to the same thing; and Mordicai would have answered as he now + did; “Sir, it was my partner made that bargain, not myself; and I don’t + hold myself bound by it, for he is the sleeping partner only, and not + empowered to act in the way of business. Had Mr. Berryl bargained with me, + I should have told him that he should have looked to these things before + his carriage went out of our yard.” + </p> + <p> + The indignation of Lord Colambre kindled at these words—but in vain: + to all that indignation could by word or look urge against Mordicai, he + replied, “May be so, sir: the law is open to your friend—the law is + open to all men, who can pay for it.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre turned in despair from the callous coachmaker, and listened + to one of his more compassionate-looking workmen, who was reviewing the + disabled curricle; and, whilst he was waiting to know the sum of his + friend’s misfortune, a fat, jolly, Falstaff-looking personage came into + the yard, and accosted Mordicai with a degree of familiarity which, from a + gentleman, appeared to Lord Colambre to be almost impossible. + </p> + <p> + “How are you, Mordicai, my good fellow?” cried he, speaking with a strong + Irish accent. + </p> + <p> + “Who is this?” whispered Lord Colambre to the foreman, who was examining + the curricle. + </p> + <p> + “Sir Terence O’Fay, sir—There must be entire new wheels.” + </p> + <p> + “Now tell me, my tight fellow,” continued Sir Terence, holding Mordicai + fast, “when, in the name of all the saints, good or bad, in the calendar, + do you reckon to let us sport the <i>suicide</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “Will you be so good, sir, to finish making out this estimate for me?” + interrupted Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + Mordicai forcibly drew his mouth into what he meant for a smile, and + answered, “As soon as possible, Sir Terence.” Sir Terence, in a tone of + jocose, wheedling expostulation, entreated him to have the carriage + finished <i>out of hand</i>: “Ah, now! Mordy, my precious! let us have it + by the birthday, and come and dine with us o’ Monday at the Hibernian + Hotel—there’s a rare one—will you?” + </p> + <p> + Mordicai accepted the invitation, and promised faithfully that the <i>suicide</i> + should be finished by the birthday. Sir Terence shook hands upon this + promise, and, after telling a good story, which made one of the workmen in + the yard—an Irishman—grin with delight, walked off. Mordicai, + first waiting till the knight was out of hearing, called aloud, “You + grinning rascal! mind, at your peril, and don’t let that there carriage be + touched, d’ye see, till farther orders.” + </p> + <p> + One of Mr. Mordicai’s clerks, with a huge long feathered pen behind his + ear, observed that Mr. Mordicai was right in that caution, for that, to + the best of his comprehension, Sir Terence O’Fay, and his principal too, + were over head and ears in debt. + </p> + <p> + Mordicai coolly answered, that he was well aware of that, but that the + estate could afford to dip farther; that, for his part, he was under no + apprehension; he knew how to look sharp, and to bite before he was bit: + that he knew Sir Terence and his principal were leagued together to give + the creditors <i>the go by</i>; but that, clever as they were both at that + work, he trusted he was their match. + </p> + <p> + “Immediately, sir—Sixty-nine pound four, and the perch—Let us + see—Mr. Mordicai, ask him, ask Paddy, about Sir Terence,” said the + foreman, pointing back over his shoulder to the Irish workman, who was at + this moment pretending to be wondrous hard at work. However, when Mr. + Mordicai defied him to tell him any thing he did not know, Paddy, parting + with an untasted bit of tobacco, began and recounted some of Sir Terence + O’Fay’s exploits in evading duns, replevying cattle, fighting sheriffs, + bribing <i>subs</i>, managing cants, tricking <i>custodees</i>, in + language so strange, and with a countenance and gestures so full of + enjoyment of the jest, that, whilst Mordicai stood for a moment aghast + with astonishment, Lord Colambre could not help laughing, partly at, and + partly with, his countryman. All the yard were in a roar of laughter, + though they did not understand half of what they heard; but their risible + muscles were acted upon mechanically, or maliciously, merely by the sound + of the Irish brogue. + </p> + <p> + Mordicai, waiting till the laugh was over, dryly observed, that “the law + is executed in another guess sort of way in England from what it is in + Ireland;” therefore, for his part, he desired nothing better than to set + his wits fairly against such <i>sharks</i>—that there was a pleasure + in doing up a debtor, which none but a creditor could know. + </p> + <p> + “In a moment, sir; if you’ll have a moment’s patience, sir, if you + please,” said the slow foreman to Lord Colambre; “I must go down the + pounds once more, and then I’ll let you have it.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll tell you what, Smithfield,” continued Mr. Mordicai, coming close + beside his foreman, and speaking very low, but with a voice trembling with + anger, for he was piqued by his foreman’s doubts of his capacity to cope + with Sir Terence O’Fay; “I’ll tell you what, Smithfield, I’ll be cursed if + I don’t get every inch of them into my power—you know how.” + </p> + <p> + “You are the best judge, sir,” replied the foreman; “but I would not + undertake Sir Terence; and the question is, whether the estate will answer + the <i>tote</i> of the debts, and whether you know them all for certain—” + </p> + <p> + “I do, sir, I tell you: there’s Green—there’s Blancham—there’s + Gray—there’s Soho”—naming several more—“and, to my + knowledge, Lord Clonbrony—” + </p> + <p> + “Stop, sir,” cried Lord Colambre, in a voice which made Mordicai and every + body present start;—“I am his son—” + </p> + <p> + “The devil!” said Mordicai. + </p> + <p> + “God bless every bone in his body, then, he’s an Irishman!” cried Paddy; + “and there was the <i>ra</i>son my heart warmed to him from the first + minute he come into the yard, though I did not know it till now.” + </p> + <p> + “What, sir! are you my Lord Colambre?” said Mr. Mordicai, recovering, but + not clearly recovering, his intellects: “I beg pardon, but I did not know + you <i>was</i> Lord Colambre—I thought you told me you was the + friend of Mr. Berryl.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not see the incompatibility of the assertion, sir,” replied Lord + Colambre, taking from the bewildered foreman’s unresisting hand the + account which he had been so long <i>furnishing</i>. + </p> + <p> + “Give me leave, my lord,” said Mordicai—“I beg your pardon, my lord; + perhaps we can compromise that business for your friend Mr. Berryl; since + he is your lordship’s friend, perhaps we can contrive to <i>compromise</i> + and <i>split the difference</i>.” + </p> + <p> + <i>To compromise</i>, and <i>split the difference</i>, Mordicai thought + were favourite phrases, and approved Hibernian modes of doing business, + which would conciliate this young Irish nobleman, and dissipate the proud + tempest, which had gathered, and now swelled in his breast. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir, no!” cried Lord Colambre, holding firm the paper: “I want no + favour from you. I will accept of none for my friend or for myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Favour! No, my lord, I should not presume to offer—But I should + wish, if you’ll allow me, to do your friend justice.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre, recollecting that he had no right, in his pride, to fling + away his friend’s money, let Mr. Mordicai look at the account; and his + impetuous temper in a few moments recovered by good sense, he considered, + that, as his person was utterly unknown to Mr. Mordicai, no offence could + have been intended to him, and that, perhaps, in what had been said of his + father’s debts and distress, there might be more truth than he was aware + of. Prudently, therefore, controlling his feelings, and commanding + himself, he suffered Mr. Mordicai to show him into a parlour to <i>settle</i> + his friend’s business. In a few minutes the account was reduced to a + reasonable form, and, in consideration of the partner’s having made the + bargain, by which Mr. Mordicai felt himself influenced in honour, though + not bound in law, he undertook to have the curricle made better than new + again, for Mr. Berryl, for twenty guineas. Then came awkward apologies to + Lord Colambre, which he ill endured. “Between ourselves, my lord,” + continued Mordicai— + </p> + <p> + But the familiarity of the phrase. “Between ourselves”—this + implication of equality—Lord Colambre could not admit: he moved + hastily towards the door, and departed. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + Full of what he had heard, and impatient to obtain farther information + respecting the state of his father’s affairs, Lord Colambre hastened home; + but his father was out, and his mother was engaged with Mr. Soho, + directing, or rather being directed, how her apartments should be fitted + up for her gala. As Lord Colambre entered the room, he saw his mother, + Miss Nugent, and Mr. Soho, standing at a large table, which was covered + with rolls of paper, patterns, and drawings of furniture: Mr. Soho was + speaking in a conceited, dictatorial tone, asserting that there was no + “colour in nature for that room equal to <i>the belly-o’-the fawn</i>;” + which <i>belly-o’-the fawn</i> he so pronounced, that Lady Clonbrony + understood it to be <i>la belle uniforme</i>, and, under this mistake, + repeated and assented to the assertion, till it was set to rights, with + condescending superiority, by the upholsterer. This first architectural + upholsterer of the age, as he styled himself, and was universally admitted + to be by all the world of fashion, then, with full powers given to him, + spoke <i>en maître</i>. The whole face of things must be changed. There + must be new hangings, new draperies, new cornices, new candelabras, new + every thing!— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The upholsterer’s eye, in fine frenzy rolling, + Glances from ceiling to floor, from floor to ceiling; + And, as imagination bodies forth + The form of things unknown, the upholsterer’s pencil + Turns them to shape, and gives to airy nothing + A local habitation and a NAME.” + </pre> + <p> + Of the value of a NAME no one could be more sensible than Mr. Soho. + </p> + <p> + “Your la’ship sees—this is merely a scratch of my pencil. Your + la’ship’s sensible—just to give you an idea of the shape, the form + of the thing. You fill up your angles here with <i>encoinières</i>—round + your walls with the <i>Turkish tent drapery</i>—a fancy of my own—in + apricot cloth, or crimson velvet, suppose, or, <i>en flute</i>, in crimson + satin draperies, fanned and riched with gold fringes, <i>en suite</i>—intermediate + spaces, Apollo’s head with gold rays—and here, ma’am, you place four + <i>chancelières</i>, with chimeras at the corners, covered with blue silk + and silver fringe, elegantly fanciful—with my STATIRA CANOPY here—light + blue silk draperies—aërial tint, with silver balls—and for + seats here, the SERAGLIO OTTOMANS, superfine scarlet—your paws—griffin—golden—and + golden tripods, here, with antique cranes—and oriental alabaster + tables here and there—quite appropriate, your la’ship feels. + </p> + <p> + “And let me reflect. For the next apartment, it strikes me—as your + la’ship don’t value expense—the <i>Alhambra hangings</i>—my + own thought entirely—Now, before I unrol them, Lady Clonbrony, I + must beg you’ll not mention I’ve shown them. I give you my sacred honour, + not a soul has set eye upon the Alhambra hangings except Mrs. Dareville, + who stole a peep; I refused, absolutely refused, the Duchess of Torcaster—but + I can’t refuse your la’ship—So see, ma’am— (unrolling them)—scagliola + porphyry columns supporting the grand dome—entablature, silvered and + decorated with imitative bronze ornaments: under the entablature, a <i>valence + in pelmets</i>, of puffed scarlet silk, would have an unparalleled grand + effect, seen through the arches—with the TREBISOND TRELLICE PAPER, + Would make a <i>tout ensemble</i>, novel beyond example. On that trebisond + trellice paper, I confess, ladies, I do pique myself. + </p> + <p> + “Then, for the little room, I recommend turning it temporarily into a + Chinese pagoda, with this <i>Chinese pagoda paper</i>, with the <i>porcelain + border</i>, and josses, and jars, and beakers, to match; and I can venture + to promise one vase of pre-eminent size and beauty.—Oh, indubitably! + if your la’ship prefers it, you can have the <i>Egyptian hieroglyphic + paper</i>, with the <i>ibis border</i> to match!—The only objection + is, one sees it every where—quite antediluvian—gone to the + hotels even; but, to be sure, if your la’ship has a fancy—at all + events, I humbly recommend, what her grace of Torcaster longs to + patronise, my MOON CURTAINS, with candlelight draperies. A demi-saison + elegance this—I hit off yesterday—and—True, your + la’ship’s quite correct—out of the common completely. And, of + course, you’d have the <i>sphynx candelabras</i>, and the phoenix argands—Oh! + nothing else lights now, ma’am!—Expense!—Expense of the whole!—Impossible + to calculate here on the spot!—but nothing at all worth your + ladyship’s consideration!” + </p> + <p> + At another moment, Lord Colambre might have been amused with all this + rhodomontade, and with the airs and voluble conceit of the orator; but, + after what he had heard at Mr. Mordicai’s, this whole scene struck him + more with melancholy than with mirth. He was alarmed by the prospect of + new and unbounded expense; provoked, almost past enduring, by the jargon + and impertinence of this upholsterer; mortified and vexed to the heart, to + see his mother the dupe, the sport of such a coxcomb. + </p> + <p> + “Prince of puppies!—Insufferable!—My own mother!” Lord + Colambre repeated to himself, as he walked hastily up and down the room. + </p> + <p> + “Colambre, won’t you let us have your judgment—your <i>teeste</i>?” + said his mother. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, ma’am—I have no taste, no judgment in these things.” + </p> + <p> + He sometimes paused, and looked at Mr. Soho, with a strong inclination to—. + But knowing that he should say too much if he said any thing, he was + silent; never dared to approach the council table—but continued + walking up and down the room, till he heard a voice which at once arrested + his attention and soothed his ire. He approached the table instantly, and + listened, whilst Miss Nugent said every thing he wished to have said, and + with all the propriety and delicacy with which he thought he could not + have spoken. He leaned on the table, and fixed his eyes upon her—years + ago he had seen his cousin—last night he had thought her handsome, + pleasing, graceful—but now he saw a new person, or he saw her in a + new light. He marked the superior intelligence, the animation, the + eloquence of her countenance, its variety, whilst alternately, with arch + raillery, or grave humour, she played off Mr. Soho, and made him magnify + the ridicule, till it was apparent even to Lady Clonbrony. He observed the + anxiety lest his mother should expose her own foibles; he was touched by + the respectful, earnest kindness—the soft tones of persuasion with + which she addressed her—the care not to presume upon her own + influence—the good sense, the taste, she showed, yet not displaying + her superiority—the address, temper, and patience, with which she at + last accomplished her purpose, and prevented Lady Clonbrony from doing any + thing preposterously absurd, or exorbitantly extravagant. + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre was actually sorry when the business was ended—when + Mr. Soho departed—for Miss Nugent was then silent; and it was + necessary to remove his eyes from that countenance on which he had gazed + unobserved. Beautiful and graceful, yet so unconscious was she of her + charms, that the eye of admiration could rest upon her without her + perceiving it—she seemed so intent upon others as totally to forget + herself. The whole train of Lord Colambre’s thoughts was so completely + deranged, that, although he was sensible there was something of importance + he had to say to his mother, yet when Mr. Soho’s departure left him + opportunity to speak, he stood silent, unable to recollect any thing but—Grace + Nugent. + </p> + <p> + When Miss Nugent left the room, after some minutes’ silence, and some + effort, Lord Colambre said to his mother, “Pray, madam, do you know any + thing of Sir Terence O’Fay?” + </p> + <p> + “I!” said Lady Clonbrony, drawing up her head proudly; “I know he is a + person I cannot endure. He is no friend of mine, I can assure you—nor + any such sort of person.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought it was impossible!” cried Lord Colambre, with exultation. + </p> + <p> + “I only wish your father, Colambre, could say as much,” added Lady + Clonbrony. + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre’s countenance fell again; and again he was silent for some + time. + </p> + <p> + “Does my father dine at home, ma’am?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose not; he seldom dines at home.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps, ma’am, my father may have some cause to be uneasy about—” + </p> + <p> + “About?” said Lady Clonbrony, in a tone, and with a look of curiosity, + which convinced her son that she knew nothing of his debts or distresses, + if he had any. “About what?” repeated her ladyship. + </p> + <p> + Here was no receding, and Lord Colambre never had recourse to artifice. + </p> + <p> + “About his affairs, I was going to say, madam. But, since you know nothing + of any difficulties or embarrassments, I am persuaded that none exist.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, I <i>cawnt</i> tell you that, Colambre. There are difficulties for + ready money, I confess, when I ask for it, which surprise me often. I know + nothing of affairs—ladies of a certain rank seldom do, you know. + But, considering your father’s estate, and the fortune I brought him,” + added her ladyship, proudly, “I <i>cawnt</i> conceive it at all. Grace + Nugent, indeed, often talks to me of embarrassments and economy; but that, + poor thing! is very natural for her, because her fortune is not + particularly large, and she has left it all, or almost all, in her uncle + and guardian’s hands. I know she’s often distressed for odd money to lend + me, and that makes her anxious.” + </p> + <p> + “Is not Miss Nugent very much admired, ma’am, in London?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course—in the company she is in, you know, she has every + advantage. And she has a natural family air of fashion—Not but what + she would have <i>got on</i> much better, if, when she first appeared in + Lon’on, she had taken my advice, and wrote herself on her cards Miss de + Nogent, which would have taken off the prejudice against the <i>Iricism</i> + of Nugent, you know; and there is a Count de Nogent.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not know there was any such prejudice, ma’am. There may be among a + certain set; but, I should think, not among well-informed, well-bred + people.” + </p> + <p> + “I <i>big</i> your <i>pawdon</i>, Colambre; surely I, that was born in + England, an Henglishwoman <i>bawn</i>, must be well <i>infawmed</i> on + this <i>pint</i>, any way.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre was respectfully silent. + </p> + <p> + “Mother,” resumed he, “I wonder that Miss Nugent is not married.” + </p> + <p> + “That is her own fau’t entirely; she has refused very good offers—establishments + that I own I think, as Lady Langdale says, I was to blame to allow her to + let pass: but young <i>ledies</i>, till they are twenty, always think they + can do better. Mr. Martingale, of Martingale, proposed for her, but she + objected to him on account of <i>he’es</i> being on the turf; and Mr. St. + Albans’ 7000<i>l.</i> a-year, because—I <i>reelly</i> forget what—I + believe only because she did not like him—and something about + principles. Now there is Colonel Heathcock, one of the most fashionable + young men you see, always with the Duchess of Torcaster and that set—Heathcock + takes a vast deal of notice of her, for him; and yet, I’m persuaded, she + would not have him to-morrow if he came to the <i>pint</i>, and for no + reason, <i>reelly</i> now, that she can give me, but because she says he’s + a coxcomb. Grace has a tincture of Irish pride. But, for my part, I + rejoice that she is so difficult; for I don’t know what I should do + without her.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Nugent is indeed—very much attached to you, mother, I am + convinced,” said Lord Colambre, beginning his sentence with great + enthusiasm, and ending it with great sobriety. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, then, she’s a sweet girl, and I am very partial to her, there’s + the truth,” cried Lady Clonbrony, in an undisguised Irish accent, and with + her natural warm manner. But, a moment afterwards, her features and whole + form resumed their constrained stillness and stiffness, and in her English + accent she continued, “Before you put my <i>idears</i> out of my head, + Colambre, I had something to say to you—Oh! I know what it was—we + were talking of embarrassments—and I wish to do your father the + justice to mention to you, that he has been <i>uncommon liberal</i> to me + about this gala, and has <i>reelly</i> given me carte blanche; and I’ve a + notion—indeed I know,—that it is you, Colambre, I am to thank + for this.” + </p> + <p> + “Me, ma’am!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes: did not your father give you any hint?” + </p> + <p> + “No, ma’am; I have seen my father but for half an hour since I came to + town, and in that time he said nothing to me—of his affairs.” + </p> + <p> + “But what I allude to is more your affair.” + </p> + <p> + “He did not speak to me of any affairs, ma’am—he spoke only of my + horses.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I suppose my lord leaves it to me to open the matter to you. I have + the pleasure to tell you, that we have in view for you—and, I think + I may say, with more than the approbation of all her family—an + alliance—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear mother! you cannot be serious,” cried Lord Colambre; “you + know I am not of years of discretion yet—I shall not think of + marrying these ten years, at least.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? Nay, my dear Colambre, don’t go, I beg—I am serious, I + assure you—and, to convince you of it, I shall tell you candidly, at + once, all your father told me: that now you’ve done with Cambridge, and + are come to Lon’on, he agrees with me in wishing that you should make the + figure you ought to make, Colambre, as sole heir apparent to the Clonbrony + estate, and all that sort of thing; but, on the other hand, living in + Lon’on, and making you the handsome allowance you ought to have, are, both + together, more than your father can afford, without inconvenience, he + tells me.” + </p> + <p> + “I assure you, mother, I shall be content—” + </p> + <p> + “No, no; you must not be content, child, and you must hear me: you must + live in a becoming style, and make a proper appearance. I could not + present you to my friends here, nor be happy, if you did not, Colambre. + Now the way is clear before you: you have birth and title, here is fortune + ready made—you will have a noble estate of your own when old Quin + dies, and you will not be any encumbrance or inconvenience to your father + or any body. Marrying an heiress accomplishes all this at once—and + the young lady is every thing we could wish besides—you will meet + again at the gala. Indeed, between ourselves, she is the grand object of + the gala—all her friends will come <i>en masse</i>, and one should + wish that they should see things in proper style. You have seen the young + lady in question, Colambre—Miss Broadhurst—Don’t you recollect + the young lady I introduced you to last night after the opera?” + </p> + <p> + “The little plain girl, covered with diamonds, who was standing beside + Miss Nugent?” + </p> + <p> + “In di’monds, yes—But you won’t think her plain when you see more of + her—that wears off—I thought her plain, at first—I hope—” + </p> + <p> + “I hope,” said Lord Colambre, “that you will not take it unkindly of me, + my dear mother, if I tell you, at once, that I have no thoughts of + marrying at present—and that I never will marry for money: marrying + an heiress is not even a new way of paying old debts—at all events, + it is one to which no distress could persuade me to have recourse; and as + I must, if I outlive old Mr. Quin, have an independent fortune, <i>there + is no</i> occasion to purchase one by marriage.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no distress that I know of in the case,” cried Lady Clonbrony. + “Where is your imagination running, Colambre? But merely for your + establishment, your independence.” + </p> + <p> + “Establishment, I want none—independence I do desire, and will + preserve. Assure my father, my <i>dear mother</i>, that I will not be an + expense to him—I will live within the allowance he made me at + Cambridge—I will give up half of it—I will do any thing for + his convenience—but marry for money, that I cannot do.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, Colambre, you are very disobliging,” said Lady Clonbrony, with an + expression of disappointment and displeasure; “for your father says if you + don’t marry Miss Broadhurst, we can’t live in Lon’on another winter.” + </p> + <p> + This said—which had she been at the moment mistress of herself, she + would not have betrayed—Lady Clonbrony abruptly quitted the room. + Her son stood motionless, saying to himself, “Is this my mother?—How + altered!” + </p> + <p> + The next morning he seized an opportunity of speaking to his father, whom + he caught with difficulty just when he was going out, as usual, for the + day. Lord Colambre, with all the respect due to his father, and with that + affectionate manner by which he always knew how to soften the strength of + his expressions, made nearly the same declarations of his resolution, by + which his mother had been so much surprised and offended. Lord Clonbrony + seemed more embarrassed, but not so much displeased. When Lord Colambre + adverted, as delicately as he could, to the selfishness of desiring from + him the sacrifice of liberty for life, to say nothing of his affections, + merely to enable his family to make a splendid figure in London, Lord + Clonbrony exclaimed, “That’s all nonsense!—cursed nonsense! That’s + the way we are obliged to state the thing to your mother, my dear boy, + because I might talk her deaf before she would understand or listen to any + thing else; but, for my own share, I don’t care a rush if London was sunk + in the salt sea. Little Dublin for my money, as Sir Terence O’Fay says.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is Sir Terence O’Fay, may I ask, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, don’t you know Terry?—Ay, you’ve been so long at Cambridge—I + forgot. And did you never see Terry?” + </p> + <p> + “I have seen him, sir.—I met him yesterday at Mr. Mordicai’s, the + coachmaker’s.” + </p> + <p> + “Mordicai’s!” exclaimed Lord Clonbrony, with a sudden blush, which he + endeavoured to hide, by taking snuff. “He is a damned rascal, that + Mordicai! I hope you didn’t believe a word he said—nobody does that + knows him.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad, sir, that you seem to know him so well, and to be upon your + guard against him,” replied Lord Colambre; “for, from what I heard of his + conversation, when he was not aware who I was, I am convinced he would do + you any injury in his power.” + </p> + <p> + “He shall never have me in his power, I promise him. We shall take care of + that—But what did he say?” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre repeated the substance of what Mordicai had said, and Lord + Clonbrony reiterated, “Damned rascal!—damned rascal!—I’ll get + out of his hands—I’ll have no more to do with him.” But, as he + spoke, he exhibited evident symptoms of uneasiness, moving continually, + and shifting from leg to leg, like a foundered horse. + </p> + <p> + He could not bring himself positively to deny that he had debts and + difficulties; but he would by no means open the state of his affairs to + his son: “No father is called upon to do that,” said he to himself; “none + but a fool would do it.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre, perceiving his father’s embarrassment, withdrew his eyes, + respectfully refrained from all further inquiries, and simply repeated the + assurance he had made to his mother, that he would put his family to no + additional expense; and that, if it was necessary, he would willingly give + up half his allowance. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all, not at all, my dear boy,” said his father: “I would rather + cramp myself than that you should be cramped, a thousand times over. But + it is all my Lady Clonbrony’s nonsense. If people would but, as they + ought, stay in their own country, live on their own estates, and kill + their own mutton, money need never be wanting.” + </p> + <p> + For killing their own mutton, Lord Colambre did not see the indispensable + necessity; but he rejoiced to hear his father assert that people should + reside in their own country. + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” cried Lord Clonbrony, to strengthen his assertion, as he always + thought it necessary to do, by quoting some other person’s opinion—“so + Sir Terence O’Fay always says, and that’s the reason your mother can’t + endure poor Terry—You don’t know Terry? No, you have only seen him; + but, indeed, to see him is to know him; for he is the most off-hand, good + fellow in Europe.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t pretend to know him yet,” said Lord Colambre. “I am not so + presumptuous as to form my opinion at first sight.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, curse your modesty!” interrupted Lord Clonbrony; “you mean, you don’t + pretend to like him yet; but Terry will make you like him. I defy you not—I’ll + introduce you to him—him to you, I mean—most warm-hearted, + generous dog upon earth—convivial—jovial—with wit and + humour enough, in his own way, to split you—split me if he has not. + You need not cast down your eyes, Colambre. What’s your objection?” + </p> + <p> + “I have made none, sir—but, if you urge me, I can only say, that, if + he has all these good qualities, it is to be regretted that he does not + look and speak a little more like a gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “A gentleman!—he is as much a gentleman as any of your formal prigs—not + the exact Cambridge cut, may be—Curse your English education! ‘twas + none of my advice—I suppose you mean to take after your mother in + the notion, that nothing can be good or genteel but what’s English.” + </p> + <p> + “Far from it, sir; I assure you I am as warm a friend to Ireland as your + heart could wish. You will have no reason, in that respect, at least, nor, + I hope, in any other, to curse my English education—and, if my + gratitude and affection can avail, you shall never regret the kindness and + liberality with which you have, I fear, distressed yourself to afford me + the means of becoming all that a British nobleman ought to be.” + </p> + <p> + “Gad! you distress me now,” said Lord Clonbrony, “and I didn’t expect it, + or I wouldn’t make a fool of myself this way,” added he, ashamed of his + emotion, and whiffling it off. “You have an Irish heart, that I see, which + no education can spoil. But you must like Terry—I’ll give you time, + as he said to me, when first he taught me to like usquebaugh—Good + morning to you.” + </p> + <p> + Whilst Lady Clonbrony, in consequence of her residence in London, had + become more of a fine lady, Lord Clonbrony, since he left Ireland, had + become less of a gentleman. Lady Clonbrony, born an Englishwoman, + disclaiming and disencumbering herself of all the Irish in town, had, by + giving splendid entertainments, at an enormous expense, made her way into + a certain set of fashionable company. But Lord Clonbrony, who was somebody + in Ireland, who was a great person in Dublin, found himself nobody in + England, a mere cipher in London. Looked down upon by the fine people with + whom his lady associated, and heartily weary of them, he retreated from + them altogether, and sought entertainment and self-complacency in society + beneath him, indeed, both in rank and education, but in which he had the + satisfaction of feeling himself the first person in company. Of these + associates, the first in talents, and in jovial profligacy, was Sir + Terence O’Fay—a man of low extraction, who had been knighted by an + Irish lord-lieutenant in some convivial frolic. No one could tell a good + story, or sing a good song, better than Sir Terence; he exaggerated his + native brogue, and his natural propensity to blunder, caring little + whether the company laughed at him or with him, provided they laughed—“Live + and laugh—laugh and live,” was his motto; and certainly he lived on + laughing, as well as many better men can contrive to live on a thousand + a-year. + </p> + <p> + Lord Clonbrony brought Sir Terence home with him next day, to introduce + him to Lord Colambre; and it happened that, on this occasion, Terence + appeared to peculiar disadvantage, because, like many other people, “Il + gâtoit l’esprit qu’il avoit, en voulant avoir celui qu’il n’avoit pas.” + </p> + <p> + Having been apprised that Lord Colambre was a fine scholar, fresh from + Cambridge, and being conscious of his own deficiencies of literature, + instead of trusting to his natural talents, he summoned to his aid, with + no small effort, all the scraps of learning he had acquired in early days, + and even brought before the company all the gods and goddesses with whom + he had formed an acquaintance at school. Though embarrassed by this + unusual encumbrance of learning, he endeavoured to make all subservient to + his immediate design, of paying his court to Lady Clonbrony, by forwarding + the object she had most anxiously in view—the match between her son + and Miss Broadhurst. + </p> + <p> + “And so, Miss Nugent,” said he, not daring, with all his assurance, to + address himself directly to Lady Clonbrony, “and so, Miss Nugent, you are + going to have great doings, I’m told, and a wonderful grand gala. There’s + nothing in the wide world equal to being in a good handsome crowd. No + later now than the last ball at the Castle, that was before I left Dublin, + Miss Nugent, the apartments, owing to the popularity of my lady + lieutenant, was so throng—so throng—that I remember very well, + in the doorway, a lady—and a very genteel woman she was, too—though + a stranger to me, saying to me, ‘Sir, your finger’s in my ear.’—‘I + know it, madam,” says I; ‘but I can’t take it out till the crowd give me + elbow-room.’ + </p> + <p> + “But it’s the gala I’m thinking of now—I hear you are to have the + golden Venus, my Lady Clonbrony, won’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “Sir!” + </p> + <p> + This freezing monosyllable notwithstanding, Sir Terence pursued his course + fluently. “The golden Venus!—sure, Miss Nugent, you that are so + quick, can’t but know I would apostrophize Miss Broadhurst that is—but + that won’t be long so, I hope. My Lord Colambre, have you seen much yet of + that young lady?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I hope you won’t be long so. I hear great talk now of the Venus of + Medici, and the Venus of this and that, with the Florence Venus, and the + sable Venus, and that other Venus, that’s washing of her hair, and a + hundred other Venuses, some good, some bad. But, be that as it will, my + lord, trust a fool—ye may, when he tells you truth—the golden + Venus is the only one on earth that can stand, or that will stand, through + all ages and temperatures; for gold rules the court, gold rules the camp, + and men below, and heaven above.” + </p> + <p> + “Heaven above!—Take care, Terry! Do you know what you are saying?” + interrupted Lord Clonbrony. + </p> + <p> + “Do I?—Don’t I?” replied Terry. “Deny, if you please, my lord, that + it was for a golden pippin that the three goddesses <i>fit</i>—and + that the <i>Hippomenes</i> was about golden apples—and did not + Hercules rob a garden for golden apples?—and did not the pious Æneas + himself take a golden branch with him to make himself welcome to his + father in hell?” said Sir Terence, winking at Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Terry, you know more about books than I should have suspected,” said + Lord Clonbrony. + </p> + <p> + “Nor you would not have suspected me to have such a great acquaintance + among the goddesses neither, would you, my lord? But, apropos, before we + quit, of what material, think ye, was that same Venus’s famous girdle, + now, that made roses and lilies so quickly appear? Why, what was it but a + girdle of sterling gold, I’ll engage?—for gold is the only true + thing for a young man to look after in a wife.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Terence paused, but no applause ensued. + </p> + <p> + “Let them talk of Cupids and darts, and the mother of the Loves and Graces—Minerva + may sing odes and <i>dythambrics</i>, or whatsoever her wisdomship + pleases. Let her sing, or let her say, she’ll never get a husband, in this + world or the other, without she had a good thumping <i>fortin</i>, and + then she’d go off like wildfire.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, Terry, there you’re out: Minerva has too bad a character for + learning to be a favourite with gentlemen,” said Lord Clonbrony. + </p> + <p> + “Tut—Don’t tell me!—I’d get her off before you could say Jack + Robinson, and thank you too, if she had 50,000<i>l.</i> down, or 1,000<i>l.</i> + a-year in land. Would you have a man so d——d nice as to balk, + when house and land is agoing—a going—a going!—because + of the incumbrance of a little learning? But, after all, I never heard + that Miss Broadhurst was any thing of a learned lady.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Broadhurst!” said Miss Nugent: “how did you get round to Miss + Broadhurst?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! by the way of Tipperary,” said Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, my lord, it was apropos to good fortune, which, I + hope, will not be out of your way, even if you went by Tipperary. She has, + besides 100,000<i>l.</i> in the funds, a clear landed property of 10,000<i>l.</i> + per annum. <i>Well! some people talk of morality, and some of religion, + bat give me a little snug</i> PROPERTY.—But, my lord, I’ve a little + business to transact this morning, and must not be idling and indulging + myself here.” So, bowing to the ladies, he departed. + </p> + <p> + “Really, I am glad that man is gone,” said Lady Clonbrony. “What a relief + to one’s ears! I am sure I wonder, my lord, how you can bear to carry that + strange creature always about with you—so vulgar as he is.” + </p> + <p> + “He diverts me,” said Lord Clonbrony; “while many of your correct-mannered + fine ladies or gentlemen put me to sleep. What signifies what accent + people speak in, that have nothing to say, hey, Colambre?” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre, from respect to his father, did not express his opinion; + but his aversion to Sir Terence O’Fay was stronger even than his mother’s, + though Lady Clonbrony’s detestation of him was much increased by + perceiving that his coarse hints about Miss Broadhurst had operated + against her favourite scheme. + </p> + <p> + The next morning, at breakfast, Lord Clonbrony talked of bringing Sir + Terence with him that night to her gala—she absolutely grew pale + with horror. + </p> + <p> + “Good Heavens!—Lady Langdale, Mrs. Dareville, Lady Pococke, Lady + Chatterton, Lady D——, Lady G——, His Grace of V——; + what would they think of him! And Miss Broadhurst, to see him going about + with my Lord Clonbrony!”—It could not be. No—her ladyship made + the most solemn and desperate protestation, that she would sooner give up + her gala altogether—tie up the knocker—say she was sick—rather + be sick, or be dead, than be obliged to have such a creature as Sir + Terence O’Fay at her gala. + </p> + <p> + “Have it your own way, my dear, as you have every thing else,” cried Lord + Clonbrony, taking up his hat, and preparing to decamp; “but, take notice, + if you won’t receive him, you need not expect me. So a good morning to + you, my Lady Clonbrony. You may find a worse friend in need yet, than that + same Sir Terence O’Fay.” + </p> + <p> + “I trust I shall never be in need, my lord,” replied her ladyship. “It + would be strange indeed if I were, with the fortune I brought.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that fortune of hers!” cried Lord Clonbrony, stopping both his ears + as he ran out of his room: “shall I never hear the end of that fortune, + when I’ve seen the end of it long ago?” + </p> + <p> + During this matrimonial dialogue, Miss Nugent and Lord Colambre never once + looked at each other. She was very diligently trying the changes that + could be made in the positions of a china-mouse, a cat, a dog, a cup, and + a brahmin, on the mantel-piece; Lord Colambre as diligently reading the + newspaper. + </p> + <p> + “Now, my dear Colambre,” said Lady Clonbrony, “put down the paper, and + listen to me. Let me entreat you not to neglect Miss Broadhurst to-night, + as I know that the family come here chiefly on your account.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear mother, I never can neglect any one of your guests; but I shall + be careful not to show any particular attention to Miss Broadhurst, for I + never will pretend what I do not feel.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear Colambre, Miss Broadhurst is every thing you could wish, + except being a beauty.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps, madam,” said Lord Colambre, fixing his eyes on Miss Nugent, “you + think that I can see no farther than a handsome face?” + </p> + <p> + The unconscious Grace Nugent now made a warm eulogium of Miss Broadhurst’s + sense, and wit, and independence of character. + </p> + <p> + “I did not know that Miss Broadhurst was a friend of yours, Miss Nugent?” + </p> + <p> + “She is, I assure you, a friend of mine; and, as a proof, I will not + praise her at this moment. I will go farther still—I will promise + that I never will praise her to you till you begin to praise her to me.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre smiled, and now listened as if he wished that she should go + on speaking, even of Miss Broadhurst. + </p> + <p> + “That’s my sweet Grace!” cried Lady Clonbrony. “Oh! she knows how to + manage these men—not one of them can resist her!” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre, for his part, did not deny the truth of this assertion. + </p> + <p> + “Grace,” added Lady Clonbrony, “make him promise to do as we would have + him.” + </p> + <p> + “No—promises are dangerous things to ask or to give,” said Grace. + “Men and naughty children never make promises, especially promises to be + good, without longing to break them the next minute.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, at least, child, persuade him, I charge you, to make my gala go off + well. That’s the first thing we ought to think of now. Ring the bell!—And + all heads and hands I put in requisition for the gala.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <p> + The opening of her gala, the display of her splendid reception rooms, the + Turkish tent, the Alhambra, the pagoda, formed a proud moment to Lady + Clonbrony. Much did she enjoy, and much too naturally, notwithstanding all + her efforts to be stiff and stately, much too naturally did she show her + enjoyment of the surprise excited in some and affected by others on their + first entrance. + </p> + <p> + One young, very young lady expressed her astonishment so audibly as to + attract the notice of all the bystanders. Lady Clonbrony, delighted, + seized both her hands, shook them, and laughed heartily; then, as the + young lady with her party passed on, her ladyship recovered herself, drew + up her head, and said to the company near her, “Poor thing! I hope I + covered her little <i>naïveté</i> properly. How NEW she must be!” + </p> + <p> + Then with well practised dignity, and half subdued self-complacency of + aspect, her ladyship went gliding about—most importantly busy, + introducing my lady <i>this</i> to the sphynx candelabra, and my lady <i>that</i> + to the Trebisond trellice; placing some delightfully for the perspective + of the Alhambra; establishing others quite to her satisfaction on seraglio + ottomans; and honouring others with a seat under the Statira canopy. + Receiving and answering compliments from successive crowds of select + friends, imagining herself the mirror of fashion, and the admiration of + the whole world, Lady Clonbrony was, for her hour, as happy certainly as + ever woman was in similar circumstances. + </p> + <p> + Her son looked at her, and wished that this happiness could last. + Naturally inclined to sympathy, Lord Colambre reproached himself for not + feeling as gay at this instant as the occasion required. But the festive + scene, the blazing lights, the “universal hubbub,” failed to raise his + spirits. As a dead weight upon them hung the remembrance of Mordicai’s + denunciations; and, through the midst of this eastern magnificence, this + unbounded profusion, he thought he saw future domestic misery and ruin to + those he loved best in the world. + </p> + <p> + The only object present on which his eye rested with pleasure was Grace + Nugent. Beautiful—in elegant and dignified simplicity— + thoughtless of herself—yet with a look of thought, and with an air + of melancholy, which accorded exactly with his own feelings, and which he + believed to arise from the same reflections that had passed in his own + mind. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Broadhurst, Colambre! all the Broadhursts!” said his mother, + wakening him as she passed by to receive them as they entered. Miss + Broadhurst appeared, plainly dressed—plainly even to singularity—without + any diamonds or ornament. + </p> + <p> + “Brought Philippa to you, my dear Lady Clonbrony, this figure, rather than + not bring her at all,” said puffing Mrs. Broadhurst, “and had all the + difficulty in the world to get her out at all, and now I’ve promised she + shall stay but half an hour. Sore throat—terrible cold she took in + the morning. I’ll swear for her, she’d not have come for any one but you.” + </p> + <p> + The young lady did not seem inclined to swear, or even to say this for + herself; she stood wonderfully unconcerned and passive, with an expression + of humour lurking in her eyes, and about the corners of her mouth; whilst + Lady Clonbrony was “shocked,” and “gratified,” and “concerned,” and + “flattered;” and whilst every body was hoping, and fearing, and busying + themselves about her, “Miss Broadhurst, you’d better sit here!”—“Oh, + for heaven’s sake! Miss Broadhurst, not there!” “Miss Broadhurst, if + you’ll take my opinion,” and “Miss Broadhurst, if I may advise—.” + </p> + <p> + “Grace Nugent!” cried Lady Clonbrony. “Miss Broadhurst always listens to + you. Do, my dear, persuade Miss Broadhurst to take care of herself, and + let us take her to the inner little pagoda, where she can be so warm and + so retired—the very thing for an invalid—Colambre! pioneer the + way for us, for the crowd’s immense.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Anne and Lady Catherine H——, Lady Langdale’s daughters, + were at this time leaning on Miss Nugent’s arm, and moved along with this + party to the inner pagoda. There were to be cards in one room, music in + another, dancing in a third, and in this little room there were prints and + chess-boards, &c. + </p> + <p> + “Here you will be quite to yourselves,” said Lady Clonbrony; “let me + establish you comfortably in this, which I call my sanctuary—my <i>snuggery</i>—Colambre, + that little table!—Miss Broadhurst, you play chess?—Colambre, + you’ll play with Miss Broadhurst—” + </p> + <p> + “I thank your ladyship,” said Miss Broadhurst, “but I know nothing of + chess but the moves: Lady Catherine, you will play, and I will look on.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Broadhurst drew her seat to the fire; Lady Catherine sat down to play + with Lord Colambre: Lady Clonbrony withdrew, again recommending Miss + Broadhurst to Grace Nugent’s care. After some commonplace conversation, + Lady Anne H——, looking at the company in the adjoining + apartment, asked her sister how old Miss Somebody was who passed by. This + led to reflections upon the comparative age and youthful appearance of + several of their acquaintance, and upon the care with which mothers + concealed the age of their daughters. Glances passed between Lady + Catherine and Lady Anne. + </p> + <p> + “For my part,” said Miss Broadhurst, “my mother would labour that point of + secrecy in vain for me; for I am willing to tell my age, even if my face + did not tell it for me, to all whom it may concern—I am passed + three-and-twenty—shall be four-and-twenty the fifth of next July.” + </p> + <p> + “Three-and-twenty!—Bless me!—I thought you were not twenty!” + cried Lady Anne. + </p> + <p> + “Four-and-twenty next July!—impossible!” cried Lady Catherine. + </p> + <p> + “Very possible,” said Miss Broadhurst, quite unconcerned. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Lord Colambre, would you believe it? Can you believe it?” asked Lady + Catherine. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he can,” said Miss Broadhurst. “Don’t you see that he believes it as + firmly as you and I do? Why should you force his lordship to pay a + compliment contrary to his better judgment, or extort a smile from him + under false pretences? I am sure he sees that you, and I trust he + perceives that I, do not think the worse of him for this.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre smiled now without any false pretence; and, relieved at once + from all apprehension of her joining in his mother’s views, or of her + expecting particular attention from him, he became at ease with Miss + Broadhurst, showed a desire to converse with her, and listened eagerly to + what she said. He recollected that Miss Nugent had told him, that this + young lady had no common character; and, neglecting his move at chess, he + looked up at Miss Nugent, as much as to say, “<i>Draw her out</i>, pray.” + </p> + <p> + But Grace was too good a friend to comply with that request; she left Miss + Broadhurst to unfold her own character. + </p> + <p> + “It is your move, my lord,” said Lady Catherine. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your ladyship’s pardon—” + </p> + <p> + “Are not these rooms beautiful, Miss Broadhurst?” said Lady Catherine, + determined, if possible, to turn the conversation into a commonplace, safe + channel; for she had just felt, what most of Miss Broadhurst’s + acquaintance had in their turn felt, that she had an odd way of startling + people, by setting their own secret little motives suddenly before them. + </p> + <p> + “Are not these rooms beautiful?” + </p> + <p> + “Beautiful!—Certainly.” + </p> + <p> + The beauty of the rooms would have answered Lady Catherine’s purpose for + some time, had not Lady Anne imprudently brought the conversation back + again to Miss Broadhurst. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know, Miss Broadhurst,” said she, “that if I had fifty sore + throats, I could not have refrained from my diamonds on this GALA night; + and such diamonds as you have! Now, really, I could not believe you to be + the same person we saw blazing at the opera the other night!” + </p> + <p> + “Really! could not you, Lady Anne? That is the very thing that entertains + me. I only wish that I could lay aside my fortune sometimes, as well as my + diamonds, and see how few people would know me then. Might not I, Grace, + by the golden rule, which, next to practice, is the best rule in the + world, calculate and answer that question?” + </p> + <p> + “I am persuaded,” said Lord Colambre, “that Miss Broadhurst has friends on + whom the experiment would make no difference.” + </p> + <p> + “I am convinced of it,” said Miss Broadhurst; “and that is what makes me + tolerably happy, though I have the misfortune to be an heiress.” + </p> + <p> + “That is the oddest speech,” said Lady Anne. “Now I should so like to be a + great heiress, and to have, like you, such thousands and thousands at + command.” + </p> + <p> + “And what can the thousands upon thousands do for me? Hearts, you know, + Lady Anne, are to be won only by radiant eyes. Bought hearts your ladyship + certainly would not recommend. They’re such poor things—no wear at + all. Turn them which way you will, you can make nothing of them.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ve tried, then, have you?” said Lady Catherine. + </p> + <p> + “To my cost.—Very nearly taken in by them half a dozen times; for + they are brought to me by dozens; and they are so made up for sale, and + the people do so swear to you that it’s real, real love, and it looks so + like it: and, if you stoop to examine it, you hear it pressed upon you by + such elegant oaths.—By all that’s lovely!—By all my hopes of + happiness!—By your own charming self! Why, what can one do but look + like a fool, and believe? for these men, at the time, all look so like + gentlemen, that one cannot bring oneself flatly to tell them that they are + cheats and swindlers, that they are perjuring their precious souls. + Besides, to call a lover a perjured creature is to encourage him. He would + have a right to complain if you went back after that.” + </p> + <p> + “O dear! what a move was there!” cried Lady Catherine. “Miss Broadhurst is + so entertaining to-night, notwithstanding her sore throat, that one can + positively attend to nothing else. And she talks of love and lovers too + with such <i>connoissance de fait</i>—counts her lovers by dozens, + tied up in true lovers’ knots!” + </p> + <p> + “Lovers!—no, no! Did I say lovers?—suitors I should have said. + There’s nothing less like a lover, a true lover, than a suitor, as all the + world knows, ever since the days of Penelope. Dozens!—never had a + lover in my life!—And fear, with much reason, I never shall have one + to my mind.” + </p> + <p> + “My lord, you’ve given up the game,” cried Lady Catherine; “but you make + no battle.” + </p> + <p> + “It would be so vain to combat against your ladyship,” said Lord Colambre, + rising, and bowing politely to Lady Catherine, but turning the next + instant to converse with Miss Broadhurst. + </p> + <p> + “But when I talked of liking to be an heiress,” said Lady Anne, “I was not + thinking of lovers.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly.—One is not always thinking of lovers, you know,” added + Lady Catherine. + </p> + <p> + “Not always,” replied Miss Broadhurst. “Well, lovers out of the question + on all sides, what would your ladyship buy with the thousands upon + thousands?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, every thing, if I were you,” said Lady Anne. + </p> + <p> + “Rank, to begin with,” said Lady Catherine. + </p> + <p> + “Still my old objection—bought rank is but a shabby thing.” + </p> + <p> + “But there is so little difference made between bought and hereditary rank + in these days,” said Lady Catherine. + </p> + <p> + “I see a great deal still,” said Miss Broadhurst; “so much, that I would + never buy a title.” + </p> + <p> + “A title, without birth, to be sure,” said Lady Anne, “would not be so + well worth buying; and as birth certainly is not to be bought—” + </p> + <p> + “And even birth, were it to be bought, I would not buy,” said Miss + Broadhurst, “unless I could be sure to have it with all the politeness, + all the noble sentiments, all the magnanimity, in short, all that should + grace and dignify high birth.” + </p> + <p> + “Admirable!” said Lord Colambre. Grace Nugent smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Lord Colambre, will you have the goodness to put my mother in mind, I + must go away?” + </p> + <p> + “I am bound to obey, but I am very sorry for it,” said his lordship. + </p> + <p> + “Are we to have any dancing to-night, I wonder?” said Lady Anne. “Miss + Nugent, I am afraid we have made Miss Broadhurst talk so much, in spite of + her hoarseness, that Lady Clonbrony will be quite angry with us. And here + she comes, Lady Catherine.” + </p> + <p> + My Lady Clonbrony came to hope, to beg, that Miss Broadhurst would not + think of running away; but Miss Broadhurst could not be prevailed upon to + stay. Lady Clonbrony was delighted to see that her son assisted Grace + Nugent most carefully in <i>shawling</i> the young heiress—his + lordship conducted her to her carriage, and his mother drew many happy + auguries from the gallantry of his manner, and from the young lady’s + having stayed three quarters, instead of half an hour—a circumstance + which Lady Catherine did not fail to remark. + </p> + <p> + The dancing, which, under various pretences, Lady Clonbrony had delayed + till Lord Colambre was at liberty, began immediately after Miss + Broadhurst’s departure; and the chalked mosaic pavement of the Alhambra + was, in a few minutes, effaced by the dancers’ feet. How transient are all + human joys, especially those of vanity! Even on this long meditated, this + long desired, this gala night, Lady Clonbrony found her triumph incomplete—inadequate + to her expectations. For the first hour all had been compliment, success, + and smiles; presently came the <i>buts</i>, and the hesitated objections, + and the “damning with faint praise”—all <i>that</i> could be borne—every + body has his taste—and one person’s taste is as good as another’s; + and while she had Mr. Soho to cite, Lady Clonbrony thought she might be + well satisfied. But she could not be satisfied with Colonel Heathcock, + who, dressed in black, had stretched his “fashionable length of limb” + under the Statira canopy, upon the snow-white swandown couch. When, after + having monopolized attention, and been the subject of much bad wit, about + black swans and rare birds, and swans being geese and geese being swans, + the colonel condescended to rise, and, as Mrs. Dareville said, to vacate + his couch—that couch was no longer white—the black impression + of the colonel remained on the sullied snow. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, now! really didn’t recollect I was in black,” was all the apology he + made. Lady Clonbrony was particularly vexed that the appearance of the + Statira canopy should be spoiled before the effect had been seen by Lady + Pococke, and Lady Chatterton, and Lady G——, Lady P——, + and the Duke of V——, and a party of superlative fashionables, + who had promised <i>to look in upon her</i>, but who, late as it was, had + not yet arrived. They came in at last. But Lady Clonbrony had no reason to + regret for their sake the Statira couch. It would have been lost upon + them, as was every thing else which she had prepared with so much pains + and cost to excite their admiration. They came resolute not to admire. + Skilled in the art of making others unhappy, they just looked round with + an air of apathy.—“Ah! you’ve had Soho!—Soho has done wonders + for you here!—Vastly well!—Vastly well!—Soho’s very + clever in his way!” + </p> + <p> + Others of great importance came in, full of some slight accident that had + happened to themselves, or their horses, or their carriages; and, with + privileged selfishness, engrossed the attention of all within their sphere + of conversation. Well, Lady Clonbrony got over all this; and got over the + history of a letter about a chimney that was on fire, a week ago, at the + Duke of V——‘s old house, in Brecknockshire. In gratitude for + the smiling patience with which she listened to him, his Grace of V—— + fixed his glass to look at the Alhambra, and had just pronounced it to be + “Well!—very well!” when the Dowager Lady Chatterton made a terrible + discovery—a discovery that filled Lady Clonbrony with astonishment + and indignation—Mr. Soho had played her false! What was her + mortification, when the dowager assured her that these identical Alhambra + hangings had not only been shown by Mr. Soho to the Duchess of Torcaster, + but that her grace had had the refusal of them, and had actually + criticised them, in consequence of Sir Horace Grant, the great traveller’s + objecting to some of the proportions of the pillars—Soho had engaged + to make a new set, vastly improved, by Sir Horace’s suggestions, for her + Grace of Torcaster. + </p> + <p> + Now Lady Chatterton was the greatest talker extant; and she went about the + rooms telling every body of her acquaintance—and she was acquainted + with every body—how shamefully Soho had imposed upon poor Lady + Clonbrony, protesting she could not forgive the man. “For,” said she, + “though the Duchess of Torcaster had been his constant customer for ages, + and his patroness, and all that, yet this does not excuse him—and + Lady Clonbrony’s being a stranger, and from Ireland, makes the thing + worse.” From Ireland!—that was the unkindest cut of all—but + there was no remedy. + </p> + <p> + In vain poor Lady Clonbrony followed the dowager about the rooms to + correct this mistake, and to represent, in justice to Mr. Soho, though he + had used her so ill, that he knew she was an Englishwoman. The dowager was + deaf, and no whisper could reach her ear. And when Lady Clonbrony was + obliged to bawl an explanation in her ear, the dowager only repeated, “In + justice to Mr. Soho!—No, no; he has not done you justice, my dear + Lady Clonbrony! and I’ll expose him to every body. Englishwoman!—no, + no, no!—Soho could not take you for an Englishwoman!” + </p> + <p> + All who secretly envied or ridiculed Lady Clonbrony enjoyed this scene. + The Alhambra hangings, which had been in one short hour before the + admiration of the world, were now regarded by every eye with contempt, as + <i>cast</i> hangings, and every tongue was busy declaiming against Mr. + Soho; every body declared, that from the first, the want of proportion + “struck them, but that they would not mention it till others found it + out.” + </p> + <p> + People usually revenge themselves for having admired too much, by + afterwards despising and depreciating without mercy—in all great + assemblies the perception of ridicule is quickly caught, and quickly too + revealed. Lady Clonbrony, even in her own house, on her gala night, became + an object of ridicule,—decently masked, indeed, under the appearance + of condolence with her ladyship, and of indignation against “that + abominable Mr. Soho!” + </p> + <p> + Lady Langdale, who was now, for reasons of her own, upon her good + behaviour, did penance, as she said, for her former imprudence, by + abstaining even from whispered sarcasms. She looked on with penitential + gravity, said nothing herself, and endeavoured to keep Mrs. Dareville in + order; but that was no easy task. Mrs. Dareville had no daughters, had + nothing to gain from the acquaintance of my Lady Clonbrony; and conscious + that her ladyship would bear a vast deal from her presence, rather than + forego the honour of her sanction, Mrs. Dareville, without any motives of + interest, or good-nature of sufficient power to restrain her talent and + habit of ridicule, free from hope or fear, gave full scope to all the + malice of mockery, and all the insolence of fashion. Her slings and + arrows, numerous as they were and outrageous, were directed against such + petty objects, and the mischief was so quick in its aim and its operation, + that, felt but not seen, it is scarcely possible to register the hits, or + to describe the nature of the wounds. + </p> + <p> + Some hits, sufficiently palpable, however, are recorded for the advantage + of posterity. When Lady Clonbrony led her to look at the Chinese pagoda, + the lady paused, with her foot on the threshold, as if afraid to enter + this porcelain Elysium, as she called it—Fool’s Paradise, she would + have said; and, by her hesitation, and by the half pronounced word, + suggested the idea,—“None but belles without petticoats can enter + here,” said she, drawing her clothes tight round her; “fortunately, I have + but two, and Lady Langdale has but one.” Prevailed upon to venture in, she + walked on with prodigious care and trepidation, affecting to be alarmed at + the crowd of strange forms and monsters by which she was surrounded. + </p> + <p> + “Not a creature here that I ever saw before in nature!—Well, now I + may boast I’ve been in a real Chinese pagoda!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, every thing is appropriate here, I flatter my self,” said Lady + Clonbrony. + </p> + <p> + “And how good of you, my dear Lady Clonbrony, in defiance of bulls and + blunders, to allow us a comfortable English fire-place and plenty of + Newcastle coal in China!—And a white marble—no! white velvet + hearthrug painted with beautiful flowers—Oh! the delicate, the <i>useful</i> + thing!” + </p> + <p> + Vexed by the emphasis on the word <i>useful</i>, Lady Clonbrony + endeavoured to turn off the attention of the company. “Lady Langdale, your + ladyship’s a judge of china—this vase is an unique, I am told.” + </p> + <p> + “I am told,” interrupted Mrs. Dareville, “this is the very vase in which B——, + the nabob’s father, who was, you know, a China captain, smuggled his dear + little Chinese wife and all her fortune out of Canton—positively, + actually put the lid on, packed her up, and sent her off on shipboard!—True! + true! upon my veracity! I’ll tell you my authority!” + </p> + <p> + With this story, Mrs. Dareville drew all attention from the jar, to Lady + Clonbrony’s infinite mortification. + </p> + <p> + Lady Langdale at length turned to look at a vast range of china jars. + </p> + <p> + “Ali Baba and the forty thieves!” exclaimed Mrs. Dareville: “I hope you + have boiling oil ready!” + </p> + <p> + Lady Clonbrony was obliged to laugh, and to vow that Mrs. Dareville was + uncommon pleasant to-night—“But now,” said her ladyship, “let me + take you to the Turkish tent.” + </p> + <p> + Having with great difficulty got the malicious wit out of the pagoda and + into the Turkish tent, Lady Clonbrony began to breathe move freely; for + here she thought she was upon safe ground:—“Every thing, I flatter + myself,” said she, “is correct, and appropriate, and quite picturesque”—The + company, dispersed in happy groups, or reposing on seraglio ottomans, + drinking lemonade and sherbet—beautiful Fatimas admiring, or being + admired—“Every thing here quite correct, appropriate, and + picturesque,” repeated Mrs. Dareville. + </p> + <p> + This lady’s powers as a mimic were extraordinary, and she found them + irresistible. Hitherto she had imitated Lady Clonbrony’s air and accent + only behind her back; but, bolder grown, she now ventured, in spite of + Lady Langdale’s warning pinches, to mimic her kind hostess before her + face, and to her face. Now, whenever Lady Clonbrony saw any thing that + struck her fancy in the dress of her fashionable friends, she had a way of + hanging her head aside, and saying, with a peculiarly sentimental drawl, + “How pretty!—How elegant!—Now that quite suits my <i>teeste</i>.” + this phrase, precisely in the same accent, and with the head set to the + same angle of affectation, Mrs. Dareville had the assurance to address to + her ladyship, apropos to something which she pretended to admire in Lady + Clonbrony’s <i>costume</i>—a costume, which, excessively fashionable + in each of its parts, was, altogether, so extraordinarily unbecoming, as + to be fit for a print-shop. The perception of this, added to the effect of + Mrs. Dareville’s mimicry, was almost too much for Lady Langdale; she could + not possibly have stood it, but for the appearance of Miss Nugent at this + instant behind Lady Clonbrony. Grace gave one glance of indignation, which + seemed suddenly to strike Mrs. Dareville. Silence for a moment ensued, and + afterwards the tone of the conversation was changed. + </p> + <p> + “Salisbury!—explain this to me,” said a lady, drawing Mr. Salisbury + aside. “If you are in the secret, do explain this to me; for unless I had + seen it, I could not have believed it. Nay, though I have seen it, I do + not believe it. How was that daring spirit laid? By what spell?” + </p> + <p> + “By the spell which superior minds always cast on inferior spirits.” + </p> + <p> + “Very fine,” said the lady, laughing, “but as old as the days of Leonora + de Galigai, quoted a million times. Now tell me something new and to the + purpose, and better suited to modern days.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, since you will not allow me to talk of superior minds in the + present day, let me ask you if you have never observed that a wit, once + conquered in company by a wit of higher order, is thenceforward in + complete subjection to the conqueror; whenever and wherever they meet.” + </p> + <p> + “You would not persuade me that yonder gentle-looking girl could ever be a + match for the veteran Mrs. Dareville? She may have the wit, but has she + the courage?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; no one has more courage, more civil courage, where her own dignity, + or the interests of her friends are concerned—I will tell you an + instance or two to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow!—To-night!—tell it me now.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a safe place.” + </p> + <p> + “The safest in the world, in such a crowd as this—Follow my example. + Take a glass of orgeat—sip from time to time, thus—speak low, + looking innocent all the while straight forward, or now and then up at the + lamps—keep on in an even tone—use no names—and you may + tell any thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, when Miss Nugent first came to London, Mrs. Dareville—” + </p> + <p> + “Two names already—did not I warn ye?” + </p> + <p> + “But how can I make myself intelligible?” + </p> + <p> + “Initials—can’t you use—or genealogy?—What stops you?—It + is only Lord Colambre, a very safe person, I have a notion, when the + eulogium is of Miss Nugent.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre, who had now performed his arduous duties as a dancer, and + had disembarrassed himself of all his partners, came into the Turkish tent + just at this moment to refresh himself, and just in time to hear Mr. + Salisbury’s anecdotes. + </p> + <p> + “Now go on.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Dareville, you remember, some years ago, went to Ireland, with some + lady lieutenant, to whom she was related—there she was most + hospitably received by Lord and Lady Clonbrony—went to their country + house—was as intimate with Lady Clonbrony and with Miss Nugent as + possible—stayed at Clonbrony Castle for a month; and yet, when Lady + Clonbrony came to London, never took the least notice of her. At last, + meeting at the house of a common friend, Mrs. Dareville could not avoid + recognizing her ladyship; but, even then, did it in the least civil manner + and most cursory style possible—‘Ho! Lady Clonbrony!—didn’t + know you were in England!—When did you come?—How long shall + you stay in town?—Hope, before you leave England, your ladyship and + Miss Nugent will give us a day?’—<i>A day!</i>—Lady Clonbrony + was so astonished by this impudence of ingratitude, that she hesitated how + to <i>take it</i>; but Miss Nugent, quite coolly, and with a smile, + answered, ‘A day!—Certainly—to you, who gave us a month!’” + </p> + <p> + “Admirable!—Now I comprehend perfectly why Mrs. Dareville declines + insulting Miss Nugent’s friends in her presence.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre said nothing, but thought much. “How I wish my mother,” + thought he, “had some of Grace Nugent’s proper pride! She would not then + waste her fortune, spirits, health, and life, in courting such people as + these.” + </p> + <p> + He had not seen—he could not have borne to have beheld—the + manner in which his mother had been treated by some of her guests; but he + observed that she now looked harassed and vexed; and he was provoked and + mortified, by hearing her begging and beseeching some of the saucy leaders + of the ton to oblige her, to do her the favour, to do her the honour, to + stay to supper. It was just ready—actually announced. “No, they + would not, they could not; they were obliged to run away: engaged to the + Duchess of Torcaster.” + </p> + <p> + “Lord Colambre, what is the matter?” said Miss Nugent, going up to him, as + he stood aloof and indignant: “Don’t look so like a chafed lion; others + may perhaps read your countenance, as well as I do.” + </p> + <p> + “None can read my mind so well,” replied he. “Oh, my dear Grace!—” + </p> + <p> + “Supper!—Supper!” cried she: “your duty to your neighbour, your hand + to your partner.” + </p> + <p> + The supper room, fitted up at great expense, with scenery to imitate + Vauxhall, opened into a superb greenhouse, lighted with coloured lamps, a + band of music at a distance—every delicacy, every luxury that could + gratify the senses, appeared in profusion. The company ate and drank—enjoyed + themselves—went away—and laughed at their hostess. Some, + indeed, who thought they had been neglected, were in too bad humour to + laugh, but abused her in sober earnest; for Lady Clonbrony had offended + half, nay, three quarters of her guests, by what they termed her exclusive + attention to those very leaders of the ton, from whom she had suffered so + much, and who had made it obvious to all that they thought they did her + too much honour in appearing at her gala. So ended the gala for which she + had lavished such sums; for which she had laboured so indefatigably; and + from which she had expected such triumph. + </p> + <p> + “Colambre, bid the musicians stop—they are playing to empty + benches,” said Lady Clonbrony. “Grace, my dear, will you see that these + lamps are safely put out? I am so tired, so <i>worn out</i>, I must go to + bed; and I am sure I have caught cold, too. What a <i>nervous business</i> + it is to manage these things! I wonder how one gets through it, or <i>why</i> + one does it!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <p> + Lady Clonbrony was taken ill the day after her gala; she had caught cold + by standing, when much overheated, in a violent draught of wind, paying + her parting compliments to the Duke of V——, who thought her a + <i>bore</i>, and wished her in heaven all the time for keeping his horses + standing. Her ladyship’s illness was severe and long; she was confined to + her room for some weeks by a rheumatic fever, and an inflammation in her + eyes. Every day, when Lord Colambre went to see his mother, he found Miss + Nugent in her apartment, and every hour he found fresh reason to admire + this charming girl. The affectionate tenderness, the indefatigable + patience, the strong attachment she showed for her aunt, actually raised + Lady Clonbrony in her son’s opinion. He was persuaded she must surely have + some good or great qualities, or she could not have excited such strong + affection. A few foibles out of the question, such as her love of fine + people, her affectation of being English, and other affectations too + tedious to mention, Lady Clonbrony was really a good woman, had good + principles, moral and religious, and, selfishness not immediately + interfering, she was good-natured; and, though her whole soul and + attention were so completely absorbed in the duties of acquaintanceship + that she did not know it, she really had affections—they were + concentrated upon a few near relations. She was extremely fond and + extremely proud of her son. Next to her son, she was fonder of her niece + than of any other creature. She had received Grace Nugent into her family + when she was left an orphan, and deserted by some of her other relations. + She had bred her up, and had treated her with constant kindness. This + kindness and these obligations had raised the warmest gratitude in Miss + Nugent’s heart; and it was the strong principle of gratitude which + rendered her capable of endurance and exertions seemingly far above her + strength. This young lady was not of a robust appearance, though she now + underwent extraordinary fatigue. Her aunt could scarcely bear that she + should leave her for a moment: she could not close her eyes, unless Grace + sat up with her many hours every night. Night after night she bore this + fatigue; and yet, with little sleep or rest, she preserved her health, at + least, supported her spirits; and every morning when Lord Colambre came + into his mother’s room, he saw Miss Nugent look as blooming as if she had + enjoyed the most refreshing sleep. The bloom was, as he observed, not + permanent; it came and went with every emotion of her feeling heart; and + he soon learned to fancy her almost as handsome when she was pale as when + she had a colour. He had thought her beautiful when he beheld her in all + the radiance of light, and with all the advantages of dress at the gala, + but he found her infinitely more lovely and interesting now, when he saw + her in a sick-room—a half-darkened chamber—where often he + could but just discern her form, or distinguish her, except by her + graceful motion as she passed, or when, but for a moment, a window-curtain + drawn aside let the sun shine upon her face, or on the ringlets of her + hair. + </p> + <p> + Much must be allowed for an inflammation in the eyes, and something for a + rheumatic fever; yet it may seem strange that Lady Clonbrony should be so + blind and deaf as neither to see nor hear all this time; that having lived + so long in the world, it should never occur to her that it was rather + imprudent to have a young lady, not eighteen, nursing her—and such a + young lady!—when her son, not one-and-twenty—and such a son!—came + to visit her daily. But, so it was, Lady Clonbrony knew nothing of love—she + had read of it, indeed, in novels, which sometimes for fashion’s sake she + had looked at, and over which she had been obliged to dose; but this was + only love in books—love in real life she had never met with—in + the life she led, how should she? She had heard of its making young + people, and old people even, do foolish things; but those were foolish + people; and if they were worse than foolish, why it was shocking, and + nobody visited them. But Lady Clonbrony had not, for her own part, the + slightest notion how people could be brought to this pass, nor how any + body out of Bedlam could prefer, to a good house, a decent equipage, and a + proper establishment, what is called love in a cottage. As to Colambre, + she had too good an opinion of his understanding—to say nothing of + his duty to his family, his pride, his rank, and his being her son—to + let such an idea cross her imagination. As to her niece; in the first + place, she was her niece, and first cousins should never marry, because + they form no new connexions to strengthen the family interest, or raise + its consequence. This doctrine her ladyship had repeated for years so + often and so dogmatically, that she conceived it to be incontrovertible, + and of as full force as any law of the land, or as any moral or religious + obligation. She would as soon have suspected her niece of an intention of + stealing her diamond necklace as of purloining Colambre’s heart, or + marrying this heir of the house of Clonbrony. + </p> + <p> + Miss Nugent was so well apprized, and so thoroughly convinced of all this, + that she never for one moment allowed herself to think of Lord Colambre as + a lover. Duty, honour, and gratitude—gratitude, the strong feeling + and principle of her mind—forbade it; she had so prepared and + accustomed herself to consider him as a person with whom she could not + possibly be united, that, with perfect ease and simplicity, she behaved + towards him exactly as if he were her brother—not in the + equivocating sentimental romance style in which ladies talk of treating + men as their brothers, whom they are all the time secretly thinking of and + endeavouring to please as lovers—not using this phrase, as a + convenient pretence, a safe mode of securing herself from suspicion or + scandal, and of enjoying the advantages of confidence and the intimacy of + friendship, till the propitious moment, when it should be time to declare + or avow <i>the secret of the heart</i>. No: this young lady was quite + above all double dealing; she had no mental reservation—no + metaphysical subtleties—but, with plain, unsophisticated morality, + in good faith and simple truth, acted as she professed, thought what she + said, and was that which she seemed to be. + </p> + <p> + As soon as Lady Clonbrony was able to see any body, her niece sent to Mrs. + Broadhurst, who was very intimate with the family; she used to come + frequently, almost every evening, to sit with the invalid. Miss Broadhurst + accompanied her mother, for she did not like to go out with any other + chaperon—it was disagreeable to spend her time alone at home, and + most agreeable to spend it with her friend Miss Nugent. In this she had no + design; Miss Broadhurst had too lofty and independent a spirit to stoop to + coquetry: she thought that, in their interview at the gala, she understood + Lord Colambre, and that he understood her—that he was not inclined + to court her for her fortune—that she would not be content with any + suitor who was not a lover. She was two or three years older than Lord + Colambre, perfectly aware of her want of beauty, yet with a just sense of + her own merit, and of what was becoming and due to the dignity of her sex. + This, she trusted, was visible in her manners, and established in Lord + Colambre’s mind; so that she ran no risk of being misunderstood by him; + and as to what the rest of the world thought, she was so well used to hear + weekly and daily reports of her going to be married to fifty different + people, that she cared little for what was said on this subject. Indeed, + conscious of rectitude, and with an utter contempt for mean and + commonplace gossiping, she was, for a woman, and a young woman, rather too + disdainful of the opinion of the world. Mrs. Broadhurst, though her + daughter had fully explained herself respecting Lord Colambre, before she + began this course of visiting, yet rejoiced that even on this footing + there should be constant intercourse between them. It was Mrs. + Broadhurst’s warmest wish that her daughter should obtain rank, and + connect herself with an ancient family; she was sensible that the young + lady’s being older than the gentleman might be an obstacle; and very sorry + she was to find that her daughter had so imprudently, so unnecessarily, + declared her age: but still this little obstacle might be overcome, much + greater difficulties in the marriage of inferior heiresses being every day + got over, and thought nothing of. Then, as to the young lady’s own + sentiments, her mother knew them better than she did herself: she + understood her daughter’s pride, that she dreaded to be made an object of + bargain and sale; but Mrs. Broadhurst, who, with all her coarseness of + mind, had rather a better notion of love matters than Lady Clonbrony, + perceived, through her daughter’s horror of being offered to Lord + Colambre, through her anxiety that nothing approaching to an advance on + the part of her family should be made, that if Lord Colambre should + himself advance, he would stand a better chance of being accepted than any + other of the numerous persons who had yet aspired to the favour of this + heiress. The very circumstance of his having paid no court to her at first + operated in his favour; for it proved that he was not mercenary, and that, + whatever attention he might afterwards show, she must be sure would be + sincere and disinterested. + </p> + <p> + “And now, let them but see one another in this easy, intimate, kind of + way; and you will find, my dear Lady Clonbrony, things will go on of their + own accord, all the better for our—minding our cards—and never + minding any thing else. I remember, when I was young—but let that + pass—let the young people see one another, and manage their own + affairs their own way—let them be together—that’s all I say. + Ask half the men you are acquainted with why they married, and their + answer, if they speak truth, will be—‘because I met Miss Such-a-one + at such a place, and we were continually together.’ Propinquity!—Propinquity!—as + my father used to say—And he was married five times, and twice to + heiresses.” + </p> + <p> + In consequence of this plan of leaving things to themselves, every evening + Lady Clonbrony made out her own little card-table with Mrs. Broadhurst, + and a Mr. and Miss Pratt, a brother and sister, who were the most + obliging, convenient neighbours imaginable. From time to time, as Lady + Clonbrony gathered up her cards, she would direct an inquiring glance to + the group of young people at the other table; whilst the more prudent Mrs. + Broadhurst sat plump with her back to them, pursing up her lips, and + contracting her brows in token of deep calculation, looking down + impenetrable at her cards, never even noticing Lady Clonbrony’s glances, + but inquiring from her partner, “How many they were by honours?” + </p> + <p> + The young party generally consisted of Miss Broadhurst, Lord Colambre, + Miss Nugent, and her admirer, Mr. Salisbury. Mr. Salisbury was a + middle-aged gentleman, very agreeable, and well informed; he had + travelled; had seen a great deal of the world; had lived in the best + company; had acquired what is called good <i>tact</i>; was full of + anecdote, not mere gossiping anecdotes that lead to nothing, but + characteristic of national manners, of human nature in general, or of + those illustrious individuals who excite public curiosity and interest. + Miss Nugent had seen him always in large companies, where he was admired + for his sçavoir-vivre, and for his entertaining anecdotes, but where he + had no opportunity of producing any of the higher powers of his + understanding, or showing character. She found that Mr. Salisbury appeared + to her quite a different person when conversing with Lord Colambre. Lord + Colambre, with that ardent thirst for knowledge which it is always + agreeable to gratify, had an air of openness and generosity, a frankness, + a warmth of manner, which, with good breeding, but with something beyond + it and superior to its established forms, irresistibly won the confidence + and attracted the affection of those with whom he conversed. His manners + were peculiarly agreeable to a person like Mr. Salisbury, tired of the + sameness and egotism of men of the world. + </p> + <p> + Miss Nugent had seldom till now had the advantage of hearing much + conversation on literary subjects. In the life she had been compelled to + lead she had acquired accomplishments, had exercised her understanding + upon every thing that passed before her, and from circumstances had formed + her judgment and her taste by observations on real life; but the ample + page of knowledge had never been unrolled to her eyes. She had never had + opportunities of acquiring a taste for literature herself, but she admired + it in others, particularly in her friend Miss Broadhurst. Miss Broadhurst + had received all the advantages of education which money could procure, + and had benefited by them in a manner uncommon among those for whom they + are purchased in such abundance: she not only had had many masters, and + read many books, but had thought of what she read, and had supplied, by + the strength and energy of her own mind, what cannot be acquired by the + assistance of masters. Miss Nugent, perhaps overvaluing the information + that she did not possess, and free from all idea of envy, looked up to her + friend as to a superior being, with a sort of enthusiastic admiration; and + now, with “charmed attention,” listened, by turns, to her, to Mr. + Salisbury, and to Lord Colambre, whilst they conversed on literary + subjects—listened, with a countenance so full of intelligence, of + animation, so expressive of every good and kind affection, that the + gentlemen did not always know what they were saying. + </p> + <p> + “Pray go on,” said she, once, to Mr. Salisbury: “you stop, perhaps, from + politeness to me—from compassion to my ignorance; but though I am + ignorant, you do not tire me, I assure you. Did you ever condescend to + read the Arabian Tales? Like him whose eyes were touched by the magical + application from the dervise, I am enabled at once to see the riches of a + new world—Oh! how unlike, how superior to that in which I have lived—the + GREAT world, as it is called!” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre brought down a beautiful edition of the Arabian Tales, + looked for the story to which Miss Nugent had alluded, and showed it to + Miss Broadhurst, who was also searching for it in another volume. + </p> + <p> + Lady Clonbrony, from her card-table, saw the young people thus engaged— + </p> + <p> + “I profess not to understand these things so well as you say you do, my + dear Mrs. Broadhurst,” whispered she; “but look there now; they are at + their books! What do you expect can come of that sort of thing? So ill + bred, and downright rude of Colambre, I must give him a hint.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, for mercy’s sake! my dear Lady Clonbrony, no hints, no hints, no + remarks! What would you have?—she reading, and my lord at the back + of her chair leaning over—and allowed, mind, to lean over to read + the same thing. Can’t be better!—Never saw any man yet allowed to + come so near her!—Now, Lady Clonbrony, not a word, not a look, I + beseech.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well!—but if they had a little music.” + </p> + <p> + “My daughter’s tired of music. How much do I owe your ladyship now?—three + rubbers, I think. Now, though you would not believe it of a young girl,” + continued Mrs. Broadhurst, “I can assure your ladyship, my daughter would + often rather go to a book than a ball.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, now, that’s very extraordinary, in the style in which she has been + brought up; yet books and all that are so fashionable now, that it’s very + natural,” said Lady Clonbrony. + </p> + <p> + About this time, Mr. Berryl, Lord Colambre’s Cambridge friend, for whom + his lordship had fought the battle of the curricle with Mordicai, came to + town. Lord Colambre introduced him to his mother, by whom he was + graciously received; for Mr. Berryl was a young gentleman of good figure, + good address, good family, heir to a good fortune, and in every respect a + fit match for Miss Nugent. Lady Clonbrony thought that it would be wise to + secure him for her niece before he should make his appearance in the + London world, where mothers and daughters would soon make him feel his own + consequence. Mr. Berryl, as Lord Colambre’s intimate friend, was admitted + to the private evening parties at Lady Clonbrony’s; and he contributed to + render them still more agreeable. His information, his habits of thinking, + and his views, were all totally different from Mr. Salisbury’s; and their + collision continually struck out that sparkling novelty which pleases + peculiarly in conversation. Mr. Berryl’s education, disposition, and + tastes, fitted him exactly for the station which he was destined to fill + in society—that of <i>a country gentleman</i>; not meaning by that + expression a mere eating, drinking, hunting, shooting, ignorant, country + squire of the old race, which is now nearly extinct; but a cultivated, + enlightened, independent English country gentleman—the happiest, + perhaps, of human beings. On the comparative felicity of the town and + country life; on the dignity, utility, elegance, and interesting nature of + their different occupations, and general scheme of passing their time, Mr. + Berryl and Mr. Salisbury had one evening a playful, entertaining, and, + perhaps, instructive conversation; each party, at the end, remaining, as + frequently happens, of their own opinion. It was observed, that Miss + Broadhurst ably and warmly defended Mr. Berryl’s side of the question; and + in their views, plans, and estimates of life, there appeared a remarkable + and, as Lord Colambre thought, a happy coincidence. When she was at last + called upon to give her decisive judgment between a town and a country + life, she declared that if she were condemned to the extremes of either, + she should prefer a country life, as much as she should prefer Robinson + Crusoe’s diary to the journal of the idle man in the Spectator. + </p> + <p> + “Lord bless me!—Mrs. Broadhurst, do you hear what your daughter is + saying?” cried Lady Clonbrony, who, from the card-table, lent an attentive + ear to all that was going forward. “Is it possible that Miss Broadhurst, + with her fortune, and pretensions, and sense, can really be serious in + saying she would be content to live in the country?” + </p> + <p> + “What’s that you say, child, about living in the country?” said Mrs. + Broadhurst. + </p> + <p> + Miss Broadhurst repeated what she had said. + </p> + <p> + “Girls always think so who have lived in town,” said Mrs. Broadhurst: + “they are always dreaming of sheep and sheep-hooks; but the first winter + in the country cures them: a shepherdess in winter is a sad and sorry sort + of personage, except at a masquerade.” + </p> + <p> + “Colambre,” said Lady Clonbrony, “I am sure Miss Broadhurst’s sentiments + about town life, and all that, must delight you—For do you know, + ma’am, he is always trying to persuade me to give up living in town? + Colambre and Miss Broadhurst perfectly agree.” + </p> + <p> + “Mind your cards, my dear Lady Clonbrony,” interrupted Mrs. Broadhurst, + “in pity to your partner. Mr. Pratt has certainly the patience of Job—your + ladyship has revoked twice this hand.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Clonbrony begged a thousand pardons, fixed her eyes, and endeavoured + to fix her mind on the cards; but there was something said at the other + end of the room, about an estate in Cambridgeshire, which soon distracted + her attention again. Mr. Pratt certainly had the patience of Job. She + revoked again, and lost the game, though they had four by honours. + </p> + <p> + As soon as she rose from the card-table, and could speak to Mrs. + Broadhurst apart, she communicated her apprehensions. “Seriously, my dear + madam,” said she, “I believe I have done very wrong to admit Mr. Berryl + just now, though it was on Grace’s account I did it. But, ma’am, I did not + know Miss Broadhurst had an estate in Cambridgeshire; their two estates + just close to one another, I heard them say—Lord bless me, ma’am! + there’s the danger of propinquity indeed!” + </p> + <p> + “No danger, no danger,” persisted Mrs. Broadhurst. “I know my girl better + than you do, begging your ladyship’s pardon. No one thinks less of estates + than she does.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I only know I heard her talking of them, and earnestly too.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, very likely; but don’t you know that girls never think of what they + are talking about, or rather never talk of what they are thinking about? + And they have always ten times more to say to the man they don’t care for + than to him they do.” + </p> + <p> + “Very extraordinary!” said Lady Clonbrony: “I only hope you are right.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure of it,” said Mrs. Broadhurst. “Only let things go on, and mind + your cards, I beseech you, to-morrow night better than you did to-night; + and you will see that things will turn out just as I prophesied. Lord + Colambre will come to a point-blank proposal before the end of the week, + and will be accepted, or my name’s not Broadhurst. Why, in plain English, + I am clear my girl likes him; and when that’s the case, you know, can you + doubt how the thing will end?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Broadhurst was perfectly right in every point of her reasoning but + one. From long habit of seeing and considering that such an heiress as her + daughter might marry whom she pleased,—from constantly seeing that + she was the person to decide and to reject,—Mrs. Broadhurst had + literally taken it for granted that every thing was to depend upon her + daughter’s inclinations: she was not mistaken, in the present case, in + opining that the young lady would not be averse to Lord Colambre, if he + came to what she called a point-blank proposal. It really never occurred + to Mrs. Broadhurst, that any man whom her daughter was the least inclined + to favour, could think of any body else. Quick-sighted in these affairs as + the matron thought herself, she saw but one side of the question: blind + and dull of comprehension as she thought Lady Clonbrony on this subject, + Mrs. Broadhurst was herself so completely blinded by her own prejudices, + as to be incapable of discerning the plain thing that was before her eyes; + <i>videlicet</i>, that Lord Colambre preferred Grace Nugent. Lord Colambre + made no proposal before the end of the week; but this Mrs. Broadhurst + attributed to an unexpected occurrence, which prevented things from going + on in the train in which they had been proceeding so smoothly. Sir John + Berryl, Mr. Berryl’s father, was suddenly seized with a dangerous illness. + The news was brought to Mr. Berryl one evening whilst he was at Lady + Clonbrony’s. The circumstances of domestic distress which afterwards + occurred in the family of his friend, entirely occupied Lord Colambre’s + time and attention. All thoughts of love were suspended, and his whole + mind was given up to the active services of friendship. The sudden illness + of Sir John Berryl spread an alarm among his creditors, which brought to + light at once the disorder of his affairs, of which his son had no + knowledge or suspicion. Lady Berryl had been a very expensive woman, + especially in equipages; and Mordicai, the coachmaker, appeared at this + time the foremost and the most inexorable of their creditors. Conscious + that the charges in his account were exorbitant, and that they would not + be allowed if examined by a court of justice; that it was a debt which + only ignorance and extravagance could have in the first instance incurred, + swelled afterwards to an amazing amount by interest, and interest upon + interest; Mordicai was impatient to obtain payment, whilst Sir John yet + lived, or at least to obtain legal security for the whole sum from the + heir. Mr. Berryl offered his bond for the amount of the reasonable charges + in his account; but this Mordicai absolutely refused, declaring that now + he had the power in his own hands, he would use it to obtain the utmost + penny of his debt; that he would not let the thing slip through his + fingers; that a debtor never yet escaped him, and never should; that a + man’s lying upon his deathbed was no excuse to a creditor; that he was not + a whiffler to stand upon ceremony about disturbing a gentleman in his last + moments; that he was not to be cheated out of his due by such niceties; + that he was prepared to go all lengths the law would allow; for that, as + to what people said of him, he did not care a doit—“Cover your face + with your hands, if you like it, Mr. Berryl; you may be ashamed for me, + but I feel no shame for myself—I am not so weak.” Mordicai’s + countenance said more than his words; livid with malice, and with + atrocious determination in his eyes, he stood. “Yes, sir,” said he, “you + may look at me as you please—it is possible—I am in earnest. + Consult what you’ll do now behind my back, or before my face, it comes to + the same thing; for nothing will do but my money or your bond, Mr. Berryl. + The arrest is made on the person of your father, luckily made while the + breath is still in the body—Yes—start forward to strike me, if + you dare—Your father, Sir John Berryl, sick or well, is my + prisoner.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Berryl and Mr. Berryl’s sisters, in an agony of grief, rushed into + the room. + </p> + <p> + “It’s all useless,” cried Mordicai, turning his back upon the ladies: + “these tricks upon creditors won’t do with me; I’m used to these scenes; + I’m not made of such stuff as you think. Leave a gentleman in peace in his + last moments—No! he ought not, nor sha’n’t die in peace, if he don’t + pay his debts; and if you are all so mighty sorry, ladies, there’s the + gentleman you may kneel to: if tenderness is the order of the day, it’s + for the son to show it, not me. Ay, now, Mr. Berryl,” cried he, as Mr. + Berryl took up the bond to sign it, “you’re beginning to know I’m not a + fool to be trifled with. Stop your hand, if you choose it, sir,—it’s + all the same to me: the person, or the money, I’ll carry with me out of this + house.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Berryl signed the bond, and threw it to him. + </p> + <p> + “There, monster!—quit the house!” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Monster</i> is not actionable—I wish you had called me <i>knave</i>,” + said Mordicai, grinning a horrible smile; and taking up the bond + deliberately, returned it to Mr. Berryl: “This paper is worth nothing to + me, sir—it is not witnessed.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Berryl hastily left the room, and returned with Lord Colambre. + Mordicai changed countenance and grew pale, for a moment, at sight of Lord + Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “Well, my lord, since it so happens, I am not sorry that you should be + witness to this paper,” said he; “and indeed not sorry that you should + witness the whole proceedings; for I trust I shall be able to explain to + you my conduct.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not come here, sir,” interrupted Lord Colambre, “to listen to any + explanations of your conduct, which I perfectly understand;—I come + to witness a bond for my friend Mr. Berryl, if you think proper to extort + from him such a bond.” + </p> + <p> + “I extort nothing, my lord. Mr. Berryl, it is quite a voluntary act, take + notice, on your part; sign or not, witness or not, as you please, + gentlemen,” said Mordicai, sticking his hands in his pockets, and + recovering his look of black and fixed determination. + </p> + <p> + “Witness it, witness it, my dear lord,” said Mr. Berryl, looking at his + mother and weeping sisters; “witness it, quick!” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Berryl must just run over his name again in your presence, my lord, + with a dry pen,” said Mordicai, putting the pen into Mr. Berryl’s hand. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” said Lord Colambre, “my friend shall never sign it.” + </p> + <p> + “As you please, my lord—the bond or the body, before I quit this + house,” said Mordicai. + </p> + <p> + “Neither, sir, shall you have: and you quit this house directly.” + </p> + <p> + “How! how!—my lord, how’s this?” + </p> + <p> + “Sir, the arrest you have made is as illegal as it is inhuman.” + </p> + <p> + “Illegal, my lord!” said Mordicai, startled. + </p> + <p> + “Illegal, sir. I came into this house at the moment when your bailiff + asked and was refused admittance. Afterwards, in the confusion of the + family above stairs, he forced open the house-door with an iron bar—I + saw him—I am ready to give evidence of the fact. Now proceed at your + peril.” + </p> + <p> + Mordicai, without reply, snatched up his hat, and walked towards the door; + but Lord Colambre held the door open—it was immediately at the head + of the stairs—and Mordicai, seeing his indignant look and proud + form, hesitated to pass; for he had always heard that Irishmen are “quick + in the executive part of justice.” + </p> + <p> + “Pass on, sir,” repeated Lord Colambre, with an air of ineffable contempt: + “I am a gentleman—you have nothing to fear!” + </p> + <p> + Mordicai ran down stairs; Lord Colambre, before he went back into the + room, waited to see him and his bailiff out of the house. When Mordicai + was fairly at the bottom of the stairs, he turned, and, white with rage, + looked up at Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “Charity begins at home, my lord,” said he. “Look at home—you shall + pay for this,” added he, standing half-shielded by the house-door, for + Lord Colambre moved forward as he spoke the last words; “and I give you + this warning, because I know it will be of no use to you—Your most + obedient, my lord.” The house-door closed after him. + </p> + <p> + “Thank Heaven,” thought Lord Colambre, “that I did not horsewhip that mean + wretch!—This warning shall be of use to me. But it is not time to + think of that yet.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre turned from his own affairs to those of his friend, to offer + all the assistance and consolation in his power. Sir John Berryl died that + night. His daughters, who had lived in the highest style in London, were + left totally unprovided for. His widow had mortgaged her jointure. Mr. + Berryl had an estate now left to him, but without any income. He could not + be so dishonest as to refuse to pay his father’s just debts; he could not + let his mother and sisters starve. The scene of distress to which Lord + Colambre was witness in this family made a still greater impression upon + him than had been made by the warning or the threats of Mordicai. The + similarity between the circumstances of his friend’s family and of his own + struck him forcibly. + </p> + <p> + All this evil had arisen from Lady Berryl’s passion for living in London + and at watering places. She had made her husband an ABSENTEE—an + absentee from his home, his affairs, his duties, and his estate. The sea, + the Irish Channel, did not, indeed, flow between him and his estate; but + it was of little importance whether the separation was effected by land or + water—the consequences, the negligence, the extravagance, were the + same. + </p> + <p> + Of the few people of his age who are capable of benefiting by the + experience of others, Lord Colambre was one. “Experience,” as an elegant + writer has observed, “is an article that may be borrowed with safety, and + is often dearly bought.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <p> + In the mean time, Lady Clonbrony had been occupied with thoughts very + different from those which passed in the mind of her son. Though she had + never completely recovered from her rheumatic pains, she had become + inordinately impatient of confinement to her own house, and weary of those + dull evenings at home, which had, in her son’s absence, become + insupportable. She told over her visiting tickets regularly twice a day, + and gave to every card of invitation a heartfelt sigh. Miss Pratt alarmed + her ladyship, by bringing intelligence of some parties given by persons of + consequence, to which she was not invited. She feared that she should be + forgotten in the world, well knowing how soon the world forgets those they + do not see every day and every where. How miserable is the fine lady’s + lot, who cannot forget, and who is forgotten by the world in a moment! How + much more miserable still is the condition of a would-be fine lady, + working her way up in the world with care and pains! By her, every the + slightest failure of attention, from persons of rank and fashion, is + marked and felt with a jealous anxiety, and with a sense of mortification + the most acute—an invitation omitted is a matter of the most serious + consequence, not only as it regards the present but the future; for if she + be not invited by Lady A, it will lower her in the eyes of Lady B, and of + all the ladies in the alphabet. It will form a precedent of the most + dangerous and inevitable application. If she have nine invitations, and + the tenth be wanting, the nine have no power to make her happy. This was + precisely Lady Clonbrony’s case—there was to be a party at Lady St. + James’s, for which Lady Clonbrony had no card. + </p> + <p> + “So ungrateful, so monstrous, of Lady St. James!—What! was the gala + so soon forgotten, and all the marked attentions paid that night to Lady + St. James!—attentions, you know, Pratt, which were looked upon with + a jealous eye, and made me enemies enough, I am told, in another quarter!—Of + all people, I did not expect to be slighted by Lady St. James!” + </p> + <p> + Miss Pratt, who was ever ready to undertake the defence of any person who + had a title, pleaded, in mitigation of censure that perhaps Lady St. James + might not be aware that her ladyship was yet well enough to venture out. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear Miss Pratt, that cannot be the thing; for, in spite of my + rheumatism, which really was bad enough last Sunday, I went on purpose to + the Royal Chapel, to show myself in the closet, and knelt close to her + ladyship.—And, my dear, we curtsied, and she congratulated me, after + church, upon my being abroad again, and was so happy to see me look so + well, and all that—Oh! it is something very extraordinary and + unaccountable!” + </p> + <p> + “But, I dare say, a card will come yet,” said Miss Pratt. + </p> + <p> + Upon this hint, Lady Clonbrony’s hope revived; and, staying her anger, she + began to consider how she could manage to get herself invited. Refreshing + tickets were left next morning at Lady St. James’s with their corners + properly turned up; to do the thing better, separate tickets from herself + and Miss Nugent were left for each member of the family; and her civil + messages, left with the footmen, extended to the utmost possibility of + remainder. It had occurred to her ladyship, that for Miss Somebody, <i>the + companion</i>, of whom she had never in her life thought before, she had + omitted to leave a card last time, and she now left a note of explanation; + she farther, with her rheumatic head and arm out of the coach-window, sat, + the wind blowing keen upon her, explaining to the porter and the footman, + to discover whether her former tickets had gone safely up to Lady St. + James; and on the present occasion, to make assurance doubly sure, she + slid handsome expedition money into the servant’s hand—“Sir, you + will be sure to remember”—“Oh, certainly, your ladyship.” + </p> + <p> + She well knew what dire offence has frequently been taken, what sad + disasters have occurred in the fashionable world, from the neglect of a + porter in delivering, or of a footman in carrying up, one of those + talismanic cards. But, in spite of all her manoeuvres, no invitation to + the party arrived next day. Pratt was next set to work. Miss Pratt was a + most convenient go-between, who, in consequence of doing a thousand little + services, to which few others of her rank in life would stoop, had + obtained the entrée to a number of great houses, and was behind the scenes + in many fashionable families. Pratt could find out, and Pratt could hint, + and Pratt could manage to get things done cleverly—and hints were + given, in all directions, to <i>work round</i> to Lady St. James. But + still they did not take effect. At last Pratt suggested, that perhaps, + though every thing else had failed, dried salmon might be tried with + success. Lord Clonbrony had just had some uncommonly good from Ireland, + which Pratt knew Lady St. James would like to have at her supper, because + a certain personage, whom she would not name, was particularly fond of it—Wheel + within wheel in the fine world, as well as in the political world!—Bribes + for all occasions and for all ranks!—The timely present was sent, + accepted with many thanks, and understood as it was meant. Per favour of + this propitiatory offering, and of a promise of half a dozen pair of real + Limerick gloves to Miss Pratt—a promise which Pratt clearly + comprehended to be a conditional promise—the grand object was at + length accomplished. The very day before the party was to take place came + cards of invitation to Lady Clonbrony and to Miss Nugent, with Lady St. + James’s apologies: her ladyship was concerned to find that, by some + negligence of her servants, these cards were not sent in proper time. “How + slight an apology will do from some people!” thought Miss Nugent; “how + eager to forgive, when it is for our interest or our pleasure! how well + people act the being deceived, even when all parties know that they see + the whole truth! and how low pride will stoop to gain its object!” + </p> + <p> + Ashamed of the whole transaction, Miss Nugent earnestly wished that a + refusal should be sent, and reminded her aunt of her rheumatism; but + rheumatism and all other objections were overruled—Lady Clonbrony + would go. It was just when this affair was thus, in her opinion, + successfully settled, that Lord Colambre came in, with a countenance of + unusual seriousness, his mind full of the melancholy scenes he had + witnessed in his friend’s family. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter, Colambre?” + </p> + <p> + He related what had passed; he described the brutal conduct of Mordicai; + the anguish of the mother and sisters; the distress of Mr. Berryl. Tears + rolled down Miss Nugent’s cheeks—Lady Clonbrony declared it was very + <i>shocking</i>; listened with attention to all the particulars; but never + failed to correct her son, whenever he said Mr. Berryl— + </p> + <p> + “<i>Sir Arthur</i> Berryl, you mean.” + </p> + <p> + She was, however, really touched with compassion when he spoke of Lady + Berryl’s destitute condition; and her son was going on to repeat what + Mordicai had said to him, but Lady Clonbrony interrupted, “Oh, my dear + Colambre! don’t repeat that detestable man’s impertinent speeches to me. + If there is any thing really about business, speak to your father. At any + rate don’t tell us of it now, because I’ve a hundred things to do,” said + her ladyship, hurrying out of the room—“Grace, Grace Nugent! I want + you!” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre sighed deeply. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t despair,” said Miss Nugent, as she followed to obey her aunt’s + summons. “Don’t despair; don’t attempt to speak to her again till + to-morrow morning. Her head is now full of Lady St. James’s party. When it + is emptied of that, you will have a better chance. Never despair.” + </p> + <p> + “Never, while you encourage me to hope—that any good can be done.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Clonbrony was particularly glad that she had carried her point about + this party at Lady St. James’s; because, from the first private intimation + that the Duchess of Torcaster was to be there, her ladyship flattered + herself that the long-desired introduction might then be accomplished. But + of this hope Lady St. James had likewise received intimation from the + double-dealing Miss Pratt; and a warning note was despatched to the + duchess to let her grace know that circumstances had occurred which had + rendered it impossible not to <i>ask the Clonbronies</i>. An excuse, of + course, for not going to this party, was sent by the duchess—her + grace did not like large parties—she would have the pleasure of + accepting Lady St. James’s invitation for her select party on Wednesday, + the 10th. Into these select parties Lady Clonbrony had never been + admitted. In return for great entertainments she was invited to great + entertainments, to large parties; but further she could never penetrate. + </p> + <p> + At Lady St. James’s, and with her set, Lady Clonbrony suffered a different + kind of mortification from that which Lady Langdale and Mrs. Dareville + made her endure. She was safe from the witty raillery, the sly inuendo, + the insolent mimicry; but she was kept at a cold, impassable distance, by + ceremony—“So far shalt thou go, and no further,” was expressed in + every look, in every word, and in a thousand different ways. + </p> + <p> + By the most punctilious respect and nice regard to precedency, even by + words of courtesy—“Your ladyship does me honour,” &c.—Lady + St. James contrived to mortify and to mark the difference between those + with whom she was, and with whom she was not, upon terms of intimacy and + equality. Thus the ancient grandees of Spain drew a line of demarcation + between themselves and the newly created nobility. Whenever or wherever + they met, they treated the new nobles with the utmost respect, never + addressed them but with all their titles, with low bows, and with all the + appearance of being, with the most perfect consideration, anything but + their equals; whilst towards one another the grandees laid aside their + state, and omitting their titles, it was “Alcalá—Medina Sidonia—Infantado,” + and a freedom and familiarity which marked equality. Entrenched in + etiquette in this manner, and mocked with marks of respect, it was + impossible either to intrude or to complain of being excluded. + </p> + <p> + At supper at Lady St. James’s, Lady Clonbrony’s present was pronounced by + some gentlemen to be remarkably high flavoured. This observation turned + the conversation to Irish commodities and Ireland. Lady Clonbrony, + possessed by the idea that it was disadvantageous to appear as an + Irishwoman or as a favourer of Ireland, began to be embarrassed by Lady + St. James’s repeated thanks. Had it been in her power to offer any thing + else with propriety, she would not have thought of sending her ladyship + any thing from Ireland. Vexed by the questions that were asked her about + her <i>country</i>, Lady Clonbrony, as usual, denied it to be her country, + and went on to depreciate and abuse every thing Irish; to declare that + there was no possibility of living in Ireland; and that, for her own part, + she was resolved never to return thither. Lady St. James, preserving + perfect silence, let her go on. Lady Clonbrony imagining that this silence + arose from coincidence of opinion, proceeded with all the eloquence she + possessed, which was very little, repeating the same exclamations, and + reiterating her vow of perpetual expatriation; till at last an elderly + lady, who was a stranger to her, and whom she had till this moment + scarcely noticed, took up the defence of Ireland with much warmth and + energy: the eloquence with which she spoke, and the respect with which she + was heard, astonished Lady Clonbrony. + </p> + <p> + “Who is she?” whispered her ladyship. + </p> + <p> + “Does not your ladyship know Lady Oranmore—the Irish Lady Oranmore?” + </p> + <p> + “Lord bless me!—what have I said!—what have I done!—Oh! + why did you not give me a hint, Lady St. James?” + </p> + <p> + “I was not aware that your ladyship was not acquainted with Lady + Oranmore,” replied Lady St. James, unmoved by her distress. + </p> + <p> + Every body sympathized with Lady Oranmore, and admired the honest zeal + with which she abided by her country, and defended it against unjust + aspersions and affected execrations. Every one present enjoyed Lady + Clonbrony’s confusion, except Miss Nugent, who sat with her eyes bowed + down by penetrative shame during the whole of this scene: she was glad + that Lord Colambre was not witness to it; and comforted herself with the + hope that, upon the whole, Lady Clonbrony would be benefited by the pain + she had felt. This instance might convince her that it was not necessary + to deny her country to be received in any company in England; and that + those who have the courage and steadiness to be themselves, and to support + what they feel and believe to be the truth, must command respect. Miss + Nugent hoped that in consequence of this conviction Lady Clonbrony would + lay aside the little affectations by which her manners were painfully + constrained and ridiculous; and, above all, she hoped that what Lady + Oranmore had said of Ireland might dispose her aunt to listen with + patience to all Lord Colambre might urge in favour of returning to her + home. But Miss Nugent hoped in vain. Lady Clonbrony never in her life + generalized any observations, or drew any but a partial conclusion from + the most striking facts. + </p> + <p> + “Lord! my dear Grace!” said she, as soon as they were seated in their + carriage, “what a scrape I got into to-night at supper, and what disgrace + I came to!—and all this because I did not know Lady Oranmore. Now + you see the inconceivable disadvantage of not knowing every body—every + body of a certain rank, of course, I mean.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Nugent endeavoured to slide in her own moral on the occasion, but it + would not do. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my dear, Lady Oranmore may talk in that kind of style of Ireland, + because, on the other hand, she is so highly connected in England; and, + besides, she is an old lady, and may take liberties; in short, she is Lady + Oranmore, and that’s enough.” + </p> + <p> + The next morning, when they all met at breakfast, Lady Clonbrony + complained bitterly of her increased rheumatism, of the disagreeable, + stupid party they had had the preceding night, and of the necessity of + going to another formal party to-morrow night, and the next, and the next + night, and, in the true fine lady style, deplored her situation, and the + impossibility of avoiding those things, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Which felt they curse, yet covet still to feel.” + </pre> + <p> + Miss Nugent determined to retire as soon as she could from the + breakfast-room, to leave Lord Colambre an opportunity of talking over his + family affairs at full liberty. She knew by the seriousness of his + countenance that his mind was intent upon doing so, and she hoped that his + influence with his father and mother would not be exerted in vain. But + just as she was rising from the breakfast-table, in came Sir Terence + O’Fay, and seating himself quite at his ease, in spite of Lady Clonbrony’s + repulsive looks, his awe of Lord Colambre having now worn off, “I’m + tired,” said he, “and have a right to be tired; for it’s no small walk + I’ve taken for the good of this noble family this morning. And, Miss + Nugent, before I say more, I’ll take a cup of <i>ta</i> from you, if you + please.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Clonbrony rose, with great stateliness, and walked to the farthest + end of the room, where she established herself at her writing-table, and + began to write notes. + </p> + <p> + Sir Terence wiped his forehead deliberately.—“Then I’ve had a fine + run—Miss Nugent, I believe you never saw me run; but I can run, I + promise you, when it’s to serve a friend—And my lord (turning to + Lord Clonbrony), what do you think I run for this morning—to buy a + bargain—and of what?—a bargain of a bad debt—a debt of + yours, which I bargained for, and up just in time—and Mordicai’s + ready to hang himself this minute—For what do you think that rascal + was bringing upon you—but an execution?—he was.” + </p> + <p> + “An execution!” repeated every body present, except Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “And how has this been prevented, sir?” said Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! let me alone for that,” said Sir Terence. “I got a hint from my + little friend, Paddy Brady, who would not be paid for it either, though + he’s as poor as a rat. Well! as soon as I got the hint, I dropped the + thing I had in my hand, which was the Dublin Evening, and ran for the bare + life—for there wasn’t a coach—in my slippers, as I was, to get + into the prior creditor’s shoes, who is the little solicitor that lives in + Crutched Friars, which Mordicai never dreamt of, luckily; so he was very + genteel, though he was taken on a sudden, and from his breakfast, which an + Englishman don’t like particularly—I popped him a douceur of a + draft, at thirty-one days, on Garraghty, the agent; of which he must get + notice; but I won’t descant on the law before the ladies—he handed + me over his debt and execution, and he made me prior creditor in a trice. + Then I took coach in state, the first I met, and away with me to Long Acre—saw + Mordicai. ‘Sir,’ says I, ‘I hear you’re meditating an execution on a + friend of mine.’—‘Am I?’ said the rascal; ‘who told you so?’—‘No + matter,’ said I; ‘but I just called in to let you know there’s no use in + life of your execution; for there’s a prior creditor with his execution to + be satisfied first.’ So he made a great many black faces, and said a great + deal, which I never listened to, but came off here clean to tell you all + the story.” + </p> + <p> + “Not one word of which do I understand,” said Lady Clonbrony. + </p> + <p> + “Then, my dear, you are very ungrateful,” said Lord Clonbrony. + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre said nothing, for he wished to learn more of Sir Terence + O’Fay’s character, of the state of his father’s affairs, and of the family + methods of proceeding in matters of business. + </p> + <p> + “Faith! Terry, I know I’m very thankful to you—But an execution’s an + ugly thing,—and I hope there’s no danger.” + </p> + <p> + “Never fear!” said Sir Terence: “hav’n’t I been at my wits’ ends for + myself or my friends ever since I come to man’s estate—to years of + discretion, I should say, for the deuce a foot of estate have I! But use + has sharpened my wits pretty well for your service; so never be in dread, + my good lord; for look ye!” cried the reckless knight, sticking his arms + akimbo, “look ye here! in Sir Terence O’Fay stands a host that desires no + better than to encounter, single-witted, all the duns in the united + kingdoms, Mordicai the Jew inclusive.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! that’s the devil, that Mordicai,” said Lord Clonbrony; “that’s the + only man on earth I dread.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, he is only a coachmaker, is not he?” said Lady Clonbrony: “I can’t + think how you can talk, my lord, of dreading such a low man. Tell him, if + he’s troublesome, we won’t bespeak any more carriages; and, I’m sure, I + wish you would not be so silly, my lord, to employ him any more, when you + know he disappointed me the last birthday about the landau, which I have + not got yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, my dear,” said Lord Clonbrony; “you don’t know what you are + talking of—Terry, I say, even a friendly execution is an ugly + thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Phoo! phoo!—an ugly thing!—So is a fit of the gout—but + one’s all the better for it after. ‘Tis just a renewal of life, my, lord, + for which one must pay a bit of a fine, you know. Take patience, and leave + me to manage all properly—you know I’m used to these things: only + you recollect, if you please, how I managed my friend Lord——it’s + bad to be mentioning names—but Lord <i>Every-body-knows-who</i>—didn’t + I bring him through cleverly, when there was that rascally attempt to + seize the family plate? I had notice, and what did I do, but broke open a + partition between that lord’s house and my lodgings, which I had taken + next door; and so, when the sheriffs officers were searching below on the + ground floor, I just shoved the plate easy through to my bedchamber at a + moment’s warning, and then bid the gentlemen walk in, for they couldn’t + set a foot in my paradise, the devils!—So they stood looking at it + through the wall, and cursing me, and I holding both my sides with + laughter at their fallen faces.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Terence and Lord Clonbrony laughed in concert. + </p> + <p> + “This is a good story,” said Miss Nugent, smiling; “but surely, Sir + Terence, such things are never done in real life?” + </p> + <p> + “Done! ay, are they; and I could tell you a hundred better strokes, my + dear Miss Nugent.” + </p> + <p> + “Grace!” cried Lady Clonbrony, “do pray have the goodness to seal and send + these notes; for really,” whispered she, as her niece came to the table, + “I <i>cawnt stee</i>, I <i>cawnt</i> bear that man’s <i>vice</i>, his + accent grows horrider and horrider!” + </p> + <p> + Her ladyship rose, and left the room. + </p> + <p> + “Why, then,” continued Sir Terence, following Miss Nugent to the table, + where she was sealing letters—“I must tell you how I <i>sa</i>rved + that same man on another occasion, and got the victory, too.” + </p> + <p> + No general officer could talk of his victories, or fight his battles o’er + again, with more complacency than Sir Terence O’Fay recounted his <i>civil</i> + exploits. + </p> + <p> + “Now I’ll tell you, Miss Nugent. There was a footman in the family, not an + Irishman, but one of your powdered English scoundrels that ladies are so + fond of having hanging to the backs of their carriages; one Fleming he + was, that turned spy, and traitor, and informer, went privately and gave + notice to the creditors where the plate was hid in the thickness of the + chimney; but if he did, what happened? Why, I had my counter-spy, an + honest little Irish boy, in the creditor’s shop, that I had secured with a + little douceur of usquebaugh; and he outwitted, as was natural, the + English lying valet, and gave us notice, just in the nick, and I got ready + for their reception; and, Miss Nugent, I only wish you’d seen the + excellent sport we had, letting them follow the scent they got; and when + they were sure of their game, what did they find?—Ha! ha! ha!—dragged + out, after a world of labour, a heavy box of—a load of brick-bats; + not an item of my friend’s plate, that was all snug in the coal-hole, + where them dunces never thought of looking for it—Ha! ha! ha!” + </p> + <p> + “But come, Terry,” cried Lord Clonbrony, “I’ll pull down your pride.—How + finely, another time, your job of the false ceiling answered in the hall. + I’ve heard that story, and have been told how the sheriff’s fellow thrust + his bayonet up through your false plaster, and down came tumbling the + family plate—hey! Terry?—That hit cost your friend, Lord + Every-body-knows-who, more than your head’s worth, Terry.” + </p> + <p> + “I ask your pardon, my lord, it never cost him a farthing.” + </p> + <p> + “When he paid 7000<i>l.</i> for the plate, to redeem it?” + </p> + <p> + “Well! and did not I make up for that at the races of ——? The + creditors learned that my lord’s horse, Naboclish, was to run at —— + races; and, as the sheriff’s officer knew he dare not touch him on the + race-ground, what does he do, but he comes down early in the morning on + the mail-coach, and walks straight down to the livery stables. He had an + exact description of the stables, and the stall, and the horse’s body + clothes. + </p> + <p> + “I was there, seeing the horse taken care of; and, knowing the cut of the + fellow’s jib, what does I do, but whips the body clothes off Naboclish, + and claps them upon a garrone, that the priest would not ride. + </p> + <p> + “In comes the bailiff—‘Good morrow to you, sir,’ says I, leading out + of the stable my lord’s horse, with an <i>ould</i> saddle and bridle on. + </p> + <p> + “‘Tim Neal,’ says I to the groom, who was rubbing down the garrone’s + heels, ‘mind your hits to-day, and <i>wee’l</i> wet the plate to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Not so fast, neither,’ says the bailiff—‘here’s my writ for + seizing the horse.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Och,’ says I, ‘you wouldn’t be so cruel.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘That’s all my eye,’ says he, seizing the garrone, while I mounted + Naboclish, and rode him off deliberately.” + </p> + <p> + “Ha! ha! ha!—That <i>was</i> neat, I grant you, Terry,” said Lord + Clonbrony. “But what a dolt of a born ignoramus must that sheriff’s fellow + have been, not to know Naboclish when he saw him!” + </p> + <p> + “But stay, my lord—stay, Miss Nugent—I have more for you,” + following her wherever she moved—“I did not let him off so, even. At + the cant, I bid and bid against them for the pretended Naboclish, till I + left him on their hands for 500 guineas—ha! ha! ha!—was not + that famous?” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Miss Nugent, “I cannot believe you are in earnest, Sir Terence—Surely + this would be—” + </p> + <p> + “What?—out with it, my dear Miss Nugent.” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid of offending you.” + </p> + <p> + “You can’t, my dear, I defy you—say the word that came to the + tongue’s end; it’s always the best.” + </p> + <p> + “I was going to say, swindling,” said the young lady, colouring deeply. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you was going to say wrong, then! It’s not called swindling amongst + gentlemen who know the world—it’s only jockeying—fine sport—and + very honourable to help a friend at a dead lift. Any thing to help a + friend out of a present pressing difficulty.” + </p> + <p> + “And when the present difficulty is over, do your friends never think of + the future?” + </p> + <p> + “The future! leave the future to posterity,” said Sir Terence; “I’m + counsel only for the present; and when the evil comes, it’s time enough to + think of it. I can’t bring the guns of my wits to bear till the enemy’s + alongside of me, or within sight of me at the least. And besides, there + never was a good commander yet, by sea or land, that would tell his little + expedients beforehand, or before the very day of battle.” + </p> + <p> + “It must be a sad thing,” said Miss Nugent, sighing deeply, “to be reduced + to live by little expedients—daily expedients.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre struck his forehead, but said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “But if you are beating your brains about your own affairs, my Lord + Colambre, my dear,” said Sir Terence, “there’s an easy way of settling + your family affairs at once; and since you don’t like little daily + expedients, Miss Nugent, there’s one great expedient, and an expedient for + life, that will settle it all to your satisfaction—and ours. I + hinted it delicately to you before; but, between friends, delicacy is + impertinent; so I tell you, in plain English, you’ve nothing to do but go + and propose yourself, just as you stand, to the heiress Miss B——, + that desires no better—” + </p> + <p> + “Sir!” cried Lord Colambre, stepping forward, red with sudden anger. + </p> + <p> + Miss Nugent laid her hand upon his arm. “Oh, my lord!” + </p> + <p> + “Sir Terence O’Fay,” continued Lord Colambre, in a moderated tone, “you + are wrong to mention that young lady’s name in such a manner.” + </p> + <p> + “Why then I said only Miss B——, and there are a whole hive of + <i>bees</i>. But I’ll engage she’d thank me for what I suggested, and + think herself the queen bee if my expedient was adopted by you.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir Terence,” said his lordship, smiling, “if my father thinks proper + that you should manage his affairs, and devise expedients for him, I have + nothing to say on that point; but I must beg you will not trouble yourself + to suggest expedients for me, and that you will have the goodness to leave + me to settle my own affairs.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Terence made a low bow, and was silent for five seconds; then turning + to Lord Clonbrony, who looked much more abashed than he did, “By the wise + one, my good lord, I believe there are some men—noblemen, too—that + don’t know their friends from their enemies. It’s my firm persuasion, now, + that if I had served you as I served my friend I was talking of, your son + there would, ten to one, think I had done him an injury by saving the + family plate.” + </p> + <p> + “I certainly should, sir. The family plate, sir, is not the first object + in my mind,” replied Lord Colambre; “family honour—Nay, Miss Nugent, + I must speak,” continued his lordship; perceiving, by her countenance, + that she was alarmed. + </p> + <p> + “Never fear, Miss Nugent, dear,” said Sir Terence; “I’m as cool as a + cucumber.—Faith! then, my Lord Colambre, I agree with you, that + family honour’s a mighty fine thing, only troublesome to one’s self and + one’s friends, and expensive to keep up with all the other expenses and + debts a gentleman has now-a-days. So I, that am under no natural + obligations to it by birth or otherwise, have just stood by it through + life, and asked myself, before I would volunteer being bound to it, what + could this same family honour do for a man in this world? And, first and + foremost, I never remember to see family honour stand a man in much stead + in a court of law—never saw family honour stand against an + execution, or a custodiam, or an injunction even.—‘Tis a rare thing, + this same family honour, and a very fine thing; but I never knew it yet, + at a pinch, pay for a pair of boots even,” added Sir Terence, drawing up + his own with much complacency. + </p> + <p> + At this moment, Sir Terence was called out of the room by one who wanted + to speak to him on particular business. + </p> + <p> + “My dear father,” cried Lord Colambre, “do not follow him; stay, for one + moment, and hear your son, your true friend.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Nugent left the room. + </p> + <p> + “Hear your natural friend for one moment,” cried Lord Colambre. “Let me + beseech you, father, not to have recourse to any of these paltry + expedients, but trust your son with the state of your affairs, and we + shall find some honourable means—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, yes, very true; when you’re of age, Colambre, we’ll talk of it; + but nothing can be done till then. We shall get on, we shall get through, + very well, till then, with Terry’s assistance; and I must beg you will not + say a word more against Terry—I can’t bear it—I can’t bear it—I + can’t do without him. Pray don’t detain me—I can say no more—except,” + added he, returning to his usual concluding sentence, “that there need, at + all events, be none of this, if people would but live upon their own + estates, and kill their own mutton.” He stole out of the room, glad to + escape, however shabbily, from present explanation and present pain. There + are persons without resource, who, in difficulties, return always to the + same point, and usually to the same words. + </p> + <p> + While Lord Colambre was walking up and down the room, much vexed and + disappointed at finding that he could make no impression on his father’s + mind, nor obtain his confidence, Lady Clonbrony’s woman, Mrs. Petito, + knocked at the door, with a message from her lady, to beg, if Lord + Colambre was <i>by himself</i>, he would go to her dressing-room, as she + wished to have a conference with him. He obeyed her summons. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, my dear Colambre—” And she began precisely with her old + sentence—“With the fortune I brought your father, and with my lord’s + estate, I <i>cawnt</i> understand the meaning of all these pecuniary + difficulties; and all that strange creature Sir Terence says is algebra to + me, who speak English. And I am particularly sorry he was let in this + morning—but he’s such a brute that he does not think any thing of + forcing one’s door, and he tells my footman he does not mind <i>not at + home</i> a pinch of snuff. Now what can you do with a man who could say + that sort of thing, you know?—the world’s at an end.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish my father had nothing to do with him, ma’am, as much as you can + wish it,” said Lord Colambre; “but I have said all that a son can say, and + without effect.” + </p> + <p> + “What particularly provokes me against him,” continued Lady Clonbrony, “is + what I have just heard from Grace, who was really hurt by it, too, for she + is the warmest friend in the world: I allude to the creature’s indelicate + way of touching upon a tender <i>pint</i>, and mentioning an amiable young + heiress’s name. My dear Colambre, I trust you have given me credit for my + inviolable silence all this time, upon the <i>pint</i> nearest my heart. I + am rejoiced to hear you <i>was</i> so warm when she was mentioned + inadvertently by that brute, and I trust you now see the advantages of the + projected union in as strong and agreeable a <i>pint</i> of view as I do, + my own Colambre; and I should leave things to themselves, and let you + prolong the <i>dees</i> of courtship as you please, only for what I now + hear incidentally from my lord and the brute, about pecuniary + embarrassments, and the necessity of something being done before next + winter. And, indeed, I think now, in propriety, the proposal cannot be + delayed much longer; for the world begins to talk of the thing as done; + and even Mrs. Broadhurst, I know, had no doubt that, if this <i>contretemps</i> + about the poor Berryls had not occurred, your proposal would have been + made before the end of last week.” + </p> + <p> + Our hero was not a man to make a proposal because Mrs. Broadhurst expected + it, or to marry because the world said he was going to be married. He + steadily said, that, from the first moment the subject had been mentioned, + he had explained himself distinctly; that the young lady’s friends could + not, therefore, be under any doubt as to his intentions; that, if they had + voluntarily deceived themselves, or exposed the lady in situations from + which the world was led to make false conclusions, he was not answerable: + he felt his conscience at ease—entirely so, as he was convinced that + the young lady herself, for whose merit, talents, independence, and + generosity of character he professed high respect, esteem, and admiration, + had no doubts either of the extent or the nature of his regard. + </p> + <p> + “Regard, respect, esteem, admiration!—Why, my dearest Colambre! this + is saying all I want; satisfies me, and I am sure would satisfy Mrs. + Broadhurst, and Miss Broadhurst too.” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt it will, ma’am: but not if I aspired to the honour of Miss + Broadhurst’s hand, or professed myself her lover.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear, you are mistaken: Miss Broadhurst is too sensible a girl, a vast + deal, to look for love, and a dying lover, and all that sort of stuff: I + am persuaded—indeed I have it from good, from the best authority, + that the young lady—you know one must be delicate in these cases, + where a young lady of such fortune, and no despicable family too, is + concerned; therefore I cannot speak quite plainly—but I say I have + it from the best authority, that you would be preferred to any other + suitor, and, in short, that—” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, madam, for interrupting you,” cried Lord Colambre, + colouring a good deal; “but you must excuse me if I say, that the only + authority on which I could believe this is one from which I am morally + certain I shall never hear it—from Miss Broadhurst herself.” + </p> + <p> + “Lord, child! if you only ask her the question, she would tell you it is + truth, I dare say.” + </p> + <p> + “But as I have no curiosity on the subject, ma’am—” + </p> + <p> + “Lord bless me! I thought everybody had curiosity. But still, without + curiosity, I am sure it would gratify you when you did hear it; and can’t + you just put the simple question?” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible!” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible!—now that is so very provoking when the thing is all but + done. Well, take your own time; all I will ask of you then is, to let + things go on as they are going—smoothly and pleasantly; and I’ll not + press you further on the subject at present. Let things go on smoothly, + that’s all I ask, and say nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could oblige you, mother; but I cannot do this. Since you tell + me that the world and Miss Broadhurst’s friends have already misunderstood + my intentions, it becomes necessary, in justice to the young lady and to + myself, that I should make all further doubt impossible—I shall, + therefore, put an end to it at once, by leaving town to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Clonbrony, breathless for a moment with surprise, exclaimed, “Bless + me! leave town to-morrow! Just at the beginning of the season! Impossible!—I + never saw such a precipitate rash young man. But stay only a few weeks, + Colambre; the physicians advise Buxton for my rheumatism, and you shall + take us to Buxton early in the season—you cannot refuse me that. + Why, if Miss Broadhurst was a dragon, you could not be in a greater hurry + to run away from her. What are you afraid of?” + </p> + <p> + “Of doing what is wrong—the only thing, I trust, of which I shall + ever be afraid.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Clonbrony tried persuasion and argument—such argument as she + could use—but all in vain—Lord Colambre was firm in his + resolution; at last, she came to tears; and her son, in much agitation, + said, “I cannot bear this, mother!—I would do any thing you ask, + that I could do with honour; but this is impossible.” + </p> + <p> + “Why impossible? I will take all blame upon myself; and you are sure that + Miss Broadhurst does not misunderstand you, and you esteem her, and admire + her, and all that; and all I ask; is, that you’ll go on as you are, and + see more of her; and how do you know but you may fall in love with her, as + you call it, to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “Because, madam, since you press me so far, my affections are engaged to + another person. Do not look so dreadfully shocked, my dear mother—I + have told you truly, that I think myself too young, much too young, yet to + marry. In the circumstances in which I know my family are, it is probable + that I shall not for some years be able to marry as I wish. You may depend + upon it that I shall not take any step, I shall not even declare my + attachment to the object of my affection, without your knowledge; and, far + from being inclined headlong to follow my own passions—strong as + they are—be assured that the honour of my family, your happiness, my + mother, my father’s, are my first objects: I shall never think of my own + till these are secured.” + </p> + <p> + Of the conclusion of this speech, Lady Clonbrony heard only the sound of + the words; from the moment her son had pronounced that his affections were + engaged, she had been running over in her head every probable and + improbable person she could think of; at last, suddenly starting up, she + opened one of the folding-doors into the next apartment, and called, + “Grace!—Grace Nugent!—put down your pencil, Grace, this + minute, and come here!” + </p> + <p> + Miss Nugent obeyed with her usual alacrity; and the moment she entered the + room, Lady Clonbrony, fixing her eyes full upon her, said, “There’s your + cousin Colambre tells me his affections are engaged.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, to Miss Broadhurst, no doubt,” said Miss Nugent, smiling, with a + simplicity and openness of countenance, which assured Lady Clonbrony that + all was safe in that quarter: a suspicion which had darted into her mind + was dispelled. + </p> + <p> + “No doubt—Ay, do you hear that <i>no doubt</i>, Colambre?—Grace, + you see, has no doubt; nobody has any doubt but yourself, Colambre.” + </p> + <p> + “And are your affections engaged, and not to Miss Broadhurst?” said Miss + Nugent, approaching Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “There now! you see how you surprise and disappoint every body, Colambre.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry that Miss Nugent should be disappointed,” said Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “But because I am disappointed, pray do not call me Miss Nugent, or turn + away from me, as if you were displeased.” + </p> + <p> + “It must, then, be some Cambridgeshire lady,” said Lady Clonbrony. “I am + sure I am very sorry he ever went to Cambridge—Oxford I advised: one + of the Miss Berryls, I presume, who have nothing. I’ll have no more to do + with those Berryls—there was the reason of the son’s vast intimacy. + Grace, you may give up all thoughts of Sir Arthur.” + </p> + <p> + “I have no thoughts to give up, ma’am,” said Miss Nugent, smiling. “Miss + Broadhurst,” continued she, going on eagerly with what she was saying to + Lord Colambre, “Miss Broadhurst is my friend, a friend I love and admire; + but you will allow that I strictly kept my promise, never to praise her to + you, till you should begin to praise her to me. Now recollect, last night, + you did praise her to me, so justly, that I thought you liked her, I + confess; so that it is natural I should feel a little disappointed. Now + you know the whole of my mind; I have no intention to encroach on your + confidence; therefore, there is no occasion to look so embarrassed. I give + you my word, I will never speak to you again upon the subject,” said she, + holding out her hand to him, “provided you will never again call me Miss + Nugent. Am I not your own cousin Grace?—Do not be displeased with + her.” + </p> + <p> + “You are my own dear cousin Grace; and nothing can be farther from my mind + than any thought of being displeased with her; especially just at this + moment, when I am going away, probably, for a considerable time.” + </p> + <p> + “Away!—when?—where?” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow morning, for Ireland.” + </p> + <p> + “Ireland! of all places,” cried Lady Clonbrony. “What upon earth puts it + into your head to go to Ireland? You do very well to go out of the way of + falling in love ridiculously, since that is the reason of your going; but + what put Ireland into your head, child?” + </p> + <p> + “I will not presume to ask my mother what put Ireland out of her head,” + said Lord Colambre, smiling; “but she will recollect that it is my native + country.” + </p> + <p> + “That was your father’s fault, not mine,” said Lady Clonbrony; “for I + wished to have been confined in England: but he would have it to say that + his son and heir was born at Clonbrony Castle—and there was a great + argument between him and my uncle, and something about the Prince of Wales + and Caernarvon Castle was thrown in, and that turned the scale, much + against my will; for it was my wish that my son should be an Englishman + born—like myself. But, after all, I don’t see that having the + misfortune to be born in a country should tie one to it in any sort of + way; and I should have hoped your English <i>edication</i>, Colambre, + would have given you too liberal <i>idears</i> for that—so I <i>reely</i> + don’t see why you should go to Ireland merely because it’s your native + country.” + </p> + <p> + “Not merely because it is my native country—but I wish to go thither—I + desire to become acquainted with it—because it is the country in + which my father’s property lies, and from which we draw our subsistence.” + </p> + <p> + “Subsistence! Lord bless me, what a word! fitter for a pauper than a + nobleman—subsistence! Then, if you are going to look after your + father’s property, I hope you will make the agents do their duty, and send + us remittances. And pray how long do you mean to stay?” + </p> + <p> + “Till I am of age, madam, if you have no objection. I will spend the + ensuing months in travelling in Ireland; and I will return here by the + time I am of age, unless you and my father should, before that time, be in + Ireland.” + </p> + <p> + “Not the least chance of that, if I can prevent it, I promise you,” said + Lady Clonbrony. + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre and Miss Nugent sighed. + </p> + <p> + “And I am sure I shall take it very unkindly of you, Colambre, if you go + and turn out a partisan for Ireland, after all, like Grace Nugent.” + </p> + <p> + “A partisan! no;—I hope not a partisan, but a friend,” said Miss + Nugent. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, child!—I hate to hear people, women especially, and young + ladies particularly, talk of being friends to this country or that + country. What can they know about countries? Better think of being friends + to themselves, and friends to their friends.” + </p> + <p> + “I was wrong,” said Miss Nugent, “to call myself a friend to Ireland; I + meant to say, that Ireland had been a friend to me: that I found Irish + friends, when I had no others; an Irish home, when I had no other; that my + earliest and happiest years, under your kind care, had been spent there; + and I can never forget <i>that</i>, my dear aunt—I hope you do not + wish that I should.” + </p> + <p> + “Heaven forbid, my sweet Grace!” said Lady Clonbrony, touched by her voice + and manner; “Heaven forbid! I don’t wish you to do or be any thing but + what you are; for I am convinced there’s nothing I could ask you would not + do for me: and, I can tell you, there’s few things you could ask, love, I + would not do for you.” + </p> + <p> + A wish was instantly expressed in the eyes of her niece. + </p> + <p> + Lady Clonbrony, though not usually quick at interpreting the wishes of + others, understood and answered before she ventured to make her request in + words. + </p> + <p> + “Ask any thing but <i>that</i>, Grace—Return to Clonbrony, while I + am able to live in London? That I never can or will do for you or any + body!” looking at her son in all the pride of obstinacy: “so there is an + end of the matter. Go you where you please, Colambre; and I shall stay + where I please:—I suppose, as your mother, I have a right to say + this much?” + </p> + <p> + Her son, with the utmost respect, assured her that he had no design to + infringe upon her undoubted liberty of judging for herself; that he had + never interfered, except so far as to tell her circumstances of her + affairs with which she seemed to be totally unacquainted, and of which it + might he dangerous to her to continue in ignorance. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t talk to me about affairs,” cried she, drawing her hand away from + her son. “Talk to my lord, or my lord’s agents, since you are going to + Ireland about business—I know nothing about business; but this I + know, I shall stay in England, and be in London, every season, as long as + I can afford it; and when I cannot afford to live here, I hope I shall not + live any where. That’s my notion of life; and that’s my determination, + once for all; for, if none of the rest of the Clonbrony family have any, I + thank Heaven I have some spirit.” Saying this, in her most stately manner + she walked out of the room. Lord Colambre instantly followed her: for + after the resolution and the promise he had made, he did not dare to trust + himself at this moment with Miss Nugent. + </p> + <p> + There was to be a concert this night at Lady Clonbrony’s, at which Mrs. + and Miss Broadhurst were of course expected. That they might not he quite + unprepared for the event of her son’s going to Ireland, Lady Clonbrony + wrote a note to Mrs. Broadhurst, begging her to come half an hour earlier + than the time mentioned in the cards, “that she might talk over something + <i>particular</i> that had just occurred.” + </p> + <p> + What passed at this cabinet council, as it seems to have had no immediate + influence on affairs, we need not record. Suffice it to observe, that a + great deal was said, and nothing done. Miss Broadhurst, however, was not a + young lady who could easily be deceived, even where her passions were + concerned. The moment her mother told her of Lord Colambre’s intended + departure, she saw the whole truth. She had a strong mind, capable of + looking steadily at truth. Surrounded as she had been from her childhood + by every means of self-indulgence which wealth and flattery could bestow, + she had discovered early what few persons in her situation discover till + late in life, that selfish gratifications may render us incapable of other + happiness, but can never, of themselves, make us happy. Despising + flatterers, she had determined to make herself friends—to make them + in the only possible way—by deserving them. Her father realized his + immense fortune by the power and habit of constant, bold, and just + calculation. The power and habit which she had learned from him she + applied on a far larger scale: with him it was confined to speculations + for the acquisition of money; with her, it extended to the attainment of + happiness. He was calculating and mercenary: she was estimative and + generous. + </p> + <p> + Miss Nugent was dressing for the concert, or rather was sitting + half-dressed before her glass, reflecting, when Miss Broadhurst came into + her room. Miss Nugent immediately sent her maid out of the room. + </p> + <p> + “Grace,” said Miss Broadhurst, looking at Grace with an air of open + deliberate composure, “you and I are thinking of the same thing—of + the same person.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of Lord Colambre,” said Miss Nugent, ingenuously and sorrowfully. + </p> + <p> + “Then I can put your mind at ease, at once, my dear friend, by assuring + you that I shall think of him no more. That I have thought of him, I do + not deny—I have thought, that if, notwithstanding the difference in + our ages and other differences, he had preferred me, I should have + preferred him to any person who has ever yet addressed me. On our first + acquaintance, I clearly saw that he was not disposed to pay court to my + fortune; and I had also then coolness of judgment sufficient to perceive + that it was not probable he should fall in love with my person. But I was + too proud in my humility, too strong in my honesty, too brave, too + ignorant; in short, I knew nothing of the matter. We are all of us, more + or less, subject to the delusions of vanity, or hope, or love—I—even + I!—who thought myself so clear-sighted, did not know how, with one + flutter of his wings, Cupid can set the whole atmosphere in motion; change + the proportions, size, colour, value, of every object; lead us into a <i>mirage</i>, + and leave us in a dismal desert.” + </p> + <p> + “My dearest friend!” said Miss Nugent in a tone of true sympathy. + </p> + <p> + “But none but a coward or a fool would sit down in the desert and weep, + instead of trying to make his way back before the storm rises, obliterates + the track, and overwhelms every thing. Poetry apart, my dear Grace, you + may be assured that I shall think no more of Lord Colambre.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe you are right. But I am sorry, very sorry, it must be so.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, spare me your sorrow!” + </p> + <p> + “My sorrow is for Lord Colambre,” said Miss Nugent. “Where will he find + such a wife?—Not in Miss Berryl, I am sure, pretty as she is; a mere + fine lady!—Is it possible that Lord Colambre should prefer such a + girl—Lord Colambre!” + </p> + <p> + Miss Broadhurst looked at her friend as she spoke, and saw truth in her + eyes; saw that she had no suspicion that she was herself the person + beloved. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, Grace, are you sorry that Lord Colambre is going away?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I am glad. I was sorry when I first heard it; but now I am glad, very + glad: it may save him from a marriage unworthy of him, restore him to + himself, and reserve him for—, the only woman I ever saw who is + suited to him, who is equal to him, who would value and love him as he + deserves to be valued and loved.” + </p> + <p> + “Stop, my dear; if you mean me, I am not, and I never can be, that woman. + Therefore, as you are my friend, and wish my happiness, as I sincerely + believe you do, never, I conjure you, present such an idea before my mind + again—it is out of my mind, I hope, for ever. It is important to me + that you should know and believe this. At least I will preserve my + friends. Now let this subject never be mentioned or alluded to again + between us, my dear. We have subjects enough of conversation; we need not + have recourse to pernicious sentimental gossipings. There is great + difference between wanting <i>a confidante</i>, and treating a friend with + confidence. My confidence you possess; all that ought, all that is to be + known of my mind, you know, and—Now I will leave you in peace to + dress for the concert.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don’t go! you don’t interrupt me. I shall be dressed in a few + minutes; stay with me, and you may be assured, that neither now, nor at + any other time, shall I ever speak to you on the subject you desire me to + avoid. I entirely agree with you about <i>confidantes</i> and sentimental + gossipings: I love you for not loving them.” + </p> + <p> + A loud knock at the door announced the arrival of company. + </p> + <p> + “Think no more of love, but as much as you please of admiration—dress + yourself as fast as you can,” said Miss Broadhurst. “Dress, dress, is the + order of the day.” + </p> + <p> + “Order of the day and order of the night, and all for people I don’t care + for in the least,” said Grace. “So life passes!” + </p> + <p> + “Dear me, Miss Nugent,” cried Petito, Lady Clonbrony’s woman, coming in + with a face of alarm, “not dressed yet! My lady is gone down, and Mrs. + Broadhurst and my Lady Pococke’s come, and the Honourable Mrs. Trembleham; + and signor, the Italian singing gentleman, has been walking up and down + the apartments there by himself, disconsolate, this half hour. Oh, + merciful! Miss Nugent, if you could stand still for one single particle of + a second. So then I thought of stepping in to Miss Nugent; for the young + ladies are talking so fast, says I to myself, at the door, they will never + know how time goes, unless I give ‘em a hint. But now my lady is below, + there’s no need, to be sure, to be nervous, so we may take the thing + quietly, without being in a flustrum. Dear ladies, is not this now a very + sudden motion of our young lord’s for Ireland? Lud a mercy! Miss Nugent, + I’m sure your motions is sudden enough; and your dress behind is all, I’m + sure, I can’t tell how.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, never mind,” said the young lady, escaping from her; “it will do very + well, thank you, Petito.” + </p> + <p> + “It will do very well, never mind,” repeated Petito, muttering to herself, + as she looked after the ladies, whilst they ran down stairs. “I can’t + abide to dress any young lady who says never mind, and it will do very + well. That, and her never talking to one confi<i>dan</i>tially, or + trusting one with the least bit of her secrets, is the thing I can’t put + up with from Miss Nugent; and Miss Broadhurst holding the pins to me, as + much as to say, do your business, Petito, and don’t talk.—Now, + that’s so impertinent, as if one wasn’t the same flesh and blood, and had + not as good a right to talk of every thing, and hear of every thing, as + themselves. And Mrs. Broadhurst, too, cabinet-councilling with my lady, + and pursing up her city mouth, when I come in, and turning off the + discourse to snuff, forsooth; as if I was an ignoramus, to think they + closeted themselves to talk of snuff. Now, I think a lady of quality’s + woman has as good a right to be trusted with her lady’s secrets as with + her jewels; and if my Lady Clonbrony was a real lady of quality, she’d + know that, and consider the one as much my paraphernalia as the other. So + I shall tell my lady to-night, as I always do when she vexes me, that I + never lived in an Irish family before, and don’t know the ways of it—then + she’ll tell me she was born in Hoxfordshire—then I shall say, with + my saucy look, ‘Oh, was you, my lady—I always forget that you was an + Englishwoman:’ then may be she’ll say, ‘Forget! you forget yourself + strangely, Petito.’ Then I shall say, with a great deal of dignity, ‘If + your ladyship thinks so, my lady, I’d better go.’ And I’d desire no better + than that she would take me at my word; for my Lady Dashfort’s is a much + better place, I’m told, and she’s dying to have me, I know.” + </p> + <p> + And having formed this resolution, Petito concluded her apparently + interminable soliloquy, and went with my lord’s gentleman into the + antechamber, to hear the concert, and give her judgment on every thing: as + she peeped in through the vista of heads into the Apollo saloon—for + to-night the Alhambra was transformed into the Apollo saloon—she saw + that whilst the company, rank behind rank, in close semicircles, had + crowded round the performers to hear a favourite singer, Miss Broadhurst + and Lord Colambre were standing in the outer semicircle, talking to one + another earnestly. Now would Petito have given up her reversionary chance + of the three nearly new gowns she expected from Lady Clonbrony, in case + she stayed; or, in case she went, the reversionary chance of any dress of + Lady Dashfort’s, except her scarlet velvet, merely to hear what Miss + Broadhurst and Lord Colambre were saying. Alas! she could only see their + lips move; and of what they were talking, whether of music or love, and + whether the match was to be on or off, she could only conjecture. But the + diplomatic style having now descended to waiting-maids, Mrs. Petito talked + to her friends in the antechamber with as mysterious and consequential an + air and tone as a chargé d’affaires, or as the lady of a chargé + d’affaires, could have assumed. She spoke of her <i>private belief</i>; of + <i>the impression left upon her mind</i>; and her <i>confidential</i> + reasons for thinking as she did; of her “having had it from the <i>fountain’s</i> + head;” and of “her fear of any <i>committal</i> of her authorities.” + </p> + <p> + Notwithstanding all these authorities, Lord Colambre left London next day, + and pursued his way to Ireland, determined that he would see and judge of + that country for himself, and decide whether his mother’s dislike to + residing there was founded on caprice or on reasonable causes. + </p> + <p> + In the mean time, it was reported in London that his lordship was gone to + Ireland to make out the title to some estate, which would be necessary for + his marriage settlement with the great heiress, Miss Broadhurst. Whether + Mrs. Petito or Sir Terence O’Fay had the greater share in raising and + spreading this report, it would be difficult to determine; but it is + certain, however or by whomsoever raised, it was most useful to Lord + Clonbrony, by keeping his creditors quiet. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> + <p> + The tide did not permit the packet to reach the Pigeon-house, and the + impatient Lord Colambre stepped into a boat, and was rowed across the Bay + of Dublin. It was a fine summer morning. The sun shone bright on the + Wicklow mountains. He admired, he exulted in the beauty of the prospect; + and all the early associations of his childhood, and the patriotic hopes + of his riper years, swelled his heart as he approached the shores of his + native land. But scarcely had he touched his mother earth, when the whole + course of his ideas was changed; and if his heart swelled, it swelled no + more with pleasurable sensations, for instantly he found himself + surrounded and attacked by a swarm of beggars and harpies, with strange + figures and stranger tones; some craving his charity, some snatching away + his luggage, and at the same time bidding him “never trouble himself,” and + “never fear.” A scramble in the boat and on shore for bags and parcels + began, and an amphibious fight betwixt men, who had one foot on sea and + one on land, was seen; and long and loud the battle of trunks and + portmanteaus raged! The vanquished departed, clinching their empty hands + at their opponents, and swearing inextinguishable hatred; while the + smiling victors stood at ease, each grasping his booty—bag, basket, + parcel, or portmanteau: “And, your honour, where <i>will</i> these go?—Where + <i>will</i> we carry ‘em all to for your honour?” was now the question. + Without waiting for an answer, most of the goods were carried at the + discretion of the porters to the custom-house, where, to his lordship’s + astonishment, after this scene of confusion, he found that he had lost + nothing but his patience; all his goods were safe, and a few <i>tinpennies</i> + made his officious porters happy men and boys; blessings were showered + upon his honour, and he was left in peace at an excellent hotel, in + —— street, Dublin. He rested, refreshed himself, recovered his + good-humour, and walked into the coffee-house, where he found several + officers, English, Irish, and Scotch. One English officer, a very + gentlemanlike, sensible-looking man, of middle age, was sitting reading a + little pamphlet, when Lord Colambre entered: he looked up from time to + time, and in a few minutes rose and joined the conversation; it turned + upon the beauties and defects of the city of Dublin. Sir James Brooke (for + that was the name of the gentleman) showed one of his brother officers the + book which he had been reading, observing that, in his opinion, it + contained one of the best views of Dublin which he had ever seen, + evidently drawn by the hand of a master, though in a slight, playful, and + ironical style: it was “An intercepted Letter from China.” The + conversation extended from Dublin to various parts of Ireland, with all + which Sir James Brooke showed that he was well acquainted. Observing that + this conversation was particularly interesting to Lord Colambre, and + quickly perceiving that he was speaking to one not ignorant of books, Sir + James spoke of different representations and misrepresentations of + Ireland. In answer to Lord Colambre’s inquiries, he named the works which + had afforded him the most satisfaction; and with discriminative, not + superficial celerity, touched on all ancient and modern authors on this + subject, from Spenser and Davies to Young and Beaufort. Lord Colambre + became anxious to cultivate the acquaintance of a gentleman who appeared + so able and willing to afford him information. Sir James Brooke, on his + part, was flattered by this eagerness of attention, and pleased by our + hero’s manners and conversation: so that, to their mutual satisfaction, + they spent much of their time together whilst they were at this hotel; and + meeting frequently in society in Dublin, their acquaintance every day + increased and grew into intimacy; an intimacy which was highly + advantageous to Lord Colambre’s views of obtaining a just idea of the + state of manners in Ireland. Sir James Brooke had at different periods + been quartered in various parts of the country—had resided long + enough in each to become familiar with the people, and had varied his + residence sufficiently to form comparisons between different counties, + their habits, and characteristics. Hence he had it in his power to direct + the attention of our young observer at once to the points most worthy of + his examination, and to save him from the common error of travellers—the + deducing general conclusions from a few particular cases, or arguing from + exceptions, as if they were rules. Lord Colambre, from his family + connexions, had of course immediate introduction into the best society in + Dublin, or rather into all the good society of Dublin. In Dublin there is + positively good company, and positively bad; but not, as in London, many + degrees of comparison: not innumerable luminaries of the polite world, + moving in different orbits of fashion; but all the bright planets of note + and name move and revolve in the same narrow limits. Lord Colambre did not + find that either his father’s or his mother’s representations of society + resembled the reality which he now beheld. Lady Clonbrony had, in terms of + detestation, described Dublin such as it appeared to her soon after the + Union; Lord Clonbrony had painted it with convivial enthusiasm, such as he + saw it long and long before the Union, when <i>first</i> he drank claret + at the fashionable clubs. This picture, unchanged in his memory, and + unchangeable by his imagination, had remained, and ever would remain, the + same. The hospitality of which the father boasted, the son found in all + its warmth, but meliorated and refined; less convivial, more social; the + fashion of hospitality had improved. To make the stranger eat or drink to + excess, to set before him old wine and old plate, was no longer the sum of + good breeding. The guest now escaped the pomp of grand entertainments; was + allowed to enjoy ease and conversation, and to taste some of that feast of + reason and that flow of soul so often talked of, and so seldom enjoyed. + Lord Colambre found a spirit of improvement, a desire for knowledge, and a + taste for science and literature, in most companies, particularly among + gentlemen belonging to the Irish bar: nor did he in Dublin society see any + of that confusion of ranks or predominance of vulgarity, of which his + mother had complained. Lady Clonbrony had assured him, that, the last time + she had been at the drawing-room at the Castle, a lady, whom she + afterwards found to be a grocer’s wife, had turned angrily when her + ladyship had accidentally trodden on her train, and had exclaimed with a + strong brogue, “I’ll thank you, ma’am, for the rest of my tail.” + </p> + <p> + Sir James Brooke, to whom Lord Colambre, without <i>giving up his + authority</i>, mentioned the fact, declared that he had no doubt the thing + had happened precisely as it was stated; but that this was one of the + extraordinary cases which ought not to pass into a general rule,—that + it was a slight instance of that influence of temporary causes, from which + no conclusions, as to national manners, should be drawn. + </p> + <p> + “I happened,” continued Sir James, “to be quartered in Dublin soon after + the Union took place; and I remember the great but transient change that + appeared from the removal of both houses of parliament: most of the + nobility and many of the principal families among the Irish commoners, + either hurried in high hopes to London, or retired disgusted and in + despair to their houses in the country. Immediately, in Dublin, commerce + rose into the vacated seats of rank; wealth rose into the place of birth. + New faces and new equipages appeared: people, who had never been heard of + before, started into notice, pushed themselves forward, not scrupling to + elbow their way even at the castle; and they were presented to my + lord-lieutenant and to my lady-lieutenant; for their excellencies might + have played their vice-regal parts to empty benches, had they not admitted + such persons for the moment to fill their court. Those of former times, of + hereditary pretensions and high-bred minds and manners, were scandalized + at all this; and they complained with justice, that the whole <i>tone</i> + of society was altered; that the decorum, elegance, polish, and charm of + society was gone. And I, among the rest,” said Sir James, “felt and + deplored their change. But, now it’s all over, we may acknowledge, that, + perhaps, even those things which we felt most disagreeable at the time + were productive of eventual benefit. + </p> + <p> + “Formerly, a few families had set the fashion. From time immemorial every + thing had, in Dublin, been submitted to their hereditary authority; and + conversation, though it had been rendered polite by their example, was, at + the same time, limited within narrow bounds. Young people, educated upon a + more enlarged plan, in time grew up; and, no authority or fashion + forbidding it, necessarily rose to their just place, and enjoyed their due + influence in society. The want of manners, joined to the want of + knowledge, in the <i>nouveaux riches</i>, created universal disgust: they + were compelled, some by ridicule, some by bankruptcies, to fall back into + their former places, from which they could never more emerge. In the mean + time, some of the Irish nobility and gentry, who had been living at an + unusual expense in London—an expense beyond their incomes—were + glad to return home to refit; and they brought with them a new stock of + ideas, and some taste for science and literature, which, within these + latter years, have become fashionable, indeed indispensable, in London. + That part of the Irish aristocracy, who, immediately upon the first + incursions of the vulgarians, had fled in despair to their fastnesses in + the country, hearing of the improvements which had gradually taken place + in society, and assured of the final expulsion of the barbarians, ventured + from their retreats, and returned to their posts in town. So that now,” + concluded Sir James, “you find a society in Dublin composed of a most + agreeable and salutary mixture of birth and education, gentility and + knowledge, manner and matter; and you see, pervading the whole, new life + and energy, new talent, new ambition, a desire and a determination to + improve and be improved—a perception that higher distinction can now + be obtained in almost all company, by genius and merit, than by airs and + address.... So much for the higher order. Now, among the class of + tradesmen and shopkeepers, you may amuse yourself, my lord, with marking + the difference between them and persons of the same rank in London.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre had several commissions to execute for his English friends, + and he made it his amusement in every shop to observe the manners and + habits of the people. He remarked that there are in Dublin two classes of + tradespeople: one, who go into business with intent to make it their + occupation for life, and as a slow but sure means of providing for + themselves and their families; another class, who take up trade merely as + a temporary resource, to which they condescend for a few years; trusting + that they shall, in that time, make a fortune, retire, and commence or + re-commence gentlemen. The Irish regular men of business are like all + other men of business—punctual, frugal, careful, and so forth; with + the addition of more intelligence, invention, and enterprise, than are + usually found in Englishmen of the same rank. But the Dublin tradesmen <i>pro + tempore</i> are a class by themselves: they begin without capital, buy + stock upon credit, in hopes of making large profits, and, in the same + hopes, sell upon credit. + </p> + <p> + Now, if the credit they can obtain is longer than that which they are + forced to give, they go on and prosper; if not, they break, become + bankrupts, and sometimes, as bankrupts, thrive. By such men, of course, + every <i>short cut</i> to fortune is followed: whilst every habit, which + requires time to prove its advantage, is disregarded; nor, with such + views, can a character for <i>punctuality</i> have its just value. In the + head of a man, who intends to be a tradesman to-day, and a gentleman + to-morrow, the ideas of the honesty and the duties of a tradesman, and of + the honour and the accomplishments of a gentleman, are oddly jumbled + together, and the characteristics of both are lost in the compound. + </p> + <p> + He will <i>oblige</i> you, but he will not obey you; he will do you a + favour, but he will not do you <i>justice</i>; he will do <i>anything to + serve you</i>, but the particular thing you order he neglects; he asks + your pardon, for he would not, for all the goods in his warehouse, <i>disoblige</i> + you; not for the sake of your custom, but he has a particular regard for + your family. Economy, in the eyes of such a tradesman, is, if not a mean + vice, at least a shabby virtue, of which he is too polite to suspect his + customers, and to which he is proud of proving himself superior. Many + London tradesmen, after making their thousands and their tens of + thousands, feel pride in still continuing to live like plain men of + business; but from the moment a Dublin tradesman of this style has made a + few hundreds, he sets up his gig, and then his head is in his carriage, + and not in his business; and when he has made a few thousands, he buys or + builds a country house—and, then, and thenceforward, his head, + heart, and soul, are in his country-house, and only his body in the shop + with his customers. + </p> + <p> + Whilst he is making money, his wife, or rather his lady, is spending twice + as much out of town as he makes in it. At the word country-house, let no + one figure to himself a snug little box like that in which a <i>warm</i> + London citizen, after long years of toil, indulges himself, one day out of + seven, in repose—enjoying, from his gazabo, the smell of the dust, + and the view of passing coaches on the London road: no, these Hibernian + villas are on a much more magnificent scale; some of them formerly + belonged to Irish members of parliament, who were at a distance from their + country-seats. After the Union these were bought by citizens and + tradesmen, who spoiled, by the mixture of their own fancies, what had + originally been designed by men of good taste. + </p> + <p> + Some time after Lord Colambre’s arrival in Dublin, he had an opportunity + of seeing one of these villas, which belonged to Mrs. Raffarty, a grocer’s + lady, and sister to one of Lord Clonbrony’s agents, Mr. Nicholas + Garraghty. Lord Colambre was surprised to find that his father’s agent + resided in Dublin: he had been used to see agents, or stewards, as they + are called in England, live in the country, and usually on the estate of + which they have the management. Mr. Nicholas Garraghty, however, had a + handsome house in a fashionable part of Dublin. Lord Colambre called + several times to see him, but he was out of town, receiving rents for some + other gentlemen, as he was agent for more than one property. + </p> + <p> + Though our hero had not the honour of seeing Mr. Garraghty, he had the + pleasure of finding Mrs. Raffarty one day at her brother’s house. Just as + his lordship came to the door, she was going, on her jaunting-car, to her + villa, called Tusculum, situate near Bray. She spoke much of the beauties + of the vicinity of Dublin; found his lordship was going with Sir James + Brooke, and a party of gentlemen, to see the county of Wicklow; and his + lordship and party were entreated to do her the honour of taking in their + way a little collation at Tusculum. + </p> + <p> + Our hero was glad to have an opportunity of seeing more of a species of + fine lady with which he was unacquainted. + </p> + <p> + The invitation was verbally made, and verbally accepted; but the lady + afterwards thought it necessary to send a written invitation in due form, + and the note she sent directed to the <i>Most Right Honourable</i> the + Lord Viscount Colambre. On opening it he perceived that it could not have + been intended for him. It ran as follows: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “MY DEAR JULIANA O’LEARY, + + “I have got a promise from Colambre, that he will be with us + at Tusculum on Friday, the 20th, in his way from the county of + Wicklow, for the collation I mentioned; and expect a large party + of officers: so pray come early, with your house, or as many as + the jaunting-car can bring. And pray, my dear, be <i>elegant</i>. You + need not let it transpire to Mrs. O’G——; but make my apologies + to Miss O’G——, if she says any thing, and tell her I’m quite + concerned I can’t ask her for that day; because, tell her, I’m so + crowded, and am to have none that day but <i>real quality</i>. + + “Yours ever and ever, + + “ANASTASIA RAFFARTY. + + “P.S. And I hope to make the gentlemen stop the night with me: so + will not have beds. Excuse haste and compliments, &c. + + “<i>Tusculum, Sunday 15.</i>” + </pre> + <p> + After a charming tour in the county of Wicklow, where the beauty of the + natural scenery, and the taste with which those natural beauties had been + cultivated, far surpassed the sanguine expectations Lord Colambre had + formed, his lordship and his companions arrived at Tusculum, where he + found Mrs. Raffarty, and Miss Juliana O’Leary, very elegant, with a large + party of the ladies and gentlemen of Bray, assembled in a drawing-room, + fine with bad pictures and gaudy gilding; the windows were all shut, and + the company were playing cards with all their might. This was the fashion + of the neighbourhood. In compliment to Lord Colambre and the officers, the + ladies left the card-tables; and Mrs. Raffarty, observing that his + lordship seemed <i>partial</i> to walking, took him out, as she said, “to + do the honours of nature and art.” + </p> + <p> + His lordship was much amused by the mixture, which was now exhibited to + him, of taste and incongruity, ingenuity and absurdity, genius and + blunder; by the contrast between the finery and vulgarity, the affectation + and ignorance, of the lady of the villa. We should be obliged to <i>stop</i> + too long at Tusculum were we to attempt to detail all the odd + circumstances of this visit; but we may record an example or two, which + may give a sufficient idea of the whole. + </p> + <p> + In the first place, before they left the drawing-room, Miss Juliana + O’Leary pointed out to his lordship’s attention a picture over the + drawing-room chimney-piece. “Is not it a fine piece, my lord?” said she, + naming the price Mrs. Raffarty had lately paid for it at an auction. “It + has a right to be a fine piece, indeed; for it cost a fine price!” + Nevertheless this <i>fine</i> piece was a vile daub; and our hero could + only avoid the sin of flattery, or the danger of offending the lady, by + protesting that he had no judgment in pictures. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed! I don’t pretend to be a connoisseur or conoscenti myself; but I’m + told the style is undeniably modern. And was not I lucky, Juliana, not to + let that <i>Medona</i> be knocked down to me? I was just going to bid, + when I heard such smart bidding; but, fortunately, the auctioneer let out + that it was done by a very old master—a hundred years old. Oh! your + most obedient, thinks I!—if that’s the case, it’s not for my money: + so I bought this, in lieu of the smoke-dried thing, and had it a bargain.” + </p> + <p> + In architecture, Mrs. Raffarty had as good a taste and as much skill as in + painting. There had been a handsome portico in front of the house: but + this interfering with the lady’s desire to have a viranda, which she said + could not he dispensed with, she had raised the whole portico to the + second story, where it stood, or seemed to stand, upon a tarpaulin roof. + But Mrs. Raffarty explained, that the pillars, though they looked so + properly substantial, were really hollow and as light as feathers, and + were supported with cramps, without <i>disobliging</i> the front wall of + the house at all to signify. + </p> + <p> + Before she showed the company any farther, she said, she must premise to + his lordship, that she had been originally stinted in room for her + improvements, so that she could not follow her genius liberally; she had + been reduced to have some things on a confined scale, and occasionally to + consult her pocket-compass; but she prided herself upon having put as much + into a tight pattern as could well be; that had been her whole ambition, + study, and problem; for she was determined to have at least the honour of + having a little <i>taste</i> of every thing at Tusculum. + </p> + <p> + So she led the way to a little conservatory, and a little pinery, and a + little grapery, and a little aviary, and a little pheasantry, and a little + dairy for show, and a little cottage for ditto, with a grotto full of + shells, and a little hermitage full of earwigs, and a little ruin full of + looking-glass, “to enlarge and multiply the effect of the Gothic.”—“But + you could only put your head in, because it was just fresh painted, and + though there had been a fire ordered in the ruin all night, it had only + smoked.” + </p> + <p> + In all Mrs. Raffarty’s buildings, whether ancient or modern, there was a + studied crookedness. + </p> + <p> + Yes, she said, she hated every thing straight, it was so formal and <i>unpicturesque</i>. + “Uniformity and conformity,” she observed, “had their day; but now, thank + the stars of the present day, irregularity and deformity bear the bell, + and have the majority.” + </p> + <p> + As they proceeded and walked through the grounds, from which Mrs. + Raffarty, though she had done her best, could not take that which nature + had given, she pointed out to my lord “a happy moving termination,” + consisting of a Chinese bridge, with a fisherman leaning over the rails. + On a sudden, the fisherman was seen to tumble over the bridge into the + water. The gentlemen ran to extricate the poor fellow, while they heard + Mrs. Raffarty bawling to his lordship to beg he would never mind, and not + trouble himself. + </p> + <p> + When they arrived at the bridge, they saw the man hanging from part of the + bridge, and apparently struggling in the water; but when they attempted to + pull him up, they found it was only a stuffed figure, which had been + pulled into the stream by a real fish, which had seized hold of the bait. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Raffarty, vexed by the fisherman’s fall, and by the laughter it + occasioned, did not recover herself sufficiently to be happily ridiculous + during the remainder of the walk, nor till dinner was announced, when she + apologized for having changed the collation, at first intended, into a + dinner, which she hoped would be found no bad substitute, and which she + flattered herself might prevail on my lord and the gentlemen to sleep, as + there was no moon. + </p> + <p> + The dinner had two great faults—profusion and pretension. There was, + in fact, ten times more on the table than was necessary; and the + entertainment was far above the circumstances of the person by whom it was + given: for instance, the dish of fish at the head of the table had been + brought across the island from Sligo, and had cost five guineas; as the + lady of the house failed not to make known. But, after all, things were + not of a piece; there was a disparity between the entertainment and the + attendants; there was no proportion or fitness of things; a painful + endeavour at what could not be attained, and a toiling in vain to conceal + and repair deficiencies and blunders. Had the mistress of the house been + quiet; had she, as Mrs. Broadhurst would say, but let things alone, let + things take their course, all would have passed off with well-bred people; + but she was incessantly apologizing, and fussing, and fretting inwardly + and outwardly, and directing and calling to her servants—striving to + make a butler who was deaf, and a boy who was harebrained, do the business + of five accomplished footmen of <i>parts and figure</i>. The mistress of + the house called for “plates, clean plates!—plates!” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “But none did come, when she did call.” + </pre> + <p> + Mrs. Raffarty called “Lanty! Lanty! My lord’s plate, there!—James! + bread to Captain Bowles!—James! port wine to the major!—James! + James Kenny! James!” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “And panting <i>James</i> toiled after her in vain.” + </pre> + <p> + At length one course was fairly got through, and after a torturing half + hour, the second course appeared, and James Kenny was intent upon one + thing, and Lanty upon another, so that the wine-sauce for the hare was + spilt by their collision; but, what was worse, there seemed little chance + that the whole of this second course should ever be placed altogether + rightly upon the table. Mrs. Raffarty cleared her throat, and nodded, and + pointed, and sighed, and sent Lanty after Kenny, and Kenny after Lanty; + for what one did, the other undid; and at last the lady’s anger kindled, + and she spoke: “Kenny! James Kenny! set the sea-cale at this corner, and + put down the grass cross-corners; and match your maccaroni yonder with <i>them</i> + puddens, set—Ogh! James! the pyramid in the middle, can’t ye?” + </p> + <p> + The pyramid, in changing places, was overturned. Then it was that the + mistress of the feast, falling back in her seat, and lifting up her hands + and eyes in despair, ejaculated, “Oh, James! James!” + </p> + <p> + The pyramid was raised by the assistance of the military engineers, and + stood trembling again on its base; but the lady’s temper could not be so + easily restored to its equilibrium. She vented her ill humour on her + unfortunate husband, who happening not to hear her order to help my lord + to some hare, she exclaimed loud, that all the world might hear, “Corny + Raffarty! Corny Raffarty! you’re no more <i>gud</i> at the <i>fut</i> of + my table than a stick of celery!” + </p> + <p> + The comedy of errors, which this day’s visit exhibited, amused all the + spectators. But Lord Colambre, after he had smiled, sometimes sighed.—Similar + foibles and follies in persons of different rank, fortune, and manner, + appear to common observers so unlike that they laugh without scruples of + conscience in one case, at what in another ought to touch themselves most + nearly. It was the same desire to appear what they were not, the same vain + ambition to vie with superior rank and fortune, or fashion, which actuated + Lady Clonbrony and Mrs. Raffarty; and whilst this ridiculous grocer’s wife + made herself the sport of some of her guests, Lord Colambre sighed, from + the reflection that what she was to them, his mother was to persons in a + higher rank of fashion.—He sighed still more deeply, when he + considered, that, in whatever station or with whatever fortune, + extravagance, that is, the living beyond our income, must lead to distress + and meanness, and end in shame and ruin. In the morning as they were + riding away from Tusculum and talking over their visit, the officers + laughed heartily, and rallying Lord Colambre upon his seriousness, accused + him of having fallen in love with Mrs. Raffarty, or with the <i>elegant</i> + Miss Juliana. Our hero, who wished never to be nice over much, or serious + out of season, laughed with those that laughed, and endeavoured to catch + the spirit of the jest. But Sir James Brooke, who now was well acquainted + with his countenance, and who knew something of the history of his family, + understood his real feelings, and, sympathizing in them, endeavoured to + give the conversation a new turn. + </p> + <p> + “Look there, Bowles,” said he, as they were just riding into the town of + Bray; “look at the barouche standing at that green door, at the farthest + end of the town. Is not that Lady Dashfort’s barouche?” + </p> + <p> + “It looks like what she sported in Dublin last year,” said Bowles; “but + you don’t think she’d give us the same two seasons. Besides, she is not in + Ireland, is she? I did not hear of her intending to come over again.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” said another officer; “she will come again to so good + a market, to marry her other daughter. I hear she said or swore that she + will marry the young widow, Lady Isabel, to an Irish nobleman.” + </p> + <p> + “Whatever she says, she swears, and whatever she swears, she’ll do,” + replied Bowles. + </p> + <p> + “Have a care, my Lord Colambre; if she sets her heart upon you for Lady + Isabel, she has you. Nothing can save you. Heart she has none, so there + you’re safe, my lord,” said the other officer; “but if Lady Isabel sets + her eye upon you, no basilisk’s is surer.” + </p> + <p> + “But if Lady Dashfort had landed I am sure we should have heard of it, for + she makes noise enough wherever she goes; especially in Dublin, where all + she said and did was echoed and magnified, till one could hear of nothing + else. I don’t think she has landed.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope to Heaven they may never land again in Ireland!” cried Sir James + Brooke: “one worthless woman, especially one worthless Englishwoman of + rank, does incalculable mischief in a country like this, which looks up to + the sister country for fashion. For my own part, as a warm friend to + Ireland, I would rather see all the toads and serpents, and venomous + reptiles, that St. Patrick carried off in his bag, come back to this + island, than these two <i>dashers</i>. Why, they would bite half the women + and girls in the kingdom with the rage for mischief, before half the + husbands and fathers could turn their heads about. And, once bit, there’s + no cure in nature or art.” + </p> + <p> + “No horses to this barouche!” cried Captain Bowles.—“Pray, sir, + whose carriage is this?” said the captain to a servant, who was standing + beside it. + </p> + <p> + “My Lady Dashfort, sir, it belongs to,” answered the servant, in rather a + surly English tone; and turning to a boy who was lounging at the door, + “Pat, bid them bring out the horses, for my ladies is in a hurry to get + home.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Bowles stopped to make his servant alter the girths of his horse, + and to satisfy his curiosity; and the whole party halted. Captain Bowles + beckoned to the landlord of the inn, who was standing at his door. + </p> + <p> + “So, Lady Dashfort is here again?—This is her barouche, is not it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir, she is—it is.” + </p> + <p> + “And has she sold her fine horses?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, sir—this is not her carriage at all—she is not here. + That is, she is here, in Ireland; but down in the county of Wicklow, on a + visit. And this is not her own carriage at all;—that is to say, not + that which she has with herself, driving; but only just the cast barouche + like, as she keeps for the lady’s maids.” + </p> + <p> + “For the lady’s maids! that is good! that is new, faith! Sir James, do you + hear that?” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, then, and it’s true, and not a word of a lie!” said the honest + landlord. “And this minute, we’ve got a directory of five of them + Abigails, sitting within our house; as fine ladies, as great dashers too, + every bit, as their principals; and kicking up as much dust on the road, + every grain!—Think of them, now! The likes of them, that must have + four horses, and would not stir a foot with one less!—As the + gentleman’s gentleman there was telling and boasting to me about now, when + the barouche was ordered for them there at the lady’s house, where Lady + Dashfort is on a visit—they said they would not get in till they’d + get four horses; and their ladies backed them; and so the four horses was + got; and they just drove out here to see the points of view for fashion’s + sake, like their betters; and up with their glasses, like their ladies; + and then out with their watches, and ‘Isn’t it time to lunch?’ So there + they have been lunching within on what they brought with them; for nothing + in our house could they touch of course! They brought themselves a <i>pick-nick</i> + lunch, with Madeira and Champagne to wash it down. Why, gentlemen, what do + you think, but a set of them, as they were bragging to me, turned out of a + boarding-house at Cheltenham, last year, because they had not peach pies + to their lunch!—But, here they come! shawls, and veils, and all!—streamers + flying! But mum is my cue!—Captain, are these girths to your fancy + now?” said the landlord, aloud: then, as he stooped to alter a buckle, he + said in a voice meant to be heard only by Captain Bowles, “If there’s a + tongue, male or female, in the three kingdoms, it’s in that foremost + woman, Mrs. Petito.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Petito!” repeated Lord Colambre, as the name caught his ear; and, + approaching the barouche, in which the five Abigails were now seated, he + saw the identical Mrs. Petito, who, when he left London, had been in his + mother’s service. + </p> + <p> + She recognized his lordship with very gracious intimacy; and, before he + had time to ask any questions, she answered all she conceived he was going + to ask, and with a volubility which justified the landlord’s eulogium of + her tongue. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my lord! I left my Lady Clonbrony some time back—the day after + you left town; and both her ladyship and Miss Nugent was charmingly, and + would have sent their loves to your lordship, I’m sure, if they’d any + notion I should have met you, my lord, so soon. And I was very sorry to + part with them; but the fact was, my lord,” said Mrs. Petito, laying a + detaining hand upon Lord Colambre’s whip, one end of which he unwittingly + trusted within her reach, “I and my lady had a little difference, which + the best friends, you know, sometimes have: so my Lady Clonbrony was so + condescending to give me up to my Lady Dashfort—and I knew no more + than the child unborn that her ladyship had it in contemplation to cross + the seas. But, to oblige my lady, and as Colonel Heathcock, with his + regiment of militia, was coming for purtection in the packet at the same + time, and we to have the government-yacht, I waived my objections to + Ireland. And, indeed, though I was greatly frighted at first, having heard + all we’ve heard, you know, my lord, from Lady Clonbrony, of there being no + living in Ireland, and expecting to see no trees, nor accommodation, nor + any thing but bogs all along; yet I declare, I was very agreeably + surprised; for, as far as I’ve seen at Dublin and in the vicinity, the + accommodations, and every thing of that nature now, is vastly put-up-able + with!” + </p> + <p> + “My lord,” said Sir James Brooke, “we shall be late.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre, withdrawing his whip from Mrs. Petito, turned his horse + away. She, stretching over the back of the barouche as he rode off, bawled + to him, “My lord, we’re at Stephen’s Green, when we’re at Dublin.” But as + he did not choose to hear, she raised her voice to its highest pitch, + adding, “And where are you, my lord, to be found?—as I have a parcel + of Miss Nugent’s for you.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre instantly turned back, and gave his direction. + </p> + <p> + “Cleverly done, faith!” said the major. + </p> + <p> + “I did not hear her say when Lady Dashfort is to be in town,” said Captain + Bowles. + </p> + <p> + “What, Bowles! have you a mind to lose more of your guineas to Lady + Dashfort, and to be jockeyed out of another horse by Lady Isabel?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, confound it—no! I’ll keep out of the way of that—I have + had enough,” said Captain Bowles; “it is my Lord Colambre’s turn now; you + hear that Lady Dashfort would be very <i>proud</i> to see him. His + lordship is in for it, and with such an auxiliary as Mrs. Petito, Lady + Dashfort has him far Lady Isabel, as sure as he has a heart or hand.” + </p> + <p> + “My compliments to the ladies, but my heart is engaged,” said Lord + Colambre; “and my hand shall go with my heart, or not at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Engaged! engaged to a very amiable, charming woman, no doubt,” said Sir + James Brooke. “I have an excellent opinion of your taste; and if you can + return the compliment to my judgment, take my advice: don’t trust to your + heart’s being engaged, much less plead that engagement; for it would be + Lady Dashfort’s sport, and Lady Isabel’s joy, to make you break your + engagement, and break your mistress’s heart; the fairer, the more amiable, + the more beloved, the greater the triumph, the greater the delight in + giving pain. All the time love would be out of the question; neither + mother nor daughter would care if you were hanged, or, as Lady Dashfort + would herself have expressed it, if you were d——d.” + </p> + <p> + “With such women I should think a man’s heart could be in no great + danger,” said Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “There you might be mistaken, my lord; there’s a way to every man’s heart, + which no man in his own case is aware of, but which every woman knows + right well, and none better than these ladies—by his vanity.” + </p> + <p> + “True,” said Captain Bowles. + </p> + <p> + “I am not so vain as to think myself without vanity,” said Lord Colambre; + “but love, I should imagine, is a stronger passion than vanity.” + </p> + <p> + “You should imagine! Stay till you are tried, my lord. Excuse me,” said + Captain Bowles, laughing. + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre felt the good sense of this, and determined to have nothing + to do with these dangerous ladies: indeed, though he had talked, he had + scarcely yet thought of them; for his imagination was intent upon that + packet from Miss Nugent, which Mrs. Petito said she had for him. He heard + nothing of it, or of her, for some days. He sent his servant every day to + Stephen’s Green, to inquire if Lady Dashfort had returned to town. Her + ladyship at last returned; but Mrs. Petito could not deliver the parcel to + any hand but Lord Colambre’s own, and she would not stir out, because her + lady was indisposed. No longer able to restrain his impatience, Lord + Colambre went himself—knocked at Lady Dashfort’s door—inquired + for Mrs. Petito—was shown into her parlour. The parcel was delivered + to him; but, to his utter disappointment, it was a parcel <i>for</i>, not + <i>from</i> Miss Nugent. It contained merely an odd volume of some book of + Miss Nugent’s which Mrs. Petito said she had put up along with her things + <i>in a mistake</i>, and she thought it her duty to return it by the first + opportunity of a safe conveyance. + </p> + <p> + Whilst Lord Colambre, to comfort himself for his disappointment, was + fixing his eyes upon Miss Nugent’s name, written by her own hand, in the + first leaf of the book, the door opened, and the figure of an + interesting-looking lady, in deep mourning, appeared—appeared for + one moment, and retired. + </p> + <p> + “Only my Lord Colambre, about a parcel I was bringing for him from + England, my lady—my Lady Isabel, my lord,” said Mrs. Petito. + </p> + <p> + Whilst Mrs. Petito was saying this, the entrance and retreat had been + made, and made with such dignity, grace, and modesty: with such innocence, + dove-like eyes had been raised upon him, fixed and withdrawn; with such a + gracious bend the Lady Isabel had bowed to him as she retired; with such a + smile, and with so soft a voice, had repeated “Lord Colambre!” that his + lordship, though well aware that all this was mere acting, could not help + saying to himself, as he left the house, “It is a pity it is only acting. + There is certainly something very engaging in this woman. It is a pity she + is an actress. And so young! A much younger woman than I expected. A widow + before most women are wives. So young, surely she cannot be such a fiend + as they described her to be!” + </p> + <p> + A few nights afterwards Lord Colambre was with some of his acquaintance at + the theatre, when Lady Isabel and her mother came into the box, where + seats had been reserved for them, and where their appearance instantly + made that <i>sensation</i>, which is usually created by the entrance of + persons of the first notoriety in the fashionable world. Lord Colambre was + not a man to be dazzled by fashion, or to mistake notoriety for deference + paid to merit, and for the admiration commanded by beauty or talents. Lady + Dashfort’s coarse person, loud voice, daring manners, and indelicate wit, + disgusted him almost past endurance. He saw Sir James Brooke in the box + opposite to him; and twice determined to go round to him. His lordship had + crossed the benches, and once his hand was upon the lock of the door; but, + attracted as much by the daughter as repelled by the mother, he could move + no farther. The mother’s masculine boldness heightened, by contrast, the + charms of the daughter’s soft sentimentality. The Lady Isabel seemed to + shrink from the indelicacy of her mother’s manners, and appeared + peculiarly distressed by the strange efforts Lady Dashfort made, from time + to time, to drag her forward, and to fix upon her the attention of + gentlemen. Colonel Heathcock, who, as Mrs. Petito had informed Lord + Colambre, had come over with his regiment to Ireland, was beckoned into + their box by Lady Dashfort, by her squeezed into a seat next to Lady + Isabel; but Lady Isabel seemed to feel sovereign contempt, properly + repressed by politeness, for what, in a low whisper to a female friend on + the other side of her, she called, “the self-sufficient inanity of this + sad coxcomb.” Other coxcombs, of a more vivacious style, who stationed + themselves round her mother, or to whom her mother stretched from box to + box to talk, seemed to engage no more of Lady Isabel’s attention than just + what she was compelled to give by Lady Dashfort’s repeated calls of, + “Isabel! Isabel! Colonel G——, Isabel! Lord D—— + bowing to you. Bell! Bell! Sir Harry B——. Isabel, child, with + your eyes on the stage? Did you never see a play before? Novice! Major P—— + waiting to catch your eye this quarter of an hour; and now her eyes gone + down to her play-bill! Sir Harry, do take it from her. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Were eyes so radiant only made to read?’” + </pre> + <p> + Lady Isabel appeared to suffer so exquisitely and so naturally from this + persecution, that Lord Colambre said to himself, “If this be acting, it is + the best acting I ever saw. If this be art, it deserves to be nature.” + </p> + <p> + And with this sentiment, he did himself the honour of handing Lady Isabel + to her carriage this night, and with this sentiment he awoke next morning; + and by the time he had dressed and breakfasted, he determined that it was + impossible all that he had seen could be acting. “No woman, no young + woman, could have such art.” Sir James Brooke had been unwarrantably + severe; he would go and tell him so. + </p> + <p> + But Sir James Brooke this day received orders for his regiment to march to + quarters in a distant part of Ireland. His head was full of arms, and + ammunition, and knapsacks, and billets, and routes; and there was no + possibility, even in the present chivalrous disposition of our hero, to + enter upon the defence of the Lady Isabel. Indeed, in the regret he felt + for the approaching and unexpected departure of his friend, Lord Colambre + forgot the fair lady. But just when Sir James had his foot in the stirrup, + he stopped. + </p> + <p> + “By-the-bye, my dear lord, I saw you at the play last night. You seemed to + be much interested. Don’t think me impertinent if I remind you of our + conversation when we were riding home from Tusculum; and if I warn you,” + said he, mounting his horse, “to beware of counterfeits—for such are + abroad.” Reining in his impatient steed, Sir James turned again, and added + “<i>Deeds, not words</i>, is my motto. Remember, we can judge better by + the conduct of people towards others than by their manner towards + ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. + </h2> + <p> + Our hero was quite convinced of the good sense of his friend’s last + remark, that it is safer to judge of people by their conduct to others + than by their manners towards ourselves; but as yet, he felt scarcely any + interest on the subject of Lady Dashfort’s or Lady Isabel’s characters: + however, he inquired and listened to all the evidence he could obtain + respecting this mother and daughter. + </p> + <p> + He heard terrible reports of the mischief they had done in families; the + extravagance into which they had led men; the imprudence, to say no worse, + into which they had betrayed women. Matches broken off, reputations + ruined, husbands alienated from their wives, and wives made jealous of + their husbands. But in some of these stories he discovered exaggeration so + flagrant as to make him doubt the whole; in others, it could not be + positively determined whether the mother or daughter had been the person + most to blame. + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre always followed the charitable rule of believing only half + what the world says, and here he thought it fair to believe which half he + pleased. He farther observed, that, though all joined in abusing these + ladies in their absence, when present they seemed universally admired. + Though every body cried “shame!” and “shocking!” yet every body visited + them. No parties so crowded as Lady Dashfort’s; no party deemed pleasant + or fashionable where Lady Dashfort or Lady Isabel was not. The bon-mots of + the mother were every where repeated; the dress and air of the daughter + every where imitated. Yet Lord Colambre could not help being surprised at + their popularity in Dublin, because, independently of all moral + objections, there were causes of a different sort, sufficient, he thought, + to prevent Lady Dashfort from being liked by the Irish, indeed by any + society. She in general affected to be ill-bred, and inattentive to the + feelings and opinions of others; careless whom she offended by her wit or + by her decided tone. There are some persons in so high a region of + fashion, that they imagine themselves above the thunder of vulgar censure. + Lady Dashfort felt herself in this exalted situation, and fancied she + might + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Hear the innocuous thunder roll below.” + </pre> + <p> + Her rank was so high that none could dare to call her vulgar: what would + have been gross in any one of meaner note, in her was freedom or + originality, or Lady Dashfort’s way. It was Lady Dashfort’s pleasure and + pride to show her power in perverting the public taste. She often said to + those English companions with whom she was intimate, “Now see what follies + I can lead these fools into. Hear the nonsense I can make them repeat as + wit.” Upon some occasion, one of her friends <i>ventured</i> to fear that + something she had said was <i>too strong</i>. “Too strong, was it? Well, I + like to be strong—woe be to the weak!” On another occasion she was + told that certain visitors had seen her ladyship yawning. “Yawn, did I?—glad + of it—the yawn sent them away, or I should have snored;—rude, + was I? they won’t complain. To say I was rude to them, would be to say, + that I did not think it worth my while to be otherwise. Barbarians! are + not we the civilized English, come to teach them manners and fashions? + Whoever does not conform, and swear allegiance too, we shall keep out of + the English pale.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Dashfort forced her way, and she set the fashion: fashion, which + converts the ugliest dress into what is beautiful and charming, governs + the public mode in morals and in manners; and thus, when great talents and + high rank combine, they can debase or elevate the public taste. + </p> + <p> + With Lord Colambre she played more artfully: she drew him out in defence + of his beloved country, and gave him opportunities of appearing to + advantage; this he could not help feeling, especially when the Lady Isabel + was present. Lady Dashfort had dealt long enough with human nature to + know, that to make any man pleased with her, she should begin by making + him pleased with himself. + </p> + <p> + Insensibly the antipathy that Lord Colambre had originally felt to Lady + Dashfort wore off; her faults, he began to think, were assumed; he + pardoned her defiance of good-breeding, when he observed that she could, + when she chose it, be most engagingly polite. It was not that she did not + know what was right, but that she did not think it always for her interest + to practise it. + </p> + <p> + The party opposed to Lady Dashfort affirmed that her wit depended merely + on unexpectedness; a characteristic which may be applied to any + impropriety of speech, manner, or conduct. In some of her ladyship’s + repartees, however, Lord Colambre now acknowledged there was more than + unexpectedness; there was real wit; but it was of a sort utterly unfit for + a woman, and he was sorry that Lady Isabel should hear it. In short, + exceptionable as it was altogether, Lady Dashfort’s conversation had + become entertaining to him; and though he could never esteem, or feel in + the least interested about her, he began to allow that she could be + agreeable. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, I knew how it would be,” said she, when some of her friends told her + this. “He began by detesting me, and did I not tell you that, if I thought + it worth my while to make him like me, he must, sooner or later? I delight + in seeing people begin with me as they do with olives, making all manner + of horrid faces, and silly protestations that they will never touch an + olive again as long as they live; but, after a little time, these very + folk grow so desperately fond of olives, that there is no dessert without + them. Isabel, child, you are in the sweet line—but sweets cloy. You + never heard of any body living on marmalade, did ye?” + </p> + <p> + Lady Isabel answered by a sweet smile. + </p> + <p> + “To do you justice, you play Lydia Languish vastly well,” pursued the + mother; “but Lydia, by herself, would soon tire; somebody must keep up the + spirit and bustle, and carry on the plot of the piece, and I am that + somebody—as you shall see. Is not that our hero’s voice which I hear + on the stairs?” + </p> + <p> + It was Lord Colambre. His lordship had by this time become a constant + visitor at Lady Dashfort’s. Not that he had forgotten, or that he meant to + disregard his friend Sir James Brooke’s parting words. He promised himself + faithfully, that if any thing should occur to give him reason to suspect + designs, such as those to which the warning pointed, he would be on his + guard, and would prove his generalship by an able retreat. But to imagine + attacks where none were attempted, to suspect ambuscades in the open + country, would be ridiculous and cowardly. + </p> + <p> + “No,” thought our hero; “Heaven forefend I should be such a coxcomb as to + fancy every woman who speaks to me has designs upon my precious heart, or + on my more precious estate!” As he walked from his hotel to Lady + Dashfort’s house, ingeniously wrong, he came to this conclusion, just as + he ascended the stairs, and just as her ladyship had settled her future + plan of operations. + </p> + <p> + After talking over the nothings of the day, and after having given two or + three <i>cuts</i> at the society of Dublin, with two or three compliments + to individuals, who she knew were favourites with his lordship, she + suddenly turned to him. “My lord, I think you told me, or my own sagacity + discovered, that you want to see something of Ireland, and that you don’t + intend, like most travellers, to turn round, see nothing, and go home + content.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre assured her ladyship that she had judged him rightly, for + that nothing would content him but seeing all that was possible to be seen + of his native country. It was for this special purpose he came to Ireland. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!—well—very good purpose—can’t be better; but now how + to accomplish it. You know the Portuguese proverb says, ‘You go to hell + for the good things you <i>intend</i> to do, and to heaven for those you + do.’ Now let us see what you will do. Dublin, I suppose, you’ve seen + enough of by this time; through and through—round and round—this + makes me first giddy, and then sick. Let me show you the country—not + the face of it, but the body of it—the people.—Not Castle + this, or Newtown that, but their inhabitants. I know them; I have the key, + or the pick-lock to their minds. An Irishman is as different an animal on + his guard and off his guard, as a miss in school from a miss out of + school. A fine country for game, I’ll show you; and if you are a good + marksman, you may have plenty of shots ‘at folly as it flies.’” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre smiled. + </p> + <p> + “As to Isabel,” pursued her ladyship, “I shall put her in charge of + Heathcock, who is going with us. She won’t thank me for that, but you + will. Nay, no fibs, man; you know, I know, as who does not that has seen + the world? that, though a pretty woman is a mighty pretty thing, yet she + is confoundedly in one’s way, when any thing else is to be seen, heard,—or + understood.” + </p> + <p> + Every objection anticipated and removed, and so far a prospect held out of + attaining all the information he desired, with more than all the amusement + he could have expected, Lord Colambre seemed much tempted to accept the + invitation; but he hesitated, because, as he said, her ladyship might be + going to pay visits where he was not acquainted. + </p> + <p> + “Bless you! don’t let that be a stumbling-block in the way of your tender + conscience. I am going to Killpatricks-town, where you’ll be as welcome as + light. You know them, they know you; at least you shall have a proper + letter of invitation from my Lord and my Lady Killpatrick, and all that. + And as to the rest, you know a young man is always welcome every where, a + young nobleman kindly welcome—I won’t say such a young man, and such + a young nobleman, for that might put you to your bows or your blushes—but + <i>nobilitas</i> by itself, nobility is virtue enough in all parties, in + all families, where there are girls, and of course balls, as there are + always at Killpatricks-town. Don’t be alarmed; you shall not be forced to + dance, or asked to marry. I’ll be your security. You shall be at full + liberty; and it is a house where you can do just what you will. Indeed, I + go to no others. These Killpatricks are the best creatures in the world; + they think nothing good or grand enough for me. If I’d let them, they + would lay down cloth of gold over their bogs for me to walk upon. + Good-hearted beings!” added Lady Dashfort, marking a cloud gathering on + Lord Colambre’s countenance. “I laugh at them, because I love them. I + could not love any thing I might not laugh at—your lordship + excepted. So you’ll come—that’s settled.” + </p> + <p> + And so it was settled. Our hero went to Killpatricks-town. + </p> + <p> + “Every thing here sumptuous and unfinished, you see,” said Lady Dashfort + to Lord Colambre, the day after their arrival. “All begun as if the + projectors thought they had the command of the mines of Peru, and ended as + if the possessors had not sixpence. Luxuries enough for an English prince + of the blood: comforts not enough for an English yeoman. And you may be + sure that great repairs and alterations have gone on to fit this house for + our reception, and for our English eyes!—Poor people!—English + visitors, in this point of view, are horribly expensive to the Irish. Did + you ever hear, that in the last century, or in the century before the + last, to put my story far enough back, so that it shall not touch any body + living; when a certain English nobleman, Lord Blank A——, sent + to let his Irish friend, Lord Blank B——, know that he and all + his train were coming over to pay him a visit; the Irish nobleman, Blank B——, + knowing the deplorable condition of his castle, sat down fairly to + calculate whether it would cost him most to put the building in good and + sufficient repair, fit to receive these English visitors, or to burn it to + the ground. He found the balance to be in favour of burning, which was + wisely accomplished next day.<a href="#linknote-1" name="linknoteref-1" + id="linknoteref-1"><small>1</small></a> Perhaps Killpatrick would have + done well to follow this example. Resolve me which is worst, to be burnt + out of house and home, or to be eaten out of house and home. In this + house, above and below stairs, including first and second table, + housekeeper’s room, lady’s maids’ room, butler’s room, and gentleman’s, + one hundred and four people sit down to dinner every day, as Petito + informs me, besides kitchen boys, and what they call <i>char</i>-women, + who never sit down, but who do not eat or waste the less for that; and + retainers and friends, friends to the fifth and sixth generation, who + ‘must get their bit and their sup;’ for ‘sure, it’s only Biddy,’ they + say;” continued Lady Dashfort, imitating their Irish brogue. “And ‘sure, + ‘tis nothing at all, out of all his honour my lord has. How could he <i>feel</i> + it<a href="#linknote-2" name="linknoteref-2" id="linknoteref-2"><small>2</small></a>?—Long + life to him!—He’s not that way: not a couple in all Ireland, and + that’s saying a great dale, looks less after their own, nor is more + off-handeder, or open-hearteder, or greater openhouse-keeper, <i>nor</i><a + href="#linknote-3" name="linknoteref-3" id="linknoteref-3"><small>3</small></a> + my Lord and my Lady Killpatrick.’ Now there’s encouragement for a lord and + a lady to ruin themselves.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Dashfort imitated the Irish brogue in perfection; boasted that “she + was mistress of fourteen different brogues, and had brogues for all + occasions.” By her mixture of mimicry, sarcasm, exaggeration, and truth, + she succeeded continually in making Lord Colambre laugh at every thing at + which she wished to make him laugh; at every <i>thing</i>, but not at + every <i>body</i>: whenever she became personal, he became serious, or at + least endeavoured to become serious; and if he could not instantly resume + the command of his risible muscles, he reproached himself. + </p> + <p> + “It is shameful to laugh at these people, indeed, Lady Dashfort, in their + own house—these hospitable people, who are entertaining us.” + </p> + <p> + “Entertaining us! true, and if we are <i>entertained</i>, how can we help + laughing?” + </p> + <p> + All expostulation was thus turned off by a jest, as it was her pride to + make Lord Colambre laugh in spite of his better feelings and principles. + This he saw, and this seemed to him to be her sole object; but there he + was mistaken. <i>Off-handed</i> as she pretended to be, none dealt more in + the <i>impromptu fait à loisir</i>; and, mentally short-sighted as she + affected to be, none had more <i>longanimity</i> for their own interest. + </p> + <p> + It was her settled purpose to make the Irish and Ireland ridiculous and + contemptible to Lord Colambre; to disgust him with his native country; to + make him abandon the wish of residing on his own estate. To confirm him an + absentee was her object, previously to her ultimate plan of marrying him + to her daughter. Her daughter was poor, she would therefore be glad to <i>get</i> + an Irish peer for her; but would be very sorry, she said, to see Isabel + banished to Ireland; and the young widow declared she could never bring + herself to be buried alive in Clonbrony Castle. + </p> + <p> + In addition to these considerations, Lady Dashfort received certain hints + from Mrs. Petito, which worked all to the same point. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, my lady; I heard a great deal about all that, when I was at + Lady Clonbrony’s,” said Petito, one day, as she was attending at her + lady’s toilette, and encouraged to begin chattering. “And I own I was + originally under the universal error that my Lord Colambre was to be + married to the great heiress, Miss Broadhurst; but I have been converted + and reformed on that score, and am at present quite in another way of + thinking.” + </p> + <p> + Petito paused, in hopes that her lady would ask what was her present way + of thinking? But Lady Dashfort, certain that she would tell her without + being asked, did not take the trouble to speak, particularly as she did + not choose to appear violently interested on the subject. + </p> + <p> + “My present way of thinking,” resumed Petito, “is in consequence of my + having, with my own eyes and ears, witnessed and overheard his lordship’s + behaviour and words, the morning he was coming away from <i>Lunnun</i> for + Ireland; when he was morally certain nobody was up, nor overhearing nor + overseeing him, there did I notice him, my lady, stopping in the + antechamber, ejaculating over one of Miss Nugent’s gloves, which he had + picked up. ‘Limerick!’ said he, quite loud enough to himself; for it was a + Limerick glove, my lady—‘Limerick!—dear Ireland! she loves you + as well as I do!’—or words to that effect; and then a sigh, and down + stairs and off. So, thinks I, now the cat’s out of the bag. And I wouldn’t + give much myself for Miss Broadhurst’s chance of that young lord, with all + her Bank stock, scrip, and <i>omnum</i>. Now, I see how the land lies, and + I’m sorry for it; for she’s no <i>fortin</i>; and she’s so proud, she + never said a hint to me of the matter: but my Lord Colambre is a sweet + gentleman; and—” + </p> + <p> + “Petito! don’t run on so; you must not meddle with what you don’t + understand: the Miss Killpatricks, to be sure, are sweet girls, + particularly the youngest.” + </p> + <p> + Her ladyship’s toilette was finished; and she left Petito to go down to my + Lady Killpatrick’s woman, to tell, as a very great secret, the schemes + that were in contemplation, among the higher powers, in favour of the + youngest of the Miss Killpatricks. + </p> + <p> + “So Ireland is at the bottom of his heart, is it?” repeated Lady Dashfort + to herself: “it shall not be long so.” + </p> + <p> + From this time forward, not a day, scarcely an hour passed, but her + ladyship did or said something to depreciate the country, or its + inhabitants, in our hero’s estimation. With treacherous ability, she knew + and followed all the arts of misrepresentation; all those injurious arts + which his friend, Sir James Brooke, had, with such honest indignation, + reprobated. She knew how, not only to seize the ridiculous points, to make + the most respectable people ridiculous, but she knew how to select the + worst instances, the worst exceptions; and to produce them as examples, as + precedents, from which to condemn whole classes, and establish general + false conclusions respecting a nation. + </p> + <p> + In the neighbourhood of Killpatrick’s-town, Lady Dashfort said, there were + several <i>squireens</i>, or little squires; a race of men who have + succeeded to the <i>buckeens</i>, described by Young and Crumpe. <i>Squireens</i> + are persons who, with good long leases, or valuable farms, possess incomes + from three to eight hundred a year, who keep a pack of hounds; <i>take out</i> + a commission of the peace, sometimes before they can spell (as her + ladyship said), and almost always before they know any thing of law or + justice. Busy and loud about small matters; <i>jobbers at assizes</i>; + combining with one another, and trying upon every occasion, public or + private, to push themselves forward, to the annoyance of their superiors, + and the terror of those below them. + </p> + <p> + In the usual course of things, these men are not often to be found in the + society of gentry except, perhaps, among those gentlemen or noblemen who + like to see hangers-on at their, tables: or who find it for their + convenience to have underling magistrates, to <i>protect</i> their + favourites, or to propose and <i>carry</i> jobs for them on grand juries. + At election times, however, these persons rise into sudden importance with + all who have views upon the county. Lady Dashfort hinted to Lord + Killpatrick, that her private letters from England spoke of an approaching + dissolution of parliament: she knew that, upon this hint, a round of + invitations would be sent to the squireens; and she was morally certain + that they would be more disagreeable to Lord Colambre, and give him a + worse idea of the country, than any other people who could be produced. + Day after day some of these personages made their appearance; and Lady + Dashfort took care to draw them out upon the subjects on which she knew + that they would show the most self-sufficient ignorance, and the most + illiberal spirit. They succeeded beyond her most sanguine expectations. + </p> + <p> + “Lord Colambre! how I pity you, for being compelled to these permanent + sittings after dinner!” said Lady Isabel to him one night, when he came + late to the ladies from the dining-room. + </p> + <p> + “Lord Killpatrick insisted upon my staying to help him to push about that + never-ending, still-beginning electioneering bottle,” said Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! if that were all; if these gentlemen would only drink:—but + their conversation!” “I don’t wonder my mother dreads returning to + Clonbrony Castle, if my father must have such company as this. But, + surely, it cannot be necessary.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, indispensable! positively indispensable!” cried Lady Dashfort; “no + living in Ireland without it. You know, in every country in the world, you + must live with the people of the country, or be torn to pieces: for my + part, I should prefer being torn to pieces.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Dashfort and Lady Isabel knew how to take advantage of the contrast + between their own conversation, and that of the persons by whom Lord + Colambre was so justly disgusted: they happily relieved his fatigue with + wit, satire, poetry, and sentiment; so that he every day became more + exclusively fond of their company; for Lady Killpatrick and the Miss + Killpatricks were mere commonplace people. In the mornings, he rode or + walked with Lady Dashfort and Lady Isabel: Lady Dashfort, by way of + fulfilling her promise of showing him the people, used frequently to take + him into the cabins, and talk to their inhabitants. Lord and Lady + Killpatrick, who had lived always for the fashionable world, had taken + little pains to improve the condition of their tenants: the few attempts + they had made were injudicious. They had built ornamented, picturesque + cottages, within view of their park; and favourite followers of the + family, people with half a century’s habit of indolence and dirt, were <i>promoted</i> + to these fine dwellings. The consequences were such as Lady Dashfort + delighted to point out: every thing let to go to ruin for the want of a + moment’s care, or pulled to pieces for the sake of the most surreptitious + profit: the people most assisted always appearing proportionally wretched + and discontented. No one could, with more ease and more knowledge of her + ground, than Lady Dashfort, do the <i>dishonours</i> of a country. In + every cabin that she entered, by the first glance of her eye at the head, + kerchiefed in no comely guise, or by the drawn-down corners of the mouth, + or by the bit of a broken pipe, which in Ireland never characterizes <i>stout + labour</i>, or by the first sound of the voice, the drawling accent on + “your honour,” or, “my lady,” she could distinguish the proper objects of + her charitable designs, that is to say, those of the old uneducated race, + whom no one can help, because they will never help themselves. To these + she constantly addressed herself, making them give, in all their + despairing tones, a history of their complaints and grievances; then + asking them questions, aptly contrived to expose their habits of + self-contradiction, their servility and flattery one moment, and their + litigious and encroaching spirit the next: thus giving Lord Colambre the + most unfavourable idea of the disposition and character of the lower class + of the Irish people. Lady Isabel the while standing by, with the most + amiable air of pity, with expressions of the finest moral sensibility, + softening all her mother said, finding ever some excuse for the poor + creatures, and following, with angelic sweetness, to heal the wounds her + mother inflicted. + </p> + <p> + When Lady Dashfort thought she had sufficiently worked upon Lord + Colambre’s mind to weaken his enthusiasm for his native country; and when + Lady Isabel had, by the appearance of every virtue, added to a delicate + preference, if not partiality for our hero, ingratiated herself into his + good opinion, and obtained an interest in his mind, the wily mother + ventured an attack of a more decisive nature; and so contrived it was, + that if it failed, it should appear to have been made without design to + injure, and in total ignorance. + </p> + <p> + One day, Lady Dashfort, who, in fact, was not proud of her family, though + she pretended to be so, was herself prevailed on, though with much + difficulty, by Lady Killpatrick, to do the very thing she wanted to do, to + show her genealogy, which had been beautifully blazoned, and which was to + be produced in evidence in the lawsuit that brought her to Ireland. Lord + Colambre stood politely looking on and listening, while her ladyship + explained the splendid intermarriages of her family, pointing to each + medallion that was filled gloriously with noble, and even with royal + names, till at last she stopped short, and covering one medallion with her + finger, she said, “Pass over that, dear Lady Killpatrick. You are not to + see that, Lord Colambre—that’s a little blot in our scutcheon. You + know, Isabel, we never talk of that prudent match of great uncle John’s: + what could he expect by marrying into <i>that</i> family, where, you know, + all the men were not <i>sans peur</i>, and none of the women <i>sans + reproche</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, mamma!” cried Lady Isabel, “not one exception!” + </p> + <p> + “Not one, Isabel,” persisted Lady Dashfort: “there was Lady ——, + and the other sister, that married the man with the long nose; and the + daughter again, of whom they contrived to make an honest woman, by getting + her married in time to a <i>blue riband</i>, and who contrived to get + herself into Doctors’ Commons the very next year.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, dear mamma, that is enough, and too much. Oh! pray don’t go on,” + cried Lady Isabel, who had appeared very much distressed during her + mother’s speech. “You don’t know what you are saying: indeed, ma’am, you + don’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Very likely, child; but that compliment I can return to you on the spot, + and with interest; for you seem to me, at this instant, not to know either + what you are saying, or what you are doing. Come, come, explain.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, ma’am—Pray say no more; I will explain myself another + time.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, there you are wrong, Isabel; in point of good-breeding, any thing is + better than hints and mystery. Since I have been so unlucky as to touch + upon the subject, better go through with it, and, with all the boldness of + innocence, I ask the question, Are you, my Lord Colambre, or are you not, + related to or connected with any of the St. Omars?” + </p> + <p> + “Not that I know of,” said Lord Colambre; “but I really am so bad a + genealogist, that I cannot answer positively.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I must put the substance of my question into a new form. Have you, + or have you not, a cousin of the name of Nugent?” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Nugent!—Grace Nugent!—Yes,” said Lord Colambre, with as + much firmness of voice as he could command, and with as little change of + countenance as possible; but, as the question came upon him so + unexpectedly, it was not in his power to answer with an air of absolute + indifference and composure. + </p> + <p> + “And her mother was—” said Lady Dashfort. + </p> + <p> + “My aunt, by marriage; her maiden name was Reynolds, I think. But she died + when I was quite a child. I know very little about her. I never saw her in + my life; but I am certain she was a Reynolds.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear lord,” continued Lady Dashfort; “I am perfectly aware that + she did take and bear the name of Reynolds; but that was not her maiden + name—her maiden name was—; but perhaps it is a family secret + that has been kept, for some good reason, from you, and from the poor girl + herself; the maiden name was St. Omar, depend upon it. Nay, I would not + have told this to you, my lord, if I could have conceived that it would + affect you so violently,” pursued Lady Dashfort, in a tone of raillery; + “you see you are no worse off than we are. We have an intermarriage with + the St. Omars. I did not think you would be so much shocked at a + discovery, which proves that our family and yours have some little + connexion.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre endeavoured to answer, and mechanically said something about + “happy to have the honour.” Lady Dashfort, truly happy to see that her + blow had hit the mark so well, turned from his lordship without seeming to + observe how seriously he was affected; and Lady Isabel sighed, and looked + with compassion on Lord Colambre, and then reproachfully at her mother. + But Lord Colambre heeded not her looks, and heard none of her sighs; he + heard nothing, saw nothing, though his eyes were intently fixed on the + genealogy, on which Lady Dashfort was still descanting to Lady + Killpatrick. He took the first opportunity he could of quitting the room, + and went out to take a solitary walk. + </p> + <p> + “There he is, departed, but not in peace, to reflect upon what has been + said,” whispered Lady Dashfort to her daughter. “I hope it will do him a + vast deal of good.” + </p> + <p> + “None of the women <i>sans reproche</i>! None!—without one + exception,” said Lord Colambre to himself; “and Grace Nugent’s mother a + St. Omar!—Is it possible? Lady Dashfort seems certain. She could not + assert a positive falsehood—no motive. She does not know that Miss + Nugent is the person to whom I am attached—she spoke at random. And + I have heard it first from a stranger,—not from my mother. Why was + it kept secret from me? Now I understand the reason why my mother + evidently never wished that I should think of Miss Nugent—why she + always spoke so vehemently against the marriages of relations, of cousins. + Why not tell me the truth? It would have had the strongest effect, had she + known my mind.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre had the greatest dread of marrying any woman whose mother + had conducted herself ill. His reason, his prejudices, his pride, his + delicacy, and even his limited experience were all against it. All his + hopes, his plans of future happiness, were shaken to their very + foundation; he felt as if he had received a blow that stunned his mind, + and from which he could not recover his faculties. The whole of that day + he was like one in a dream. At night the painful idea continually recurred + to him; and whenever he was fallen asleep, the sound of Lady Dashfort’s + voice returned upon his ear, saying the words, “What could he expect when + he married one of the St. Omars? None of the women <i>sans reproche</i>.” + </p> + <p> + In the morning he rose early; and the first thing he did was to write a + letter to his mother, requesting (unless there was some important reason + for her declining to answer the question) that she would immediately + relieve his mind from a great <i>uneasiness</i> (he altered the word four + times, but at last left it uneasiness). He stated what he had heard, and + besought his mother to tell him the whole truth without reserve. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. + </h2> + <p> + One morning Lady Dashfort had formed an ingenious scheme for leaving Lady + Isabel and Lord Colambre <i>tête-à-tête</i>; but the sudden entrance of + Heathcock disconcerted her intentions. He came to beg Lady Dashfort’s + interest with Count O’Halloran, for permission to hunt and shoot on his + grounds next season.—“Not for myself, ‘pon honour, but for two + officers who are quartered at the next <i>town</i> here, who will + indubitably hang or drown themselves if they are debarred from sporting.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is this Count O’Halloran?” said Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + Miss White, Lady Killpatrick’s companion, said, “he was a great oddity;” + Lady Dashfort, “that he was singular;” and the clergyman of the parish, + who was at breakfast, declared “that he was a man of uncommon knowledge, + merit, and politeness.” + </p> + <p> + “All I know of him,” said Heathcock, “is, that he is a great sportsman, + with a long queue, a gold-laced hat, and long skirts to a laced + waistcoat.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre expressed a wish to see this extraordinary personage; and + Lady Dashfort, to cover her former design, and, perhaps thinking absence + might be as effectual as too much propinquity, immediately offered to call + upon the officers in their way, and carry them with Heathcock and Lord + Colambre to Halloran Castle. + </p> + <p> + Lady Isabel retired with much mortification, but with becoming grace; and + Major Benson and Captain Williamson were taken to the count’s. Major + Benson, who was a famous <i>whip</i>, took his seat on the box of the + barouche; and the rest of the party had the pleasure of her ladyship’s + conversation for three or four miles: of her ladyship’s conversation—for + Lord Colambre’s thoughts were far distant; Captain Williamson had not any + thing to say; and Heathcock nothing but “Eh! re’lly now!—‘pon + honour!” + </p> + <p> + They arrived at Halloran Castle—a fine old building, part of it in + ruins, and part repaired with great judgment and taste. When the carriage + stopped, a respectable-looking man-servant appeared on the steps, at the + open hall-door. + </p> + <p> + Count O’Halloran was out fishing; but his servant said that he would he at + home immediately, if Lady Dashfort and the gentlemen would be pleased to + walk in. + </p> + <p> + On one side of the lofty and spacious hall stood the skeleton of an elk; + on the other side, the perfect skeleton of a moose-deer, which, as the + servant said, his master had made out, with great care, from the different + bones of many of this curious species of deer, found in the lakes in the + neighbourhood. The leash of officers witnessed their wonder with sundry + strange oaths and exclamations.—“Eh! ‘pon honour—re’lly now!” + said Heathcock; and, too genteel to wonder at or admire any thing in the + creation, dragged out his watch with some difficulty, saying, “I wonder + now whether they are likely to think of giving us any thing to eat in this + place?” And, turning his back upon the moose-deer, he straight walked out + again upon the steps, called to his groom, and began to make some inquiry + about his led horse. Lord Colambre surveyed the prodigious skeletons with + rational curiosity, and with that sense of awe and admiration, by which a + superior mind is always struck on beholding any of the great works of + Providence. + </p> + <p> + “Come, my dear lord!” said Lady Dashfort; “with our sublime sensations, we + are keeping my old friend, Mr. Ulick Brady, this venerable person, waiting + to show us into the reception-room.” + </p> + <p> + The servant bowed respectfully—more respectfully than servants of + modern date. + </p> + <p> + “My lady, the reception-room has been lately painted,—the smell of + paint may be disagreeable; with your leave, I will take the liberty of + showing you into my master’s study.” + </p> + <p> + He opened the door, went in before her, and stood holding up his finger, + as if making a signal of silence to some one within. Her ladyship entered, + and found herself in the midst of an odd assembly: an eagle, a goat, a + dog, an otter, several gold and silver fish in a glass globe, and a white + mouse in a cage. The eagle, quick of eye but quiet of demeanour, was + perched upon his stand; the otter lay under the table, perfectly harmless; + the Angora goat, a beautiful and remarkably little creature of its kind, + with long, curling, silky hair, was walking about the room with the air of + a beauty and a favourite; the dog, a tall Irish greyhound—one of the + few of that fine race, which is now almost extinct—had been given to + Count O’Halloran by an Irish nobleman, a relation of Lady Dashfort’s. This + dog, who had formerly known her ladyship, looked at her with ears erect, + recognized her, and went to meet her the moment she entered. The servant + answered for the peaceable behaviour of all the rest of the company of + animals, and retired. Lady Dashfort began to feed the eagle from a silver + plate on his stand; Lord Colambre examined the inscription on his collar; + the other men stood in amaze. Heathcock, who came in last, astonished out + of his constant “Eh! re’lly now!” the moment he put himself in at the + door, exclaimed, “Zounds! what’s all this live lumber?” and he stumbled + over the goat, who was at that moment crossing the way. The colonel’s spur + caught in the goat’s curly beard; the colonel shook his foot, and + entangled the spur worse and worse; the goat struggled and butted; the + colonel skated forward on the polished oak floor, balancing himself with + outstretched arms. + </p> + <p> + The indignant eagle screamed, and, passing by, perched on Heathcock’s + shoulders. Too well bred to have recourse to the terrors of his beak, he + scrupled not to scream, and flap his wings about the colonel’s ears. Lady + Dashfort, the while, threw herself back in her chair, laughing, and + begging Heathcock’s pardon. “Oh, take care of the dog, my dear colonel!” + cried she; “for this kind of dog seizes his enemy by the back, and shakes + him to death.” The officers, holding their sides, laughed and begged—no + pardon; while Lord Colambre, the only person who was not absolutely + incapacitated, tried to disentangle the spur, and to liberate the colonel + from the goat, and the goat from the colonel; an attempt in which he at + last succeeded, at the expense of a considerable portion of the goat’s + beard. The eagle, however, still kept his place; and, yet mindful of the + wrongs of his insulted friend the goat, had stretched his wings to give + another buffet. Count O’Halloran entered; and the bird, quitting his prey, + flew down to greet his master. The count was a fine old military-looking + gentleman, fresh from fishing: his fishing accoutrements hanging + carelessly about him, he advanced, unembarrassed, to Lady Dashfort; and + received his other guests with a mixture of military ease and + gentlemanlike dignity. + </p> + <p> + Without adverting to the awkward and ridiculous situation in which he had + found poor Heathcock, he apologized in general for his troublesome + favourites. “For one of them,” said he, patting the head of the dog, which + lay quiet at Lady Dashfort’s feet, “I see I have no need to apologize; he + is where he ought to be. Poor fellow! he has never lost his taste for the + good company to which he was early accustomed. As to the rest,” said he, + turning to Lady Dashfort, “a mouse, a bird, and a fish, are, you know, + tribute from earth, air, and water, to a conqueror—” + </p> + <p> + “But from no barbarous Scythian!” said Lord Colambre, smiling. The count + looked at Lord Colambre, as at a person worthy his attention; but his + first care was to keep the peace between his loving subjects and his + foreign visitors. It was difficult to dislodge the old settlers, to make + room for the new comers: but he adjusted these things with admirable + facility; and, with a master’s hand and master’s eye, compelled each + favourite to retreat into the back settlements. With becoming attention, + he stroked and kept quiet old Victory, his eagle, who eyed Colonel + Heathcock still, as if he did not like him; and whom the colonel eyed as + if he wished his neck fairly wrung off. The little goat had nestled + himself close up to his liberator, Lord Colambre, and lay perfectly quiet, + with his eyes closed, going very wisely to sleep, and submitting + philosophically to the loss of one half of his beard. Conversation now + commenced, and was carried on by Count O’Halloran with much ability and + spirit, and with such quickness of discrimination and delicacy of taste, + as quite surprised and delighted our hero. To the lady the count’s + attention was first directed: he listened to her as she spoke, bending + with an air of deference and devotion. She made her request for permission + for Major Benson and Captain Williamson to hunt and shoot in his grounds + next season: this was instantly granted. + </p> + <p> + Her ladyship’s requests were to him commands, the count said.—His + gamekeeper should be instructed to give the gentlemen, her friends, every + liberty, and all possible assistance. + </p> + <p> + Then, turning to the officers, he said, he had just heard that several + regiments of English militia had lately landed in Ireland; that one + regiment was arrived at Killpatrick’s-town. He rejoiced in the advantages + Ireland, and he hoped he might be permitted to add, England, would + probably derive from the exchange of the militia of both countries: habits + would be improved, ideas enlarged. The two countries have the same + interest; and, from the inhabitants discovering more of each other’s good + qualities, and interchanging little good offices in common life, their + esteem and affection for each other would increase, and rest upon the firm + basis of mutual utility. + </p> + <p> + To all this Major Benson answered only, “We are not militia officers.” + </p> + <p> + “The major looks so like a stuffed man of straw,” whispered Lady Dashfort + to Lord Colambre, “and the captain so like the king of spades, putting + forth one manly leg.” + </p> + <p> + Count O’Halloran now turned the conversation to field sports, and then the + captain and major opened at once. + </p> + <p> + “Pray now, sir,” said the major, “you fox-hunt in this country, I suppose; + and now do you manage the thing here as we do? Over night, you know, + before the hunt, when the fox is out, stopping up the earths of the cover + we mean to draw, and all the rest for four miles round. Next morning we + assemble at the cover’s side, and the huntsman throws in the hounds. The + gossip here is no small part of the entertainment: but as soon as we hear + the hounds give tongue—” + </p> + <p> + “The favourite hounds,” interposed Williamson. + </p> + <p> + “The favourite hounds, to be sure,” continued Benson: “there is a dead + silence till pug is well out of cover, and the whole pack well in: then + cheer the hounds with tally-ho! till your lungs crack. Away he goes in + gallant style, and the whole field is hard up, till pug takes a stiff + country: then they who haven’t pluck lag, see no more of him, and, with a + fine blazing scent, there are but few of us in at the death.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we are fairly in at the death, I hope,” said Lady Dashfort: “I was + thrown out sadly at one time in the chase.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre, with the count’s permission, took up a book in which the + count’s pencil lay, “Pasley on the Military Policy of Great Britain;” it + was marked with many notes of admiration, and with hands pointing to + remarkable passages. + </p> + <p> + “That is a book that leaves a strong impression on the mind,” said the + count. + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre read one of the marked passages, beginning with “All that + distinguishes a soldier in outward appearance from a citizen is so + trifling—” but at this instant our hero’s attention was distracted + by seeing in a black-letter book this title of a chapter: “Burial-place of + the Nugents.” + </p> + <p> + “Pray now, sir,” said Captain Williamson, “if I don’t interrupt you, as + you are a fisherman too; now in Ireland do you, <i>Mr.</i>—” + </p> + <p> + A smart pinch on his elbow from his major, who stood behind him, stopped + the captain short, as he pronounced the word <i>Mr.</i> Like all awkward + people, he turned directly to ask, by his looks, what was the matter. + </p> + <p> + The major took advantage of his discomfiture, and, stepping before him, + determined to have the fishing to himself, and went on with, “Count + O’Halloran, I presume you understand fishing, too, as well as hunting?” + </p> + <p> + The count bowed: “I do not presume to say that, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “But pray, count, in this country, do you arm your hook this ways? Give me + leave;” taking the whip from Williamson’s reluctant hand, “this ways, + laying the outermost part of your feather this fashion next to your hook, + and the point next to your shank, this wise, and that wise; and then, sir,—count, + you take the hackle of a cock’s neck—” + </p> + <p> + “A plover’s topping’s better,” said Williamson. + </p> + <p> + “And work your gold and silver thread,” pursued Benson, “up to your wings, + and when your head’s made, you fasten all.” + </p> + <p> + “But you never showed how your head’s made,” interrupted Williamson. + </p> + <p> + “The gentleman knows how a head’s made; any man can make a head, I + suppose: so, sir, you fasten all.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll never get your head fast on that way, while the world stands,” + cried Williamson. + </p> + <p> + “Fast enough for all purposes; I’ll bet you a rump and dozen, captain: and + then, sir,—count, you divide your wings with a needle.” + </p> + <p> + “A pin’s point will do,” said Williamson. + </p> + <p> + The count, to reconcile matters, produced from an Indian cabinet, which he + had opened for Lady Dashfort’s inspection, a little basket containing a + variety of artificial flies of curious construction, which, as he spread + them on the table, made Williamson and Benson’s eyes almost sparkle with + delight. There was the <i>dun-fly</i>, for the month of March; and the <i>stone-fly</i>, + much in vogue for April; and the <i>ruddy-fly</i>, of red wool, black + silk, and red capon’s feathers. + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre, whose head was in the burial-place of the Nugents, wished + them all at the bottom of the sea. + </p> + <p> + “And the <i>green-fly</i>, and the <i>moorish-fly</i>!” cried Benson, + snatching them up with transport; “and, chief, the <i>sad-yellow-fly</i>, + in which the fish delight in June; the <i>sad-yellow-fly</i>, made with + the buzzard’s wings, bound with black braked hemp, and the <i>shell-fly</i>, + for the middle of July, made of greenish wool, wrapped about with the + herle of a peacock’s tail, famous for creating excellent sport.” All these + and more were spread upon the table before the sportsmen’s wondering eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Capital flies! capital, faith!” cried Williamson. + </p> + <p> + “Treasures, faith, real treasures, by G—!” cried Benson. + </p> + <p> + “Eh! ‘pon honour! re’lly now,” were the first words which Heathcock had + uttered since his battle with the goat. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Heathcock, are you alive still?” said Lady Dashfort: “I had + really forgotten your existence.” + </p> + <p> + So had Count O’Halloran, but he did not say so. + </p> + <p> + “Your ladyship has the advantage of me there,” said Heathcock, stretching + himself; “I wish I could forget my existence, for, in my mind, existence + is a horrible <i>bore</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you <i>was</i> a sportsman,” said Williamson. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “And a fisherman?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Why look you there, sir,” pointing to the flies, “and tell a body life’s + a bore.” + </p> + <p> + “One can’t <i>always</i> fish or shoot, I apprehend, sir,” said Heathcock. + </p> + <p> + “Not always—but sometimes,” said Williamson, laughing; “for I + suspect shrewdly you’ve forgot some of your sporting in Bond-street.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh! ‘pon honour! re’lly now!” said the colonel, retreating again to his + safe entrenchment of affectation, from which he never could venture + without imminent danger. + </p> + <p> + “‘Pon honour,” cried Lady Dashfort, “I can swear for Heathcock, that I + have eaten excellent hares and ducks of his shooting, which, to my + knowledge,” added she, in a loud whisper, “he bought in the market.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Emptum aprum!</i>” said Lord Colambre to the count, without danger of + being understood by those whom it concerned. + </p> + <p> + The count smiled a second time; but politely turning the attention of the + company from the unfortunate colonel, by addressing himself to the + laughing sportsmen, “Gentlemen, you seem to value these,” said he, + sweeping the artificial flies from the table into the little basket from + which they had been taken; “would you do me the honour to accept of them? + They are all of my own making, and consequently of Irish manufacture.” + Then, ringing the bell, he asked Lady Dashfort’s permission to have the + basket put into her carriage. + </p> + <p> + Benson and Williamson followed the servant, to prevent them from being + tossed into the boot. Heathcock stood still in the middle of the room, + taking snuff. + </p> + <p> + Count O’Halloran turned from him to Lord Colambre, who had just got + happily to <i>the burial-place of the Nugents</i>, when Lady Dashfort, + coming between them, and spying the title of the chapter, exclaimed, “What + have you there?—Antiquities! my delight!—but I never look at + engravings when I can see realities.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre was then compelled to follow, as she led the way, into the + hall, where the count took down golden ornaments, and brass-headed spears, + and jointed horns of curious workmanship, that had been found on his + estate; and he told of spermaceti wrapped in carpets, and he showed small + urns, enclosing ashes; and from among these urns he selected one, which he + put into the hands of Lord Colambre, telling him, that it had been lately + found in an old abbey-ground in his neighbourhood, which had been the + burial-place of some of the Nugent family. + </p> + <p> + “I was just looking at the account of it, in the book which you saw open + on my table.—And as you seem to take an interest in that family, my + lord, perhaps,” said the count, “you may think this urn worth your + acceptance.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre said, “It would be highly valuable to him—as the + Nugents were his near relations.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Dashfort little expected this blow; she, however, carried him off to + the moose-deer, and from moose-deer to round-towers, to various + architectural antiquities, and to the real and fabulous history of + Ireland, on all which the count spoke with learning and enthusiasm. But + now, to Colonel Heathcock’s great joy and relief, a handsome collation + appeared in the dining-room, of which Ulick opened the folding-doors. + </p> + <p> + “Count, you have made an excellent house of your castle,” said Lady + Dashfort. + </p> + <p> + “It will be, when it is finished,” said the count. “I am afraid,” added + he, smiling, “I live like many other Irish gentlemen, who never are, but + always to be, blessed with a good house. I began on too large a scale, and + can never hope to live to finish it.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Pon honour! here’s a good thing, which I hope we shall live to finish,” + said Heathcock, sitting down before the collation; and heartily did he eat + of eel-pie, and of Irish ortolans <a href="#linknote-4" + name="linknoteref-4" id="linknoteref-4"><small>4</small></a>, which, as + Lady Dashfort observed, “afforded him indemnity for the past, and security + for the future.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh! re’lly now! your Irish ortolans are famous good eating,” said + Heathcock. + </p> + <p> + “Worth being quartered in Ireland, faith! to taste ‘em,” said Benson. + </p> + <p> + The count recommended to Lady Dashfort some of “that delicate sweetmeat, + the Irish plum.” + </p> + <p> + “Bless me, sir,—count!” cried Williamson, “it’s by far the best + thing of the kind I ever tasted in all my life: where could you get this?” + </p> + <p> + “In Dublin, at my dear Mrs. Godey’s; where <i>only</i>, in his majesty’s + dominions, it is to be had,” said the count. + </p> + <p> + The whole vanished in a few seconds. + </p> + <p> + “‘Pon honour! I do believe this is the thing the queen’s so fond of,” said + Heathcock. + </p> + <p> + Then heartily did he drink of the count’s excellent Hungarian wines; and, + by the common bond of sympathy between those who have no other tastes but + eating and drinking, the colonel, the major, and the captain, were now all + the best companions possible for one another. + </p> + <p> + Whilst “they prolonged the rich repast,” Lady Dashfort and Lord Colambre + went to the window to admire the prospect: Lady Dashfort asked the count + the name of some distant hill. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the count, “that hill was once covered with fine wood; but it + was all cut down two years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Who could have been so cruel?” said her ladyship. + </p> + <p> + “I forget the present proprietor’s name,” said the count; “but he is one + of those who, according to <i>the clause of distress</i> in their leases, + <i>lead, drive, and carry away</i>, but never <i>enter</i> their lands; + one of those enemies to Ireland—those cruel absentees!” + </p> + <p> + Lady Dashfort looked through her glass at the mountain:—Lord + Colambre sighed, and, endeavouring to pass it off with a smile, said + frankly to the count, “You are not aware, I am sure, count, that you are + speaking to the son of an Irish absentee family. Nay, do not be shocked, + my dear sir; I tell you only because I thought it fair to do so: but let + me assure you, that nothing you could say on that subject could hurt me + personally, because I feel that I am not, that I never can be, an enemy to + Ireland. An absentee, voluntarily, I never yet have been; and as to the + future, I declare—” + </p> + <p> + “I declare you know nothing of the future,” interrupted Lady Dashfort, in + a half peremptory, half playful tone—“you know nothing: make no rash + vows, and you will break none.” + </p> + <p> + The undaunted assurance of Lady Dashfort’s genius for intrigue gave her an + air of frank imprudence, which prevented Lord Colambre from suspecting + that more was meant than met the ear. The count and he took leave of one + another with mutual regard; and Lady Dashfort rejoiced to have got our + hero out of Halloran Castle. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. + </h2> + <p> + Lord Colambre had waited with great impatience for an answer to the letter + of inquiry which he had written about Miss Nugent’s mother. A letter from + Lady Clonbrony arrived: he opened it with the greatest eagerness—passed + over “Rheumatism—warm weather—warm bath—Buxton balls—Miss + Broadhurst—your <i>friend</i>, Sir Arthur Berryl, very assiduous!” + The name of Grace Nugent he found at last, and read as follows:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Her mother’s maiden name was <i>St. Omar</i>; and there was a <i>faux + pas</i>, certainly. She was, I am told, (for it was before my time,) + educated at a convent abroad; and there was an affair with a + Captain Reynolds, a young officer, which her friends were obliged + to hush up. She brought an infant to England with her, and took + the name of Reynolds—but none of that family would acknowledge + her: and she lived in great obscurity, till your Uncle Nugent saw, + fell in love with her, and (knowing her whole history) married + her. He adopted the child, gave her his name, and, after some + years, the whole story was forgotten. Nothing could be more + disadvantageous to Grace than to have it revived: this is the + reason we kept it secret.” + </pre> + <p> + Lord Colambre tore the letter to bits. + </p> + <p> + From the perturbation which Lady Dashfort saw in his countenance, she + guessed the nature of the letter which he had been reading, and for the + arrival of which he had been so impatient. + </p> + <p> + “It has worked!” said she to herself. “<i>Pour le coup Philippe je te + tiens</i>!” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre appeared this day more sensible than he had ever yet seemed + to the charms of the fair Isabel. + </p> + <p> + “Many a tennis-ball, and many a heart, is caught at the rebound,” said + Lady Dashfort. “Isabel! now is your time!” + </p> + <p> + And so it was—or so, perhaps, it would have been, but for a + circumstance which her ladyship, with all her genius for intrigue, had + never taken into her consideration. Count O’Halloran came to return the + visit which had been paid to him; and, in the course of conversation, he + spoke of the officers who had been introduced to him, and told Lady + Dashfort that he had heard a report which shocked him much—he hoped + it could not be true—that one of these officers had introduced his + mistress as his wife to Lady Oranmore, who lived in the neighbourhood. + This officer, it was said, had let Lady Oranmore send her carriage for + this woman; and that she had dined at Oranmore with her ladyship and her + daughters. “But I cannot believe it! I cannot believe it to be possible, + that any gentleman, that any <i>officer</i> could do such a thing!” said + the count. + </p> + <p> + “And is this all?” exclaimed Lady Dashfort. “Is this all the terrible + affair, my good count, which has brought your face to this prodigious + length?” + </p> + <p> + The count looked at Lady Dashfort with astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Such a look of virtuous indignation,” continued she, “did I never behold + on or off the stage. Forgive me for laughing, count; but, believe me, + comedy goes through the world better than tragedy, and, take it all in + all, does rather less mischief. As to the thing in question, I know + nothing about it; I dare say it is not true: but, now, suppose it were—it + is only a silly <i>quiz</i> of a raw young officer upon a prudish old + dowager. I know nothing about it, for my part: but, after all, what + irreparable mischief has been done? Laugh at the thing, and then it is a + jest—a bad one, perhaps, but still only a jest—and there’s an + end of it: but take it seriously, and there is no knowing where it might + end—in this poor man’s being broke, and in half a dozen duels, may + be.” + </p> + <p> + “Of that, madam,” said the count, “Lady Oranmore’s prudence and presence + of mind have prevented all danger. Her ladyship <i>would</i> not + understand the insult. She said, or she acted as if she said, ‘<i>Je ne + veux rien voir, rien écouter, rien savoir.</i>’ Lady Oranmore is one of + the most respectable—” + </p> + <p> + “Count, I beg your pardon!” interrupted Lady Dashfort; “but I must tell + you, that your favourite, Lady Oranmore, has behaved very ill to me; + purposely omitted to invite Isabel to her ball; offended and insulted me:—her + praises, therefore, cannot be the most agreeable subject of conversation + you can choose for my amusement; and as to the rest, you, who have such + variety and so much politeness, will, I am sure, have the goodness to + indulge my caprice in this instance.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall obey your ladyship, and be silent, whatever pleasure it might + give me to speak on that subject,” said the count; “and I trust Lady + Dashfort will reward me by the assurance, that, however playfully she may + have just now spoken, she seriously disapproves, and is shocked.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, shocked! shocked to death! if that will satisfy you, my dear count.” + </p> + <p> + The count, obviously, was not satisfied: he had civil, as well as military + courage, and his sense of right and wrong could stand against the raillery + and ridicule of a fine lady. + </p> + <p> + The conversation ended: Lady Dashfort thought it would have no farther + consequences; and she did not regret the loss of a man like Count + O’Halloran, who lived retired in his castle, and who could not have any + influence upon the opinion of the fashionable world. However, upon turning + from the count to Lord Colambre, who she thought had been occupied with + Lady Isabel, and to whom she imagined all this dispute was uninteresting, + she perceived, by his countenance, that she had made a great mistake. + Still she trusted that her power over Lord Colambre was sufficient easily + to efface whatever unfavourable impression this conversation had made upon + his mind. He had no personal interest in the affair; and she had generally + found that people are easily satisfied about any wrong or insult, public + or private, in which they have no immediate concern. But all the charms of + her conversation were now tried in vain to reclaim him from the reverie + into which he had fallen. + </p> + <p> + His friend Sir James Brooke’s parting advice occurred to our hero: his + eyes began to open to Lady Dashfort’s character; and he was, from this + moment, freed from her power. Lady Isabel, however, had taken no part in + all this—she was blameless; and, independently of her mother, and in + pretended opposition of sentiment, she might have continued to retain the + influence she had gained over Lord Colambre, but that a slight accident + revealed to him <i>her</i> real disposition. + </p> + <p> + It happened, on the evening of this day, that Lady Isabel came into the + library with one of the young ladies of the house, talking very eagerly, + without perceiving Lord Colambre, who was sitting in one of the recesses + reading. + </p> + <p> + “My dear creature, you are quite mistaken,” said Lady Isabel, “he was + never a favourite of mine; I always detested him; I only flirted with him + to plague his wife. Oh, that wife! my dear Elizabeth, I do hate,” cried + she, clasping her hands, and expressing hatred with all her soul, and with + all her strength. “I detest that Lady de Cressy to such a degree, that, to + purchase the pleasure of making her feel the pangs of jealousy for one + hour, look, I would this moment lay down this finger and let it be cut + off.” + </p> + <p> + The face, the whole figure of Lady Isabel, at this moment, appeared to + Lord Colambre suddenly metamorphosed; instead of the soft, gentle, amiable + female, all sweet charity and tender sympathy, formed to love and to be + loved, he beheld one possessed and convulsed by an evil spirit—her + beauty, if beauty it could be called, the beauty of a fiend. Some + ejaculation, which he unconsciously uttered, made Lady Isabel start. She + saw him—saw the expression of his countenance, and knew that all was + over. + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre, to the utter astonishment and disappointment of Lady + Dashfort, and to the still greater mortification of Lady Isabel, announced + this night that it was necessary he should immediately pursue his tour in + Ireland. We pass over all the castles in the air which the young ladies of + the family had built, and which now fell to the ground. We pass all the + civil speeches of Lord and Lady Killpatrick; all the vehement + remonstrances of Lady Dashfort; and the vain sighs of Lady Isabel. To the + last moment Lady Dashfort said, “He will not go.” + </p> + <p> + But he went; and, when he was gone, Lady Dashfort exclaimed, “That man has + escaped from me.” After a pause, turning to her daughter, she, in the most + taunting and contemptuous terms, reproached her as the cause of this + failure, concluding by a declaration, that she must in future manage her + own affairs, and had best settle her mind to marry Heathcock, since every + one else was too wise to think of her. + </p> + <p> + Lady Isabel of course retorted. But we leave this amiable mother and + daughter to recriminate in appropriate terms, and we follow our hero, + rejoiced that he has been disentangled from their snares. Those who have + never been in similar peril will wonder much that he did not escape + sooner; those who have ever been in like danger will wonder more that he + escaped at all. They who are best acquainted with the heart or imagination + of man will be most ready to acknowledge that the combined charms of wit, + beauty, and flattery, may, for a time, suspend the action of right reason + in the mind of the greatest philosopher, or operate against the + resolutions of the greatest of heroes. + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre pursued his way to Halloran Castle, desirous, before he + quitted this part of the country, to take leave of the count, who had + shown him much civility, and for whose honourable conduct and generous + character he had conceived a high esteem, which no little peculiarities of + antiquated dress or manner could diminish. Indeed, the old-fashioned + politeness of what was formerly called a well-bred gentleman pleased him + better than the indolent or insolent selfishness of modern men of the ton. + Perhaps, notwithstanding our hero’s determination to turn his mind from + every thing connected with the idea of Miss Nugent, some latent curiosity + about the burial-place of the Nugents might have operated to make him call + upon the count. In this hope he was disappointed; for a cross miller, to + whom the abbey-ground was let, on which the burial-place was found, had + taken it into his head to refuse admittance, and none could enter his + ground. + </p> + <p> + Count O’Halloran was much pleased by Lord Colambre’s visit. The very day + of his arrival at Halloran Castle, the count was going to Oranmore; he was + dressed, and his carriage was waiting: therefore Lord Colambre begged that + he might not detain him, and the count requested his lordship to accompany + him. + </p> + <p> + “Let me have the honour of introducing you, my lord, to a family, with + whom, I am persuaded, you will he pleased; by whom you will be + appreciated; and at whose house you will have an opportunity of seeing the + best manner of living of the Irish nobility.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre accepted the invitation, and was introduced at Oranmore. The + dignified appearance and respectable character of Lady Oranmore; the + charming unaffected manners of her daughters; the air of domestic + happiness and comfort in her family; the becoming magnificence, free from + ostentation, in her whole establishment; the respect and affection with + which she was treated by all who approached her, delighted and touched + Lord Colambre; the more, perhaps, because he had heard this family so + unjustly abused; and because he saw Lady Oranmore and her daughter in + immediate contrast with Lady Dashfort and Lady Isabel. + </p> + <p> + A little circumstance which occurred during this visit, increased his + interest for the family. When Lady de Cressy’s little boys came in after + dinner, one of them was playing with a seal, which had just been torn from + a letter. The child showed it to Lord Colambre, and asked him to read the + motto. The motto was, “Deeds, not words.” His friend Sir James Brooke’s + motto, and his arms. Lord Colambre eagerly inquired if this family was + acquainted with Sir James, and he soon perceived that they were not only + acquainted with him, but that they were particularly interested about him. + </p> + <p> + Lady Oranmore’s second daughter, Lady Harriet, appeared particularly + pleased by the manner in which Lord Colambre spoke of Sir James. And the + child, who had now established himself on his lordship’s knee, turned + round, and whispered in his ear, “‘Twas aunt Harriet gave me the seal; Sir + James is to be married to aunt Harriet, and then he will be my uncle.” + </p> + <p> + Some of the principal gentry of this part of the country happened to dine + at Oranmore on one of the days Lord Colambre was there. He was surprised + at the discovery, that there were so many agreeable, well-informed, and + well-bred people, of whom, while he was at Killpatrick’s-town, he had seen + nothing. He now discerned how far he had been deceived by Lady Dashfort. + </p> + <p> + Both the count, and Lord and Lady Oranmore, who were warmly attached to + their country, exhorted him to make himself amends for the time he had + lost, by seeing with his own eyes, and judging with his own understanding, + of the country and its inhabitants, during the remainder of the time he + was to stay in Ireland. The higher classes, in most countries, they + observed, were generally similar; but, in the lower class, he would find + many characteristic differences. + </p> + <p> + When he first came to Ireland, he had been very eager to go and see his + father’s estate, and to judge of the conduct of his agents, and the + condition of his tenantry; but this eagerness had subsided, and the design + had almost faded from his mind, whilst under the influence of Lady + Dashfort’s misrepresentations. A mistake, relative to some remittance from + his banker in Dublin, obliged him to delay his journey a few days, and + during that time, Lord and Lady Oranmore showed him the neat cottages, and + well-attended schools, in their neighbourhood. They showed him not only + what could be done, but what had been done, by the influence of great + proprietors residing on their own estates, and encouraging the people by + judicious kindness. + </p> + <p> + He saw,—he acknowledged the truth of this; but it did not come home + to his feelings now as it would have done a little while ago. His views + and plans were altered: he had looked forward to the idea of marrying and + settling in Ireland, and then every thing in the country was interesting + to him; but since he had forbidden himself to think of a union with Miss + Nugent, his mind had lost its object and its spring; he was not + sufficiently calm to think of the public good; his thoughts were absorbed + by his private concerns. He knew and repeated to himself, that he ought to + visit his own and his father’s estates, and to see the condition of his + tenantry; he desired to fulfil his duties, but they ceased to appear to + him easy and pleasurable, for hope and love no longer brightened his + prospects. + </p> + <p> + That he might see and hear more than he could as heir-apparent to the + estate, he sent his servant to Dublin to wait for him there. He travelled + <i>incognito</i>, wrapped himself in a shabby great-coat, and took the + name of Evans. He arrived at a village, or, as it was called, a town, + which bore the name of Colambre. He was agreeably surprised by the air of + neatness and finish in the houses and in the street, which had a nicely + swept paved footway. He slept at a small but excellent inn,—excellent, + perhaps, because it was small, and proportioned to the situation and + business of the place. Good supper, good bed, good attendance; nothing out + of repair; no things pressed into services for which they were never + intended by nature or art. No chambermaid slipshod, or waiter smelling of + whiskey; but all tight and right, and every body doing their own business, + and doing it as if it were their every day occupation, not as if it were + done by particular desire, for the first or last time this season. The + landlord came in at supper to inquire whether any thing was wanted. Lord + Colambre took this opportunity of entering into conversation with him, and + asked him to whom the town belonged, and who were the proprietors of the + neighbouring estates. + </p> + <p> + “The town belongs to an absentee lord—one Lord Clonbrony, who lives + always beyond the seas, in London; and who had never seen the town since + it was a town, to call a town.” + </p> + <p> + “And does the land in the neighbourhood belong to this Lord Clonbrony?” + </p> + <p> + “It does, sir; he’s a great proprietor, but knows nothing of his property, + nor of us. Never set foot among us, to my knowledge, since I was as high + as the table. He might as well be a West India planter, and we negroes, + for any thing he knows to the contrary—has no more care, nor thought + about us, than if he were in Jamaica, or the other world. Shame for him! + But there’s too many to keep him in countenance.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre asked him what wine he could have; and then inquired who + managed the estate for this absentee. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Burke, sir. And I don’t know why God was so kind to give so good an + agent to an absentee like Lord Clonbrony, except it was for the sake of + us, who is under him, and knows the blessing, and is thankful for the + same.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good cutlets,” said Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “I am happy to hear it, sir. They have a right to be good, for Mrs. Burke + sent her own cook to teach my wife to dress cutlets.” + </p> + <p> + “So the agent is a good agent, is he?” + </p> + <p> + “He is, thanks be to Heaven! And that’s what few can boast, especially + when the landlord’s living over the seas: we have the luck to have got a + good agent over us, in Mr. Burke, who is a right bred gentleman; a snug + little property of his own, honestly made; with the good-will, and good + wishes, and respect of all.” + </p> + <p> + “Does he live in the neighbourhood?” + </p> + <p> + “Just <i>convanient</i>.<a href="#linknote-5" name="linknoteref-5" + id="linknoteref-5"><small>5</small></a> At the end of the town; in the + house on the hill as you passed, sir; to the left, with the trees about + it, all of his own planting, grown too; for there’s a blessing on all he + does, and he has done a deal.—There’s salad, sir, if you are <i>partial</i> + to it. Very fine lettuce. Mrs. Burke sent us the plants herself.” + </p> + <p> + “Excellent salad! So this Mr. Burke has done a great deal, has he? In what + way?” + </p> + <p> + “In every way, sir,—sure was not it he that had improved, and + fostered, and <i>made</i> the town of Colambre?—no thanks to the + proprietor, nor to the young man whose name it bears, neither!” + </p> + <p> + “Have you any porter, pray, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “We have, sir, as good, I hope, as you’d drink in London, for it’s the + same you get there, I understand, from Cork. And I have some of my own + brewing, which, they say, you could not tell the difference between it and + Cork quality—if you’d be pleased to try.—Harry, the + corkscrew.” + </p> + <p> + The porter of his own brewing was pronounced to be extremely good; and the + landlord observed it was Mr. Burke encouraged him to learn to brew, and + lent him his own brewer for a time to teach him. + </p> + <p> + “Your Mr. Burke, I find, is <i>apropos</i> to porter, <i>apropos</i> to + salad, <i>apropos</i> to cutlets, <i>apropos</i> to every thing,” said + Lord Colambre, smiling: “he seems to be a very uncommon agent I suppose + you are a great favourite of his, and you do what you please with him.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, sir, I could not say that; Mr. Burke does not have favourites any + way; but, according to my deserts, I trust I stand well enough with him; + for, in truth, he is a right good agent.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre still pressed for particulars; he was an Englishman, and a + stranger, he said, and did not exactly know what was meant in Ireland by a + good agent. + </p> + <p> + “Why, he is the man that will encourage the improving tenant; and show no + favour or affection, but justice, which comes even to all, and does best + for all at the long run; and, residing always in the country, like Mr. + Burke, and understanding country business, and going about continually + among the tenantry, he knows when to press for the rent, and when to leave + the money to lay out upon the land; and, according as they would want it, + can give a tenant a help or a check properly. Then no duty work called + for, no presents, nor <i>glove money</i>, nor <i>sealing money</i> even, + taken or offered; no underhand hints about proposals, when land would be + out of lease; but a considerable preference, if desarved, to the old + tenant, and if not, a fair advertisement, and the best offer and tenant + accepted: no screwing of the land to the highest penny, just to please the + head landlord for the minute, and ruin him at the end, by the tenant’s + racking the land, and running off with the year’s rent; nor no bargains to + his own relations or friends did Mr. Burke ever give or grant, but all + fair between landlord and tenant; and that’s the thing that will last; and + that’s what I call the good agent.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre poured out a glass of wine, and begged the innkeeper to + drink the good agent’s health, in which he was heartily pledged. “I thank + your honour:—Mr. Burke’s health! and long may he live over and + amongst us; he saved me from drink and ruin, when I was once inclined to + it, and made a man of me and all my family.” + </p> + <p> + The particulars we cannot stay to detail; this grateful man, however, took + pleasure in sounding the praises of his benefactor, and in raising him in + the opinion of the traveller. + </p> + <p> + “As you’ve time, and are curious about such things, sir, perhaps you’d + walk up to the school that Mrs. Burke has for the poor children; and look + at the market house, and see how clean he takes a pride to keep the town: + and any house in the town, from the priest to the parson’s, that you’d go + into, will give you the same character as I do of Mr. Burke; from the + brogue to the boot, all speak the same of him, and can say no other. God + for ever bless and keep him over us!” + </p> + <p> + Upon making further inquiries, every thing the innkeeper had said was + confirmed by different inhabitants of the village. Lord Colambre conversed + with the shopkeepers, with the cottagers; and, without making any alarming + inquiries, he obtained all the information he wanted. He went to the + village-school—a pretty, cheerful house, with a neat garden and a + play-green; met Mrs. Burke; introduced himself to her as a traveller. The + school was shown to him: it was just what it ought to be—neither too + much nor too little had been attempted; there was neither too much + interference nor too little attention. Nothing for exhibition; care to + teach well, without any vain attempt to teach in a wonderfully short time. + All that experience proves to be useful, in both Dr. Bell’s and Mr. + Lancaster’s modes of teaching, Mrs. Burke had adopted; leaving it to + “graceless zealots” to fight about the rest. That no attempts at + proselytism had been made, and that no illiberal distinctions had been + made in his school, Lord Colambre was convinced, in the best manner + possible, by seeing the children of protestants and catholics sitting on + the same benches, learning from the same books, and speaking to one + another with the same cordial familiarity. Mrs. Burke was an unaffected, + sensible woman, free from all party prejudices, and without ostentation, + desirous and capable of doing good. Lord Colambre was much pleased with + her, and very glad that she invited him to tea. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Burke did not come in till late; for he had been detained portioning + out some meadows, which were of great consequence to the inhabitants of + the town. He brought home to tea with him the clergyman and the priest of + the parish, both of whom he had taken successful pains to accommodate with + the land which suited their respective convenience. The good terms on + which they seemed to be with each other, and with him, appeared to Lord + Colambre to do honour to Mr. Burke. All the favourable accounts his + lordship had received of this gentleman were confirmed by what he saw and + heard. After the clergyman and priest had taken leave, upon Lord + Colambre’s expressing some surprise, mixed with satisfaction, at seeing + the harmony which subsisted between them, Mr. Burke assured him that this + was the same in many parts of Ireland. He observed, that “as the suspicion + of ill-will never fails to produce it,” so he had often found, that taking + it for granted that no ill-will exists, has the most conciliating effect. + He said, to please opposite parties, he used no arts; but he tried to make + all his neighbours live comfortably together, by making them acquainted + with each other’s good qualities; by giving them opportunities of meeting + sociably, and, from time to time, of doing each other little services and + good offices. Fortunately, he had so much to do, he said, that he had no + time for controversy. He was a plain man, made it a rule not to meddle + with speculative points, and to avoid all irritating discussions: he was + not to rule the country, but to live in it, and make others live as + happily as he could. + </p> + <p> + Having nothing to conceal in his character, opinions, or circumstances, + Mr. Burke was perfectly open and unreserved in his manner and + conversation; freely answered all the traveller’s inquiries, and took + pains to show him every thing he desired to see. Lord Colambre said he had + thoughts of settling in Ireland; and declared, with truth, that he had not + seen any part of the country he should like better to live in than this + neighbourhood. He went over most of the estate with Mr. Burke, and had + ample opportunities of convincing himself that this gentleman was indeed, + as the innkeeper had described him, “a right good gentleman, and a right + good agent.” + </p> + <p> + He paid Mr. Burke some just compliments on the state of the tenantry, and + the neat and flourishing appearance of the town of Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “What pleasure it will give the proprietor when he sees all you have + done!” said Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, sir, don’t speak of it!—that breaks my heart; he never has + shown the least interest in any thing I have done: he is quite + dissatisfied with me, because I have not ruined his tenantry, by forcing + them to pay more than the land is worth; because I have not squeezed money + from them, by fining down rents; and—but all this, as an Englishman, + sir, must be unintelligible to you. The end of the matter is, that, + attached as I am to this place and the people about me, and, as I hope, + the tenantry are to me,—I fear I shall he obliged to give up the + agency. + </p> + <p> + “Give up the agency! How so? you must not,” cried Lord Colambre, and, for + the moment, he forgot himself; but Mr. Burke took this only for an + expression of good-will. + </p> + <p> + “I must, I am afraid,” continued he. “My employer, Lord Clonbrony, is + displeased with me—continual calls for money come upon me from + England, and complaints of my slow remittances.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps Lord Clonbrony is in embarrassed circumstances,” said Lord + Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “I never speak of my employer’s affairs, sir,” replied Mr. Burke; now for + the first time assuming an air of reserve. + </p> + <p> + “I beg pardon, sir—I seem to have asked an indiscreet question.” Mr. + Burke was silent. + </p> + <p> + “Lest my reserve should give you a false impression, I will add, sir,” + resumed Mr. Burke, “that I really am not acquainted with the state of his + lordship’s affairs in general. I know only what belongs to the estate + under my own management. The principal part of his lordship’s property, + the Clonbrony estate, is under another agent, Mr. Garraghty.” + </p> + <p> + “Garraghty!” repeated Lord Colambre; “what sort of a person is he? But I + may take it for granted, that it cannot fall to the lot of one and the + same absentee to have two such agents as Mr. Burke.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Burke bowed, and seemed pleased with the compliment, which he knew he + deserved—but not a word did he say of Mr. Garraghty; and Lord + Colambre, afraid of betraying himself by some other indiscreet question, + changed the conversation. + </p> + <p> + The next night the post brought a letter to Mr. Burke, from Lord + Clonbrony, which he gave to his wife as soon as he had read it, saying, + “See the reward of all my services!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Burke glanced her eye over the letter, and being extremely fond of + her husband, and sensible of his deserving far different treatment, burst + into indignant exclamations—“See the reward of all your services, + indeed!—What an unreasonable, ungrateful man!—So, this is the + thanks for all you have done for Lord Clonbrony!” + </p> + <p> + “He does not know what I have done, my dear. He never has seen what I have + done.” + </p> + <p> + “More shame for him!” + </p> + <p> + “He never, I suppose, looks over his accounts, or understands them.” + </p> + <p> + “More shame for him!” + </p> + <p> + “He listens to foolish reports, or misrepresentations, perhaps. He is at a + distance, and cannot find out the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “More shame for him!” + </p> + <p> + “Take it quietly, my dear; we have the comfort of a good conscience. The + agency may be taken from me by this lord; but the sense of having done my + duty, no lord or man upon earth can give or take away.” + </p> + <p> + “Such a letter!” said Mrs. Burke, taking it up again. “Not even the + civility to write with his own hand!—only his signature to the + scrawl—looks as if it was written by a drunken man, does not it, Mr. + Evans?” said she, showing the letter to Lord Colambre, who immediately + recognized the writing of Sir Terence O’Fay. + </p> + <p> + “It does not look like the hand of a gentleman, indeed,” said Lord + Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “It has Lord Clonbrony’s own signature, let it be what it will,” said Mr. + Burke, looking closely at it; “Lord Clonbrony’s own writing the signature + is, I am clear of that.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Clonbrony’s son was clear of it, also; but he took care not to give + any opinion on that point. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, pray read it, sir, read it,” said Mrs. Burke; “read it, pray; a + gentleman may write a bad hand, but no <i>gentleman</i> could write such a + letter as that to Mr. Burke—pray read it, sir; you who have seen + something of what he has done for the town of Colambre, and what he has + made of the tenantry and the estate of Lord Clonbrony.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre read, and was convinced that his father had never written or + read the letter, but had signed it, trusting to Sir Terence O’Fay’s having + expressed his sentiments properly. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “SIR, + + “As I have no farther occasion for your services, you will take + notice, that I hereby request you will forthwith hand over, on or + before the 1st of November next, your accounts, with the balance + due of the <i>hanging-gale</i> (which, I understand, is more than ought + to be at this season) to Nicholas Garraghty, Esq., College-green, + Dublin, who, in future, will act as agent, and shall get, by post, + immediately, a power of attorney for the same, entitling him to + receive and manage the Colambre, as well as the Clonbrony estate, + for, + + “Sir, your obedient humble servant, + + “CLONBRONY. + + “<i>Grosvenor-square</i>.” + </pre> + <p> + Though misrepresentation, caprice, or interest, might have induced Lord + Clonbrony to desire to change his agent, yet Lord Colambre knew that his + father never could have announced his wishes in such a style; and, as he + returned the letter to Mrs. Burke, he repeated, he was convinced that it + was impossible that any nobleman could have written such a letter; that it + must have been written by some inferior person; and that his lordship had + signed it without reading it. + </p> + <p> + “My dear, I’m sorry you showed that letter to Mr. Evans,” said Mr. Burke; + “I don’t like to expose Lord Clonbrony; he is a well-meaning gentleman, + misled by ignorant or designing people; at all events, it is not for us to + expose him.” + </p> + <p> + “He has exposed himself,” said Mrs. Burke; “and the world should know it.” + </p> + <p> + “He was very kind to me when I was a young man,” said Mr. Burke; “we must + not forget that now, because we are angry, my love.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, no, my love, to be sure we should not; but who could have + recollected it just at this minute but yourself? And now, sir,” turning to + Lord Colambre, “you see what kind of a man this is: now is it not + difficult for me to bear patiently to see him ill-treated?” + </p> + <p> + “Not only difficult, but impossible, I should think, madam,” said Lord + Colambre; “I know even I, who am a stranger, cannot help feeling for both + of you, as you must see I do.” + </p> + <p> + “But half the world, who don’t know him,” continued Mrs. Burke, “when they + hear that Lord Clonbrony’s agency is taken from him, will think perhaps + that he is to blame.” + </p> + <p> + “No, madam,” said Lord Colambre, “that you need not fear; Mr. Burke may + safely trust to his character: from what I have within these two days seen + and heard, I am convinced that such is the respect he has deserved and + acquired, that no blame can touch him.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir, I thank you,” said Mrs. Burke, the tears coming into her eyes: “you + can judge—you do him justice; but there are so many who don’t know + him, and who will decide without knowing any of the facts.” + </p> + <p> + “That, my dear, happens about every thing to every body,” said Mr. Burke; + “but we must have patience; time sets all judgments right, sooner or + later.” + </p> + <p> + “But the sooner the better,” said Mrs. Burke. “Mr. Evans, I hope you will + be so kind, if ever you hear this business talked of—” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Evans lives in Wales, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + “But he is travelling through Ireland, my dear, and he said he should + return to Dublin, and, you know, there he certainly will hear it talked + of; and I hope he will do me the favour to state what he has seen and + knows to be the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “Be assured that I will do Mr. Burke justice—as far as it is in my + power,” said Lord Colambre, restraining himself much, that he might not + say more than became his assumed character. He took leave of this worthy + family that night, and, early the next morning, departed. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” thought he, as he drove away from this well-regulated and + flourishing place, “how happy I might be, settled here with such a wife as—her + of whom I must think no more.” + </p> + <p> + He pursued his way to Clonbrony, his father’s other estate, which was at a + considerable distance from Colambre: he was resolved to know what kind of + agent Mr. Nicholas Garraghty might be, who was to supersede Mr. Burke, + and, by power of attorney, to be immediately entitled to receive and + manage the Colambre as well as the Clonbrony estate. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. + </h2> + <p> + Towards the evening of the second day’s journey, the driver of Lord + Colambre’s hackney chaise stopped, and jumping off the wooden bar, on + which he had been seated, exclaimed, “We’re come to the bad step, now. The + bad road’s beginning upon us, please your honour.” + </p> + <p> + “Bad road! that is very uncommon in this country. I never saw such fine + roads as you have in Ireland.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s true; and God bless your honour, that’s sensible of that same, for + it’s not what all the foreign quality I drive have the manners to notice. + God bless your honour! I heard you’re a Welshman, but whether or no, I am + sure you are a jantleman, any way, Welsh or other.” + </p> + <p> + Notwithstanding the shabby great coat, the shrewd postilion perceived, by + our hero’s language, that he was a gentleman. After much dragging at the + horses’ heads, and pushing and lifting, the carriage was got over what the + postilion said was the worst part of the <i>bad step</i>; but as the road + “was not yet to say good,” he continued walking beside the carriage. + </p> + <p> + “It’s only bad just hereabouts, and that by accident,” said he, “on + account of there being no jantleman resident in it, nor near; but only a + bit of an under-agent, a great little rogue, who gets his own turn out of + the roads, and every thing else in life. I, Larry Brady, that am telling + your honour, have a good right to know; for myself, and my father, and my + brother, Pat Brady, the wheelwright, had once a farm under him; but was + ruined, horse and foot, all along with him, and cast out, and my brother + forced to fly the country, and is now working in some coachmaker’s yard, + in London; banished he is!—and here am I, forced to be what I am—and + now that I’m reduced to drive a hack, the agent’s a curse to me still, + with these bad roads, killing my horses and wheels—and a shame to + the country, which I think more of—Bad luck to him!” + </p> + <p> + “I know your brother; he lives with Mr. Mordicai, in Long-Acre, in + London.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, God bless you for that!” + </p> + <p> + They came at this time within view of a range of about four-and-twenty men + and boys, sitting astride on four-and-twenty heaps of broken stones, on + each side of the road; they were all armed with hammers, with which they + began to pound with great diligence and noise as soon as they saw the + carriage. The chaise passed between these batteries, the stones flying on + all sides. + </p> + <p> + “How are you, Jem?—How are you Phil?” said Larry. “But hold your + hand, can’t ye, while I stop and get the stones out of the horses’ <i>feet</i>. + So you’re making up the rent, are you, for St. Dennis?” + </p> + <p> + “Whoosh!” said one of the pounders, coming close to the postilion, and + pointing his thumb back towards the chaise. “Who have you in it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you need not scruple, he’s a very honest man;—he’s only a man + from North Wales, one Mr. Evans, an innocent jantleman, that’s sent over + to travel up and down the country, to find is there any copper mines in + it.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know, Larry?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I know very well, from one that was tould, and I <i>seen</i> him + tax the man of the King’s Head with a copper half-crown at first sight, + which was only lead to look at, you’d think, to them that was not skilful + in copper. So lend me a knife, till I cut a linchpin out of the hedge, for + this one won’t go far.” + </p> + <p> + Whilst Larry was making the linchpin, all scruple being removed, his + question about St. Dennis and the rent was answered. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, it’s the rint, sure enough, we’re pounding out for him; for he sent + the driver round last night-was-eight days, to warn us Old Nick would be + down a’-Monday, to take a sweep among us; and there’s only six clear days, + Saturday night, before the assizes, sure: so we must see and get it + finished any way, to clear the presentment again’ the swearing day, for he + and Paddy Hart was the overseers themselves, and Paddy is to swear to it.” + </p> + <p> + “St. Dennis, is it? Then you’ve one great comfort and security—that + he won’t be <i>particular</i> about the swearing; for since ever he had + his head on his shoulders, an oath never stuck in St. Dennis’s throat, + more than in his own brother, Old Nick’s.” + </p> + <p> + “His head upon his shoulders!” repeated Lord Colambre. “Pray, did you ever + hear that St. Dennis’s head was off his shoulders?” + </p> + <p> + “It never was, plase your honour, to my knowledge.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you never, among your saints, hear of St. Dennis carrying his head in + his hand?” said Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “The <i>rael</i> saint!” said the postilion, suddenly changing his tone, + and looking shocked. “Oh, don’t be talking that way of the saints, plase + your honour.” + </p> + <p> + “Then of what St. Dennis were you talking just now?—Whom do you mean + by St. Dennis, and whom do you call Old Nick?” + </p> + <p> + “Old Nick,” answered the postilion, coming close to the side of the + carriage, and whispering,—“Old Nick, plase your honour, is our + nickname for one Nicholas Garraghty, Esq., of College-green, Dublin, and + St. Dennis is his brother Dennis, who is Old Nick’s brother in all things, + and would fain be a saint, only he’s a sinner. He lives just by here, in + the country, under-agent to Lord Clonbrony, as Old Nick is upper-agent—it’s + only a joke among the people, that are not fond of them at all. Lord + Clonbrony himself is a very good jantleman, if he was not an absentee, + resident in London, leaving us and every thing to the likes of them.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre listened with all possible composure and attention; but the + postilion, having now made his linchpin of wood, and <i>fixed himself</i>, + he mounted his bar, and drove on, saying to Lord Colambre, as he looked at + the road-makers, “Poor <i>cratures</i>! They couldn’t keep their cattle + out of pound, or themselves out of jail, but by making this road.” + </p> + <p> + “Is road-making, then, a very profitable business!—Have road-makers + higher wages than other men in this part of the country?” + </p> + <p> + “It is, and it is not—they have, and they have not—plase your + honour.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand you.” + </p> + <p> + “No, beca-ase you’re an Englishman—that is, a Welshman—beg + your honour’s pardon. But I’ll tell you how that is, and I’ll go slow over + these broken stones—for I can’t go fast: it is where there’s no + jantleman over these under-agents, as here, they do as they plase; and + when they have set the land they get rasonable from the head landlords, to + poor cratures at a rackrent, that they can’t live and pay the rent, they + say—” + </p> + <p> + “Who says?” + </p> + <p> + “Them under-agents, that have no conscience at all. Not all—but <i>some</i>, + like Dennis, says, says he, ‘I’ll get you a road to make up the rent:’ + that is, plase your honour, the agent gets them a presentment for so many + perches of road from the grand jury, at twice the price that would make + the road. And tenants are, by this means, as they take the road by + contract, at the price given by the county, able to pay all they get by + the job, over and above potatoes and salt, back again to the agent, for + the arrear on the land. Do I make your honour <i>sensible</i><a + href="#linknote-6" name="linknoteref-6" id="linknoteref-6"><small>6</small></a>?” + </p> + <p> + “You make me much more sensible than I ever was before,” said Lord + Colambre: “but is not this cheating the county?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, and suppose,” replied Larry, “is not it all for my good, and yours + too, plase your honour?” said Larry, looking very shrewdly. + </p> + <p> + “My good!” said Lord Colambre, startled. “What have I to do with it?” + </p> + <p> + “Haven’t you to do with the roads as well as me, when you’re travelling + upon them, plase your honour? And sure, they’d never be got made at all, + if they wern’t made this ways; and it’s the best way in the wide world, + and the finest roads we have. And when the <i>rael</i> jantleman’s + resident in the country, there’s no jobbing can be, because they’re then + the leading men on the grand jury; and these journeymen jantlemen are then + kept in order, and all’s right.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre was much surprised at Larry’s knowledge of the manner in + which county business is managed, as well as by his shrewd good sense: he + did not know that this is not uncommon in his rank of life in Ireland. + </p> + <p> + Whilst Larry was speaking, Lord Colambre was looking from side to side at + the desolation of the prospect. + </p> + <p> + “So this is Lord Clonbrony’s estate, is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, all you see, and as far and farther than you can see. My Lord + Clonbrony wrote, and ordered plantations here, time back; and enough was + paid to labourers for ditching and planting. And, what next?—Why, + what did the under-agent do, but let the goats in through gaps, left o’ + purpose, to bark the trees, and then the trees was all banished. And next, + the cattle was let in trespassing, and winked at, till the land was all + poached: and then the land was waste, and cried down: and Saint Dennis + wrote up to Dublin to Old Nick, and he over to the landlord, how none + would take it, or bid any thing at all for it: so then it fell to him a + cheap bargain. Oh, the tricks of them! who knows ‘em, if I don’t?” + Presently, Lord Colambre’s attention was roused again, by seeing a man + running, as if for his life, across a bog, near the roadside: he leaped + over the ditch, and was upon the road in an instant. He seemed startled at + first, at the sight of the carriage; but, looking at the postilion, Larry + nodded, and he smiled and said, “All’s safe!” “Pray, my good friend, may I + ask what that is you have on your shoulder?” said Lord Colambre. “<i>Plase</i> + your honour, it is only a private still, which I’ve just caught out yonder + in the bog; and I’m carrying it in with all speed to the gauger, to make a + discovery, that the jantleman may benefit by the reward: I expect he’ll + make me a compliment.” + </p> + <p> + “Get up behind, and I’ll give you a lift,” said the postilion. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you kindly—but better my legs!” said the man; and, turning + down a lane, off he ran again, as fast as possible. + </p> + <p> + “Expect he’ll make me a compliment,” repeated Lord Colambre, “to make a + discovery!” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, plase your honour; for the law is,” said Larry, “that, if an unlawful + still, that is, a still without licence for whiskey, is found, half the + benefit of the fine that’s put upon the parish goes to him that made the + discovery: that’s what that man is after; for he’s an informer.” + </p> + <p> + “I should not have thought, from what I see of you,” said Lord Colambre, + smiling, “that you, Larry, would have offered an informer a lift.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, plase your honour!” said Larry, smiling archly, “would not I give the + laws a lift, when in my power?” + </p> + <p> + Scarcely had he uttered these words, and scarcely was the informer out of + sight, when, across the same bog, and over the ditch, came another man, a + half kind of gentleman, with a red silk handkerchief about his neck, and a + silver-handled whip in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Did you see any man pass the road, friend?” said he to the postilion. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! who would I see? or why would I tell?” replied Larry in a sulky tone. + </p> + <p> + “Come, come, be smart!” said the man with the silver whip, offering to put + half-a-crown into the postilion’s hand; “point me which way he took.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll have none o’ your silver! don’t touch me with it!” said Larry. “But, + if you’ll take my advice, you’ll strike across back, and follow the + fields, out to Killogenesawce.” + </p> + <p> + The exciseman set out again immediately, in an opposite direction to that + which the man who carried the still had taken. Lord Colambre now perceived + that the pretended informer had been running off to conceal a still of his + own. + </p> + <p> + “The gauger, plase your honour,” said Larry, looking back at Lord + Colambre; “the gauger is a <i>still-hunting</i>!” + </p> + <p> + “And you put him on a wrong scent!” said Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “Sure, I told him no lie: I only said, ‘If you’ll take my advice.’ And why + was he such a fool as to take my advice, when I wouldn’t take his fee?” + </p> + <p> + “So this is the way, Larry, you give a lift to the laws!” + </p> + <p> + “If the laws would give a lift to me, plase your honour, may be I’d do as + much by them. But it’s only these revenue laws I mean; for I never, to my + knowledge, broke another commandment: but it’s what no honest poor man + among his neighbours would scruple to take—a glass of <i>potsheen</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “A glass of what, in the name of Heaven?” said Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Potsheen</i>, plase your honour;—beca-ase it’s the little + whiskey that’s made in the private still or pot; and <i>sheen</i>, because + it’s a fond word for whatsoever we’d like, and for what we have little of, + and would make much of: after taking the glass of it, no man could go and + inform to ruin the <i>cratures</i>; for they all shelter on that estate + under favour of them that go shares, and make rent of ‘em—but I’d + never inform again’ ‘em. And, after all, if the truth was known, and my + Lord Clonbrony should be informed against, and presented, for it’s his + neglect is the bottom of the nuisance—” + </p> + <p> + “I find all the blame is thrown upon this poor Lord Clonbrony,” said Lord + Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “Because he is absent,” said Larry: “it would not be so was he <i>prisint</i>. + But your honour was talking to me about the laws. Your honour’s a stranger + in this country, and astray about them things. Sure, why would I mind the + laws about whiskey, more than the quality, or the <i>jidge</i> on the + bench?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Why! was not I <i>prisint</i> in the court-house myself, when the <i>jidge</i> + was on the bench judging a still, and across the court came in one with a + sly jug of <i>potsheen</i> for the <i>jidge</i> himself, who <i>prefarred</i> + it, when the right thing, to claret; and when I <i>seen</i> that, by the + laws! a man might talk himself dumb to me after again’ potsheen, or in + favour of the revenue, or revenue officers. And there they may go on, with + their gaugers, and their surveyors, and their supervisors, and their + watching officers, and their coursing officers, setting ‘em one after + another, or one over the head of another, or what way they will—we + can baffle and laugh at ‘em. Didn’t I know, next door to our inn, last + year, ten <i>watching officers</i> set upon one distiller, and he was too + cunning for them; and it will always be so, while ever the people think it + no sin. No, till then, not all their dockets and permits signify a rush, + or a turf. And the gauging rod, even! who fears it? They may spare that + rod, for it will never mend the child.” + </p> + <p> + How much longer Larry’s dissertation on the distillery laws would have + continued, had not his ideas been interrupted, we cannot guess; but he saw + he was coming to a town, and he gathered up the reins, and plied the whip, + ambitious to make a figure in the eyes of its inhabitants. + </p> + <p> + This <i>town</i> consisted of one row of miserable huts, sunk beneath the + side of the road, the mud walls crooked in every direction; some of them + opening in wide cracks, or zigzag fissures, from top to bottom, as if + there had just been an earthquake—all the roofs sunk in various + places—thatch off, or overgrown with grass—no chimneys, the + smoke making its way through a hole in the roof, or rising in clouds from + the top of the open door—dunghills before the doors, and green + standing puddles—squalid children, with scarcely rags to cover them, + gazing at the carriage. + </p> + <p> + “Nugent’s town,” said the postilion, “once a snug place, when my Lady + Clonbrony was at home to white-wash it, and the like.” + </p> + <p> + As they drove by, some men and women put their heads through the smoke out + of the cabins; pale women, with long, black, or yellow locks—men + with countenances and figures bereft of hope and energy. + </p> + <p> + “Wretched, wretched people!” said Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “Then it’s not their fault, neither,” said Larry; “for my uncle’s one of + them, and as thriving and hard a working man as could be in all Ireland, + he was, <i>afore</i> he was tramped under foot, and his heart broke. I was + at his funeral, this time last year; and for it, may the agent’s own + heart, if he has any, burn in—” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre interrupted this denunciation by touching Larry’s shoulder, + and asking some question, which, as Larry did not distinctly comprehend, + he pulled up the reins, and the various noises of the vehicle stopped + suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “I did not hear well, plase your honour.” + </p> + <p> + “What are those people?” pointing to a man and woman, curious figures, who + had come out of a cabin, the door of which the woman, who came out last, + locked, and carefully hiding the key in the thatch, turned her back upon + the man, and they walked away in different directions: the woman bending + under a huge bundle on her back, covered by a yellow petticoat turned over + her shoulders; from the top of this bundle the head of an infant appeared; + a little boy, almost naked, followed her with a kettle, and two girls, one + of whom could but just walk, held her hand and clung to her ragged + petticoat; forming, all together, a complete group of beggars. The woman + stopped, and looked after the man. + </p> + <p> + The man was a Spanish-looking figure, with gray hair; a wallet hung at the + end of a stick over one shoulder, a reaping-hook in the other hand: he + walked off stoutly, without ever casting a look behind him. + </p> + <p> + “A kind harvest to you, John Dolan,” cried the postilion, “and success to + ye, Winny, with the quality. There’s a luck-penny for the child to begin + with,” added he, throwing the child a penny. “Your honour, they’re only + poor <i>cratures</i> going up the country to beg, while the man goes over + to reap the harvest in England. Nor this would not be, neither, if the + lord was in it to give ‘em <i>employ</i>. That man, now, was a good and + willing <i>slave</i> in his day: I mind him working with myself in the + shrubberies at Clonbrony Castle, when I was a boy—but I’ll not be + detaining your honour, now the road’s better.” + </p> + <p> + The postilion drove on at a good rate for some time, till he came to a + piece of the road freshly covered with broken stones, where he was obliged + again to go slowly. + </p> + <p> + They overtook a string of cars, on which were piled up high, beds, tables, + chairs, trunks, boxes, band-boxes. + </p> + <p> + “How are you, Finnucan? you’ve fine loading there—from Dublin, are + you?” + </p> + <p> + “From Bray.” + </p> + <p> + “And what news?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Great</i> news and bad for Old Nick, or some belonging to him, thanks + be to Heaven! for myself hates him.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s happened him?” + </p> + <p> + “His sister’s husband that’s failed, the great grocer that was, the man + that had the wife that <i>ow’d</i><a href="#linknote-7" + name="linknoteref-7" id="linknoteref-7"><small>7</small></a> the fine + house near Bray, that they got that time the parliament <i>flitted</i>, + and that I seen in her carriage flaming—well, it’s all out; they’re + all <i>done up</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Tut! is that all? then they’ll thrive, and set up again grander than + ever, I’ll engage: have not they Old Nick for an attorney at their back? a + good warrant?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, trust him for that! he won’t go <i>security</i>, nor pay a farthing, + for his <i>shister</i>, nor wouldn’t, was she his father; I heard him + telling her so, which I could not have done in his place, at that time, + and she crying as if her heart would break, and I standing by in the + parlour.” + </p> + <p> + “The <i>neger</i><a href="#linknote-8" name="linknoteref-8" + id="linknoteref-8"><small>8</small></a>! And did he speak that way, and + you by?” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, did he; and said, ‘Mrs. Raffarty,’ says he, ‘it’s all your own fault; + you’re an extravagant fool, and ever was, and I wash my hands of you.’ + that was the word he spoke; and she answered, and said, ‘And mayn’t I send + the beds and blankets?’ said she, ‘and what I can, by the cars, out of the + way of the creditors, to Clonbrony Castle? and won’t you let me hide + there, from the shame, till the bustle’s over?’ ‘You may do that,’ says + he, ‘for what I care; but remember,’ says he, ‘that I’ve the first claim + to them goods;’ and that’s all he would grant. So they are coming down all + o’ Monday—them are the band-boxes, and all—to settle it; and + faith it was a pity of her! to hear her sobbing, and to see her own + brother speak and look so hard! and she a lady.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure, she’s not a lady born, no more than himself,” said Larry; “but + that’s no excuse for him. His heart’s as hard as that stone,” said Larry; + “and my own people knew that long ago, and now his own know it: and what + right have we to complain, since he’s as bad to his own flesh and blood as + to us?” + </p> + <p> + With this consolation, and with a “God speed you,” given to the carman, + Larry was driving off; but the carman called to him, and pointed to a + house, at the corner of which, on a high pole, was swinging an iron sign + of three horse-shoes, set in a crooked frame, and at the window hung an + empty bottle, proclaiming whiskey within. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t care if I do,” said Larry; “for I’ve no other comfort left + me in life now. I beg your honour’s pardon, sir, for a minute,” added he, + throwing the reins into the carriage to Lord Colambre, as he leaped down. + All remonstrance and power of lungs to reclaim him were vain! He darted + into the whiskey-house with the carman—re-appeared before Lord + Colambre could accomplish getting out, remounted his seat, and, taking the + reins, “I thank your honour,” said he; “and I’ll bring you into Clonbrony + before it’s pitch-dark, though it’s nightfall, and that’s four good miles, + but ‘a spur in the head is worth two in the heel.’” + </p> + <p> + Larry, to demonstrate the truth of his favourite axiom, drove off at such + a furious rate over great stones left in the middle of the road by carmen, + who had been driving in the gudgeons of their axletrees to hinder them + from lacing<a href="#linknote-9" name="linknoteref-9" id="linknoteref-9"><small>9</small></a>, + that Lord Colambre thought life and limb in imminent danger; and feeling + that, at all events, the jolting and bumping was past endurance, he had + recourse to Larry’s shoulder, and shook and pulled, and called to him to + go slower, but in vain: at last the wheel struck full against a heap of + stones at a turn of the road, the wooden linchpin came off, and the chaise + was overset: Lord Colambre was a little bruised, but glad to escape + without fractured bones. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your honour’s pardon,” said Larry, completely sobered; “I’m as glad + as the best pair of boots ever I see, to see your honour nothing the worse + for it. It was the linchpin, and them barrows of loose stones, that ought + to be fined any way, if there was any justice in the country.” + </p> + <p> + “The pole is broke; how are we to get on?” said Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “Murder! murder!—and no smith nearer than Clonbrony; nor rope even. + It’s a folly to talk, we can’t get to Clonbrony, nor stir a step backward + or forward the night.” + </p> + <p> + “What, then, do you mean to leave me all night in the middle of the road?” + cried Lord Colambre, quite exasperated. + </p> + <p> + “Is it me? plase your honour. I would not use any jantleman so ill, <i>barring</i> + I could do no other,” replied the postilion, coolly: then, leaping across + the ditch, or, as he called it, the <i>gripe</i> of the ditch, he + scrambled up, and while he was scrambling, said, “If your honour will lend + me your hand, till I pull you up the back of the ditch, the horses will + stand while we go. I’ll find you as pretty a lodging for the night, with a + widow of a brother of my shister’s husband that was, as ever you slept in + your life; for Old Nick or St. Dennis has not found ‘em out yet: and your + honour will he, no compare, snugger than at the inn at Clonbrony, which + has no roof, the devil a stick. But where will I get your honour’s hand; + for it’s coming on so dark, I can’t see rightly. There, you’re up now + safe. Yonder candle’s the house.” + </p> + <p> + “Go and ask whether they can give us a night’s lodging.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it <i>ask</i>? when I see the light!—Sure they’d be proud to + give the traveller all the beds in the house, let alone one. Take care of + the potatoe furrows, that’s all, and follow me straight. I’ll go on to + meet the dog, who knows me, and might be strange to your honour.” + </p> + <p> + “Kindly welcome,” were the first words Lord Colambre heard when he + approached the cottage; and “kindly welcome” was in the sound of the voice + and in the countenance of the old woman who came out, shading her + rush-candle from the wind, and holding it so as to light the path. When he + entered the cottage, he saw a cheerful fire and a neat pretty young woman + making it blaze; she curtsied, put her spinning-wheel out of the way, set + a stool by the fire for the stranger, and repeating, in a very low tone of + voice, “Kindly welcome, sir,” retired. + </p> + <p> + “Put down some eggs, dear, there’s plenty in the bowl,” said the old + woman, calling to her; “I’ll do the bacon. Was not we lucky to be up?—The + boy’s gone to bed, but waken him,” said she, turning to the postilion; + “and he’ll help you with the chay, and put your horses in the bier for the + night.” + </p> + <p> + No: Larry chose to go on to Clonbrony with the horses, that he might get + the chaise mended betimes for his honour. The table was set; clean + trenchers, hot potatoes, milk, eggs, bacon, and “kindly welcome to all.” + </p> + <p> + “Set the salt, dear; and the butter, love: where’s your head, Grace, + dear.” + </p> + <p> + “Grace!” repeated Lord Colambre, looking up: and, to apologize for his + involuntary exclamation, he added, “Is Grace a common name in Ireland?” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t say, plase your honour; but it was give her by Lady Clonbrony, + from a niece of her own, God bless her! and a very kind lady she was to us + and to all when she was living in it; but those times are gone past,” said + the old woman, with a sigh. The young woman sighed too; and, sitting down + by the fire, began to count the notches in a little bit of stick, which + she held in her hand; and after she had counted them, sighed again. + </p> + <p> + “But don’t be sighing, Grace, now,” said the old woman; “sighs is bad + sauce for the traveller’s supper; and we won’t be troubling him with + more,” added she, turning to Lord Colambre with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Is your egg done to your liking?” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly, thank you.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I wish it was a chicken, for your sake, which it should have been, + and roast too, had we time. I wish I could see you eat another egg.” + </p> + <p> + “No more, thank you, my good lady; I never ate a better supper, nor + received a more hospitable welcome.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the welcome is all we have to offer.” + </p> + <p> + “May I ask what that is?” said Lord Colambre, looking at the notched + stick, which the young woman held in her hand, and on which her eyes were + still fixed. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a <i>tally</i>, plase your honour. Oh, you’re a foreigner;—it’s + the way the labourers do keep the account of the day’s work with the + overseer, the bailiff; a notch for every day the bailiff makes on his + stick, and the labourer the like on his stick, to tally; and when we come + to make up the account, it’s by the notches we go. And there’s been a + mistake, and is a dispute here between our boy and the overseer: and she + was counting the boy’s tally, that’s in bed, tired, for in truth he’s + overworked.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you want any thing more from me, mother?” said the girl, rising and + turning her head away. + </p> + <p> + “No, child; get away, for your heart’s full.” + </p> + <p> + She went instantly. + </p> + <p> + “Is the boy her brother?” said Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “No; he’s her bachelor,” said the old woman, lowering her voice. + </p> + <p> + “Her bachelor?” + </p> + <p> + “That is, her sweetheart: for she is not my daughter, though you heard her + call me mother. The boy’s my son; but I am <i>afeard</i> they must give it + up; for they’re too poor, and the times is hard, and the agent’s harder + than the times: there’s two of them, the under and the upper; and they + grind the substance of one between them, and then blow one away like + chaff; but we’ll not be talking of that, to spoil your honour’s night’s + rest. The room’s ready, and here’s the rushlight.” + </p> + <p> + She showed him into a very small but neat room. + </p> + <p> + “What a comfortable-looking bed!” said Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, these red check curtains,” said she, letting them down; “these have + lasted well: they were give me by a good friend, now far away, over the + seas—my Lady Clonbrony; and made by the prettiest hands ever you + see, her niece’s, Miss Grace Nugent’s, and she a little child that time; + sweet love! all gone!” + </p> + <p> + The old woman wiped a tear from her eye, and Lord Colambre did what he + could to appear indifferent. She set down the candle, and left the room; + Lord Colambre went to bed, but he lay awake, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Revolving sweet and bitter thoughts” + </pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. + </h2> + <p> + The kettle was on the fire, tea-things set, every thing prepared for her + guest by the hospitable hostess, who thinking the gentleman would take tea + to his breakfast, had sent off a <i>gossoon</i> by the <i>first light</i> + to Clonbrony, for an ounce of tea, a <i>quarter of sugar</i>, and a loaf + of white bread; and there was on the little table good cream, milk, + butter, eggs—all the promise of an excellent breakfast. It was a <i>fresh</i> + morning, and there was a pleasant fire on the hearth, neatly swept up. The + old woman was sitting in her chimney corner, behind a little skreen of + whitewashed wall, built out into the room, for the purpose of keeping + those who sat at the fire from the <i>blast of the door</i>. There was a + loop-hole in this wall, to let the light in, just at the height of a + person’s head, who was sitting near the chimney. The rays of the morning + sun now came through it, shining across the face of the old woman, as she + sat knitting: Lord Colambre thought he had seldom seen a more agreeable + countenance, intelligent eyes, benevolent smile, a natural expression of + cheerfulness, subdued by age and misfortune. + </p> + <p> + “A good morrow to you kindly, sir, and I hope you got the night well?—A + fine day for us this holyday morning; my Grace is gone to early prayers, + so your honour will be content with an old woman to make your tea. Oh, let + me put in plenty of tea, for it will never be good; and if your honour + takes stirabout, an old hand will engage to make that to your liking, any + way; for by great happiness, we have what will just answer for you of the + nicest meal the miller made my Grace a compliment of, last time she went + to the mill.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre observed, that this miller had good taste; and his lordship + paid some compliment to Grace’s beauty, which the old woman received with + a smile, but turned off the conversation. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said she, looking out of the window, “is not that there a nice + little garden the boy dug for her and me, at his breakfast and dinner + hours? Ah! he’s a good boy, and good warrant to work; and the good son <i>desarves</i> + the good wife, and it’s he that will make the good husband; and with my + good-will he, and no other, shall get her, and with her good-will the + same; and I bid ‘em keep up their heart, and hope the best, for there’s no + use in fearing the worst till it comes.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre wished very much to know the worst. “If you would not think + a stranger impertinent for asking,” said he, “and if it would not be + painful to you to explain.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, impertinent, your honour! it’s very kind—and, sure, none’s a + stranger to one’s heart, that feels for one. And for myself, I can talk of + my troubles without thinking of them. So, I’ll tell you all—if the + worst comes to the worst—all that is, is, that we must quit, and + give up this little snug place, and house, and farm, and all, to the agent—which + would be hard on us, and me a widow, when my husband did all that is done + to the land; and if your honour was a judge, you could see, if you stepped + out, there has been a deal done, and built the house, and all—but it + plased Heaven to take him. Well, he was too good for this world, and I’m + satisfied—I’m not saying a word again’ that—I trust we shall + meet in heaven, and be happy, surely. And, meantime, here’s my boy, that + will make me as happy as ever widow was on earth—if the agent will + let him. And I can’t think the agent, though they that know him best call + him Old Nick, would be so wicked to take from us that which he never gave + us. The good lord himself granted us the <i>lase</i>; the life’s dropped, + and the years is out; but we had a promise of renewal in writing from the + landlord. God bless him! if he was not away, he’d be a good gentleman, and + we’d be happy and safe.” + </p> + <p> + “But if you have a promise in writing of a renewal, surely you are safe, + whether your landlord is absent or present.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, no! that makes a great <i>differ</i>, when there’s no eye or hand + over the agent. I would not wish to speak or think ill of him or any man; + but was he an angel, he could not know to do the tenantry justice, the way + he is living always in Dublin, and coming down to the country only the + receiving days, to make a sweep among us, and gather up the rents in a + hurry, and he in such haste back to town—can just stay to count over + our money, and give the receipts. Happy for us if we get that same!—but + can’t expect he should have time to see or hear us, or mind our + improvements, any more than listen to our complaints! Oh, there’s great + excuse for the gentleman, if that was any comfort for us,” added she, + smiling. + </p> + <p> + “But, if he does not live amongst you himself, has not he some under + agent, who lives in the country?” said Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “He has so.” + </p> + <p> + “And he should know your concerns: does he mind them?” + </p> + <p> + “He should know—he should know better; but as to minding our + concerns, your honour knows,” continued she, smiling again, “every one in + this world must mind their own concerns: and it would be a good world, if + it was even so. There’s a great deal in all things, that don’t appear at + first sight. Mr. Dennis wanted Grace for a wife for his bailiff, but she + would not have him; and Mr. Dennis was very sweet to her himself—but + Grace is rather high with him as proper, and he has a grudge <i>again’’</i> + us ever since. Yet, indeed, there,” added she, after another pause, “as + you say, I think we are safe; for we have that memorandum in writing, with + a pencil, given under his own hand, on the back of the <i>lase</i> to me, + by the same token when my good lord had his foot on the step of the coach, + going away; and I’ll never forget the smile of her that got that good turn + done for me, Miss Grace. And just when she was going to England and + London, and, young as she was, to have the thought to stop and turn to the + likes of me! Oh, then, if you could see her, and know her, as I did! <i>That</i> + was the comforting angel upon earth—look, and voice, and heart, and + all! Oh, that she was here present, this minute!—But did you scald + yourself?” said the widow to Lord Colambre. “Sure you must have scalded + yourself; for you poured the kettle straight over your hand, and it + boiling!—O <i>deear</i>; to think of so young a gentleman’s hand + shaking so like my own.” + </p> + <p> + Luckily, to prevent her pursuing her observations from the hand to the + face, which might have betrayed more than Lord Colambre wished she should + know, her own Grace came in at this instant—“There it’s for you, + safe, mother dear—the <i>lase</i>!” said Grace, throwing a packet + into her lap. The old woman lifted up her hands to heaven, with the lease + between them—“Thanks be to Heaven!” Grace passed on, and sunk down + on the first seat she could reach. Her face flushed, and, looking much + fatigued, she loosened the strings of her bonnet and cloak—“Then, + I’m tired;” but, recollecting herself, she rose, and curtsied to the + gentleman. + </p> + <p> + “What tired ye, dear?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, after prayers, we had to go—for the agent was not at prayers, + nor at home for us, when we called—we had to go all the way up to + the castle; and there, by great good luck, we found Mr. Nick Garraghty + himself, come from Dublin, and the <i>lase</i> in his hands; and he sealed + it up that way, and handed it to me very civil. I never saw him so good—though + he offered me a glass of spirits, which was not manners to a decent young + woman, in a morning—as Brian noticed after. Brian would not take any + either, nor never does. We met Mr. Dennis and the driver coming home; and + he says, the rent must be paid to-morrow, or, instead of renewing, he’ll + seize, and sell all. Mother dear, I would have dropped with the walk, but + for Brian’s arm.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a wonder, dear, what makes you so weak, that used to be so strong.” + </p> + <p> + “But if we can sell the cow for any thing at all to Mr. Dennis, since his + eye is set upon her, better let him have her mother, dear; and that and my + yarn, which Mrs. Garraghty says she’ll allow me for, will make up the rent—and + Brian need not talk of America. But it must be in golden guineas, the + agent will take the rent no other way; and you won’t get a guinea for less + than five shillings. Well, even so, it’s easy selling my new gown to one + that covets it, and that will give me in exchange the price of the gold; + or, suppose that would not do, add this cloak—it’s handsome, and I + know a friend would be glad to take it, and I’d part it as ready as look + at it—Any thing at all, sure, rather than that he should be forced + to talk of emigrating: or, oh, worse again, listing for the bounty—to + save us from the cant or the jail, by going to the hospital, or his grave, + maybe—oh, mother!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, child! This is what makes you weak, fretting. Don’t be that way. Sure + here’s the <i>lase</i>, and that’s good comfort; and the soldiers will be + gone out of Clonbrony to-morrow, and then that’s off your mind. And as to + America, it’s only talk—I won’t let him, he’s dutiful; and would + sooner sell my dresser, and down to my bed, dear, than see you sell any + thing of yours, love. Promise me you won’t. Why didn’t Brian come home all + the way with you, Grace?” + </p> + <p> + “He would have seen me home,” said Grace, “only that he went up a piece of + the mountain for some stones or ore for the gentleman,—for he had + the manners to think of him this morning, though, shame for me, I had not, + when I come in, or I would not have told you all this, and he by. See, + there <i>he</i> is, mother.” + </p> + <p> + Brian came in very hot, out of breath, with his hat full of stones. “Good + morrow to your honour. I was in bed last night; and sorry they did not + call me up to be of <i>sarvice</i>. Larry was telling us, this morning, + your honour’s from Wales, and looking for mines in Ireland, and I heard + talk that there was one on our mountain—may be, you’d be <i>curous</i> + to see, and so I brought the best I could, but I’m no judge.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor I, neither,” thought Lord Colambre; but he thanked the young man, and + determined to avail himself of Larry’s misconception of false report; + examined the stones very gravely, and said, “This promises well. Lapis + caliminaris, schist, plum-pudding stone, rhomboidal, crystal, blend, + garrawachy,” and all the strange names he could think of, jumbling them + together at a venture. + </p> + <p> + “The <i>lase</i>!” cried the young man, with joy sparkling in his eyes, as + his mother held up the packet. “Lend me the papers.” + </p> + <p> + He cracked the seals, and taking off the cover—“Ay, I know it’s the + <i>lase</i> sure enough. But stay, where’s the memorandum?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s there, sure,” said his mother, “where my lord’s pencil writ it. I + don’t read. Grace, dear, look.” + </p> + <p> + The young man put it into her hands, and stood without power to utter a + syllable. + </p> + <p> + “It’s not here! It’s gone!—no sign of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Gracious Heaven! that can’t be,” said the old woman, putting on her + spectacles; “let me see,’—I remember the very spot.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s taken away—it’s rubbed clean out!—Oh, wasn’t I fool?—But + who could have thought he’d be the villain!” + </p> + <p> + The young man seemed neither to see nor hear, but to be absorbed in + thought. Grace, with her eyes fixed upon him, grew as pale as death.—“He’ll + go—he’s gone.” + </p> + <p> + “She’s gone!” cried Lord Colambre, and the mother just caught her in her + arms as she was falling. + </p> + <p> + “The chaise is ready, plase your honour,” said Larry, coming into the + room. “Death! what’s here?” + </p> + <p> + “Air!—she’s coming to,” said the young man—“Take a drop of + water, my own Grace.” + </p> + <p> + “Young man, I promise you,” cried Lord Colambre, (speaking in the tone of + a master,) striking the young man’s shoulder, who was kneeling at Grace’s + feet, but recollecting and restraining himself, he added, in a quiet voice—“I + promise you I shall never forget the hospitality I have received in this + house, and I am sorry to be obliged to leave you in distress.” + </p> + <p> + These words uttered with difficulty, he hurried out of the house, and into + his carriage. “Go back to them,” said he to the postilion: “go back and + ask whether, if I should stay a day or two longer in this country, they + would let me return at night and lodge with them. And here, man, stay, + take this,” putting money into his hands, “for the good woman of the + house.” + </p> + <p> + The postilion went in, and returned. + </p> + <p> + “She won’t at all—I knew she would not.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I am obliged to her for the night’s lodging she did give me; I have + no right to expect more.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?—Sure she bid me tell you,—‘and welcome to the + lodging; for,’ said she, ‘he’s a kind-hearted gentleman;’ but here’s the + money; it’s that I was telling you she would not have at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you. Now, my good friend, Larry, drive me to Clonbrony, and do not + say another word, for I’m not in a talking humour.” + </p> + <p> + Larry nodded, mounted, and drove to Clonbrony. Clonbrony was now a + melancholy scene. The houses, which had been built in a better style of + architecture than usual, were in a ruinous condition; the dashing was off + the walls, no glass in the windows, and many of the roofs without slates. + For the stillness of the place Lord Colambre in some measure accounted, by + considering that it was holiday; therefore, of course, all the shops were + shut up, and all the people at prayers. He alighted at the inn, which + completely answered Larry’s representation of it. Nobody to be seen but a + drunken waiter, who, as well as he could articulate, informed Lord + Colambre, that “his mistress was in her bed since Thursday-was-a-week; the + hostler at the <i>wash-woman’s</i>, and the cook at second prayers.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre walked to the church, but the church gate was locked and + broken—a calf, two pigs, and an ass, in the church-yard; and several + boys (with more of skin apparent than clothes) were playing at pitch and + toss upon a tombstone, which, upon nearer observation, he saw was the + monument of his own family. One of the boys came to the gate, and told + Lord Colambre, “There was no use in going into the church, because there + was no church there; nor had not been this twelvemonth; beca-ase there was + no curate: and the parson was away always, since the lord was at home—that + is, was not at home—he nor the family.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre returned to the inn, where, after waiting a considerable + time, he gave up the point—he could not get any dinner—and in + the evening he walked out again into the town. He found several + public-houses, however, open, which were full of people; all of them as + busy and as noisy as possible. He observed that the interest was created + by an advertisement of several farms on the Clonbrony estate, to be set by + Nicholas Garraghty, Esq. He could not help smiling at his being witness <i>incognito</i> + to various schemes for outwitting the agents, and defrauding the landlord; + but, on a sudden, the scene was changed; a boy ran in, crying out, that + “St. Dennis was riding down the hill into the town; and, if you would not + have the licence,” said the boy, “take care of yourself, Brannagan.” “<i>If + you wouldn’t have the licence</i>,” Lord Colambre perceived, by what + followed, meant, “<i>If you have not a licence</i>.” Brannagan immediately + snatched an untasted glass of whiskey from a customer’s lips (who cried, + murder!), gave it and the bottle he held in his hand to his wife, who + swallowed the spirits, and ran away with the bottle and glass into some + back hole; whilst the bystanders laughed, saying, “Well thought of, + Peggy!” + </p> + <p> + “Clear out all of you at the back door, for the love of Heaven, if you + wouldn’t be the ruin of me,” said the man of the house, setting a ladder + to a corner of the shop. “Phil, hoist me up the keg to the loft,” added + he, running up the ladder; “and one of <i>yees</i> step up street, and + give Rose McGivney notice, for she’s selling, too.” + </p> + <p> + The keg was hoisted up; the ladder removed; the shop cleared of all the + customers; the shutters shut; the door barred; the counter cleaned. + </p> + <p> + “Lift your stones, sir, if you plase,” said the wife, as she rubbed the + counter, “and say nothing of what you <i>seen</i> at all; but that you’re + a stranger and a traveller seeking a lodging, if you’re questioned, or + waiting to see Mr. Dennis. There’s no smell of whiskey in it now, is + there, sir?” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre could not flatter her so far as to say this—he could + only hope no one would perceive it. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, and if he would, the smell of whiskey was nothing,” as the wife + affirmed, “for it was every where in nature, and no proof again’ any one, + good or bad.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, St. Dennis may come when he will, or Old Nick himself!” So she tied + up a blue handkerchief over her head, and had the toothache “very bad.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre turned to look for the man of the house. + </p> + <p> + “He’s safe in bed,” said the wife. + </p> + <p> + “In bed! When?” + </p> + <p> + “Whilst you turned your head, while I was tying the handkerchief over my + face. Within the room, look, he is snug.” + </p> + <p> + And there he was in bed certainly, and his clothes on the chest. + </p> + <p> + A knock, a loud knock at the door. + </p> + <p> + “St. Dennis himself!—Stay, till I unbar the door,” said the woman; + and, making a great difficulty, she let him in, groaning and saying. “We + was all done up for the night, <i>plase</i> your honour, and myself with + the toothache, very bad—And the lodger, that’s going to take an egg + only, before he’d go into his bed. My man’s in it, and asleep long ago.” + </p> + <p> + With a magisterial air, though with a look of blank disappointment, Mr. + Dennis Garraghty walked on, looked into <i>the room</i>, saw the good man + of the house asleep, heard him snore, and then, returning, asked Lord + Colambre, “who he was, and what brought him there?” + </p> + <p> + Our hero said, he was from England, and a traveller; and now, bolder grown + as a geologist, he talked of his specimens, and his hopes of finding a + mine in the neighbouring mountains; then adopting, as well as he could, + the servile tone and abject manner, in which he found Mr. Dennis was to be + addressed, “he hoped he might get encouragement from the gentlemen at the + head of the estate.” + </p> + <p> + “To bore, is it?—Well, don’t <i>bore</i> me about it. I can’t give + you any answer now, my good friend; I am engaged.” + </p> + <p> + Out he strutted. “Stick to him up the town, if you have a mind to get your + answer,” whispered the woman. Lord Colambre followed, for he wished to see + the end of this scene. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, what are you following and sticking to me, like my shadow, + for?” said Mr. Dennis, turning suddenly upon Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + His lordship bowed low. “Waiting for my answer, sir, when you are at + leisure. Or, may I call upon you to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to be a civil kind of fellow; but, as to boring, I don’t know—if + you undertake it at your own expense. I dare say there may be minerals in + the ground. Well, you may call at the castle to-morrow, and when my + brother has done with the tenantry, I’ll speak to him <i>for</i> you, and + we’ll consult together, and see what we think. It’s too late to-night. In + Ireland, nobody speaks to a gentleman about business after dinner,—your + servant, sir; any body can show you the way to the castle in the morning.” + And, pushing by his lordship, he called to a man on the other side of the + street, who had obviously been waiting for him; he went under a gateway + with this man, and gave him a bag of guineas. He then called for his + horse, which was brought to him by a man whom Lord Colambre had heard + declaring that he would bid for the land that was advertised; whilst + another, who had the same intentions, most respectfully held his stirrup, + whilst he mounted without thanking either of these men. St. Dennis clapped + spurs to his steed, and rode away. No thanks, indeed, were deserved; for + the moment he was out of hearing, both cursed him after the manner of + their country. + </p> + <p> + “Bad luck go with you, then!—And may you break your neck before you + get home, if it was not for the <i>lase</i> I’m to get, and that’s paid + for.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre followed the crowd into a public-house, where a new scene + presented itself to his view. + </p> + <p> + The man to whom St. Dennis gave the bag of gold was now selling this very + gold to the tenants, who were to pay their rent next day at the castle. + </p> + <p> + The agent would take nothing but gold. The same guineas were bought and + sold several times over, to the great profit of the agent and loss of the + poor tenants; for as the rents were paid, the guineas were resold to + another set: and the remittances made through bankers to the landlord, + who, as the poor man that explained the transaction to Lord Colambre + expressed it, “gained nothing by the business, bad or good, but the + ill-will of the tenantry.” + </p> + <p> + The higgling for the price of the gold; the time lost in disputing about + the goodness of the notes, among some poor tenants, who could not read or + write, and who were at the mercy of the man with the bag in his hand; the + vexation, the useless harassing of all who were obliged to submit + ultimately—Lord Colambre saw: and all this time he endured the smell + of tobacco and whiskey, and the sound of various brogues, the din of men + wrangling, brawling, threatening, whining, drawling, cajoling, cursing, + and every variety of wretchedness. + </p> + <p> + “And is this my father’s town of Clonbrony?” thought Lord Colambre. “Is + this Ireland? No, it is not Ireland. Let me not, like most of those who + forsake their native country, traduce it. Let me not, even to my own mind, + commit the injustice of taking a speck for the whole. What I have just + seen is the picture only of that to which an Irish estate and Irish + tenantry may be degraded in the absence of those whose duty and interest + it is to reside in Ireland, to uphold justice by example and authority; + but who, neglecting this duty, commit power to bad hands and bad hearts—abandon + their tenantry to oppression, and their property to ruin.” + </p> + <p> + It was now fine moonlight, and Lord Colambre met with a boy, who said he + could show him a short way across the fields to the widow O’Neil’s + cottage. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. + </h2> + <p> + All were asleep at the cottage, when Lord Colambre arrived, except the + widow, who was sitting up, waiting for him; and who had brought her dog + into the house, that he might not fly at him, or bark at his return. She + had a roast chicken ready for her guest, and it was—but this she + never told him—the only chicken she had left; all the others had + been sent with the <i>duty fowl</i>, as a present to the under-agent’s + lady. While he was eating his supper, which he ate with the better + appetite, as he had had no dinner, the good woman took down from the shelf + a pocket-book, which she gave him: “Is not that your book?” said she. “My + boy Brian found it after you in the potatoe furrow, where you dropped it.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Lord Colambre; “there are bank notes in it, which I + could not afford to lose.” + </p> + <p> + “Are there?” said she: “he never opened it—nor I.” + </p> + <p> + Then, in answer to his inquiries about Grace and the young man, the widow + answered, “They are all in heart now, I thank ye kindly, sir, for asking; + they’ll sleep easy to-night, any way, and I’m in great spirits for them + and myself—for all’s smooth now. After we parted you, Brian saw Mr. + Dennis himself about the <i>lase</i> and memorandum, which he never + denied, but knew nothing about. ‘But, be that as it may,’ says he, ‘you’re + improving tenants, and I’m confident my brother will consider ye; so what + you’ll do is, you’ll give up the possession to-morrow to myself, that will + call for it by cock-crow, just for form’s sake; and then go up to the + castle with the new <i>lase</i> ready drawn, in your hand, and if all’s + paid off clear of the rent, and all that’s due, you’ll get the new <i>lase</i> + signed: I’ll promise you this upon the word and honour of a gentleman.’ + And there’s no going beyond that, you know, sir. So my boy came home as + light as a feather, and as gay as a lark, to bring us the good news; only + he was afraid we might not make up the rent, guineas and all; and because + he could not get paid for the work he done, on account of the mistake in + the overseer’s tally, I sold the cow to a neighbour, dog-cheap; but needs + must, as they say, when Old Nick <i>drives</i>,” said the widow, smiling. + “Well, still it was but paper we got for the cow; then that must be gold + before the agent would take or touch it—so I was laying out to sell + the dresser, and had taken the plates and cups, and little things off it, + and my boy was lifting it out with Andy the carpenter, that was agreeing + for it, when in comes Grace, all rosy and out of breath—it’s a + wonder I never minded her run out, nor ever missed her. ‘Mother,’ says + she, ‘here’s the gold for you; don’t be stirring your dresser.’—‘And + where’s your gown and cloak, Grace?’ says I. But, I beg your pardon, sir; + may be, I’m tiring you?” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre encouraged her to go on. + </p> + <p> + “‘Where’s your gown and cloak, Grace?’ says I. ‘Gone,’ says she. ‘The + cloak was too warm and heavy, and I don’ doubt, mother, but it was that + helped to make me faint this morning. And as to the gown, sure I’ve a very + nice one here, that you spun for me yourself, mother; and that I prize + above all the gowns ever came out of a loom; and that Brian said become me + to his fancy above any gown ever he see me wear; and what could I wish for + more?’ Now I’d a mind to scold her for going to sell the gown unknown’st + to me, but I don’t know how it was, I couldn’t scold her just then, so + kissed her, and Brian the same, and that was what no man ever did before. + And she had a mind to be angry with him, but could not, nor ought not, + says I, ‘for he’s as good as your husband now, Grace; and no man can part + yees now,’ says I, putting their hands together. Well, I never saw her + look so pretty; nor there was not a happier boy that minute on God’s earth + than my son, nor a happier mother than myself; and I thanked God, that had + given them to me; and down they both fell on their knees for my blessing, + little worth as it was; and my heart’s blessing they had, and I laid my + hands upon them. ‘It’s the priest you must get to do this for you + to-morrow,’ says I. And Brian just held up the ring, to show me all was + ready on his part, but could not speak. ‘Then there’s no America between + us any more!’ said Grace, low to me, and her heart was on her lips; but + the colour came and went, and I was <i>afeard</i> she’d have swooned + again, but not for sorrow, so I carried her off. Well, if she was not my + own—but she is not my own born, so I may say it—there never + was a better girl, not a more kind-hearted, nor generous; never thinking + any thing she could do, or give, too much for them she loved, and any + thing at all would do for herself; the sweetest natured and tempered both, + and always was, from this high; the bond that held all together, and joy + of the house.” + </p> + <p> + “Just like her namesake,” cried Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “Plase your honour!” + </p> + <p> + “Is not it late?” said Lord Colambre, stretching himself and gaping; “I’ve + walked a great way to-day.” + </p> + <p> + The old woman lighted his rushlight, showed him to his red check bed, and + wished him a very good night; not without some slight sentiment of + displeasure at his gaping thus at the panegyric on her darling Grace. + Before she left the room, however, her short-lived resentment vanished, + upon his saying, that he hoped, with her permission, to be present at the + wedding of the young couple. + </p> + <p> + Early in the morning Brian went to the priest, to ask his reverence when + it would be convenient to marry him; and whilst he was gone, Mr. Dennis + Garraghty came to the cottage, to receive the rent and possession. The + rent was ready, in gold, and counted into his hand. + </p> + <p> + “No occasion for a receipt; for a new <i>lase</i> is a receipt in full for + every thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, sir,” said the widow; “I know nothing of law. You know best—whatever + you direct—for you are acting as a friend to us now. My son got the + attorney to draw the pair of new <i>lases</i> yesterday, and here they are + ready, all to signing.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Dennis said, his brother must settle that part of the business, and + that they must carry them up to the castle; “but first give me the + possession.” + </p> + <p> + Then, as he instructed her, she gave up the key of the door to him, and a + bit of the thatch of the house; and he raked out the fire, and said every + living creature must go out. “It’s only form of law,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “And must my lodger get up, and turn out, sir?” said she. + </p> + <p> + “He must turn out, to be sure—not a living soul must he left in it, + or it’s no legal possession, properly. Who is your lodger?” + </p> + <p> + On Lord Colambre’s appearing, Mr. Dennis showed some surprise, and said, + “I thought you were lodging at Brannagan’s; are not you the man who spoke + to me at his house about the gold mines?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir, he never lodged at Brannagan’s,” said the widow. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir, I am the person who spoke to you about the gold mines at + Brannagan’s; but I did not like to lodge—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, no matter where you liked to lodge; you must walk out of this + lodging now, if you please, my good friend.” + </p> + <p> + So Mr. Dennis pushed his lordship out by the shoulders, repeating, as the + widow turned back, and looked with some surprise and alarm, “only for form + sake, only for form sake!” then locking the door, took the key, and put it + into his pocket. The widow held out her hand for it: “The form’s gone + through now, sir; is not it? Be plased to let us in again.” + </p> + <p> + “When the new lease is signed, I’ll give you possession again; but not + till then—for that’s the law. So make away with you to the castle; + and mind,” added he, winking slily, “mind you take sealing-money with you, + and something to buy gloves.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, where will I find all that?” said the widow. + </p> + <p> + “I have it, mother; don’t fret,” said Grace. “I have it—the price of—what + I can want<a href="#linknote-10" name="linknoteref-10" id="linknoteref-10"><small>10</small></a>. + So let us go off to the castle without delay. Brian will meet us on the + road, you know.” + </p> + <p> + They set off for Clonbrony Castle, Lord Colambre accompanying them. Brian + met them on the road. “Father Tom is ready, dear mother; bring her in, and + he’ll marry us. I’m not my own man till she’s mine. Who knows what may + happen?” + </p> + <p> + “Who knows? that’s true,” said the widow. + </p> + <p> + “Better go to the castle first,” said Grace. + </p> + <p> + “And keep the priest waiting! You can’t use his reverence so,” said Brian. + </p> + <p> + So she let him lead her into the priest’s house, and she did not make any + of the awkward draggings back, or ridiculous scenes of grimace sometimes + exhibited on these occasions; but blushing rosy red, yet with more + self-possession than could have been expected from her timid nature, she + gave her hand to the man she loved, and listened with attentive devotion + to the holy ceremony. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” thought Lord Colambre, whilst he congratulated the bride, “shall I + ever be as happy as these poor people are at this moment?” He longed to + make them some little present, but all he could venture at this moment was + to pay the priest’s dues. + </p> + <p> + The priest positively refused to take any thing. + </p> + <p> + “They are the best couple in my parish,” said he; “and I’ll take nothing, + sir, from you, a stranger and my guest.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, come what will, I’m a match for it. No trouble can touch me,” said + Brian. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don’t be bragging,” said the widow. + </p> + <p> + “Whatever trouble God sends, he has given one now will help to bear it, + and sure I may be thankful,” said Grace. + </p> + <p> + “Such good hearts must be happy,—shall be happy!” said Lord + Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you’re very kind,” said the widow, smiling; “and I wouldn’t doubt + you, if you had the power. I hope, then, the agent will give you + encouragement about them mines, that we may keep you among us.” + </p> + <p> + “I am determined to settle among you, warm-hearted, generous people!” + cried Lord Colambre; “whether the agent gives me encouragement or not,” + added he. + </p> + <p> + It was a long walk to Clonbrony Castle; the old woman, as she said + herself, would not have been able for it, but for a <i>lift</i> given to + her by a friendly carman, whom she overtook on the road with an empty car. + This carman was Finnucan, who dissipated Lord Colambre’s fears of meeting + and being recognized by Mrs. Raffarty; for he, in answer to the question + of “Who is at the castle?” replied, “Mrs. Raffarty will be in it afore + night; but she’s on the road still. There’s none but Old Nick in it yet; + and he’s more of a <i>neger</i> than ever; for think, that he would not + pay me a farthing for the carriage of his <i>shister’s</i> boxes and + band-boxes down. If you’re going to have any dealings with him, God grant + ye a safe deliverance!” + </p> + <p> + “Amen!” said the widow, and her son and daughter. + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre’s attention was now engaged by the view of the castle and + park of Clonbrony. He had not seen it since he was six years old. Some + faint reminiscence from his childhood made him feel or fancy that he knew + the place. It was a fine castle, spacious park; but all about it, from the + broken piers at the great entrance, to the mossy gravel and loose steps at + the hall-door, had an air of desertion and melancholy. Walks overgrown, + shrubberies wild, plantations run up into bare poles; fine trees cut down, + and lying on the ground in lots to be sold. A hill that had been covered + with an oak wood, where in his childhood our hero used to play, and which + he called the black forest, was gone; nothing to be seen but the white + stumps of the trees, for it had been freshly cut down, to make up the last + remittances.—“And how it went, when sold!—but no matter,” said + Finnucan; “it’s all alike.—It’s the back way into the yard, I’ll + take you, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “And such a yard! but it’s no matter,” repeated Lord Colambre to himself; + “it’s all alike.” + </p> + <p> + In the kitchen, a great dinner was dressing for Mr. Garraghty’s friends, + who were to make merry with him when the business of the day was over. + </p> + <p> + “Where’s the keys of the cellar, till I get out the claret for after + dinner,” says one; “and the wine for the cook—sure there’s venison,” + cries another.—“Venison!—That’s the way my lord’s deer goes,” + says a third, laughing.—“Ay, sure! and very proper, when he’s not + here to eat ‘em.”—“Keep your nose out of the kitchen, young man, if + you <i>plase</i>,” said the agent’s cook, shutting the door in Lord + Colambre’s face. “There’s the way to the office, if you’ve money to pay, + up the back stairs.” + </p> + <p> + “No; up the grand staircase they must,—Mr. Garraghty ordered,” said + the footman; “because the office is damp for him, and it’s not there he’ll + see any body to-day; but in my lady’s dressing-room.” + </p> + <p> + So up the grand staircase they went, and through the magnificent + apartments, hung with pictures of great value, spoiling with damp. + </p> + <p> + “Then, isn’t it a pity to see them? There’s my lady, and all spoiling,” + said the widow. + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre stopped before a portrait of Miss Nugent—“Shamefully + damaged!” cried he. + </p> + <p> + “Pass on, or let me pass, if you <i>plase</i>,” said one of the tenants; + “and don’t be stopping the door-way.” + </p> + <p> + “I have business more nor you with the agent,” said the surveyor; “where + is he?” + </p> + <p> + “In the <i>presence-chamber</i>,” replied another: “Where should the + viceroy be but in the <i>presence-chamber</i>?” + </p> + <p> + There was a full levee, and fine smell of great coats.—“Oh! would + you put your hats on the silk cushions?” said the widow to some men in the + doorway, who were throwing off their greasy hats on a damask sofa. + </p> + <p> + “Why not? where else?” + </p> + <p> + “If the lady was in it, you wouldn’t,” said she, sighing. + </p> + <p> + “No, to be sure, I wouldn’t: great news! would I make no <i>differ</i> in + the presence of Old Nick and my lady?” said he, in Irish. “Have I no sense + or manners, good woman, think ye?” added he, as he shook the ink out of + the pen on the Wilton carpet, when he had finished signing his name to a + paper on his knee. + </p> + <p> + “You may wait long before you get to the speech of the great man,” said + another, who was working his way through numbers. + </p> + <p> + They continued pushing forward, till they came within sight of Mr. + Nicholas Garraghty, seated in state; and a worse countenance, or a more + perfect picture of an insolent, petty tyrant in office, Lord Colambre had + never beheld. + </p> + <p> + We forbear all further detail of this levee. “It’s all the same!” as Lord + Colambre repeated to himself, on every fresh instance of roguery or + oppression to which he was witness; and having completely made up his mind + on the subject, he sat down quietly in the back-ground, waiting till it + should come to the widow’s turn to be dealt with, for he was now + interested only to see how she would be treated. The room gradually + thinned I Mr. Dennis Garraghty came in, and sat down at the table, to help + his brother to count the heaps of gold. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mr. Dennis, I’m glad to see you as kind as your promise, meeting me + here,” said the widow O’Neil, walking up to him; + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure you’ll speak a good word for me: here’s the <i>lases</i>—who + will I offer this to?” said she, holding the <i>glove-money</i> and <i>sealing-money</i>, + “for I’m strange and ashamed.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don’t be ashamed—there’s no strangeness in bringing money or + taking it,” said Mr. Nicholas Garraghty, holding out his hand. “Is this + the proper compliment?” + </p> + <p> + “I hope so, sir: your honour knows best.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” slipping it into his private purse. “Now what’s your + business?” + </p> + <p> + “The <i>lases</i> to sign—the rent’s all paid up.” + </p> + <p> + “Leases! Why, woman, is the possession given up?” + </p> + <p> + “It was, <i>plase</i> your honour; and Mr. Dennis has the key of our + little place in his pocket.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I hope he’ll keep it there. <i>Your</i> little place—it’s no + longer yours; I’ve promised it to the surveyor. You don’t think I’m such a + fool as to renew to you at this rent.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Dennis named the rent. But any thing your honour <i>plases</i>—any + thing at all that we can pay.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s out of the question—put it out of your head. No rent you + can offer would do, for I have promised it to the surveyor.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir, Mr. Dennis knows my lord gave us his promise in writing of a + renewal, on the back of the <i>ould lase</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Produce it.” + </p> + <p> + “Here’s the <i>lase</i>, but the promise is rubbed out.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense! coming to me with a promise that’s rubbed out. Who’ll listen to + that in a court of justice, do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know, plase your honour; but this I’m sure of, my lord and Miss + Nugent, though but a child at the time, God bless her! who was by when my + lord wrote it with his pencil, will remember it.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Nugent! what can she know of business?—What has she to do with + the management of my Lord Clonbrony’s estate, pray?” + </p> + <p> + “Management!—no, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you wish to get Miss Nugent turned out of the house?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, God forbid!—how could that be?” + </p> + <p> + “Very easily; if you set about to make her meddle and witness in what my + lord does not choose.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, I’ll never mention Miss Nugent’s name in it at all, if it was + ever so with me. But be <i>plased</i>, sir, to write over to my lord, and + ask him; I’m sure he’ll remember it.” + </p> + <p> + “Write to my lord about such a trifle—trouble him about such + nonsense!” + </p> + <p> + “I’d be sorry to trouble him. Then take it on my word, and believe me, + sir; for I would not tell a lie, nor cheat rich or poor, if in my power, + for the whole estate, nor the whole world: for there’s an eye above.” + </p> + <p> + “Cant! nonsense!—Take those leases off the table; I never will sign + them. Walk off, ye canting hag; it’s an imposition—I will never sign + them.” + </p> + <p> + “You <i>will</i>, then, sir,” cried Brian, growing red with indignation; + “for the law shall make you, so it shall; and you’d as good have been + civil to my mother, whatever you did—for I’ll stand by her while + I’ve life; and I know she has right, and shall have law. I saw the + memorandum written before ever it went into your hands, sir, whatever + became of it after; and will swear to it too.” + </p> + <p> + “Swear away, my good friend; much your swearing will avail in your own + case in a court of justice,” continued Old Nick. + </p> + <p> + “And against a gentleman of my brother’s established character and + property,” said St. Dennis. “What’s your mother’s character against a + gentleman’s like his?” + </p> + <p> + “Character! take care how you go to that, any way, sir,” cried Brian. + </p> + <p> + Grace put her hand before his mouth, to stop him. + </p> + <p> + “Grace, dear, I must speak, if I die for it; sure it’s for my mother,” + said the young man, struggling forward, while his mother held him back; “I + must speak.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he’s ruined, I see it,” said Grace, putting her hand before her eyes, + “and he won’t mind me.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on, let him go on, pray, young woman,” said Mr. Garraghty, pale with + anger and fear, his lips quivering; “I shall be happy to take down his + words.” + </p> + <p> + “Write them; and may all the world read it, and welcome!” + </p> + <p> + His mother and wife stopped his mouth by force. + </p> + <p> + “Write you, Dennis,” said Mr. Garraghty, giving the pen to his brother; + for his hand shook so he could not form a letter. “Write the very words, + and at the top” (pointing) “after warning, <i>with malice prepense</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Write, then—mother, Grace—let me,” cried Brian, speaking in a + smothered voice, as their hands were over his mouth. “Write then, that, if + you’d either of you a character like my mother, you might defy the world; + and your word would be as good as your oath.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Oath!</i> mind that, Dennis,” said Mr. Garraghty. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, sir! sir! won’t you stop him?” cried Grace, turning suddenly to Lord + Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear, dear, if you haven’t lost your feeling for us,” cried the + widow. + </p> + <p> + “Let him speak,” said Lord Colambre, in a tone of authority; “let the + voice of truth be heard.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Truth!</i>” cried St. Dennis, and dropped the pen. + </p> + <p> + “And who the devil are you, sir?” said Old Nick. + </p> + <p> + “Lord Colambre, I protest!” exclaimed a female voice; and Mrs. Raffarty at + this instant appeared at the open door. + </p> + <p> + “Lord Colambre!” repeated all present, in different tones. + </p> + <p> + “My lord, I beg pardon,” continued Mrs. Raffarty, advancing as if her legs + were tied; “had I known you was down here, I would not have presumed. I’d + better retire; for I see you’re busy.” + </p> + <p> + “You’d best; for you’re mad, sister,” said St. Dennis, pushing her back; + “and we <i>are</i> busy; go to your room, and keep quiet, if you can.” + </p> + <p> + “First, madam,” said Lord Colambre, going between her and the door, “let + me beg that you will consider yourself as at home in this house, whilst + any circumstances make it desirable to you. The hospitality you showed me + you cannot think I now forget.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my lord, you’re too good—how few—too kind—kinder + than my own;” and, bursting into tears, she escaped out of the room. + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre returned to the party round the table, who were in various + attitudes of astonishment, and with faces of fear, horror, hope, joy, + doubt. + </p> + <p> + “Distress,” continued his lordship, “however incurred, if not by vice, + will always find a refuge in this house. I speak in my father’s name, for + I know I speak his sentiments. But never more shall vice,” said he, + darting such a look at the brother agents as they felt to the back-bone—“never + more shall vice, shall fraud enter here.” + </p> + <p> + He paused, and there was a momentary silence. + </p> + <p> + “There spoke the true thing! and the <i>rael</i> gentleman; my own heart’s + satisfied,” said Brian, folding his arms, and standing erect. + </p> + <p> + “Then so is mine,” said Grace, taking breath, with a deep sigh. + </p> + <p> + The widow advancing, put on her spectacles, and, looking up close at Lord + Colambre’s face—“Then it’s a wonder I didn’t know the family + likeness.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre, now recollecting that he still wore the old great coat, + threw it off. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, bless him! Then now I’d know him any where. I’m willing to die now, + for we’ll all be happy.” + </p> + <p> + “My lord, since it is so—my lord, may I ask you,” said Mr. + Garraghty, now sufficiently recovered to be able to articulate, but + scarcely to express his ideas; “if what your lordship hinted just now—” + </p> + <p> + “I hinted nothing, sir; I spoke plainly.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg pardon, my lord,” said Old Nick; “respecting vice, was levelled at + me; because, if it was, my lord,” trying to stand erect; “let me tell your + lordship, if I could think it was—” + </p> + <p> + “If it did not hit you, sir, no matter at whom it was levelled.” + </p> + <p> + “And let me ask, my lord, if I may presume, whether, in what you suggested + by the word fraud, your lordship had any particular meaning?” said St. + Dennis. + </p> + <p> + “A very particular meaning, sir—feel in your pocket for the key of + this widow’s house, and deliver it to her.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, if that’s all the meaning, with all the pleasure in life. I never + meant to detain it longer than till the leases were signed,” said St. + Dennis. + </p> + <p> + “And I’m ready to sign the leases this minute,” said the brother. + </p> + <p> + “Do it, sir, this minute; I have read them; I will be answerable to my + father.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, as to that, my lord, I have power to sign for your father.” + </p> + <p> + He signed the leases; they were duly witnessed by Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “I deliver this as my act and deed,” said Mr. Garraghty: + </p> + <p> + “My lord,” continued he, “you see, at the first word from you; and had I + known sooner the interest you took in the family, there would have been no + difficulty; for I’d make it a principle to oblige you, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + “Oblige me!” said Lord Colambre, with disdain. + </p> + <p> + “But when gentlemen and noblemen travel <i>incognito</i>, and lodge in + cabins,” added St. Dennis, with a satanic smile, glancing his eye on + Grace, “they have good reasons, no doubt.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not judge my heart by your own, sir,” said Lord Colambre, coolly; “no + two things in nature can, I trust, be more different. My purpose in + travelling <i>incognito</i> has been fully answered: I was determined to + see and judge how my father’s estates were managed; and I have seen, + compared, and judged. I have seen the difference between the Clonbrony and + the Colambre property; and I shall represent what I have seen to my + father.” + </p> + <p> + “As to that, my lord, if we are to come to that—but I trust your + lordship will suffer me to explain these matters. Go about your business, + my good friends; you have all you want; and, my lord, after dinner, when + you are cool, I hope I shall be able to make you sensible that things have + been represented to your lordship in a mistaken light; and, I flatter + myself, I shall convince you, I have not only always acted the part of a + friend to the family, but am particularly willing to conciliate your + lordship’s good-will,” said he, sweeping the rouleaus of gold into a bag; + “any accommodation in my power, at any time.” + </p> + <p> + “I want no accommodation, sir—were I starving, I would accept of + none from you. Never can you conciliate my good-will; for you can never + deserve it.” + </p> + <p> + “If that be the case, my lord, I must conduct myself accordingly: but it’s + fair to warn you, before you make any representation to my Lord Clonbrony, + that, if he should think of changing his agent, there are accounts to be + settled between us—that may be a consideration.” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir; no consideration—my father never shall be the slave of + such a paltry consideration.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very well, my lord; you know best. If you choose to make an + assumpsit, I’m sure I shall not object to the security. Your lordship will + be of age soon, I know—I’m sure I’m satisfied—but,” added he, + with a malicious smile, “I rather apprehend you don’t know what you + undertake: I only premise that the balance of accounts between us is not + what can properly be called a paltry consideration.” + </p> + <p> + “On that point, perhaps, sir, you and I may differ.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, my lord, you will follow your own principles, if it suits your + convenience.” + </p> + <p> + “Whether it does or not, sir, I shall abide by my principles.” + </p> + <p> + “Dennis! the letters to the post—When do you go to England, my + lord?” + </p> + <p> + “Immediately, sir,” said Lord Colambre: his lordship saw new leases from + his father to Mr. Dennis Garraghty, lying on the table, unsigned. + </p> + <p> + “Immediately!” repeated Messrs. Nicholas and Dennis, with an air of + dismay. Nicholas got up, looked out of the window, and whispered something + to his brother, who instantly left the room. + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre saw the postchaise at the door, which had brought Mrs. + Raffarty to the castle, and Larry standing beside it: his lordship + instantly threw up the sash, and holding between his finger and thumb a + six shilling piece, cried, “Larry, my friend, let me have the horses.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall have ‘em—your honour,” said Larry. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Dennis Garraghty appeared below, speaking in a magisterial tone. + “Larry, my brother must have the horses.” + </p> + <p> + “He can’t, <i>plase</i> your honour—they’re engaged.” + </p> + <p> + “Half a crown!—a crown!—half a guinea!” said Mr. Dennis + Garraghty, raising his voice, as he increased his proffered bribe. To each + offer Larry replied, “You can’t, <i>plase</i> your honour, they’re + engaged;” and, looking up to the window at Lord Colambre, he said, “As + soon as they have ate their oats, you shall have ‘em.” + </p> + <p> + No other horses were to be had. The agent was in consternation. Lord + Colambre ordered that Larry should have some dinner, and whilst the + postilion was eating, and the horses finished their oats, his lordship + wrote the following letter to his father, which, to prevent all + possibility of accident, he determined to put, with his own hand, into the + post-office at Clonbrony, as he passed through the town. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “MY DEAR FATHER, + + “I hope to be with you in a few days. Lest any thing should detain + me on the road, I write this, to make an earnest request, that you + will not sign any papers, or transact any farther business with + Messrs. Nicholas or Dennis Garraghty before you see + + “Your affectionate son, + + “COLAMBRE.” + </pre> + <p> + The horses came out. Larry sent word he was ready, and Lord Colambre, + having first eaten a slice of his own venison, ran down to the carriage, + followed by the thanks and blessings of the widow, her son, and daughter, + who could hardly make their way after him to the chaise-door, so great was + the crowd which had gathered on the report of his lordship’s arrival. + </p> + <p> + “Long life to your honour! Long life to your lordship!” echoed on all + sides. “Just come, and going, are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Good bye to you all, good people!” + </p> + <p> + “Then <i>good bye</i> is the only word we wouldn’t wish to hear from your + honour.” + </p> + <p> + “For the sake both of landlord and tenant, I must leave you now, my good + friends; but I hope to return to you at some future time.” + </p> + <p> + “God bless you! and speed ye! and a safe journey to your honour!—and + a happy return to us, and soon!” cried a multitude of voices. + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre stopped at the chaise-door, and beckoned to the widow + O’Neil, before whom others had pressed. An opening was made for her + instantly. + </p> + <p> + “There! that was the very way his father stood, with his foot on the step. + And Miss Nugent was <i>in it</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre forgot what he was going to say,—with some difficulty + recollected. “This pocket-book,” said he, “which your son restored to me—I + intend it for your daughter—don’t keep it as your son kept it for + me, without opening it. Let what is withinside,” added he, as he got into + the carriage, “replace the cloak and gown, and let all things necessary + for a bride be bought; ‘for the bride that has all things to borrow has + surely mickle to do.’ Shut the door, and drive on.” + </p> + <p> + “Blessings be <i>wid</i> you,” cried the widow, “and God give you grace!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. + </h2> + <p> + Larry drove off at full gallop, and kept on at a good rate, till he got + out of the great gate, and beyond the sight of the crowd: then, pulling + up, he turned to Lord Colambre—“<i>Plase</i> your honour, I did not + know nor guess ye was my lord, when I let you have the horses: did not + know who you was from Adam, I’ll take my affidavit.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s no occasion,” said Lord Colambre; “I hope you don’t repent + letting me have the horses, now you do know who I am?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! not at all, sure: I’m as glad as the best horse ever I crossed, that + your honour is my lord—but I was only telling your honour, that you + might not be looking upon me as a <i>timesarver</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not look upon you as a <i>timesarver</i>, Larry; but keep on, that + time may serve me.” + </p> + <p> + In two words, he explained his cause of haste; and no sooner explained + than understood. Larry thundered away through the town of Clonbrony, + bending over his horses, plying the whip, and lending his very soul at + every lash. With much difficulty, Lord Colambre stopped him at the end of + the town, at the post-office. The post was gone out—gone a quarter + of an hour. + </p> + <p> + “May be, we’ll overtake the mail,” said Larry: and, as he spoke, he slid + down from his seat, and darted into the public-house, re-appearing, in a + few moments, with a <i>copper</i> of ale and a horn in his hand: he and + another man held open the horses’ mouths, and poured the ale through the + horn down their throats. + </p> + <p> + “Now, they’ll go with spirit!” + </p> + <p> + And, with the hope of overtaking the mail, Larry made them go “for life or + death,” as he said: but in vain! At the next stage, at his own inn-door, + Larry roared for fresh horses till he, got them, harnessed them with his + own hands, holding the six shilling piece, which Lord Colambre had given + him, in his mouth, all the while: for he could not take time to put it + into his pocket. + </p> + <p> + “Speed ye! I wish I was driving you all the way, then,” said he. The other + postilion was not yet ready. “Then your honour sees,” said he, putting his + head into the carriage, “<i>consarning</i> of them Garraghties—Old + Nick and St. Dennis—the best part, that is, the worst part, of what + I told you, proved true; and I’m glad of it, that is, I’m sorry for it—but + glad your honour knows it in time. So Heaven prosper you! And may all the + saints (<i>barring</i> St. Dennis) have charge of you, and all belonging + to you, till we see you here again!—And when will it be?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot say when I shall return to you myself, but I will do my best to + send your landlord to you soon. In the mean time, my good fellow, keep + away from the sign of the Horseshoe—a man of your sense to drink and + make an idiot and a brute of yourself!” + </p> + <p> + “True!—And it was only when I had lost hope I took to it—but + now! Bring me the book one of <i>yees</i>, out of the landlady’s parlour. + By the virtue of this book, and by all the books that ever was shut and + opened, I won’t touch a drop of spirits, good or bad, till I see your + honour again, or some of the family, this time twelvemonth—that long + I live on hope,—but mind, if you disappoint me, I don’t swear but + I’ll take to the whiskey for comfort, all the rest of my days. But don’t + be staying here, wasting your time, advising me. Bartley! take the reins, + can’t ye?” cried he, giving them to the fresh postilion; “and keep on, for + your life, for there’s thousands of pounds depending on the race—so + off, off, Bartley, with speed of light!” + </p> + <p> + Bartley did his best; and such was the excellence of the roads, that, + notwithstanding the rate at which our hero travelled, he arrived safely in + Dublin, just in time to put his letter into the post-office, and to sail + in that night’s packet. The wind was fair when Lord Colambre went on + board, but before they got out of the Bay it changed; they made no way all + night: in the course of the next day, they had the mortification to see + another packet from Dublin sail past them, and when they landed at + Holyhead, were told the packet, which had left Ireland twelve hours after + them, had been in an hour before them. The passengers had taken their + places in the coach, and engaged what horses could be had. Lord Colambre + was afraid that Mr. Garraghty was one of them; a person exactly answering + his description had taken four horses, and set out half an hour before in + great haste for London. Luckily, just as those who had taken their places + in the mail were getting into the coach, Lord Colambre saw among them a + gentleman, with whom he had been acquainted in Dublin, a barrister, who + was come over during the long vacation, to make a tour of pleasure in + England. When Lord Colambre explained the reason he had for being in haste + to reach London, he had the good-nature to give up to him his place in the + coach. Lord Colambre travelled all night, and delayed not one moment, till + he reached his father’s house, in London. + </p> + <p> + “My father at home?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my lord, in his own room—the agent from Ireland with him, on + particular business—desired not to be interrupted—but I’ll go + and tell him, my lord, you are come.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre ran past the servant, as he spoke—made his way into + the room—found his father, Sir Terence O’Fay, and Mr. Garraghty—leases + open on the table before them; a candle lighted; Sir Terence sealing; + Garraghty emptying a bag of guineas on the table, and Lord Clonbrony + actually with a pen in his hand, ready to sign. + </p> + <p> + As the door opened, Garraghty started back, so that half the contents of + his bag rolled upon the floor. + </p> + <p> + “Stop, my dear father, I conjure you,” cried Lord Colambre, springing + forward, and snatching the pen from his father’s hand. + </p> + <p> + “Colambre! God bless you, my dear boy! at all events. But how came you + here?—And what do you mean?” said his father. + </p> + <p> + “Burn it!” cried Sir Terence, pinching the sealing-wax; “for I burnt + myself with the pleasure of the surprise.” + </p> + <p> + Garraghty, without saying a word, was picking up the guineas that were + scattered upon the floor. + </p> + <p> + “How fortunate I am,” cried Lord Colambre, “to have arrived just in time + to tell you, my dear father, before you put your signature to these + papers, before you conclude this bargain, all I know, all I have seen of + that man!” + </p> + <p> + “Nick Garraghty, honest old Nick; do you know him, my lord?” said Sir + Terence. + </p> + <p> + “Too well, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Garraghty, what have you done to offend my son? I did not expect + this,” said Lord Clonbrony. + </p> + <p> + “Upon my conscience, my lord, nothing to my knowledge,” said Mr. + Garraghty, picking up the guineas; “but showed him every civility, even so + far as offering to accommodate him with cash without security; and where + will you find the other agent, in Ireland, or any where else, will do + that? To my knowledge, I never did any thing, by word or deed, to offend + my Lord Colambre; nor could not, for I never saw him but for ten minutes, + in my days; and then he was in such a foaming passion, begging his + lordship’s pardon, owing to the misrepresentations he met with of me, I + presume, from a parcel of blackguards that he went amongst, <i>incognito</i>, + he would not let me or my brother Dennis say a word to set him right; but + exposed me before all the tenantry, and then threw himself into a hack, + and drove off here, to stop the signing of these leases, I perceive. But I + trust,” concluded he, putting the replenished money-bag down, with a heavy + sound on the table, opposite to Lord Clonbrony, “I trust my Lord Clonbrony + will do me justice; that’s all I have to say.” + </p> + <p> + “I comprehend the force of your last argument fully, sir,” said Lord + Colambre. “May I ask, how many guineas there are in the bag?—I don’t + ask whether they are my father’s or not.” + </p> + <p> + “They are to be your lordship’s father’s, sir, if he thinks proper,” + replied Garraghty. “How many, I don’t know that I can justly, positively + say—five hundred, suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “And they would be my father’s, if he signed those leases—I + understand that perfectly, and understand that my father will lose three + times that sum by the bargain. My dear father, you start—but it is + true—is not this the rent, sir, at which you are going to let Mr. + Garraghty have the land?” placing a paper before Lord Clonbrony. + </p> + <p> + “It is—the very thing.” + </p> + <p> + “And here, sir, written with my own hand, are copies of the proposals I + saw from responsible, respectable tenants, offered and refused. Is it so, + or is it not, Mr. Garraghty?—deny it, if you can.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Garraghty grew pale; his lips quivered; he stammered; and, after a + shocking convulsion of face, could at last articulate—only, “That + there was a great difference between tenant and tenant, his lordship must + be sensible—especially for so large a rent.” + </p> + <p> + “As great a difference as between agent and agent, I am sensible—especially + for so large a property!” said Lord Colambre, with cool contempt. “You + find, sir, I am well informed with regard to this transaction; you will + find, also, that I am equally well informed with respect to every part of + your conduct towards my father and his tenantry. If, in relating to him + what I have seen and heard, I should make any mistakes, you are here; and + I am glad you are, to set me right, and to do yourself justice.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! as to that, I should not presume to contradict any thing your + lordship asserts from your own authority: where would be the use? I leave + it all to your lordship. But, as it is not particularly agreeable to stay + to hear one’s self abused—Sir Terence! I’ll thank you to hand me my + hat!—And if you’ll have the goodness, my Lord Clonbrony, to look + over finally the accounts before morning, I’ll call at your leisure to + settle the balance, as you find convenient: as to the leases, I’m quite + indifferent.” So saying, he took up his money-bag. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you’ll call again in the morning, Mr. Garraghty?” said Sir Terence; + “and, by that time, I hope we shall understand this misunderstanding + better.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Terence pulled Lord Clonbrony’s sleeve: “Don’t let him go with the + money—it’s much wanted.” + </p> + <p> + “Let him go,” said Lord Colambre: “money can be had by honourable means.” + </p> + <p> + “Wheugh!—He talks as if he had the bank of England at his command, + as every young man does,” said Sir Terence. + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre deigned no reply. Lord Clonbrony walked undecidedly between + his agent and his son—looked at Sir Terence, and said nothing. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Garraghty departed: Lord Clonbrony called after him from the head of + the stairs, “I shall be at home and at leisure in the morning.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Terence ran down stairs after him: Lord Colambre waited quietly for + their return. + </p> + <p> + “Fifteen hundred guineas at a stroke of a goose-quill!—That was a + neat hit, narrowly missed, of honest Nick’s!” said Lord Clonbrony. “Too + bad! too bad, faith!—I am much, very much obliged to you, Colambre, + for that hint: by to-morrow morning we shall have him in another tune.” + </p> + <p> + “And he must double the bag, or quit,” said Sir Terence. + </p> + <p> + “Treble it, if you please, Terry. Sure, three times five’s fifteen:—fifteen + hundred down, or he does not get my signature to those leases for his + brother, nor get the agency of the Colambre estate.—Colambre, what + more have you to tell of him? for, since he is making out his accounts + against me, it is no harm to have a <i>per contra</i> against him, that + may ease my balance.” + </p> + <p> + “Very fair! very fair!” said Sir Terence. “My lord, trust me for + remembering all the charges against him—every item: and when he + can’t clear himself, if I don’t make him buy a good character dear enough, + why, say I am a fool, and don’t know the value of character, good or bad!” + </p> + <p> + “If you know the value of character, Sir Terence,” said Lord Colambre, + “you know that it is not to be bought or sold.” Then turning from Sir + Terence to his father, he gave a full and true account of all he had seen + in his progress through his Irish estates; and drew a faithful picture + both of the bad and good agent. Lord Clonbrony, who had benevolent + feelings, and was fond of his tenantry, was touched; and when his son + ceased speaking, repeated several times, “Rascal! rascal! How dare he use + my tenants so—the O’Neills in particular!—Rascal! bad heart!—I’ll + have no more to do with him.” But, suddenly recollecting himself, he + turned to Sir Terence, and added, “That’s sooner said than done—I’ll + tell you honestly, Colambre, your friend Mr. Burke may he the best man in + the world—but he is the worst man to apply to for a remittance or a + loan, in a HURRY! He always tells me, ‘he can’t distress the tenants.’” + </p> + <p> + “And he never, at coming into the agency even,” said Sir Terence, “<i>advanced</i> + a good round sum to the landlord, by way of security for his good + behaviour. Now honest Nick did that much for us at coming in.” + </p> + <p> + “And at going out is he not to be repaid?” said Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “That’s the devil!” said Lord Clonbrony: “that’s the very reason I can’t + conveniently turn him out.” + </p> + <p> + “I will make it convenient to you, sir, if you will permit me,” said Lord + Colambre. “In a few days I shall be of age, and will join with you in + raising whatever sum you want, to free you from this man. Allow me to look + over his account; and whatever the honest balance may be, let him have + it.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear boy!” said Lord Clonbrony, “you’re a generous fellow. Fine Irish + heart!—glad you’re my son! But there’s more, much more, that you + don’t know,” added he, looking at Sir Terence, who cleared his throat; and + Lord Clonbrony, who was on the point of opening all his affairs to his + son, stopped short. + </p> + <p> + “Colambre,” said he, “we will not say any thing more of this at present; + for nothing effectual can be done till you are of age, and then we shall + see all about it.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre perfectly understood what his father meant, and what was + meant by the clearing of Sir Terence’s throat. Lord Clonbrony wanted his + son to join him in opening the estate to pay his debts; and Sir Terence + feared that if Lord Colambre were abruptly told the whole sum total of the + debts, he would never be persuaded to join in selling or mortgaging so + much of his patrimony as would be necessary for their payment. Sir Terence + thought that the young man, ignorant probably of business, and + unsuspicious of the state of his father’s affairs, might be brought, by + proper management, to any measures they desired. Lord Clonbrony wavered + between the temptation to throw himself upon the generosity of his son, + and the immediate convenience of borrowing a sum of money from his agent, + to relieve his present embarrassments. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing can be settled,” repeated he, “till Colambre is of age; so it + does not signify talking of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Why so, sir?” said Lord Colambre. “Though my act, in law, may not be + valid till I am of age, my promise, as a man of honour, is binding now; + and, I trust, would be as satisfactory to my father as any legal deed + whatever.” + </p> + <p> + “Undoubtedly, my dear boy; but—” + </p> + <p> + “But what?” said Lord Colambre, following his father’s eye, which turned + to Sir Terence O’Fay, as if asking his permission to explain. “As my + father’s friend, sir, you ought, permit me to say, at this moment to use + your influence to prevail upon him to throw aside all reserve with a son, + whose warmest wish is to serve him, and to see him at ease and happy.” + </p> + <p> + “Generous, dear boy,” cried Lord Clonbrony. “Terence, I can’t stand it; + but how shall I bring myself to name the amount of the debts?” + </p> + <p> + “At some time or other, I must know it,” said Lord Colambre: “I cannot be + better prepared at any moment than the present; never more disposed to + give my assistance to relieve all difficulties. Blindfold, I cannot be led + to any purpose, sir,” said he, looking at Sir Terence: “the attempt would + be degrading and futile. Blindfolded I will not be—but, with my eyes + open, I will see, and go straight and prompt as heart can go, to my + father’s interest, without a look or thought to my own.” + </p> + <p> + “By St. Patrick! the spirit of a prince, and an Irish prince, spoke + there,” cried Sir Terence: “and if I’d fifty hearts, you’d have all in + your hand this minute, at your service, and warm. Blindfold you! After + that, the man that would attempt it <i>desarves</i> to be shot; and I’d + have no sincerer pleasure in life than shooting him this moment, was he my + best friend. But it’s not Clonbrony, or your father, my lord, would act + that way, no more than Sir Terence O’Fay—there’s the schedule of the + debts,” drawing a paper from his bosom; “and I’ll swear to the lot, and + not a man on earth could do that but myself.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre opened the paper. His father turned aside, covering his face + with both his hands. + </p> + <p> + “Tut, man,” said Sir Terence: “I know him now better than you; he will + stand, you’ll find, the shock of that regiment of figures—he is + steel to the backbone, and proof spirit.” + </p> + <p> + “I thank you, my dear father,” said Lord Colambre, “for trusting me thus + at once with a view of the truth. At first sight it is, I acknowledge, + worse than I expected; but I make no doubt that, when you allow me to + examine Mr. Garraghty’s accounts and Mr. Mordicai’s claims, we shall be + able to reduce this alarming total considerably.” + </p> + <p> + “The devil a pound, nor a penny,” said Sir Terence; “for you have to deal + with a Jew and Old Nick; and, since I’m not a match for them, I don’t know + who is; and I have no hope of getting any abatement. I’ve looked over the + accounts till I’m sick.” + </p> + <p> + “Nevertheless, you will observe that fifteen hundred guineas have been + saved to my father at one stroke, by his not signing those leases.” + </p> + <p> + “Saved to you, my lord; not your father, if you please,” said Sir Terence. + “For now I’m upon the square with you, I must be straight as an arrow, and + deal with you as the son and friend of my friend: before, I was + considering you only as the son and heir, which is quite another thing, + you know; accordingly, acting for your father here, I was making the best + bargain against you I could: honestly, now, I tell you. I knew the value + of the lands well enough: I was as sharp as Garraghty, and he knew it; I + was to have had for your father <i>the difference</i> from him, partly in + cash and partly in balance of accounts—you comprehend—and you + only would have been the loser, and never would have known it, may be, + till after we all were dead and buried; and then you might have set aside + Garraghty’s lease easy, and no harm done to any but a rogue that <i>desarved</i> + it; and, in the mean time, an accommodation to my honest friend, my lord, + your father here. But, as fate would have it, you upset all by your + progress incognito through them estates. Well, it’s best as it is, and I + am better pleased to be as we are, trusting all to a generous son’s own + heart. Now put the poor father out of pain, and tell us what you’ll do, my + dear.” + </p> + <p> + “In one word, then,” said Lord Colambre, “I will, upon two conditions, + either join my father in levying fines to enable him to sell or mortgage + whatever portion of his estate is necessary for the payment of these + debts; or I will, in whatever mode he can point out, as more agreeable or + more advantageous to him, join in giving security to his creditors.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear, noble fellow!” cried Sir Terence: “none but an Irishman could do + it.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Clonbrony, melted to tears, could not articulate, but held his arms + open to embrace his son. + </p> + <p> + “But you have not heard my conditions yet,” said Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, confound the conditions!” cried Sir Terence. + </p> + <p> + “What conditions could he ask, that I could refuse at this minute?” said + Lord Clonbrony. + </p> + <p> + “Nor I—was it my heart’s blood, and were I to be hanged for it,” + cried Sir Terence. “And what are the conditions?” + </p> + <p> + “That Mr. Garraghty shall be dismissed from the agency.” + </p> + <p> + “And welcome, and glad to get rid of him—the rogue, the tyrant,” + said Lord Clonbrony; “and, to be beforehand with you in your next wish, + put Mr. Burke into his place.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll write the letter for you to sign, my lord, this minute,” cried + Terry, “with all the pleasure in life. No; it’s my Lord Colambre should do + that in all justice.” + </p> + <p> + “But what’s your next condition? I hope it’s no worse,” said Lord + Clonbrony. + </p> + <p> + “That you and my mother should cease to be absentees.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, murder!” said Sir Terence; “may be that’s not so easy; for there are + two words to that bargain.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Clonbrony declared that, for his own part, he was ready to return to + Ireland next morning, and to promise to reside on his estate all the rest + of his days; that there was nothing he desired more, provided Lady + Clonbrony would consent to it; but that he could not promise for her; that + she was as obstinate as a mule on that point; that he had often tried, but + that there was no moving her; and that, in short, he could not promise on + her part. + </p> + <p> + But it was on this condition, Lord Colambre said, he must insist. Unless + this condition were granted, he would not engage to do any thing. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we must only see how it will be when she comes to town; she will + come up from Buxton the day you’re of age to sign some papers,” said Lord + Clonbrony; “but,” added he with a very dejected look and voice, “if all’s + to depend on my Lady Clonbrony’s consenting to return to Ireland, I’m as + far from all hope of being at ease as ever.” + </p> + <p> + “Upon my conscience, we’re all at sea again,” said Sir Terence. + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre was silent; but in his silence there was such an air of + firmness, that both Lord Clonbrony and Sir Terence were convinced + entreaties would, on this point, be fruitless. Lord Clonbrony sighed + deeply. + </p> + <p> + “But when it’s ruin or safety! and her husband and all belonging to her at + stake, the woman can’t persist in being a mule,” said Sir Terence. + </p> + <p> + “Of whom are you talking, sir?” said Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “Of whom? Oh, I beg your lordship’s pardon—I thought I was talking + to my lord; but, in other words, as you are her son, I’m persuaded her + ladyship, your mother, will prove herself a reasonable woman—when + she sees she can’t help it. So, my Lord Clonbrony, cheer up; a great deal + may be done by the fear of Mordicai, and an execution, especially now + there’s no prior creditor. Since there’s no reserve between you and I now, + my Lord Colambre,” said Sir Terence, “I must tell you all, and how we + shambled on those months while you were in Ireland. First, Mordicai went + to law, to prove I was in a conspiracy with your father, pretending to be + prior creditor, to keep him off and out of his own; which, after a world + of swearing and law—law always takes time to do justice, that’s one + comfort—the villain proved at last to be true enough, and so cast + us; and I was forced to be paid off last week. So there’s no prior + creditor, or any shield of pretence that way. Then his execution was + coming down upon us, and nothing to stay it till I thought of a monthly + annuity to Mordicai, in the shape of a wager. So the morning after he cast + us, I went to him: ‘Mr. Mordicai,’ says I, ‘you must be <i>plased</i> to + see a man you’ve beaten so handsomely; and though I’m sore, both for + myself and my friend, yet you see I can laugh still, though an execution + is no laughing matter, and I’m sensible you’ve one in petto in your sleeve + for my friend Lord Clonbrony. But I’ll lay you a wager of a hundred + guineas on paper, that a marriage of his son with an heiress, before next + Lady-day, will set all to rights, and pay you with a compliment too.” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens, Sir Terence! surely you said no such thing?” + </p> + <p> + “I did—but what was it but a wager? which is nothing but a dream; + and, when lost, as I am as sensible as you are that it must be, why what + is it, after all, but a bonus, in a gentlemanlike form, to Mordicai? + which, I grant you, is more than he deserves—for staying the + execution till you be of age; and even for my Lady Clonbrony’s sake, + though I know she hates me like poison, rather than have her disturbed by + an execution, I’d pay the hundred guineas this minute out of my own + pocket, if I had ‘em in it.” + </p> + <p> + A thundering knock at the door was heard at this moment. + </p> + <p> + “Never heed it; let ‘em thunder,” said Sir Terence: “whoever it is, they + won’t get in; for my lord bid them let none in for their life. It’s + necessary for us to be very particular about the street-door now; and I + advise a double chain for it, and to have the footmen well tutored to look + before they run to a double rap; for a double rap might be a double trap.” + </p> + <p> + “My lady and Miss Nugent, my lord,” said a footman, throwing open the + door. + </p> + <p> + “My mother! Miss Nugent!” cried Lord Colambre, springing eagerly forward. + </p> + <p> + “Colambre! Here!” said his mother: “but it’s all too late now, and no + matter where you are.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Clonbrony coldly suffered her son to embrace her; and he, without + considering the coldness of her manner, scarcely hearing, and not at all + understanding, the words she said, fixed his eyes on his cousin, who, with + a countenance all radiant with affectionate joy, held out her hand to him. + </p> + <p> + “Dear cousin Colambre, what an unexpected pleasure!” + </p> + <p> + He seized the hand; but, as he was going to kiss it, the recollection of + <i>St. Omar</i> crossed his mind: he checked himself, and said something + about joy and pleasure, but his countenance expressed neither; and Miss + Nugent, much surprised by the coldness of his manner, withdrew her hand, + and, turning away, left the room. + </p> + <p> + “Grace! darling!” called Lord Clonbrony, “whither so fast, before you’ve + given me a word or a kiss?” + </p> + <p> + She came back, and hastily kissed her uncle, who folded her in his arms. + “Why must I let you go? And what makes you so pale, my dear child?” + </p> + <p> + “I am a little, a little tired—I will be with you again soon.” + </p> + <p> + Her uncle let her go. + </p> + <p> + “Your famous Buxton baths don’t seem to have agreed with her, by all I can + see,” said Lord Clonbrony. + </p> + <p> + “My lord, the Buxton baths are no way to blame; but I know what is to + blame and who is to blame,” said Lady Clonbrony, in a tone of displeasure, + fixing her eyes upon her son. “Yes, you may well look confounded, + Colambre; but it is too late now—you should have known your own mind + in time. I see you have heard it, then—but I am sure I don’t know + how; for it was only decided the day I left Buxton. The news could hardly + travel faster than I did. Pray how did you hear it?” + </p> + <p> + “Hear what, ma’am?” said Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “Why, that Miss Broadhurst is going to be married.” + </p> + <p> + “All! Now, Lord Colambre, you <i>reelly</i> are too much for my patience. + But I flatter myself you will feel, when I tell you that it is your + friend, Sir Arthur Berryl, as I always prophesied, who has carried off the + prize from you.” + </p> + <p> + “But for the fear of displeasing my dear mother, I should say, that I do + feel sincere pleasure in this marriage—I always wished it: my + friend, Sir Arthur, from the first moment, trusted me with the secret of + his attachment; he knew that he had my warm good wishes for his success; + he knew that I thought most highly of the young lady; but that I never + thought of her as a wife for myself.” + </p> + <p> + “And why did not you? that is the very thing I complain of,” said Lady + Clonbrony. “But it is all over now. You may set your heart at ease, for + they are to be married on Thursday; and poor Mrs. Broadhurst is ready to + break her heart, for she was set upon a coronet for her daughter; and you, + ungrateful as you are, you don’t know how she wished you to be the happy + man. But only conceive, after all that has passed, Miss Broadhurst had the + assurance to expect I would let my niece be her bride’s-maid. Oh, I flatly + refused; that is, I told Grace it could not be; and, that there might be + no affront to Mrs. Broadhurst, who did not deserve it, I pretended Grace + had never mentioned it; but ordered my carriage, and left Buxton directly. + Grace was hurt, for she is very warm in her friendships. I am sorry to + hurt Grace. But <i>reelly</i> I could not let her be bride’s-maid:—and + that, if you must know, is what vexed her, and made the tears come in her + eyes, I suppose—and I’m sorry for it; but one must keep up one’s + dignity a little. After all, Miss Broadhurst was only a citizen—and + <i>reelly</i> now, a very odd girl; never did any thing like any body + else; settled her marriage at last in the oddest way. Grace can tell you + the particulars. I own, I am tired of the subject, and tired of my + journey. My lord, I shall take leave to dine in my own room to-day,” + continued her ladyship, as she quitted the room. + </p> + <p> + “I hope her ladyship did not notice me,” said Sir Terence O’Fay, coming + from behind a window-curtain. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Terry, what did you hide for?” said Lord Clonbrony. + </p> + <p> + “Hide! I didn’t hide, nor wouldn’t from any man living, <i>let alone</i> + any woman.<a href="#linknote-11" name="linknoteref-11" id="linknoteref-11"><small>11</small></a> + Hide! no; but I just stood looking out of the window, behind this curtain, + that my poor Lady Clonbrony might not be discomfited and shocked by the + sight of one whom she can’t abide, the very minute she come home. Oh, I’ve + some consideration—it would have put her out of humour worse with + both of you too; and for that there’s no need, as far as I see. So I’ll + take myself off to my coffee-house to dine, and may be you may get her + down and into spirits again. But, for your lives, don’t touch upon Ireland + this night, nor till she has fairly got the better of the marriage. <i>Apropos</i>—there’s + my wager to Mordicai gone at a slap. It’s I that ought to be scolding you, + my Lord Colambre; but I trust you will do as well yet, not in point of + purse, may be. But I’m not one of those that think that money’s every + thing—though, I grant you, in this world there’s nothing to be had + without it—love excepted,—which most people don’t believe in—but + not I—in particular cases. So I leave you, with my blessing, and + I’ve a notion, at this time, that is better than my company—your + most devoted.” + </p> + <p> + The good-natured Sir Terence would not be persuaded by Lord Clonbrony to + stay. Nodding at Lord Colambre as he went out of the room, he said, “I’ve + an eye, in going, to your heart’s ease too. When I played myself, I never + liked standers-by.” + </p> + <p> + Sir Terence was not deficient in penetration, but he never could help + boasting of his discoveries. + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre was grateful for his judicious departure; and followed his + equally judicious advice, not to touch upon Ireland this night. + </p> + <p> + Lady Clonbrony was full of Buxton, and he was glad to be relieved from the + necessity of talking; and he indulged himself in considering what might be + passing in Miss Nugent’s mind. She now appeared in remarkably good + spirits; for her aunt had given her a hint that she thought her out of + humour because she had not been permitted to be Miss Broadhurst’s + bride’s-maid, and she was determined to exert herself to dispel this + notion. This it was now easy for her to do, because she had, by this time, + in her own imagination, found a plausible excuse for that coldness in Lord + Colambre’s reception of her, by which she had at first been hurt: she had + settled it, that he had taken it for granted she was of his mother’s + sentiments respecting Miss Broadhurst’s marriage, and that this idea, and + perhaps the apprehension of her reproaches, had caused this embarrassment—she + knew that she could easily set this misunderstanding right. Accordingly, + when Lady Clonbrony had talked herself to sleep about Buxton, and was + taking her afternoon’s nap, as it was her custom to do when she had + neither cards nor company to keep her awake, Miss Nugent began to explain + her own sentiments, and to give Lord Colambre, as her aunt had desired, an + account of the manner in which Miss Broadhurst’s marriage had been + settled. + </p> + <p> + “In the first place,” said she, “let me assure you, that I rejoice in this + marriage: I think your friend, Sir Arthur Berryl, is every way deserving + of my friend Miss Broadhurst; and this from me,” said she, smiling, “is no + slight eulogium. I have marked the rise and progress of their attachment; + and it has been founded on the perception of such excellent qualities on + each side, that I have no fear for its permanence. Sir Arthur Berryl’s + honourable conduct in paying his father’s debts, and his generosity to his + mother and sisters, whose fortunes were left entirely dependent upon him, + first pleased my friend. It was like what she would have done herself, and + like—in short, it is what few young men, as she said, of the present + day would do. Then his refraining from all personal expenses, his going + without equipage and without horses, that he might do what he felt to be + right, whilst it exposed him continually to the ridicule of fashionable + young men, or to the charge of avarice, made a very different impression + on Miss Broadhurst’s mind; her esteem and admiration were excited by these + proofs of strength of character, and of just and good principles.” + </p> + <p> + “If you go on you will make me envious and jealous of my friend,” said + Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “You jealous!—Oh, it is too late now—besides, you cannot be + jealous, for you never loved.” + </p> + <p> + “I never loved Miss Broadhurst, I acknowledge.” + </p> + <p> + “There was the advantage Sir Arthur Berryl had over you—he loved, + and my friend saw it.” + </p> + <p> + “She was clear-sighted,” said Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “She was clear-sighted,” repeated Miss Nugent; “but if you mean that she + was vain, and apt to fancy people in love with her, I can assure you that + you are mistaken. Never was woman, young or old, more clear-sighted to the + views of those by whom she was addressed. No flattery, no fashion, could + blind her judgment.” + </p> + <p> + “She knew how to choose a friend well, I am sure,” said Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “And a friend for life, too, I am sure you will allow—and she had + such numbers, such strange variety of admirers, as might have puzzled the + choice and turned the brain of any inferior person. Such a succession of + lovers as she has had this summer, ever since you went to Ireland—they + appeared and vanished like figures in a magic lantern. She had three noble + admirers—rank in three different forms offered themselves First came + in, hobbling, rank and gout; next, rank and gaming; then rank, very high + rank, over head and ears in debt. All of these were rejected; and, as they + moved off, I thought Mrs. Broadhurst would have broken her heart. Next + came fashion, with his head, heart, and soul in his cravat—he + quickly made his bow, or rather his nod, and walked off, taking a pinch of + snuff. Then came a man of wit—but it was wit without worth; and + presently came ‘worth without wit.’ She preferred ‘wit and worth united,’ + which she fortunately at last found, Lord Colambre, in your friend, Sir + Arthur Berryl.” + </p> + <p> + “Grace, my girl!” said her uncle, “I’m glad to see you’ve got up your + spirits again, though you were not to be bride’s-maid. Well, I hope you’ll + be bride soon—I’m sure you ought to be—and you should think of + rewarding that poor Mr. Salisbury, who plagues me to death, whenever he + can catch hold of me, about you. He must have our definitive at last, you + know, Grace.” + </p> + <p> + A silence ensued, which neither Miss Nugent nor Lord Colambre seemed able + or willing to break. + </p> + <p> + “Very good company, faith, you three!—One of ye asleep, and the + other two saying nothing, to keep one awake. Colambre, have you no Dublin + news? Grace, have you no Buxton scandal? What was it Lady Clonbrony told + us you’d tell us, about the oddness of Miss Broadhurst’s settling her + marriage? Tell me that, for I love to hear odd things.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you will not think it odd,” said she. “One evening—but I + should begin by telling you that three of her admirers, besides Sir Arthur + Berryl, had followed her to Buxton, and had been paying their court to her + all the time we were there; and at last grew impatient for her decision.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, for her definitive!” said Lord Clonbrony. Miss Nugent was put out + again, but resumed. + </p> + <p> + “So one evening, just before the dancing began, the gentlemen were all + standing round Miss Broadhurst; one of them said, ‘I wish Miss Broadhurst + would decide—that whoever she dances with to-night should be her + partner for life: what a happy man he would be!’ + </p> + <p> + “‘But how can I decide?’ said Miss Broadhurst. + </p> + <p> + “‘I wish I had a friend to plead for me!’ said one of the suitors, looking + at me. + </p> + <p> + “‘Have you no friend of your own?’ said Miss Broadhurst. + </p> + <p> + “‘Plenty of friends,’ said the gentleman. + </p> + <p> + “‘Plenty!—then you must be a very happy man,’ replied Miss + Broadhurst. ‘Come,’ said she, laughing, ‘I will dance with that man who + can convince me that he has, near relations excepted, one true friend in + the world! That man who has made the best friend, I dare say, will make + the best husband!’ + </p> + <p> + “At that moment,” continued Miss Nugent, “I was certain who would be her + choice. The gentlemen all declared at first that they had abundance of + excellent friends—the best friends in the world! but when Miss + Broadhurst cross-examined them, as to what their friends had done for + them, or what they were willing to do, modern friendship dwindled into a + ridiculously small compass. I cannot give you the particulars of the + cross-examination, though it was conducted with great spirit and humour by + Miss Broadhurst; but I can tell you the result—that Sir Arthur + Berryl, by incontrovertible facts, and eloquence warm from the heart, + convinced every body present that he had the best friend in the world; and + Miss Broadhurst, as he finished speaking, gave him her hand, and he led + her off in triumph—So you see, Lord Colambre, you were at last the + cause of my friend’s marriage!” + </p> + <p> + She turned to Lord Colambre as she spoke these words, with such an + affectionate smile, and such an expression of open, innocent tenderness in + her whole countenance, that our hero could hardly resist the impulse of + his passion—could hardly restrain himself from falling at her feet + that instant, and declaring his love. “But St. Omar! St. Omar!—It + must not be!” + </p> + <p> + “I must be gone!” said Lord Clonbrony, pulling out his watch. “It is time + to go to my club; and poor Terry will wonder what has become of me.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre instantly offered to accompany his father; much to Lord + Clonbrony’s, and more to Miss Nugent’s surprise. + </p> + <p> + “What!” said she to herself, “after so long an absence, leave me!—Leave + his mother, with whom he always used to stay—on purpose to avoid me! + What can I have done to displease him? It is clear it was not about Miss + Broadhurst’s marriage he was offended; for he looked pleased, and like + himself, whilst I was talking of that: but the moment afterwards, what a + constrained, unintelligible expression of countenance—and leaves me + to go to a club which he detests!” + </p> + <p> + As the gentlemen shut the door on leaving the room, Lady Clonbrony + awakened, and, starting up, exclaimed, “What’s the matter? Are they gone? + Is Colambre gone?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma’am, with my uncle.” + </p> + <p> + “Very odd! very odd of him to go and leave me! he always used to stay with + me—what did he say about me?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, ma’am.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, I have nothing to say about him, or about any thing, indeed, + for I’m excessively tired and stupid—alone in Lon’on’s as bad as any + where else. Ring the bell, and we’ll go to bed directly—if you have + no objection, Grace.” + </p> + <p> + Grace made no objection: Lady Clonbrony went to bed and to sleep in ten + minutes. Miss Nugent went to bed; but she lay awake, considering what + could be the cause of her cousin Colambre’s hard unkindness, and of “his + altered eye.” She was openness itself; and she determined that, the first + moment she could speak to him alone, she would at once ask for an + explanation. With this resolution, she rose in the morning, and went down + to the breakfast-room, in hopes of meeting him, as it had formerly been + his custom to be early; and she expected to find him reading in his usual + place. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. + </h2> + <p> + No—Lord Colambre was not in his accustomed place, reading in the + breakfast-room; nor did he make his appearance till both his father and + mother had been some time at breakfast. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning to you, my Lord Colambre,” said his mother, in a reproachful + tone, the moment he entered; “I am much obliged to you for your company + last night.” + </p> + <p> + “Good morning to you, Colambre,” said his father, in a more jocose tone of + reproach; “I am obliged to you for your good company last night.” + </p> + <p> + “Good morning to you, Lord Colambre,” said Miss Nugent; and though she + endeavoured to throw all reproach from her looks, and to let none be heard + in her voice, yet there was a slight tremulous motion in that voice, which + struck our hero to the heart. + </p> + <p> + “I thank you, ma’am, for missing me,” said he, addressing himself to his + mother: “I stayed away but half an hour; I accompanied my father to St. + James’s-street, and when I returned I found that every one had retired to + rest.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, was that the case?” said Lady Clonbrony: “I own I thought it very + unlike you to leave me in that sort of way.” + </p> + <p> + “And, lest you should be jealous of that half hour when he was + accompanying me,” said Lord Clonbrony, “I must remark, that, though I had + his body with me, I had none of his mind; that he left at home with you + ladies, or with some fair one across the water, for the deuce of two words + did he bestow upon me, with all his pretence of accompanying me.” + </p> + <p> + “Lord Colambre seems to have a fair chance of a pleasant breakfast,” said + Miss Nugent, smiling; “reproaches on all sides.” + </p> + <p> + “I have heard none on your side, Grace,” said Lord Clonbrony; “and that’s + the reason, I suppose, he wisely takes his seat beside you. But come, we + will not badger you any more, my dear boy. We have given him as fine a + complexion amongst us as if he had been out hunting these three hours: + have not we, Grace?” + </p> + <p> + “When Colambre has been a season or two more in Lon’on, he’ll not be so + easily put out of countenance,” said Lady Clonbrony; “you don’t see young + men of fashion here blushing about nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “No, nor about any thing, my dear,” said Lord Clonbrony; “but that’s no + proof they do nothing they ought to blush for.” + </p> + <p> + “What they do, there’s no occasion for ladies to inquire,” said Lady + Clonbrony; “but this I know, that it’s a great disadvantage to a young man + of a certain rank to blush; for no people, who live in a certain set, ever + do: and it is the most opposite thing possible to a certain air, which, I + own, I think Colambre wants; and now that he has done travelling in + Ireland, which is no use in <i>pint</i> of giving a gentleman a travelled + air, or any thing of that sort, I hope he will put himself under my + conduct for next winter’s campaign in town.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Clonbrony looked as if he did not know how to look; and, after + drumming on the table for some seconds, said, “Colambre, I told you how it + would be: that’s a fatal hard condition of yours.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a hard condition, I hope, my dear father,” said Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “Hard it must be, since it can’t be fulfilled, or won’t be fulfilled, + which comes to the same thing,” replied Lord Clonbrony, sighing. + </p> + <p> + “I am persuaded, sir, that it will be fulfilled,” said Lord Colambre; “I + am persuaded that, when my mother hears the truth, and the whole truth—when + she finds that your happiness, and the happiness of her whole family, + depend upon her yielding her taste on one subject—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I see now what you are about,” cried Lady Clonbrony; “you are coming + round with your persuasions and prefaces to ask me to give up Lon’on, and + go back with you to Ireland, my lord. You may save yourselves the trouble, + all of you; for no earthly persuasions shall make me do it. I will never + give up my taste on that <i>pint</i>. My happiness has a right to be as + much considered as your father’s, Colambre, or anybody’s; and, in one + word, I won’t do it,” cried she, rising angrily from the breakfast table. + </p> + <p> + “There! did not I tell you how it would be?” cried Lord Clonbrony. + </p> + <p> + “My mother has not heard me yet,” said Lord Colambre, laying his hand upon + his mother’s arm, as she attempted to pass: “hear me, madam, for your own + sake. You do not know what will happen, this very day—this very + hour, perhaps—if you do not listen to me.” + </p> + <p> + “And what will happen?” said Lady Clonbrony, stopping short. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, indeed; she little knows,” said Lord Clonbrony, “what’s hanging over + her head.” + </p> + <p> + “Hanging over my head?” said Lady Clonbrony, looking up; “nonsense!—what?” + </p> + <p> + “An execution, madam!” said Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “Gracious me! an execution!” said Lady Clonbrony, sitting down again; “but + I heard you talk of an execution months ago, my lord, before my son went + to Ireland, and it blew over—I heard no more of it.” + </p> + <p> + “It won’t blow over now,” said Lord Clonbrony; “you’ll hear more of it + now. Sir Terence O’Fay it was, you may remember, that settled it then.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, and can’t he settle it now? Send for him, since he understands + these cases; and I will ask him to dinner myself, for your sake, and be + very civil to him, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + “All your civility, either for my sake or your own, will not signify a + straw, my dear, in this case—any thing that poor Terry could do, + he’d do, and welcome, without it; but he can do nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing!—that’s very extraordinary. But I’m clear no one dare to + bring a real execution against us in earnest; and you are only trying to + frighten me to your purpose, like a child; but it shan’t do.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, my dear; you’ll see—too late.” + </p> + <p> + A knock at the house door. + </p> + <p> + “Who is it?—What is it?” cried Lord Clonbrony, growing very pale. + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre changed colour too, and ran down stairs. “Don’t let ‘em let + any body in, for your life, Colambre; under any pretence,” cried Lord + Clonbrony, calling from the head of the stairs: then running to the + window, “By all that’s good, it’s Mordicai himself! and the people with + him.” + </p> + <p> + “Lean your head on me, my dear aunt,” said Miss Nugent: Lady Clonbrony + leant back, trembling, and ready to faint. + </p> + <p> + “But he’s walking off now; the rascal could not get in—safe for the + present!” cried Lord Clonbrony, rubbing his hands, and repeating, “safe + for the present!” + </p> + <p> + “Safe for the present!” repeated Lord Colambre, coming again into the + room. “Safe for the present hour.” + </p> + <p> + “He could not get in, I suppose.—Oh, I warned all the servants + well,” said Lord Clonbrony; “and so did Terry. Ay, there’s the rascal + Mordicai walking off, at the end of the street; I know his walk a mile + off. Gad! I can breathe again. I am glad he’s gone. But he will come back + and always lie in wait, and some time or other, when we’re off our guard + (unawares), he’ll slide in.” + </p> + <p> + “Slide in! Oh, horrid!” cried Lady Clonbrony, sitting up, and wiping away + the water which Miss Nugent had sprinkled on her face. + </p> + <p> + “Were you much alarmed?” said Lord Colambre, with a voice of tenderness, + looking at his mother first, but his eyes fixing on Miss Nugent. + </p> + <p> + “Shockingly!” said Lady Clonbrony; “I never thought it would <i>reelly</i> + come to this.” + </p> + <p> + “It will really come to much more, my dear,” said Lord Clonbrony, “that + you may depend upon, unless you prevent it.” + </p> + <p> + “Lord! What can I do?—I know nothing of business: how should I, Lord + Clonbrony? But I know there’s Colambre—I was always told that when + he was of age, every thing should be settled; and why can’t he settle it + when he’s upon the spot?” + </p> + <p> + “And upon one condition, I will,” cried Lord Colambre; “at what loss to + myself, my dear mother, I need not mention.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I will mention it,” cried Lord Clonbrony: “at the loss it will be of + nearly half the estate he would have had, if we had not spent it.” + </p> + <p> + “Loss! Oh, I am excessively sorry my son’s to be at such a loss—it + must not be.” + </p> + <p> + “It cannot be otherwise,” said Lord Clonbrony; “nor it can’t be this way + either, my Lady Clonbrony, unless you comply with his condition, and + consent to return to Ireland.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot—I will not,” replied Lady Clonbrony. “Is this your + condition, Colambre?—I take it exceedingly ill of you. I think it + very unkind, and unhandsome, and ungenerous, and undutiful of you, + Colambre; you my son!” She poured forth a torrent of reproaches; then came + to entreaties and tears. But our hero, prepared for this, had steeled his + mind; and he stood resolved not to indulge his own feelings, or to yield + to caprice or persuasion, but to do that which he knew was best for the + happiness of hundreds of tenants, who depended upon them—best for + both his father and his mother’s ultimate happiness and respectability. + </p> + <p> + “It’s all in vain,” cried Lord Clonbrony; “I have no resource but one, and + I must condescend now to go to him this minute, for Mordicai will be back + and seize all—I must sign and leave all to Garraghty.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sign, sign, my lord, and settle with Garraghty. Colambre, I’ve + heard all the complaints you brought over against that man. My lord spent + half the night telling them to me: but all agents are bad, I suppose; at + any rate I can’t help it—sign, sign, my lord; he has money—yes, + do; go and settle with him, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre and Miss Nugent, at one and the same moment, stopped Lord + Clonbrony as he was quitting the room, and then approached Lady Clonbrony + with supplicating looks; but she turned her head to the other side, and, + as if putting away their entreaties, made a repelling motion with both her + hands, and exclaimed, “No, Grace Nugent!—no, Colambre—no—no, + Colambre! I’ll never hear of leaving Lon’on—there’s no living out of + Lon’on—I can’t, I won’t live out of Lon’on, I say.” + </p> + <p> + Her son saw that the <i>Londonomania</i> was now stronger than ever upon + her, but resolved to make one desperate appeal to her natural feelings, + which, though smothered, he could not believe were wholly extinguished: he + caught her repelling hands, and pressing them with respectful tenderness + to his lips, “Oh, my dear mother, you once loved your son,” said he; + “loved him better than any thing in this world: if one spark of affection + for him remains, hear him now, and forgive him, if he pass the bounds—bounds + he never passed before—of filial duty. Mother, in compliance with + your wishes my father left Ireland—left his home, his duties, his + friends, his natural connexions, and for many years he has lived in + England, and you have spent many seasons in London.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, in the very best company—in the very first circles,” said Lady + Clonbrony; “cold as the high-bred English are said to be in general to + strangers.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Lord Colambre, “the very best company (if you mean the most + fashionable) have accepted of our entertainments. We have forced our way + into their frozen circles; we have been permitted to breathe in these + elevated regions of fashion; we have it to say, that the Duke of <i>This</i>, + and my Lady <i>That</i>, are of our acquaintance.—We may say more: + we may boast that we have vied with those whom we could never equal. And + at what expense have we done all this? For a single season, the last + winter (I will go no farther), at the expense of a great part of your + timber, the growth of a century—swallowed in the entertainments of + one winter in London! Our hills to be bare for another half century to + come! But let the trees go: I think more of your tenants—of those + left under the tyranny of a bad agent, at the expense of every comfort, + every hope they enjoyed!—tenants, who were thriving and prosperous; + who used to smile upon you, and to bless you both! In one cottage, I have + seen—” + </p> + <p> + Here Lord Clonbrony, unable to restrain his emotion, hurried out of the + room. + </p> + <p> + “Then I am sure it is not my fault,” said Lady Clonbrony; “for I brought + my lord a large fortune: and I am confident I have not, after all, spent + more any season, in the best company, than he has among a set of low + people, in his muddling, discreditable way.” + </p> + <p> + “And how has he been reduced to this?” said Lord Colambre. “Did he not + formerly live with gentlemen, his equals, in his own country; his + contemporaries? Men of the first station and character, whom I met in + Dublin, spoke of him in a manner that gratified the heart of his son: he + was respectable and respected, at his own home; but when he was forced + away from that home, deprived of his objects and his occupations, + compelled to live in London, or at watering-places, where he could find no + employments that were suitable to him—set down, late in life, in the + midst of strangers, to him cold and reserved—himself too proud to + bend to those who disdained him as an Irishman—is he not more to be + pitied than blamed for—yes, I, his son, must say the word—the + degradation which has ensued? And do not the feelings, which have this + moment forced him to leave the room, show of what he is capable? Oh, + mother!” cried Lord Colambre, throwing himself at Lady Clonbrony’s feet, + “restore my father to himself! Should such feelings be wasted?—No; + give them again to expand in benevolent, in kind, useful actions; give him + again to his tenantry, his duties, his country, his home; return to that + home yourself, dear mother! leave all the nonsense of high life—scorn + the impertinence of these dictators of fashion, who, in return for all the + pains we take to imitate, to court them—in return for the sacrifice + of health, fortune, peace of mind—bestow sarcasm, contempt, + ridicule, and mimicry!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Colambre! Colambre! mimicry—I’ll never believe it.” + </p> + <p> + “Believe me—believe me, mother; for I speak of what I know. Scorn + them—quit them! Return to an unsophisticated people—to poor, + but grateful hearts, still warm with the remembrance of your kindness, + still blessing you for favours long since conferred, ever praying to see + you once more. Believe me, for I speak of what I know—your son has + heard these prayers, has felt these blessings. Here! at my heart felt, and + still feel them, when I was not known to be your son, in the cottage of + the widow O’Neil.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, did you see the widow O’Neil! and does she remember me?” said Lady + Clonbrony. + </p> + <p> + “Remember you! and you, Miss Nugent! I have slept in the bed—I would + tell you more, but I cannot.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! I never should have thought they would have remembered me so long! + poor people!” said Lady Clonbrony. + </p> + <p> + “I thought all in Ireland must have forgotten me, it is now so long since + I was at home.” + </p> + <p> + “You are not forgotten in Ireland by any rank, I can answer for that. + Return home, my dearest mother—let me see you once more among your + natural friends, beloved, respected, happy!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, return! let us return home!” cried Miss Nugent, with a voice of great + emotion. “Return, let us return home! My beloved aunt, speak to us! say + that you grant our request!” She kneeled beside Lord Colambre, as she + spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible to resist that voice, that look?” thought Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “If any body knew,” said Lady Clonbrony, “if any body could conceive, how + I detest the sight, the thoughts of that old yellow damask furniture, in + the drawing-room at Clonbrony Castle—” + </p> + <p> + “Good Heavens!” cried Lord Colambre, starting up, and looking at his + mother in stupified astonishment; “is <i>that</i> what you are thinking + of, ma’am?” + </p> + <p> + “The yellow damask furniture!” said her niece, smiling. “Oh, if that’s + all, that shall never offend your eyes again. Aunt, my painted velvet + chairs are finished; and trust the furnishing that room to me. The legacy + lately left me cannot be better applied—you shall see how + beautifully it will be furnished.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, if I had money, I should like to do it myself; but it would take an + immensity to new furnish Clonbrony Castle properly.” + </p> + <p> + “The furniture in this house,” said Miss Nugent, looking round— + </p> + <p> + “Would do a great deal towards it, I declare,” cried Lady Clonbrony; “that + never struck me before, Grace, I protest—and what would not suit one + might sell or exchange here—and it would be a great amusement to me—and + I should like to set the fashion of something better in that country. And + I declare now, I should like to see those poor people, and that widow + O’Neil. I do assure you, I think I was happier at home; only that one + gets, I don’t know how, a notion, one’s nobody out of Lon’on. But, after + all, there’s many drawbacks in Lon’on—and many people are very + impertinent, I’ll allow—and if there’s a woman in the world I hate, + it is Mrs. Dareville—and, if I was leaving Lon’on, I should not + regret Lady Langdale neither—and Lady St. James is as cold as a + stone. Colambre may well say <i>frozen circles</i>—these sort of + people are really very cold, and have, I do believe, no hearts. I don’t + verily think there is one of them would regret me more—Hey! let me + see, Dublin—the winter—Merrion-square—new furnished—and + the summer—Clonbrony Castle!” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre and Miss Nugent waited in silence till her mind should have + worked itself clear. One great obstacle had been removed; and now that the + yellow damask had been taken out of her imagination, they no longer + despaired. + </p> + <p> + Lord Clonbrony put his head into the room. “What hopes?—any? if not, + let me go.” He saw the doubting expression of Lady Clonbrony’s countenance—hope + in the face of his son and niece. “My dear, dear Lady Clonbrony, make us + all happy by one word,” said he, kissing her. + </p> + <p> + “You never kissed me so since we left Ireland before,” said Lady + Clonbrony. “Well, since it must be so, let us go,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Did I ever see such joy!” said Lord Clonbrony, clasping his hands: “I + never expected such joy in my life!—I must go and tell poor Terry!” + and off he ran. + </p> + <p> + “And now, since we are to go,” said Lady Clonbrony, “pray let us go + immediately, before the thing gets wind, else I shall have Mrs. Dareville, + and Lady Langdale, and Lady St. James, and all the world, coming to + condole with me, just to satisfy their own curiosity: and then, Miss + Pratt, who hears every thing that every body says, and more than they say, + will come and tell me how it is reported every where that we are ruined. + Oh! I never could bear to stay and hear all this. I’ll tell you what I’ll + do—you are to be of age soon, Colambre,—very well, there are + some papers for me to sign,—I must stay to put my name to them, and, + that done, that minute I’ll leave you and Lord Clonbrony to settle all the + rest; and I’ll get into my carriage, with Grace, and go down to Buxton + again; where you can come for me, and take me up, when you’re all ready to + go to Ireland—and we shall be so far on our way. Colambre, what do + you say to this?” + </p> + <p> + “That, if you like it, madam,” said he, giving one hasty glance at Miss + Nugent, and withdrawing his eyes, “it is the best possible arrangement.” + </p> + <p> + “So,” thought Grace, “that is the best possible arrangement which takes us + away.” + </p> + <p> + “If I like it!” said Lady Clonbrony; “to be sure I do, or I should not + propose it. What is Colambre thinking of? I know, Grace, at all events, + what you and I must think of—of having the furniture packed up, and + settling what’s to go, and what’s to be exchanged, and all that. Now, my + dear, go and write a note directly to Mr. Soho, and bid him come himself, + immediately: and we’ll go and make out a catalogue this instant of what + furniture I will have packed.” + </p> + <p> + So with her head full of furniture, Lady Clonbrony retired. “I go to my + business, Colambre: and I leaven you to settle yours in peace.” + </p> + <p> + In peace!—Never was our hero’s mind less at peace than at this + moment. The more his heart felt that it was painful, the more his reason + told him it was necessary that he should part from Grace Nugent. To his + union with her there was an obstacle which his prudence told him ought to + be insurmountable; yet he felt that, during the few days he had been with + her, the few hours he had been near her, he had, with his utmost power + over himself, scarcely been master of his passion, or capable of + concealing its object. It could not have been done but for her perfect + simplicity and innocence. But how could this be supported on his part? How + could he venture to live with this charming girl? How could he settle at + home? What resource? + </p> + <p> + His mind turned towards the army: he thought that abroad, and in active + life, he should lose all the painful recollections, and drive from his + heart all the sentiments, which could now be only a source of unavailing + regret. But his mother—his mother, who had now yielded her own taste + to his entreaties, for the good of her family—she expected him to + return and live with her in Ireland. Though not actually promised or + specified, he knew that she took it for granted; that it was upon this + hope, this faith, she consented: he knew that she would be shocked at the + bare idea of his going into the army. There was one chance—our hero + tried, at this moment, to think it the best possible chance—that + Miss Nugent might marry Mr. Salisbury, and settle in England. On this idea + he relied, as the only means of extricating him from difficulties. + </p> + <p> + It was necessary to turn his thoughts immediately to business, to execute + his promises to his father. Two great objects were now to be accomplished—the + payment of his father’s debts, and the settlement of the Irish agent’s + accounts; and, in transacting this complicated business, he derived + considerable assistance from Sir Terence O’Fay, and from Sir Arthur + Berryl’s solicitor, Mr. Edwards. Whilst acting for Sir Arthur, on a former + occasion, Lord Colambre had gained the entire confidence of this + solicitor, who was a man of the first eminence. Mr. Edwards took the + papers and Lord Clonbrony’s title-deeds home with him, saying that he + would give an answer the next morning. He then waited upon Lord Colambre, + and informed him that he had just received a letter from Sir Arthur + Berryl, who, with the consent and desire of his lady, requested that + whatever money might be required by Lord Clonbrony should be immediately + supplied on their account, without waiting till Lord Colambre should be of + age, as the ready money might be of some convenience to him in + accelerating the journey to Ireland, which Sir Arthur and Lady Berryl knew + was his lordship’s object. Sir Terence O’Fay now supplied Mr. Edwards with + accurate information as to the demands that were made upon Lord Clonbrony, + and of the respective characters of the creditors. Mr. Edwards undertook + to settle with the fair claimants; Sir Terence with the rogues: so that by + the advancement of ready money from <i>the Berryls</i>, and by the + detection of false and exaggerated charges which Sir Terence made among + the inferior class, the debts were reduced nearly to one-half of their + former amount. Mordicai, who had been foiled in his vile attempt to become + sole creditor, had, however, a demand of more than seven thousand pounds + upon Lord Clonbrony, which he had raised to this enormous sum in six or + seven years, by means well known to himself. He stood the foremost in the + list: not from the greatness of the sum; but from the danger of his adding + to it the expenses of law. Sir Terence undertook to pay the whole with + five thousand pounds. Lord Clonbrony thought it impossible: the solicitor + thought it improvident, because he knew that upon a trial a much greater + abatement would be allowed; but Lord Colambre was determined, from the + present embarrassments of his own situation, to leave nothing undone that + could be accomplished immediately. + </p> + <p> + Sir Terence, pleased with his commission, immediately went to Mordicai. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Sir Terence,” said Mordicai, “I hope you are come to pay me my + hundred guineas; for Miss Broadhurst is married!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mister Mordicai, what then? The ides of March are come, but not + gone! Stay, if you plase, Mister Mordicai, till Lady-day, when it becomes + due: in the mean time, I have a handful, or rather an armful, of + bank-notes for you, from my Lord Colambre.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph.” said Mordicai: “how’s that? he’ll not be of age these three + days.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t matter for that: he has sent me to look over your accounts, and to + hope that you will make some small ABATEMENT in the total.” + </p> + <p> + “Harkee, Sir Terence—you think yourself very clever in things of + this sort, but you’ve mistaken your man: I have an execution for the + whole, and I’ll be d——d if all your cunning shall MAKE me take + up with part!” + </p> + <p> + “Be <i>aisy</i>, Mister Mordicai!—you sha’n’t make me break your + bones, nor make me drop one actionable word against your high character; + for I know your clerk there, with that long goose-quill behind his ear, + would be ready evidence again’ me. But I beg to know, in one word, whether + you will take five thousand down, and GIVE Lord Clonbrony a discharge?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Mr. Terence! nor six thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine pounds. My + demand is seven thousand one hundred and thirty pounds, odd shillings: if + you have that money, pay it; if not, I know how to get it, and along with + it complete revenge for all the insults I have received from that + greenhorn, his son.” + </p> + <p> + “Paddy Brady!” cried Sir Terence, “do you hear that? Remember that word <i>revenge</i>!—Mind + I call you to witness!” + </p> + <p> + “What, sir, will you raise a rebellion among my workmen?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Mr. Mordicai, no rebellion; and I hope you won’t cut the boy’s ears + off for listening to a little of the brogue—so listen, my good lad. + Now, Mr. Mordicai, I offer you here, before little goosequill, 5000<i>l.</i> + ready penny—take it, or leave it: take your money, and leave your + revenge; or take your revenge, and lose your money.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir Terence, I value neither your threats nor your cunning. Good morning + to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Good morning to you, Mr. Mordicai—but not kindly! Mr. Edwards, the + solicitor, has been at the office to take off the execution: so now you + may have law to your heart’s content! And it was only to plase the young + lord that the <i>ould</i> one consented to my carrying this bundle to + you,” showing the bank-notes. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Edwards employed!” cried Mordicai. “Why, how the devil did Lord + Clonbrony get into such hands as his? The execution taken off! Well, sir, + go to law—I am ready for you. Jack Latitat IS A MATCH for your sober + solicitor.” + </p> + <p> + “Good morning again to you, Mr. Mordicai: we’re fairly out of your + clutches, and we have enough to do with our money.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Sir Terence, I must allow you have a very wheedling way—Here, + Mr. Thompson, make out a receipt for Lord Clonbrony: I never go to law + with an old customer, if I can help it.” + </p> + <p> + This business settled, Mr. Soho was next to be dealt with. + </p> + <p> + He came at Lady Clonbrony’s summons; and was taking directions with the + utmost <i>sang froid</i>, for packing up and sending off the very + furniture for which he was not paid. + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre called him into his father’s study; and, producing his bill, + he began to point out various articles which were charged at prices that + were obviously extravagant. + </p> + <p> + “Why, really, my lord, they are <i>abundantly</i> extravagant: if I + charged vulgar prices, I should be only a vulgar tradesman. I, however, am + not a broker, nor a Jew. Of the article superintendence, which is only 500<i>l.</i>, + I cannot abate a doit: on the rest of the bill, if you mean to offer <i>ready</i>, + I mean, without any negotiation, to abate thirty per cent., and I hope + that is a fair and gentlemanly offer.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Soho, there is your money!” + </p> + <p> + “My Lord Colambre! I would give the contents of three such bills to be + sure of such noblemanly conduct as yours. Lady Clonbrony’s furniture shall + be safely packed, without costing her a farthing.” + </p> + <p> + With the help of Mr. Edwards, the solicitor, every other claim was soon + settled; and Lord Clonbrony, for the first time since he left Ireland, + found himself out of debt, and out of danger. + </p> + <p> + Old Nick’s account could not be settled in London. Lord Colambre had + detected numerous false charges, and sundry impositions: the land, which + had been purposely let to run wild, so far from yielding any rent, was + made a source of constant expense, as remaining still unset: this was a + large tract, for which St. Dennis had at length offered a small rent. + </p> + <p> + Upon a fair calculation of the profits of the ground, and from other items + in the account, Nicholas Garraghty, Esq., appeared at last to be, not the + creditor, but the debtor to Lord Clonbrony. He was dismissed with + disgrace; which perhaps he might not have felt, if it had not been + accompanied by pecuniary loss, and followed by the fear of losing his + other agencies, and by the dread of immediate bankruptcy. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Burke was appointed agent in his stead to the Clonbrony as well as the + Colambre estate. His appointment was announced to him by the following + letter:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “TO MRS. BURKE, AT COLAMBRE. + + “DEAR MADAM, + + “The traveller whom you so hospitably received some months ago + was Lord Colambre; he now writes to you in his proper person. He + promised you that he would, as far as it might be in his power, do + justice to Mr. Burke’s conduct and character, by representing what + he had done for Lord Clonbrony in the town of Colambre, and in the + whole management of the tenantry and property under his care. + + “Happily for my father, my dear madam, he is now as fully + convinced as you could wish him to be of Mr. Burke’s merits; and + he begs me to express his sense of the obligations he is under to + him and to you. He entreats that you will pardon the impropriety + of a letter, which, as I assured you the moment I saw it, he never + wrote or read. + + “He hopes that you will forget that such a letter was ever + received, and that you will use your influence with Mr. Burke + to induce him to continue to our family his regard and valuable + services. Lord Clonbrony encloses a power of attorney, enabling + Mr. Burke to act in future for him, if Mr. Burke will do him that + favour, in managing the Clonbrony as well as the Colambre estate. + + “Lord Clonbrony will be in Ireland in the course of next month, + and intends to have the pleasure of soon paying his respects in + person to Mr. Burke, at Colambre. + + “I am, dear madam, + + “Your obliged guest, + + “And faithful servant, + + “COLAMBRE. + + “<i>Grosvenor-square, London</i>.” + </pre> + <p> + Lord Colambre was so continually occupied with business, during the days + previous to his coming of age, every morning at his solicitor’s chambers, + every evening in his father’s study, that Miss Nugent never saw him but at + breakfast or dinner; and, though she watched for it most anxiously, never + could find an opportunity of speaking to him alone, or of asking an + explanation of the change and inconsistencies of his manner. At last, she + began to think, that, in the midst of so much business of importance, by + which he seemed harassed, she should do wrong to torment him, by speaking + of any small uneasiness that concerned only herself. She determined to + suppress her doubts, to keep her feelings to herself, and endeavour, by + constant kindness, to regain that place in his affections, which she + imagined that she had lost. “Every thing will go right again,” thought + she, “and we shall all be happy, when he returns with us to Ireland—to + that dear home which he loves as well as I do!” + </p> + <p> + The day Lord Colambre was of age, the first thing he did was, to sign a + bond for five thousand pounds, Miss Nugent’s fortune, which had been lent + to his father, who was her guardian. + </p> + <p> + “This, sir, I believe,” said he, giving it to his father as soon as + signed, “this, I believe, is the first debt you would wish to have + secured.” + </p> + <p> + “Well thought of, my dear boy!—God bless you!—that has weighed + more upon my conscience and heart than all the rest, though I never said + any thing about it. I used, whenever I met Mr. Salisbury, to wish myself + fairly down at the centre of the earth: not that he ever thought of + fortune, I’m sure; for he often told me, and I believed him, he would + rather have Miss Nugent without a penny, if he could get her, than the + first fortune in the empire. But I’m glad she will not go to him + pennyless, for all that; and by my fault, especially. There, there’s my + name to it—do witness it, Terry. But, Colambre, you must give it to + her—you must take it to Grace.” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, sir; it is no gift of mine—it is a debt of yours. I beg + you will take the bond to her yourself, my dear father.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear son, you must not always have your own way, and hide every thing + good you do, or give me the honour of it—I won’t be the jay in + borrowed feathers. I have borrowed enough in my life, and I’ve done with + borrowing now, thanks to you, Colambre—so come along with me; for + I’ll be hanged if ever I give this joint bond to Miss Nugent, unless you + are with me. Leave Lady Clonbrony here to sign these papers. Terry will + witness them properly, and do you come along with me.” + </p> + <p> + “And pray, my lord,” said her ladyship, “order the carriage to the door; + for, as soon as you have my signature, I hope you’ll let me off to + Buxton.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, certainly—the carriage is ordered—every thing ready, my + dear.” + </p> + <p> + “And pray tell Grace to be ready,” added Lady Clonbrony. + </p> + <p> + “That’s not necessary; for she is always ready,” said Lord Clonbrony. + “Come, Colambre,” added he, taking his son under the arm, and carrying him + up to Miss Nugent’s dressing-room. + </p> + <p> + They knocked, and were admitted. + </p> + <p> + “Ready!” said Lord Clonbrony; “ay, always ready—so I said. Here’s + Colambre, my darling,” continued he, “has secured your fortune to you to + my heart’s content; but he would not condescend to come up to tell you so, + till I made him. Here’s the bond; and now, all I have to ask of you, + Colambre, is, to persuade her to marry out of hand, that I may see her + happy before I die. Now my heart’s at ease; I can meet Mr. Salisbury with + a safe conscience. One kiss, my little Grace. If any body can persuade + you, I’m sure it’s that man that’s now leaning against the mantel-piece. + It’s Colambre will, or your heart’s not made like mine—so I leave + you.” + </p> + <p> + And out of the room walked he, leaving his poor son in as awkward, + embarrassing, and painful a situation as could well be conceived. Half a + dozen indistinct ideas crossed his mind; quick conflicting feelings made + his heart beat and stop. And how it would have ended, if he had been left + to himself; whether he would have stood or fallen, have spoken or have + continued silent, can never now be known, for all was decided without the + action of his will. He was awakened from his trance by these simple words + from Miss Nugent: “I’m much obliged to you, cousin Colambre—more + obliged to you for your kindness in thinking of me first, in the midst of + all your other business, than by your securing my fortune. Friendship—and + your friendship—is worth more to me than fortune. May I believe that + is secured?” + </p> + <p> + “Believe it! Oh, Grace, can you doubt it?” + </p> + <p> + “I will not; it would make me too unhappy, I will not.” + </p> + <p> + “You need not.” + </p> + <p> + “That is enough—I am satisfied—I ask no farther explanation. + You are truth itself—one word from you is security sufficient. We + are friends for life,” said she; “are not we?” + </p> + <p> + “We are—and therefore sit down, cousin Grace, and let me claim the + privilege of friendship, and speak to you of him who aspires to be more + than your friend for life, Mr.—” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Salisbury!” said Miss Nugent; “I saw him yesterday. We had a very + long conversation; I believe he understands my sentiments perfectly, and + that he no longer thinks of being more to me than a friend for life.” + </p> + <p> + “You have refused him!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I have a high opinion of Mr. Salisbury’s understanding, a great + esteem for his character; I like his manners and conversation; but I do + not love him, and, therefore, you know, I could not marry him.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear Miss Nugent, with a high opinion, a great esteem, and liking + his manners and conversation, in such a well-regulated mind as yours, can + there be a better foundation for love?” + </p> + <p> + “It is an excellent foundation,” said she; “but I never went any farther + than the foundation; and, indeed, I never wished to proceed any farther.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre scarcely dared to ask why; but after some pause he said, “I + don’t wish to intrude upon your confidence.” + </p> + <p> + “You cannot intrude upon my confidence; I am ready to give it to you + entirely, frankly; I hesitated only because another person was concerned. + Do you remember, at my aunt’s gala, a lady who danced with Mr. Salisbury?” + </p> + <p> + “Not in the least.” + </p> + <p> + “A lady with whom you and Mr. Salisbury were talking, just before supper, + in the Turkish tent.” + </p> + <p> + “Not in the least.” + </p> + <p> + “As we went down to supper, you told me you had had a delightful + conversation with her; that you thought her a charming woman.” + </p> + <p> + “A charming woman!—I have not the slightest recollection of her.” + </p> + <p> + “And you told me that she and Mr. Salisbury had been praising me <i>à + l’envie l’une de l’autre</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I recollect her now perfectly,” said Lord Colambre: “but what of + her?” + </p> + <p> + “She is the woman who, I hope, will be Mrs. Salisbury. Ever since I have + been acquainted with them both, I have seen that they were suited to each + other; I fancy, indeed I am almost sure, that she could love him, tenderly + love him—and, I know, I could not. But my own sentiments, you may be + sure, are all I ever told Mr. Salisbury.” + </p> + <p> + “But of your own sentiments you may not be sure,” said Lord Colambre; “and + I see no reason why you should give him up from false generosity.” + </p> + <p> + “Generosity!” interrupted Miss Nugent; “you totally misunderstand me; + there is no generosity, nothing for me to give up in the case. I did not + refuse Mr. Salisbury from generosity, but because I did not love him. + Perhaps my seeing early what I have just mentioned to you prevented me + from thinking of him as a lover; but, from whatever cause, I certainly + never felt love for Mr. Salisbury, nor any of that pity which is said to + lead to love: perhaps,” added she, smiling, “because I was aware that he + would be so much better off after I refused him—so much happier with + one suited to him in age, talents, fortune, and love—‘What bliss, + did he but know his bliss,’ were <i>his</i>.’” + </p> + <p> + “Did he but know his bliss!” repeated Lord Colambre; “but is not he the + best judge of his own bliss?” + </p> + <p> + “And am not I the best judge of mine?” said Miss Nugent: “I go no + farther.” + </p> + <p> + “You are; and I have no right to go farther. Yet, this much permit me to + say, my dear Grace, that it would give me sincere pleasure, that is, real + satisfaction, to see you happily—established.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, my dear Lord Colambre; but you spoke that like a man of + seventy at least, with the most solemn gravity of demeanour.” + </p> + <p> + “I meant to be serious, not solemn,” said Lord Colambre, endeavouring to + change his tone. + </p> + <p> + “There now,” said she, in a playful tone, “you have <i>seriously</i> + accomplished the task my good uncle set you; so I will report well of you + to him, and certify that you did all that in you lay to exhort me to + marry; that you have even assured me that it would give you sincere + pleasure, that is, real satisfaction, to see me happily established.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Grace, if you knew how much I felt when I said that, you would spare + this raillery.” + </p> + <p> + “I will be serious—I am most seriously convinced of the sincerity of + your affection for me; I know my happiness is your object in all you have + said, and I thank you from my heart for the interest you take about me. + But really and truly I do not wish to marry. This is not a mere + commonplace speech; but I have not yet seen any man I could love. I am + happy as I am, especially now we are all going to dear Ireland, home, to + live together: you cannot conceive with what pleasure I look forward to + that.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre was not vain; but love quickly sees love, or foresees the + probability, the possibility, of its existence. He saw that Miss Nugent + might love him tenderly, passionately; but that duty, habit, the + prepossession that it was impossible she could marry her cousin Colambre,—a + prepossession instilled into her by his mother—had absolutely + prevented her from ever yet thinking of him as a lover. He saw the hazard + for her, he felt the danger for himself. Never had she appeared to him so + attractive as at this moment, when he felt the hope that he could obtain + return of love. + </p> + <p> + “But St. Omar!—Why! why is she a St. Omar?—illegitimate!—‘No + St. Omar <i>sans reproche</i>.’ My wife she cannot be—I will not + engage her affections.” + </p> + <p> + Swift as thoughts in moments of strong feeling pass in the mind without + being put into words, our hero thought all this, and determined, cost what + it would, to act honourably. + </p> + <p> + “You spoke of my returning to Ireland, my dear Grace. I have not yet told + you my plans.” + </p> + <p> + “Plans! are not you returning with us?” said she, precipitately; “are not + you going to Ireland—home—with us?” + </p> + <p> + “No:—I am going to serve a campaign or two abroad. I think every + young man in these times— + </p> + <p> + “Good Heavens! What does this mean? What can you mean?” cried she, fixing + her eyes upon his, as if she would read his very soul. “Why? what reason?—Oh, + tell me the truth—and at once.” + </p> + <p> + His change of colour—his hand that trembled, and withdrew from hers—the + expression of his eyes as they met hers—revealed the truth to her at + once. As it flashed across her mind, she started back; her face grew + crimson, and, in the same instant, pale as death. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—you see, you feel the truth now,” said Lord Colambre. “You see, + you feel, that I love you—passionately.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, let me not hear it!” said she; “I must not—ought not. Never + till this moment did such a thought cross my mind—I thought it + impossible—Oh, make me think so still.” + </p> + <p> + “I will—it <i>is</i> impossible that we can ever he united.” + </p> + <p> + “I always thought so,” said she, taking breath with a deep sigh. “Then, + why not live as we have lived?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot—I cannot answer for myself—I will not run the risk; + and therefore I must quit you, knowing, as I do, that there is an + invincible obstacle to our union; of what nature I cannot explain; I beg + you not to inquire.” + </p> + <p> + “You need not beg it—I shall not inquire—I have no curiosity—none,” + said she in a passive, dejected tone; “that is not what I am thinking of + in the least. I know there are invincible obstacles; I wish it to be so. + But, if invincible, you who have so much sense, honour, and virtue—” + </p> + <p> + “I hope, my dear cousin, that I have honour and virtue. But there are + temptations to which no wise, no good man will expose himself. Innocent + creature! you do not know the power of love. I rejoice that you have + always thought it impossible—think so still—it will save you + from—all I must endure. Think of me but as your cousin, your friend—give + your heart to some happier man. As your friend, your true friend, I + conjure you, give your heart to some more fortunate man. Marry, if you can + feel love—marry, and be happy. Honour! virtue! Yes, I have both, and + I will not forfeit them. Yes, I will merit your esteem and my own—by + actions, not words; and I give you the strongest proof, by tearing myself + from you at this moment. Farewell!” + </p> + <p> + “The carriage at the door, Miss Nugent, and my lady calling for you,” said + her maid. “Here’s your key, ma’am, and here’s your gloves, my dear ma’am.” + </p> + <p> + “The carriage at the door, Miss Nugent,” said Lady Clonbrony’s woman, + coming eagerly with parcels in her hand, as Miss Nugent passed her, and + ran down stairs; “and I don’t know where I laid my lady’s <i>numbrella</i>, + for my life—do you, Anne?” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed—but I know here’s my own young lady’s watch that she has + left. Bless me! I never knew her to forget any thing on a journey before.” + </p> + <p> + “Then she is going to be married, as sure as my name’s Le Maistre, and to + my Lord Colambre; for he has been here this hour, to my certain Bible + knowledge. Oh, you’ll see she will be Lady Colambre.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish she may, with all my heart,” said Anne; “but I must run down—they’re + waiting.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no!” said Mrs. Le Maistre, seizing Anne’s arm, and holding her fast; + “stay—you may safely—for they’re all kissing and taking leave, + and all that, you know; and <i>my</i> lady is talking on about Mr. Soho, + and giving a hundred directions about legs of tables, and so forth, I + warrant—she’s always an hour after she’s ready before she gets in—and + I’m looking for the <i>numbrella</i>. So stay, and tell me—Mrs. + Petito wrote over word it was to be Lady Isabel; and then a contradiction + came—it was turned into the youngest of the Killpatricks; and now + here he’s in Miss Nugent’s dressing-room to the last moment. Now, in my + opinion, that am not censorious, this does not look so pretty; but, + according to my verdict, he is only making a fool of Miss Nugent, like the + rest; and his lordship seems too like what you might call a male <i>cocket</i>, + or a masculine jilt.” + </p> + <p> + “No more like a masculine jilt than yourself, Mrs. Le Maistre,” cried + Anne, taking fire. “And my young lady is not a lady to be made a fool of, + I promise you; nor is my lord likely to make a fool of any woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Bless us all! that’s no great praise for any young nobleman, Miss Anne.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Le Maistre! Mrs. Le Maistre! are you above?” cried a footman from + the bottom of the stairs: “my lady’s calling for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well! Very well!” said sharp Mrs. Le Maistre; “Very well! and if she + is—manners, sir!—Come up for one, can’t you, and don’t stand + bawling at the bottom of the stairs, as if one had no ears to be saved. + I’m coming as fast as I can—conveniently can.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Le Maistre stood in the door-way, so as to fill it up, and prevent + Anne from passing. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Anne! Miss Anne! Mrs. Le Maistre!” cried another footman; “my lady’s + in the carriage, and Miss Nugent.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Nugent!—is she?” cried Mrs. Le Maistre, running down stairs, + followed by Anne. “Now, for the world in pocket-pieces wouldn’t I have + missed seeing him hand Miss Nugent in; for by that I could have judged + definitively.” + </p> + <p> + “My lord, I beg pardon!—I’m <i>afeard</i> I’m late,” said Mrs. Le + Maistre, as she passed Lord Colambre, who was standing motionless in the + hall. “I beg a thousand pardons; but I was hunting, high and low, for my + lady’s <i>numbrella</i>.” Lord Colambre did not hear or heed her: his eyes + were fixed, and they never moved. + </p> + <p> + Lord Clonbrony was at the open carriage-door, kneeling on the step, and + receiving Lady Clonbrony’s “more last words” for Mr. Soho. The two + waiting-maids stood together on the steps. + </p> + <p> + “Look at our young lord, how he stands,” whispered Mrs. Le Maistre to + Anne, “the image of despair! And she, the picture of death!—I don’t + know what to think.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor I: but don’t stare, if you can help it,” said Anne. “Get in, get in, + Mrs. Le Maistre,” added she, as Lord Clonbrony now rose from the step, and + made way for them. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, in with you—in with you, Mrs. Le Maistre,” said Lord Clonbrony. + “Good bye to you, Anne, and take care of your young mistress at Buxton: + let me see her blooming when we meet again; I don’t half like her looks, + and I never thought Buxton agreed with her.” + </p> + <p> + “Buxton never did any body harm,” said Lady Clonbrony: “and as to bloom, + I’m sure, if Grace has not bloom enough in her cheeks this moment to + please you, I don’t know what you’d have, my dear lord—Rouge?—Shut + the door, John! Oh, stay!—Colambre!—Where upon earth’s + Colambre?” cried her ladyship, stretching from the farthest side of the + coach to the window.—“Colambre!” + </p> + <p> + Colambre was forced to appear. + </p> + <p> + “Colambre, my dear! I forgot to say, that, if any thing detains you longer + than Wednesday se’nnight, I beg you will not fail to write, or I shall be + miserable.” + </p> + <p> + “I will write: at all events, my dearest mother, you shall hear from me.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I shall be quite happy. Go on!” + </p> + <p> + The carriage drove on. + </p> + <p> + “I do believe Colambre’s ill: I never saw a man look so ill in my life—did + you, Grace?—as he did the minute we drove on. He should take advice. + I’ve a mind,” cried Lady Clonbrony, laying her hand on the cord, to stop + the coachman, “I’ve a mind to turn about—tell him so—and ask + what is the matter with him.” + </p> + <p> + “Better not!” said Miss Nugent: “he will write to you, and tell you—if + any thing is the matter with him. Better go on now to Buxton!” continued + she, scarcely able to speak. Lady Clonbrony let go the cord. + </p> + <p> + “But what is the matter with you, my dear Grace? for you are certainly + going to die too!” + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you—as soon as I can; but don’t ask me now, my dear + aunt!” + </p> + <p> + “Grace, Grace! pull the cord!” cried Lady Clonbrony—“Mr. Salisbury’s + phaeton!—Mr. Salisbury, I’m happy to see you! We’re on our way to + Buxton—as I told you.” + </p> + <p> + “So am I,” said Mr. Salisbury. “I hope to be there before your ladyship: + will you honour me with any commands?—of course, I will see that + every thing is ready for your reception.” + </p> + <p> + Her ladyship had not any commands. Mr. Salisbury drove on rapidly. + </p> + <p> + Lady Clonbrony’s ideas had now taken the Salisbury channel. “You didn’t + know that Mr. Salisbury was going to Buxton to meet you, did you, Grace?” + said Lady Clonbrony. + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed, I did not!” said Miss Nugent; “and I am very sorry for it.” + </p> + <p> + “Young ladies, as Mrs. Broadhurst says, ‘never know, or at least never + tell, what they are sorry or glad for,’” replied Lady Clonbrony. “At all + events, Grace, my love, it has brought the fine bloom back to your cheeks; + and I own I am satisfied.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. + </h2> + <p> + “Gone! for ever gone from me!” said Lord Colambre to himself, as the + carriage drove away. “Never shall I see her more—never <i>will</i> I + see her more, till she is married.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre went to his own room, locked the door, and was relieved in + some degree by the sense of privacy; by the feeling that he could now + indulge his reflections undisturbed. He had consolation—he had done + what was honourable—he had transgressed no duty, abandoned no + principle—he had not injured the happiness of any human being—he + had not, to gratify himself, hazarded the peace of the woman he loved—he + had not sought to win her heart. Of her innocent, her warm, susceptible + heart, he might, perhaps, have robbed her—he knew it—but he + had left it untouched, he hoped entire, in her own power, to bless with it + hereafter some man worthy of her. In the hope that she might be happy, + Lord Colambre felt relief; and in the consciousness that he had made his + parents happy, he rejoiced; but, as soon as his mind turned that way for + consolation, came the bitter reflection, that his mother must be + disappointed in her hopes of his accompanying her home, and of his living + with her in Ireland: she would be miserable when she should hear that he + was going abroad into the army—and yet it must be so—and he + must write, and tell her so. “The sooner this difficulty is off my mind, + the sooner this painful letter is written, the better,” thought he. “It + must be done—I will do it immediately.” + </p> + <p> + He snatched up his pen, and began a letter. + </p> + <p> + “My dear mother, Miss Nugent—” He was interrupted by a knock at his + door. + </p> + <p> + “A gentleman below, my lord.” said a servant, “who wishes to see you.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot see any gentleman. Did you say I was at home?” + </p> + <p> + “No, my lord, I said you was not at home; for I thought you would not + choose to be at home, and your own man was not in the way for me to ask—so + I denied you: but the gentleman would not be denied; he said I must come + and see if you was at home. So, as he spoke as if he was a gentleman not + used to be denied, I thought it might be somebody of consequence, and I + showed him into the front drawing-room. I think he said he was sure you’d + be at home for a friend from Ireland.” + </p> + <p> + “A friend from Ireland! Why did not you tell me that sooner?” said Lord + Colambre, rising, and running down stairs. “Sir James Brooke, I dare say.” + </p> + <p> + No, not Sir James Brooke; but one he was almost as glad to see—Count + O’Halloran! + </p> + <p> + “My dear count! the greater pleasure for being unexpected.” + </p> + <p> + “I came to London but yesterday,” said the count; “but I could not be here + a day, without doing myself the honour of paying my respects to Lord + Colambre.” + </p> + <p> + “You do me not only honour, but pleasure, my dear count. People, when they + like one another, always find each other out, and contrive to meet, even + in London.” + </p> + <p> + “You are too polite to ask what brought such a superannuated militaire as + I am,” said the count, “from his retirement into this gay world again. A + relation of mine, who is one of the ministry, knew that I had some maps, + and plans, and charts, which might be serviceable in an expedition they + are planning. I might have trusted my charts across the channel, without + coming myself to convoy them, you will say. But my relation fancied—young + relations, you know, if they are good for any thing, are apt to overvalue + the heads of old relations—fancied that mine was worth bringing all + the way from Halloran Castle to London, to consult with <i>tête-à-tête</i>. + So, you know, when this was signified to me by a letter from the secretary + in office, <i>private, most confidential</i>, what could I do, but do + myself the honour to obey? For though honour’s voice cannot provoke the + silent dust, yet ‘flattery soothes the dull cold ear of <i>age</i>.’—But + enough and too much of myself,” said the count: “tell me, my dear lord, + something of yourself. I do not think England seems to agree with you so + well as Ireland; for, excuse me, in point of health, you don’t look like + the same man I saw some weeks ago.” + </p> + <p> + “My mind has been ill at ease of late,” said Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, there’s the thing! The body pays for the mind—but those who + have feeling minds, pain and pleasure altogether computed, have the + advantage; or at least they think so; for they would not change with those + who have them not, were they to gain by the bargain the most robust body + that the most selfish coxcomb, or the heaviest dunce extant, ever boasted. + For instance, would you now, my lord, at this moment, change altogether + with Major Benson, or Captain Williamson, or even with our friend, ‘Eh, + really now, ‘pon honour’—would you?—I’m glad to see you + smile.” + </p> + <p> + “I thank you for making me smile, for I assure you I want it. I wish—if + you would not think me encroaching upon your politeness in honouring me + with this visit—You see,” continued he, opening the doors of the + back drawing-room, and pointing to large packages, “you see we are all + preparing for a march: my mother has left town half an hour ago—my + father engaged to dine abroad—only I at home—and, in this + state of confusion, could I even venture to ask Count O’Halloran to stay + and dine with me, without being able to offer him Irish ortolans or Irish + plums—in short, will you let me rob you of two or three hours of + your time? I am anxious to have your opinion on a subject of some + importance to me, and on one where you are peculiarly qualified to judge + and decide for me.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear lord, frankly, I have nothing half so good or so agreeable to do + with my time; command my hours. I have already told you how much it + flatters me to be consulted by the most helpless clerk in office; how much + more about the private concerns of an enlightened young-friend, will Lord + Colambre permit me to say? I hope so; for, though the length of our + acquaintance might not justify the word, yet regard and intimacy are not + always in proportion to the time people have known each other, but to + their mutual perception of certain attaching qualities, a certain + similarity and suitableness of character.” + </p> + <p> + The good count, seeing that Lord Colambre was in much distress of mind, + did all he could to soothe him by kindness: far from making any difficulty + about giving up a few hours of his time, he seemed to have no other object + in London, and no purpose in life, but to attend to our hero. To put him + at ease, and to give him time to recover and arrange his thoughts, the + count talked of indifferent subjects. + </p> + <p> + “I think I heard you mention the name of Sir James Brooke.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I expected to have seen him when the servant first mentioned a + friend from Ireland; because Sir James had told me that, as soon as he + could get leave of absence, he would come to England.” + </p> + <p> + “He is come; is now at his estate in Huntingdonshire; doing, what do you + think? I will give you a leading hint; recollect the seal which the little + De Cressy put into your hands the day you dined at Oranmore. Faithful to + his motto, ‘Deeds, not words,’ he is this instant, I believe, at deeds, + title deeds; making out marriage settlements, getting ready to put his + seal to the happy articles.” + </p> + <p> + “Happy man! I give him joy,” said Lord Colambre: “happy man! going to be + married to such a woman—daughter of such a mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Daughter of such a mother! That is indeed a great addition and a great + security to his happiness,” said the count. “Such a family to marry into; + good from generation to generation; illustrious by character as well as by + genealogy; ‘all the sons brave, and all the daughters chaste.’” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre with difficulty repressed his feelings. “If I could choose,” + said the count, “I would rather that a woman I loved were of such a family + than that she had for her dower the mines of Peru.” + </p> + <p> + “So would I,” cried Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad to hear you say so, my lord, and with such energy; so few young + men of the present day look to what I call good connexion. In marrying, a + man does not, to be sure, marry his wife’s mother; and yet a prudent man, + when he begins to think of the daughter, would look sharp at the mother; + ay, and back to the grandmother too, and along the whole female line of + ancestry.” + </p> + <p> + “True—most true—he ought—he must.” + </p> + <p> + “And I have a notion,” said the count, smiling, “your lordship’s practice + has been conformable to your theory.” + </p> + <p> + “I!—mine!” said Lord Colambre, starting, and looking at the count + with surprise. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” said the count; “I did not intend to surprise your + confidence. But you forget that I was present, and saw the impression + which was made on your mind by a mother’s want of a proper sense of + delicacy and propriety—Lady Dashfort.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Lady Dashfort! she was quite out of my head.” + </p> + <p> + “And Lady Isabel?—I hope she is quite out of your heart.” + </p> + <p> + “She never was in it,” said Lord Colambre. “Only laid siege to it,” said + the count. “Well, I am glad your heart did not surrender at discretion, or + rather without discretion. Then I may tell you, without fear or preface, + that the Lady Isabel, who talks of ‘refinement, delicacy, sense,’ is going + to stoop at once, and marry—Heathcock.” Lord Colambre was not + surprised, but concerned and disgusted, as he always felt, even when he + did not care for the individual, from hearing any thing which tended to + lower the female sex in public estimation. + </p> + <p> + “As to myself,” said he, “I cannot say I have had an escape, for I don’t + think I ever was in much danger.” + </p> + <p> + “It is difficult to measure danger when it is over—past danger, like + past pain, is soon forgotten,” said the old general. “At all events, I + rejoice in your present safety.” + </p> + <p> + “But is she really going to be married to Heathcock?” said Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “Positively: they all came over in the same packet with me, and they are + all in town now, buying jewels, and equipages, and horses. Heathcock, you + know, is as good as another man for all those purposes: his father is + dead, and has left him a large estate. <i>Que voulez-vous?</i> as the + French valet said to me on the occasion, <i>c’est que monsieur est un + homme de bien: il a des biens, à ce qu’on dit.</i>” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre could not help smiling. + </p> + <p> + “How they got Heathcock to fall in love is what puzzles me,” said his + lordship. “I should as soon have thought of an oyster’s falling in love as + that being.” + </p> + <p> + “I own I should have sooner thought,” replied the count, “of his falling + in love with an oyster; and so would you, if you had seen him, as I did, + devouring oysters on shipboard. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Say, can the lovely <i>heroine</i> hope to vie + With a fat turtle or a ven’son pie?’ +</pre> + <p> + “But that is not our affair; let the Lady Isabel look to it.” + </p> + <p> + Dinner was announced; and no farther conversation of any consequence + passed between the count and Lord Colambre till the cloth was removed and + the servants had withdrawn. Then our hero opened on the subject which was + heavy at his heart. + </p> + <p> + “My dear count—I have a mind to serve a campaign or two, if I could + get a commission in a regiment going to Spain; but I understand so many + are eager to go at this moment, that it is very difficult to get a + commission in such a regiment.” + </p> + <p> + “It is difficult,” said the count. “But,” added he, after thinking for a + moment, “I have it! I can get the thing done for you, and directly. Major + Benson, who is in danger of being broke, in consequence of that affair, + you know, about his mistress, wants to sell out; and that regiment is to + be ordered immediately to Spain: I will have the thing done for you, if + you request it.” + </p> + <p> + “First, give me your advice, Count O’Halloran: you are well acquainted + with the military profession, with military life. Would you advise me—I + won’t speak of myself, because we judge better by general views than by + particular cases—would you advise a young man at present to go into + the army?” + </p> + <p> + The count was silent for a few minutes, and then replied: “Since you + seriously ask my opinion, my lord, I must lay aside my own prepossessions, + and endeavour to speak with impartiality. To go into the army in these + days, my lord, is, in my sober opinion, the most absurd and base, or the + wisest and noblest thing a young man can do. To enter into the army, with + the hope of escaping from the application necessary to acquire knowledge, + letters, and science—I run no risk, my lord, in saying this to you—to + go into the army, with the hope of escaping from knowledge, letters, + science, and morality; to wear a red coat and an epaulette; to be called + captain; to figure at a ball; to lounge away time in country sports, at + country quarters, was never, even in times of peace, creditable; but it is + now absurd and base. Submitting to a certain portion of ennui and + contempt, this mode of life for an officer was formerly practicable—but + now cannot be submitted to without utter, irremediable disgrace. Officers + are now, in general, men of education and information; want of knowledge, + sense, manners, must consequently be immediately detected, ridiculed, and + despised, in a military man. Of this we have not long since seen + lamentable examples in the raw officers who have lately disgraced + themselves in my neighbourhood in Ireland—that Major Benson and + Captain Williamson. But I will not advert to such insignificant + individuals, such are rare exceptions—I leave them out of the + question—I reason on general principles. The life of an officer is + not now a life of parade, of coxcombical or of profligate idleness—but + of active service, of continual hardship and danger. All the descriptions + which we see in ancient history of a soldier’s life, descriptions which in + times of peace appeared like romance, are now realized; military exploits + fill every day’s newspapers, every day’s conversation. A martial spirit is + now essential to the liberty and the existence of our own country. In the + present state of things, the military must be the most honourable + profession, because the most useful. Every movement of an army is followed + wherever it goes, by the public hopes and fears. Every officer must now + feel, besides this sense of collective importance, a belief that his only + dependence must be on his own merit—and thus his ambition, his + enthusiasm, are raised; and, when once this noble ardour is kindled in the + breast, it excites to exertion, and supports under endurance. But I forget + myself,” said the count, checking his enthusiasm; “I promised to speak + soberly. If I have said too much, your own good sense, my lord, will + correct me, and your good nature will forgive the prolixity of an old man, + touched upon his favourite subject—the passion of his youth.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre, of course, assured the count that he was not tired. Indeed, + the enthusiasm with which this old officer spoke of his profession, and + the high point of view in which he placed it, increased our hero’s desire + to serve a campaign abroad. Good sense, politeness, and experience of the + world preserved Count O’Halloran from that foible with which old officers + are commonly reproached, of talking continually of their own military + exploits. Though retired from the world, he had contrived, by reading the + best books, and corresponding with persons of good information, to keep up + with the current of modern affairs; and he seldom spoke of those in which + he had been formerly engaged. He rather too studiously avoided speaking of + himself; and this fear of egotism diminished the peculiar interest he + might have inspired: it disappointed curiosity, and deprived those with + whom he conversed of many entertaining and instructive anecdotes. However, + he sometimes made exceptions to his general rule in favour of persons who + peculiarly pleased him, and Lord Colambre was of this number. + </p> + <p> + He this evening, for the first time, spoke to his lordship of the years he + had spent in the Austrian service; told him anecdotes of the emperor; + spoke of many distinguished public characters whom he had known abroad; of + those officers who had been his friends and companions. Among others he + mentioned, with particular regard, a young English officer who had been at + the same time with him in the Austrian service, a gentleman of the name of + Reynolds. + </p> + <p> + The name struck Lord Colambre: it was the name of the officer who had been + the cause of the disgrace of Miss St. Omar—of—Miss Nugent’s + mother. “But there are so many Reynoldses.” + </p> + <p> + He eagerly asked the age—the character of this officer. + </p> + <p> + “He was a gallant youth,” said the count, “but too adventurous—too + rash. He fell, after distinguishing himself in a glorious manner, in his + twentieth year—died in my arms.” + </p> + <p> + “Married or unmarried?” cried Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “Married—he had been privately married, less than a year before his + death, to a very young English lady, who had been educated at a convent in + Vienna. He was heir to a considerable property, I believe, and the young + lady had little fortune; and the affair was kept secret, from the fear of + offending his friends, or for some other reason—I do not recollect + the particulars.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he acknowledge his marriage?” said Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “Never, till he was dying—then he confided his secret to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you recollect the name of the young lady he married?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—a Miss St. Omar.” + </p> + <p> + “St. Omar!” repeated Lord Colambre, with an expression of lively joy in + his countenance. “But are you certain, my dear count, that she was really + married, legally married, to Mr. Reynolds? Her marriage has been denied by + all his friends and relations—hers have never been able to establish + it—her daughter is—My dear count, were you present at the + marriage?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the count, “I was not present at the marriage; I never saw the + lady; nor do I know any thing of the affair, except that Mr. Reynolds, + when he was dying, assured me that he was privately married to a Miss St. + Omar, who was then boarding at a convent in Vienna. The young man + expressed great regret at leaving her totally unprovided for; but said + that he trusted his father would acknowledge her, and that her friends + would be reconciled to her. He was not of age, he said, to make a will; + but I think he told me that his child, who at that time was not born, + would, even if it should be a girl, inherit a considerable property. With + this I cannot, however, charge my memory positively; but he put a packet + into my hands which, he told me, contained a certificate of his marriage, + and, I think he said, a letter to his father: this he requested that I + would transmit to England by some safe hand. Immediately after his death, + I went to the English ambassador, who was then leaving Vienna, and + delivered the packet into his hands: he promised to have it safely + delivered. I was obliged to go the next day, with the troops, to a distant + part of the country. When I returned, I inquired at the convent what had + become of Miss St. Omar—I should say Mrs. Reynolds; and I was told + that she had removed from the convent to private lodgings in the town, + some time previous to the birth of her child. The abbess seemed much + scandalized by the whole transaction; and I remember I relieved her mind + by assuring her that there had been a regular marriage. For poor young + Reynolds’ sake, I made farther inquiries about the widow, intending, of + course, to act as a friend, if she were in any difficulty or distress. But + I found, on inquiry at her lodgings, that her brother had come from + England for her, and had carried her and her infant away. The active + scenes,” continued the count, “in which I was immediately afterwards + engaged, drove the whole affair from my mind. Now that your questions have + recalled them, I feel certain of the facts I have mentioned; and I am + ready to establish them by my testimony.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre thanked him with an eagerness that showed how much he was + interested in the event. It was clear, he said, that either the packet + left with the ambassador had not been delivered, or that the father of Mr. + Reynolds had suppressed the certificate of the marriage, as it had never + been acknowledged by him or by any of the family. Lord Colambre now + frankly told the count why he was so anxious about this affair; and Count + O’Halloran, with all the warmth of youth, and with all the ardent + generosity characteristic of his country, entered into his feelings, + declaring that he would never rest till he had established the truth. + </p> + <p> + “Unfortunately,” said the count, “the ambassador who took the packet in + charge is dead. I am afraid we shall have difficulty.” + </p> + <p> + “But he must have had some secretary,” said Lord Colambre: “who was his + secretary?—we can apply to him.” + </p> + <p> + “His secretary is now chargé d’affaires in Vienna—we cannot get at + him.” + </p> + <p> + “Into whose hands have that ambassador’s papers fallen—who is his + executor?” said Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “His executor!—now you have it,” cried the count. “His executor is + the very man who will do your business—your friend Sir James Brooke + is the executor. All papers, of course, are in his hands; or he can have + access to any that are in the hands of the family. The family seat is + within a few miles of Sir James Brooke’s, in Huntingdonshire, where, as I + told you before, he now is.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll go to him immediately—set out in the mail this night. Just in + time!” cried Lord Colambre, pulling out his watch with one hand, and + ringing the bell with the other. + </p> + <p> + “Run and take a place for me in the mail for Huntingdon. Go directly,” + said Lord Colambre to the servant. + </p> + <p> + “And take two places, if you please, sir,” said the count. “My lord, I + will accompany you.” + </p> + <p> + But this Lord Colambre would not permit, as it would be unnecessary to + fatigue the good old general; and a letter from him to Sir James Brooke + would do all that the count could effect by his presence: the search for + the papers would be made by Sir James, and if the packet could be + recovered, or if any memorandum or mode of ascertaining that it had + actually been delivered to old Reynolds could be discovered, Lord Colambre + said he would then call upon the count for his assistance, and trouble him + to identify the packet; or to go with him to Mr. Reynolds to make farther + inquiries; and to certify, at all events, the young man’s dying + acknowledgment of his marriage and of his child. + </p> + <p> + The place in the mail, just in time, was taken. Lord Colambre sent a + servant in search of his father, with a note, explaining the necessity of + his sudden departure. All the business which remained to be done in town + he knew Lord Clonbrony could accomplish without his assistance. Then he + wrote a few lines to his mother, on the very sheet of paper on which, a + few hours before, he had sorrowfully and slowly begun, + </p> + <p> + “<i>My dear mother—Miss Nugent.</i>” + </p> + <p> + He now joyfully and rapidly went on, + </p> + <p> + “My dear mother and Miss Nugent, + </p> + <p> + “I hope to be with you on Wednesday se’nnight; but if unforeseen + circumstances should delay me, I will certainly write to you again. Dear + mother, believe me, + </p> + <p> + “Your obliged and grateful son, + </p> + <p> + “Colambre.” + </p> + <p> + The count, in the mean time, wrote a letter for him to Sir James Brooke, + describing the packet which he had given to the ambassador, and relating + all the circumstances that could lead to its recovery. Lord Colambre, + almost before the wax was hard, seized the letter; the count seeming + almost as eager to hurry him off as he was to set out. He thanked the + count with few words, but with strong feeling. Joy and love returned in + full tide upon our hero’s soul; all the military ideas, which but an hour + before filled his imagination, were put to flight: Spain vanished, and + green Ireland reappeared. + </p> + <p> + Just as they shook hands at parting, the good old general, with a smile, + said to him, “I believe I had better not stir in the matter of Benson’s + commission till I hear more from you. My harangue, in favour of the + military profession, will, I fancy, prove, like most other harangues, a + waste of words.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. + </h2> + <p> + In what words of polite circumlocution, or of cautious diplomacy, shall we + say, or hint, that the deceased ambassador’s papers were found in shameful + disorder. His excellency’s executor, Sir James Brooke, however, was + indefatigable in his researches. He and Lord Colambre spent two whole days + in looking over portfolios of letters, and memorials, and manifestoes, and + bundles of paper of the most heterogeneous sorts; some of them without any + docket or direction to lead to a knowledge of their contents; others + written upon in such a manner as to give an erroneous notion of their + nature; so that it was necessary to untie every paper separately. At last, + when they had opened, as they thought, every paper, and, wearied and in + despair, were just on the point of giving up the search, Lord Colambre + spied a bundle of old newspapers at the bottom of a trunk. + </p> + <p> + “They are only old Vienna Gazettes; I looked at them,” said Sir James. + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre, upon this assurance, was going to throw them into the trunk + again; but observing that the bundle had not been untied, he opened it, + and withinside of the newspapers he found a rough copy of the ambassador’s + journal, and with it the packet directed to Ralph Reynolds, sen., Esq., + Old Court, Suffolk, per favour of his excellency Earl *****—a note + on the cover, signed O’Halloran, stating when received by him, and, the + date of the day when delivered to the ambassador—seals unbroken. Our + hero was in such a transport of joy at the sight of this packet, and his + friend Sir James Brooke so full of his congratulations, that they forgot + to curse the ambassador’s carelessness, which had been the cause of so + much evil. + </p> + <p> + The next thing to be done was to deliver the packet to Ralph Reynolds, Old + Court, Suffolk. But when Lord Colambre arrived at Old Court, Suffolk, he + found all the gates locked, and no admittance to be had. At last an old + woman came out of the porter’s lodge, who said Mr. Reynolds was not there, + and she could not say where he was. After our hero had opened her heart by + the present of half a guinea, she explained, that she “could not <i>justly</i> + say where he was, because that he never let any body of his own people + know where he was any day; he had several different houses and places in + different parts, and far off counties, and other shires, as she heard, and + by times he was at one, and by times at another. The names of two of the + places, Toddrington and Little Wrestham, she knew; but there were others + to which she could give no direction. He had houses in odd parts of + London, too, that he let; and sometimes, when the lodgers’ time was out, + he would go, and be never heard of for a month, may be, in one of them. In + short, there was no telling or saying where he was or would be one day of + the week, by where he had been the last.” + </p> + <p> + When Lord Colambre expressed some surprise that an old gentleman, as he + conceived Mr. Ralph Reynolds to be, should change places so frequently, + the old woman answered, “that though her master was a deal on the wrong + side of seventy, and though, to look at him, you’d think he was glued to + his chair, and would fall to pieces if he should stir out of it, yet he + was as alert, and thought no more of going about, than if he was as young + as the gentleman who was now speaking to her. It was old Mr. Reynolds’ + delight to come down and surprise his people at his different places, and + see that they were keeping all tight.” + </p> + <p> + “What sort of a man is he?—Is he a miser?” said Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “He is a miser, and he is not a miser,” said the woman. “Now he’d think as + much of the waste of a penny as another man would of a hundred pounds, and + yet he would give a hundred pounds easier than another would give a penny, + when he’s in the humour. But his humour is very odd, and there’s no + knowing where to have him; he’s cross-grained, and more <i>positiver</i>-like + than a mule; and his deafness made him worse in this, because he never + heard what nobody said, but would say on his own way—he was very <i>odd</i>, + but not <i>cracked</i>—no, he was as clear-headed, when he took a + thing the right way, as any man could be, and as clever, and could talk as + well as any member of parliament—and good-natured, and kind-hearted, + where he would take a fancy—but then, may be, it would be to a dog + (he was remarkably fond of dogs), or a cat, or a rat even, that he would + take a fancy, and think more of ‘em than he would of a Christian. But, + poor gentleman, there’s great allowance,” said she, “to be made for him, + that lost his son and heir—that would have been heir to all, and a + fine youth that he doted upon. But,” continued the old woman, in whose + mind the transitions from great to little, from serious to trivial, were + ludicrously abrupt, “that was no reason why the old gentleman should scold + me last time he was here, as he did, for as long as ever he could stand + over me, only because I killed a mouse who was eating my cheese; and, + before night, he beat a boy for stealing a piece of that same cheese; and + he would never, when down here, let me set a mouse-trap.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, my good woman,” interrupted Lord Colambre, who was little + interested in this affair of the mouse-trap, and nowise curious to learn + more of Mr. Reynolds’ domestic economy, “I’ll not trouble you any farther, + if you can be so good as to tell me the road to Toddrington, or to Little + Wickham, I think you call it.” + </p> + <p> + “Little Wickham!” repeated the woman, laughing—“Bless you, sir, + where do you come from? It’s Little Wrestham: sure every body knows, near + Lantry; and keep the <i>pike</i> till you come to the turn at Rotherford, + and then you strike off into the by-road to the left, and then turn again + at the ford to the right. But, if you are going to Toddrington, you don’t + go the road to market, which is at the first turn to the left, and the + cross country road, where there’s no quarter, and Toddrington lies—but + for Wrestham, you take the road to market.” + </p> + <p> + It was some time before our hero could persuade the old woman to stick to + Little Wrestham, or to Toddrington, and not to mix the directions for the + different roads together—he took patience, for his impatience only + confused his director the more. In process of time he made out, and wrote + down, the various turns that he was to follow, to reach Little Wrestham; + but no human power could get her from Little Wrestham to Toddrington, + though she knew the road perfectly well; but she had, for the seventeen + last years, been used to go “the other road,” and all the carriers went + that way, and passed the door, and that was all she could certify. + </p> + <p> + Little Wrestham, after turning to the left and right as often as his + directory required, our hero happily reached: but, unhappily, he found no + Mr. Reynolds there; only a steward, who gave nearly the same account of + his master as had been given by the old woman, and could not guess even + where the gentleman might now be. Toddrington was as likely as any place—but + he could not say. + </p> + <p> + “Perseverance against fortune.” To Toddrington our hero proceeded, through + cross country roads—such roads!—very different from the Irish + roads. Waggon ruts, into which the carriage wheels sunk nearly to the nave—and, + from time to time, “sloughs of despond,” through which it seemed + impossible to drag, walk, wade, or swim, and all the time with a sulky + postilion. “Oh, how unlike my Larry!” thought Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + At length, in a very narrow lane, going up a hill, said to be two miles of + ascent, they overtook a heavy laden waggon, and they were obliged to go + step by step behind it, whilst, enjoying the gentleman’s impatience much, + and the postilion’s sulkiness more, the waggoner, in his embroidered + frock, walked in state, with his long sceptre in his hand. + </p> + <p> + The postilion muttered “curses not loud, but deep.” Deep or loud, no + purpose would they have answered; the waggoner’s temper was proof against + curse in or out of the English language; and from their snail’s pace + neither <i>Dickens</i>, nor devil, nor any postilion in England could make + him put his horses. Lord Colambre jumped out of the chaise, and, walking + beside him, began to talk to him; and spoke of his horses, their bells, + their trappings; the beauty and strength of the thill-horse—the + value of the whole team, which his lordship happening to guess right + within ten pounds, and showing, moreover, some skill about road-making and + waggon-wheels, and being fortunately of the waggoner’s own opinion in the + great question about conical and cylindrical rims, he was pleased with the + young chap of a gentleman; and, in spite of the chuffiness of his + appearance and churlishness of his speech, this waggoner’s bosom being + “made of penetrable stuff,” he determined to let the gentleman pass. + Accordingly, when half way up the hill, and the head of the fore-horse + came near an open gate, the waggoner, without saying one word or turning + his head, touched the horse with his long whip—and the horse turned + in at the gate, and then came, “Dobbin!—Jeho!” and strange calls and + sounds, which all the other horses of the team obeyed; and the waggon + turned into the farm-yard. + </p> + <p> + “Now, master! while I turn, you may pass.” + </p> + <p> + The covering of the waggon caught in the hedge as the waggon turned in; + and as the sacking was drawn back, some of the packages were disturbed—a + cheese was just rolling off on the side next Lord Colambre; he stopped it + from falling: the direction caught his quick eye—“To Ralph Reynolds, + Esq.”—“<i>Toddrington</i>” scratched out; “Red Lion Square, London,” + written in another hand below. + </p> + <p> + “Now I have found him! And surely I know that hand!” said Lord Colambre to + himself, looking more closely at the direction. + </p> + <p> + The original direction was certainly in a hand-writing well known to him—it + was Lady Dashfort’s. + </p> + <p> + “That there cheese, that you’re looking at so cur’ously,” said the + waggoner, “has been a great traveller; for it came all the way down from + Lon’on, and now its going all the way up again back, on account of not + finding the gentleman at home; and the man that booked it told me as how + it came from foreign parts.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre took down the direction, tossed the honest waggoner a + guinea, wished him good night, passed, and went on. As soon as he could, + he turned into the London road—at the first town, got a place in the + mail—reached London—saw his father—went directly to his + friend, Count O’Halloran, who was delighted when he beheld the packet. + Lord Colambre was extremely eager to go immediately to old Reynolds, + fatigued as he was; for he had travelled night and day, and had scarcely + allowed himself, mind or body, one moment’s repose. + </p> + <p> + “Heroes must sleep, and lovers too; or they soon will cease to be heroes + or lovers!” said the count. “Rest, rest, perturbed spirit! this night; and + to-morrow morning we’ll finish the adventures in Red Lion Square, or I + will accompany you when and where you will; if necessary, to earth’s + remotest bounds.” + </p> + <p> + The next morning Lord Colambre went to breakfast with the count. The + count, who was not in love, was not up, for our hero was half an hour + earlier than the time appointed. The old servant Ulick, who had attended + his master to England, was very glad to see Lord Colambre again, and, + showing him into the breakfast parlour, could not help saying, in defence + of his master’s punctuality, “Your clocks, I suppose, my lord, are half an + hour faster than ours: my master will be ready to the moment.” + </p> + <p> + The count soon appeared—breakfast was soon over, and the carriage at + the door; for the count sympathized in his young friend’s impatience. As + they were setting out, the count’s large Irish dog pushed out of the + house-door to follow them; and his master would have forbidden him, but + Lord Colambre begged that he might be permitted to accompany them; for his + lordship recollected the old woman’s having mentioned that Mr. Reynolds + was fond of dogs. + </p> + <p> + They arrived in Red Lion Square, found the house of Mr. Reynolds, and, + contrary to the count’s prognostics, found the old gentleman up, and they + saw him in his red night-cap at his parlour window. After some minutes’ + running backwards and forwards of a boy in the passage, and two or three + peeps taken over the blinds by the old gentleman, they were admitted. + </p> + <p> + The boy could not master their names; so they were obliged reciprocally to + announce themselves—“Count O’Halloran and Lord Colambre.” The names + seemed to make no impression on the old gentleman; but he deliberately + looked at the count and his lordship, as if studying <i>what</i> rather + than <i>who</i> they were. In spite of the red night-cap, and a flowered + dressing-gown, Mr. Reynolds looked like a gentleman, an odd gentleman—but + still a gentleman. + </p> + <p> + As Count O’Halloran came into the room, and as his large dog attempted to + follow, the count’s look expressed— + </p> + <p> + “Say, shall I let him in, or shut the door?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, let him in, by all means, sir, if you please! I am fond of dogs; and + a finer one I never saw: pray, gentlemen, be seated,” said he—a + portion of the complacency, inspired by the sight of the dog, diffusing + itself over his manner towards the master of so fine an animal, and even + extending to the master’s companion, though in an inferior degree. Whilst + Mr. Reynolds stroked the dog, the count told him that “the dog was of a + curious breed, now almost extinct—the Irish greyhound; only one + nobleman in Ireland, it is said, has a few of the species remaining in his + possession—Now, lie down, Hannibal,” said the count. “Mr. Reynolds, + we have taken the liberty, though strangers, of waiting upon you—” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, sir,” interrupted Mr. Reynolds; “but did I understand + you rightly, that a few of the same species are still to be had from one + nobleman in Ireland? Pray, what is his name?” said he, taking out his + pencil. + </p> + <p> + The count wrote the name for him, but observed, that “he had asserted only + that a few of these dogs remained in the possession of that nobleman; he + could not answer for it that they were <i>to be had</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I have ways and means,” said old Reynolds; and, rapping his + snuff-box, and talking, as it was his custom, loud to himself, “Lady + Dashfort knows all those Irish lords: she shall get one for me—ay! + ay!” + </p> + <p> + Count O’Halloran replied, as if the words had been addressed to him, “Lady + Dashfort is in England.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it, sir; she is in London,” said Mr. Reynolds, hastily. “What do + you know of her?” + </p> + <p> + “I know, sir, that she is not likely to return to Ireland, and that I am; + and so is my young friend here: and if the thing can be accomplished, we + will get it done for you.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre joined in this promise, and added, that, “if the dog could + be obtained, he would undertake to have him safely sent over to England.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir—gentlemen! I’m much obliged; that is, when you have done the + thing I shall be much obliged. But, may be, you are only making me civil + speeches!” + </p> + <p> + “Of that, sir,” said the count, smiling with much temper, “your own + sagacity and knowledge of the world must enable you to judge.” + </p> + <p> + “For my own part, I can only say,” cried Lord Colambre, “that I am not in + the habit of being reproached with saying one thing and meaning another.” + </p> + <p> + “Hot! I see,” said old Reynolds, nodding as he looked at Lord Colambre: + “Cool!” added he, nodding at the count. “But a time for every thing; I was + hot once: both answers good for their ages.” + </p> + <p> + This speech Lord Colambre and the count tacitly agreed to consider as + another <i>apart</i>, which they were not to hear, or seem to hear. The + count began again on the business of their visit, as he saw that Lord + Colambre was boiling with impatience, and feared that he should <i>boil + over</i>, and spoil all. The count commenced with, “Mr. Reynolds, your + name sounds to me like the name of a friend; for I had once a friend of + that name: I once had the pleasure (and a very great pleasure it was to + me) to be intimately acquainted abroad, on the continent, with a very + amiable and gallant youth—your son!” + </p> + <p> + “Take care, sir,” said the old man, starting up from his chair, and + instantly sinking down again, “take care! Don’t mention him to me—unless + you would strike me dead on the spot!” + </p> + <p> + The convulsed motions of his fingers and face worked for some moments; + whilst the count and Lord Colambre, much shocked and alarmed, stood in + silence. + </p> + <p> + The convulsed motions ceased; and the old man unbuttoned his waistcoat, as + if to relieve some sense of oppression; uncovered his gray hairs; and, + after leaning back to rest himself, with his eyes fixed, and in reverie + for a few moments, he sat upright again in his chair, and exclaimed, as he + looked round, “Son!—Did not somebody say that word? Who is so cruel + to say that word before me? Nobody has ever spoken of him to me—but + once, since his death! Do you know, sir,” said he, fixing his eyes on + Count O’Halloran, and laying his cold hand on him, “do you know where he + was buried, I ask you, sir? do you remember how he died?” + </p> + <p> + “Too well! too well!” cried the count, so much affected as to be scarcely + able to pronounce the words; “he died in my arms: I buried him myself!” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible!” cried Mr. Reynolds. “Why do you say so, sir?” said he, + studying the count’s face with a sort of bewildered earnestness. + “Impossible! His body was sent over to me in a lead coffin; and I saw it—and + I was asked—and I answered, ‘In the family vault.’ But the shock is + over,” said he: “and, gentlemen, if the business of your visit relates to + that subject, I trust I am now sufficiently composed to attend to you. + Indeed, I ought to be prepared; for I had reason, for years, to expect the + stroke; and yet, when it came, it seemed sudden!—it stunned me—put + an end to all my worldly prospects—left me childless, without a + single descendant, or relation near enough to be dear to me! I am an + insulated being!” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir, you are not an insulated being,” said Lord Colambre: “You have a + near relation, who will, who must, be dear to you; who will make you + amends for all you have lost, all you have suffered—who will bring + peace and joy to your heart: you have a grand-daughter.” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir; I have no grand-daughter,” said old Reynolds, his face and whole + form becoming rigid with the expression of obstinacy. “Rather have no + descendant than be forced to acknowledge an illegitimate child.” + </p> + <p> + “My lord, I entreat as a friend—I command you to be patient,” said + the count, who saw Lord Colambre’s indignation suddenly rise. + </p> + <p> + “So, then, this is the purpose of your visit,” continued old Reynolds: + “and you come from my enemies, from the St. Omars, and you are in a league + with them,” continued old Reynolds: “and all this time it is of my eldest + son you have been talking.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” replied the count; “of Captain Reynolds, who fell in battle, + in the Austrian service, about nineteen years ago—a more gallant and + amiable youth never lived.” + </p> + <p> + Pleasure revived through the dull look of obstinacy in the father’s eyes. + </p> + <p> + “He was, as you say, sir, a gallant, an amiable youth, once—and he + was my pride, and I loved him, too, once—but did not you know I had + another?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir, we did not—we are, you may perceive, totally ignorant of + your family and of your affairs—we have no connexion whatever or + knowledge of any of the St. Omars.” + </p> + <p> + “I detest the sound of the name,” cried Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, good! good!—Well! well! I beg your pardon, gentlemen, a + thousand times—I am a hasty, very hasty old man; but I have been + harassed, persecuted, hunted by wretches, who got a scent of my gold; + often in my rage I longed to throw my treasure-bags to my pursuers, and + bid them leave me to die in peace. You have feelings, I see, both of you, + gentlemen; excuse, and bear with my temper.” + </p> + <p> + “Bear with you! Much enforced, the best tempers will emit a hasty spark,” + said the count, looking at Lord Colambre, who was now cool again; and who, + with a countenance full of compassion, sat with his eyes fixed upon the + poor—no, not the poor, but the unhappy old man. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I had another son,” continued Mr. Reynolds, “and on him all my + affections concentrated when I lost my eldest, and for him I desired to + preserve the estate which his mother brought into the family. Since you + know nothing of my affairs, let me explain to you: that estate was so + settled, that it would have gone to the child, even the daughter of my + eldest son, if there had been a legitimate child. But I knew there was no + marriage, and I held out firm to my opinion. ‘If there was a marriage,’ + said I, ‘show me the marriage certificate, and I will acknowledge the + marriage, and acknowledge the child:’ but they could not, and I knew they + could not; and I kept the estate for my darling boy,” cried the old + gentleman, with the exultation of successful positiveness again appearing + strong in his physiognomy: but, suddenly changing and relaxing, his + countenance fell, and he added, “but now I have no darling boy. What use + all!—all must go to the heir at law, or I must will it to a stranger—a + lady of quality, who has just found out she is my relation—God knows + how! I’m no genealogist—and sends me Irish cheese, and Iceland moss, + for my breakfast, and her waiting gentlewoman to namby-pamby me. Oh, I’m + sick of it all—see through it—wish I was blind—wish I + had a hiding-place, where flatterers could not find me—pursued, + chased—must change my lodgings again to-morrow—will, will—I + beg your pardon, gentlemen, again: you were going to tell me, sir, + something more of my eldest son; and how I was led away from the subject, + I don’t know; but I meant only to have assured you that his memory was + dear to me, till I was so tormented about that unfortunate affair of his + pretended marriage, that at length I hated to hear him named; but the heir + at law, at last, will triumph over me.” + </p> + <p> + “No, my good sir, not if you triumph over yourself, and do justice,” cried + Lord Colambre; “if you listen to the truth, which my friend will tell you, + and if you will read and believe the confirmation of it, under your son’s + own hand, in this packet.” + </p> + <p> + “His own hand indeed! His seal—unbroken. But how—when—where—why + was it kept so long, and how came it into your hands?” + </p> + <p> + Count O’Halloran told Mr. Reynolds that the packet had been given to him + by Captain Reynolds on his death-bed; related the dying acknowledgment + which Captain Reynolds had made of his marriage; and gave an account of + the delivery of the packet to the ambassador, who had promised to transmit + it faithfully. Lord Colambre told the manner in which it had been mislaid, + and at last recovered from among the deceased ambassador’s papers. The + father still gazed at the direction, and re-examined the seals. + </p> + <p> + “My son’s hand-writing—my son’s seals! But where is the certificate + of the marriage?” repeated he; “if it is withinside of this packet, I have + done great <i>in</i>—but I am convinced it never was a marriage. Yet + I wish now it could be proved—only, in that case, I have for years + done great—” + </p> + <p> + “Won’t you open the packet, sir?” said Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Reynolds looked up at him with a look that said, “I don’t clearly know + what interest you have in all this.” But, unable to speak, and his hands + trembling so that he could scarcely break the seals, he tore off the + cover, laid the papers before him, sat down, and took breath. Lord + Colambre, however impatient, had now too much humanity to hurry the old + gentleman: he only ran for the spectacles, which he espied on the + chimney-piece, rubbed them bright, and held them ready. Mr. Reynolds + stretched his hand out for them, put them on, and the first paper he + opened was the certificate of the marriage: he read it aloud, and, putting + it down, said, “Now I acknowledge the marriage. I always said, if there is + a marriage there must be a certificate. And you see now there is a + certificate—I acknowledge the marriage.” + </p> + <p> + “And now,” cried Lord Colambre, “I am happy, positively happy. Acknowledge + your grand-daughter, sir—acknowledge Miss Nugent.” + </p> + <p> + “Acknowledge whom, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Acknowledge Miss Reynolds—your grand-daughter; I ask no more—do + what you will with your fortune.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, now I understand—I begin to understand, this young gentleman is + in love—but where is my grand-daughter? how shall I know she is my + grand-daughter? I have not heard of her since she was an infant—I + forgot her existence—I have done her great injustice.” + </p> + <p> + “She knows nothing of it, sir,” said Lord Colambre, who now entered into a + full explanation of Miss Nugent’s history, and of her connexion with his + family, and of his own attachment to her; concluding the whole by assuring + Mr. Reynolds that his grand-daughter had every virtue under heaven. “And + as to your fortune, sir, I know that she will, as I do, say—” + </p> + <p> + “No matter what she will say,” interrupted old Reynolds; “where is she? + When I see her, I shall hear what she says. Tell me where she is—let + me see her. I long to see whether there is any likeness to her poor + father. Where is she? Let me see her immediately.” + </p> + <p> + “She is one hundred and sixty miles off, sir, at Buxton.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, my lord, and what is a hundred and sixty miles? I suppose you think + I can’t stir from my chair, but you are mistaken. I think nothing of a + journey of a hundred and sixty miles—I am ready to set off to-morrow—this + instant.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre said, that he was sure Miss Reynolds would obey her + grandfather’s slightest summons, as it was her duty to do, and would be + with him as soon as possible, if this would be more agreeable to him. “I + will write to her instantly,” said his lordship, “if you will commission + me.” + </p> + <p> + “No, my lord, I do not commission—I will go—I think nothing, I + say, of a journey of a hundred and sixty miles—I’ll go—and set + out to-morrow morning.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre and the count, perfectly satisfied with the result of their + visit, now thought it best to leave old Reynolds at liberty to rest + himself, after so many strong and varied feelings. They paid their parting + compliments, settled the time for the next day’s journey, and were just + going to quit the room, when Lord Colambre heard in the passage a + well-known voice—the voice of Mrs. Petito. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, my Lady Dashfort’s best compliments, and I will call again.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” cried old Reynolds, pulling his bell; “I’ll have no calling + again—I’ll be hanged if I do! Let her in now, and I’ll see her—Jack! + let in that woman now or never.” + </p> + <p> + “The lady’s gone, sir, out of the street door.” + </p> + <p> + “After her, then—now or never, tell her.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir, she was in a hackney coach.” + </p> + <p> + Old Reynolds jumped up, and went to the window himself, and, seeing the + hackney coachman just turning, beckoned at the window, and Mrs. Petito was + set down again, and ushered in by Jack, who announced her as, “the lady, + sir.” The only lady he had seen in that house. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Mr. Reynolds, I’m so obliged to you for letting me in,” cried + Mrs. Petito, adjusting her shawl in the passage, and speaking in a voice + and manner well mimicked after her betters. “You are so very good and + kind, and I am so much obliged to you.” + </p> + <p> + “You are not obliged to me, and I am neither good nor kind,” said old + Reynolds. + </p> + <p> + “You strange man,” said Mrs. Petito, advancing graceful in shawl drapery; + but she stopped short. “My Lord Colambre and Count O’Halloran, as I hope + to be saved!” + </p> + <p> + “I did not know Mrs. Petito was an acquaintance of yours, gentlemen,” said + Mr. Reynolds, smiling shrewdly. + </p> + <p> + Count O’Halloran was too polite to deny his acquaintance with a lady who + challenged it by thus naming him; but he had not the slightest + recollection of her, though it seems he had met her on the stairs when he + visited Lady Dashfort at Killpatricks-town. Lord Colambre was “indeed <i>undeniably + an old acquaintance</i>:” and as soon as she had recovered from her first + natural start and vulgar exclamation, she with very easy familiarity hoped + “my Lady Clonbrony, and my Lord, and Miss Nugent, and all her friends in + the family, were well;” and said, “she did not know whether she was to + congratulate his lordship or not upon Miss Broadhurst, my Lady Berryl’s + marriage, but she should soon have to hope for his lordship’s + congratulations for another marriage in <i>her</i> present family—Lady + Isabel to Colonel Heathcock, who was come in for a large <i>portion</i>, + and they are buying the wedding clothes—sights of clothes—and + the di’monds, this day; and Lady Dashfort and my Lady Isabel sent me + especially, sir, to you, Mr. Reynolds, and to tell you, sir, before any + body else; and to hope the cheese <i>come</i> safe up again at last; and + to ask whether the Iceland moss agrees with your chocolate, and is + palatable? it’s the most <i>diluent</i> thing upon the universal earth, + and the most <i>tonic</i> and fashionable—the Duchess of Torcaster + takes it always for breakfast, and Lady St. James too is quite a convert, + and I hear the Duke of V*** takes it too.” + </p> + <p> + “And the devil may take it too, for any thing that I care,” said old + Reynolds. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear, dear sir! you are so refractory a patient.” + </p> + <p> + “I am no patient at all, ma’am, and have no patience either: I am as well + as you are, or my Lady Dashfort either, and hope, God willing, long to + continue so.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Petito smiled aside at Lord Colambre, to mark her perception of the + man’s strangeness. Then, in a cajoling voice, addressing herself to the + old gentleman, “Long, long, I hope, to continue so, if Heaven grants my + daily and nightly prayers, and my Lady Dashfort’s also. So, Mr. Reynolds, + if the ladies’ prayers are of any avail, you ought to be purely, and I + suppose ladies’ prayers have the precedence in efficacy. But it was not of + prayers and death-bed affairs I came commissioned to treat—but of + weddings my diplomacy was to speak: and to premise my Lady Dashfort would + have come herself in her carriage, but is hurried out of her senses, and + my Lady Isabel could not in proper modesty; so they sent me as their <i>double</i>, + to hope you, my dear Mr. Reynolds, who is one of the family relations, + will honour the wedding with your presence.” + </p> + <p> + “It would be no honour, and they know that as well as I do,” said the + intractable Mr. Reynolds. “It will be no advantage, either; but that they + do not know as well as I do. Mrs. Petito, to save you and your lady all + trouble about me in future, please to let my Lady Dashfort know that I + have just received and read the certificate of my son Captain Reynolds’ + marriage with Miss St. Omar. I have acknowledged the marriage. Better late + than never; and to-morrow morning, God willing, shall set out with this + young nobleman for Buxton, where I hope to see, and intend publicly to + acknowledge, my grand-daughter—provided she will acknowledge me.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Crimini!</i>” exclaimed Mrs. Petito, “what new turns are here? Well, + sir, I shall tell my lady of the <i>metamorphoses</i> that have taken + place, though by what magic I can’t guess. But, since it seems annoying + and inopportune, I shall make my <i>finale</i>, and shall thus leave a + verbal P.P.C.—as you are leaving town, it seems, for Buxton so early + in the morning. My Lord Colambre, if I see rightly into a millstone, as I + hope and believe I do on the present occasion, I have to congratulate your + lordship (haven’t I?) upon something like a succession, or a windfall, in + this <i>denewment</i>. And I beg you’ll make my humble respects acceptable + to the <i>ci-devant</i> Miss Grace Nugent that was; and I won’t <i>derrogate</i> + her by any other name in the interregnum, as I am persuaded it will only + be a temporary name, scarce worth assuming, except for the honour of the + public adoption; and that will, I’m confident, be soon exchanged for a + viscount’s title, or I have no sagacity or sympathy. I hope I don’t (pray + don’t let me) put you to the blush, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre would not have let her, if he could have helped it. + </p> + <p> + “Count O’Halloran, your most obedient! I had the honour of meeting you at + Killpatricks-town,” said Mrs. Petito, backing to the door, and twitching + her shawl. She stumbled, nearly fell down, over the large dog—caught + by the door, and recovered herself—Hannibal rose and shook his ears. + “Poor fellow! you are of my acquaintance, too.” She would have stroked his + head; but Hannibal walked off indignant, and so did she. + </p> + <p> + Thus ended certain hopes: for Mrs. Petito had conceived that her <i>diplomacy</i> + might be turned to account; that in her character of an ambassadress, as + Lady Dashfort’s double, by the aid of Iceland moss in chocolate, of + flattery properly administered, and of bearing with all her <i>dear</i> + Mr. Reynolds’ <i>oddnesses</i> and <i>rough-nesses</i>, she might in time—that + is to say, before he made a new will—become his dear Mrs. Petito; or + (for stranger things have happened and do happen every day), his dear Mrs. + Reynolds! Mrs. Petito, however, was good at a retreat; and she flattered + herself that at least nothing of this underplot had appeared: and at all + events she secured, by her services in this embassy, the long looked-for + object of her ambition, Lady Dashfort’s scarlet velvet gown—“not yet + a thread the worse for the wear!” One cordial look at this comforted her + for the loss of her expected <i>octogenaire</i>; and she proceeded to + discomfit her lady, by repeating the message with which strange old Mr. + Reynolds had charged her. So ended all Lady Dashfort’s hopes of his + fortune. + </p> + <p> + Since the death of his youngest son, she had been indefatigable in her + attentions, and sanguine in her hopes: the disappointment affected both + her interest and her pride, as an <i>intrigante</i>. It was necessary, + however, to keep her feelings to herself; for if Heathcock should hear any + thing of the matter before the articles were signed, he might “be off!”—so + she put him and Lady Isabel into her coach directly—drove to Rundell + and Bridges’, to make sure at all events of the jewels. + </p> + <p> + In the mean time Count O’Halloran and Lord Colambre, delighted with the + result of their visit, took leave of Mr. Reynolds, after having arranged + the journey, and appointed the hour for setting off the next day. Lord + Colambre proposed to call upon Mr. Reynolds in the evening, and introduce + his father, Lord Clonbrony; but Mr. Reynolds said, “No, no! I’m not + ceremonious. I have given you proofs enough of that, I think, in the short + time we’ve been already acquainted. Time enough to introduce your father + to me when we are in a carriage, going our journey: then we can talk, and + get acquainted: but merely to come this evening in a hurry, and say, ‘Lord + Clonbrony, Mr. Reynolds;—Mr. Reynolds, Lord Clonbrony’—and + then bob our two heads at one another, and scrape one foot back, and away!—where’s + the use of that nonsense at my time of life, or at any time of life? No, + no! we have enough to do without that, I dare say.—Good morning to + you, Count O’Halloran! I thank you heartily. From the first moment I saw + you, I liked you: lucky too, that you brought your dog with you! ‘Twas + Hannibal made me first let you in; I saw him over the top of the blind. + Hannibal, my good fellow! I’m more obliged to you than you can guess.” + </p> + <p> + “So are we all,” said Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + Hannibal was well patted, and then they parted. In returning home they met + Sir James Brooke. + </p> + <p> + “I told you,” said Sir James, “I should be in London almost as soon as + you. Have you found old Reynolds?” + </p> + <p> + “Just come from him.” + </p> + <p> + “How does your business prosper? I hope as well as mine.” + </p> + <p> + A history of all that had passed up to the present moment was given, and + hearty congratulations received. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going now, Sir James?—cannot you come with us?” said + Lord Colambre and the count. + </p> + <p> + “Impossible,” replied Sir James;—“but, perhaps, you can come with me—I’m + going to Rundell and Bridges’, to give some old family diamonds either to + be new set or exchanged. Count O’Halloran, I know you are a judge of these + things; pray come and give me your opinion.” + </p> + <p> + “Better consult your bride elect!” said the count. + </p> + <p> + “No; she knows little of the matter—and cares less,” replied Sir + James. + </p> + <p> + “Not so this bride elect, or I mistake her much,” said the count, as they + passed by the window, at Rundell and Bridges’, and saw Lady Isabel, who, + with Lady Dashfort, had been holding consultation deep with the jeweller; + and Heathcock, playing <i>personnage muet</i>. + </p> + <p> + Lady Dashfort, who had always, as old Reynolds expressed it, “her head + upon her shoulders,”—presence of mind where her interests were + concerned, ran to the door before the count and Lord Colambre could enter, + giving a hand to each—as if they had all parted the best friends in + the world. + </p> + <p> + “How do? how do?—Give you joy! give me joy! and all that. But mind! + not a word,” said she, laying her finger upon her lips, “not a word before + Heathcock of old Reynolds, or of the best part of the old fool—his + fortune!” + </p> + <p> + The gentlemen bowed, in sign of submission to her ladyship’s commands; and + comprehended that she feared Heathcock might <i>be off</i>, if the best + part of his bride (her fortune, or her <i>expectations</i>) were lowered + in value or in prospect. + </p> + <p> + “How low is she reduced,” whispered Lord Colambre, “when such a husband is + thought a prize—and to be secured by a manoeuvre!” He sighed. + </p> + <p> + “Spare that generous sigh!” said Sir James Brooke: “it is wasted.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Isabel, as they approached, turned from a mirror, at which she was + trying on a diamond crescent. Her face clouded at the sight of Count + O’Halloran and Lord Colambre, and grew dark as hatred when she saw Sir + James Brooke. She walked away to the farther end of the shop, and asked + one of the shopmen the price of a diamond necklace, which lay upon the + counter. + </p> + <p> + The man said he really did not know; it belonged to Lady Oranmore; it had + just been new set for one of her ladyship’s daughters, “who is going to be + married to Sir James Brooke—one of the gentlemen, my lady, who are + just come in.” + </p> + <p> + Then, calling to his master, he asked him the price of the necklace: he + named the value, which was considerable. + </p> + <p> + “I really thought Lady Oranmore and her daughters were vastly too + philosophical to think of diamonds,” said Lady Isabel to her mother, with + a sort of sentimental sneer in her voice and countenance. “But it is some + comfort to me to find, in these pattern-women, philosophy and love do not + so wholly engross the heart, that they + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Feel every vanity in fondness lost.’” + </pre> + <p> + “‘Twould be difficult, in some cases,” thought many present. + </p> + <p> + “‘Pon honour, di’monds are cursed expensive things, I know!” said + Heathcock. “But, be that as it may,” whispered he to the lady, though loud + enough to be heard by others, “I’ve laid a damned round wager, that no + woman’s diamonds married this winter, under a countess, in Lon’on, shall + eclipse Lady Isabel Heathcock’s! and Mr. Rundell here’s to be judge.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Isabel paid for this promise one of her sweetest smiles; one of those + smiles which she had formerly bestowed upon Lord Colambre, and which he + had once fancied expressed so much sensibility—such discriminative + and delicate penetration. + </p> + <p> + Our hero felt so much contempt, that he never wasted another sigh of pity + for her degradation. Lady Dashfort came up to him as he was standing + alone; and, whilst the count and Sir James were settling about the + diamonds, “My Lord Colambre,” said she, in a low voice, “I know your + thoughts, and I could moralize as well as you, if I did not prefer + laughing—you are right enough; and so am I, and so is Isabel; we are + all right. For look here: women have not always the liberty of choice, and + therefore they can’t be expected to have always the power of refusal.” + </p> + <p> + The mother, satisfied with her convenient optimism, got into her carriage + with her daughter, her daughter’s diamonds, and her precious son-in-law, + her daughter’s companion for life. + </p> + <p> + “The more I see,” said Count O’Halloran to Lord Colambre, as they left the + shop, “the more I find reason to congratulate you upon your escape, my + dear lord.” + </p> + <p> + “I owe it not to my own wit or wisdom,” said Lord Colambre; “but much to + love, and much to friendship,” added he, turning to Sir James Brooke: + “here was the friend who early warned me against the siren’s voice; who, + before I knew the Lady Isabel, told me what I have since found to be true, + that + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Two passions alternately govern her fate—Her + business is love, but her pleasure is hate,’” + </pre> + <p> + “That is dreadfully severe, Sir James,” said Count O’Halloran; “but, I am + afraid, is just.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure it is just, or I would not have said it,” replied Sir James + Brooke. “For the foibles of the sex, I hope, I have as much indulgence as + any man, and for the errors of passion as much pity; but I cannot repress + the indignation, the abhorrence I feel against women cold and vain, who + use their wit and their charms only to make others miserable.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre recollected at this moment Lady Isabel’s look and voice, + when she declared that she would let her little finger be cut off to + purchase the pleasure of inflicting on Lady De Cressy, for one hour, the + torture of jealousy. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” continued Sir James Brooke, “now that I am going to marry into + an Irish family, I may feel, with peculiar energy, disapprobation of this + mother and daughter on another account; but you, Lord Colambre, will do me + the justice to recollect, that before I had any personal interest in the + country, I expressed, as a general friend to Ireland, antipathy to those + who return the hospitality they received from a warm-hearted people, by + publicly setting the example of elegant sentimental hypocrisy, or daring + disregard of decorum, by privately endeavouring to destroy the domestic + peace of families, on which, at last, public as well as private virtue and + happiness depend. I do rejoice, my dear Lord Colambre, to hear you say + that I had any share in saving you from the siren; and now I will never + speak of these ladies more. I am sorry you cannot stay in town to see—but + why should I be sorry—we shall meet again, I trust, and I shall + introduce you; and you, I hope, will introduce me to a very different + charmer. Farewell!—you have my warm good wishes, wherever you go.” + </p> + <p> + Sir James turned off quickly to the street in which Lady Oranmore lived, + and Lord Colambre had not time to tell him that he knew and admired his + intended bride. Count O’Halloran promised to do this for him. + </p> + <p> + “And now,” said the good count, “I am to take leave of you; and I assure + you I do it with so much reluctance, that nothing less than positive + engagements to stay in town would prevent me from setting off with you + to-morrow; but I shall be soon, very soon, at liberty to return to + Ireland; and Clonbrony Castle, if you will give me leave, I will see + before I see Halloran Castle.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre joyfully thanked his friend for this promise. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, it is to indulge myself. I long to see you happy—long to + behold the choice of such a heart as yours. Pray do not steal a march upon + me—let me know in time. I will leave every thing—even my + friend the minister’s secret expedition—for your wedding. But I + trust I shall be in time.” + </p> + <p> + “Assuredly you will, my dear count; if ever that wedding—” + </p> + <p> + “<i>If</i>,” repeated the count. + </p> + <p> + “<i>If</i>,” repeated Lord Colambre. “Obstacles which, when we last + parted, appeared to me invincible, prevented my having ever even attempted + to make an impression on the heart of the woman I love: and if you knew + her, count, as well as I do, you would know that her love could ‘not + unsought be won.’” + </p> + <p> + “Of that I cannot doubt, or she would not be your choice; but when her + love is sought, we have every reason to hope,” said the count, smiling, + “that it may, because it ought to be, won by tried honour and affection. I + only require to be left in hope.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I leave you hope,” said Lord Colambre: “Miss Nugent—Miss + Reynolds, I should say, has been in the habit of considering a union with + me as impossible; my mother early instilled this idea into her mind. Miss + Nugent thought that duty forbad her to think of me; she told me so: I have + seen it in all her conduct and manners. The barriers of habit, the ideas + of duty, cannot, ought not, to be thrown down, or suddenly changed, in a + well-regulated female mind. And you, I am sure, know enough of the best + female hearts, to be aware that time—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, let this dear good charmer take her own time, provided + there’s none given to affectation, or prudery, or coquetry; and from all + these, of course, she must be free; and of course I must be content. + Adieu.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. + </h2> + <p> + As Lord Colambre was returning home, he was overtaken by Sir Terence + O’Fay. + </p> + <p> + “Well, my lord,” cried Sir Terence, out of breath, “you have led me a + pretty dance all over the town: here’s a letter somewhere down in my safe + pocket for you, which has cost me trouble enough. Phoo! where is it now?—it’s + from Miss Nugent,” said he, holding up the letter. The direction to + Grosvenor-square, London, had been scratched out; and it had been + re-directed by Sir Terence to the Lord Viscount Colambre, at Sir James + Brooke’s, Bart., Brookwood, Huntingdonshire, or elsewhere, with speed, + “But the more haste the worse speed; for away it went to Brookwood, + Huntingdonshire, where I knew, if any where, you was to be found; but, as + fate and the post would have it, there the letter went coursing after you, + while you were running round, and <i>back</i>, and forwards, and every + where, I understand, to Toddrington and Wrestham, and where not, through + all them English places, where there’s no cross-post: so I took it for + granted that it found its way to the dead-letter office, or was sticking + up across a pane in the d——d postmaster’s window at + Huntingdon, for the whole town to see, and it a love-letter, and some + puppy to claim it, under false pretence; and you all the time without it, + and it might breed a coolness betwixt you and Miss Nugent.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear Sir Terence, give me the letter now you have me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear lord, if you knew what a race I have had, missing you here by + five minutes, and there by five seconds—but I have you at last, and + you have it—and I’m paid this minute for all I liquidated of my + substance, by the pleasure I have in seeing you crack the seal and read + it. But take care you don’t tumble over the orange-woman—orange + barrows are a great nuisance, when one’s studying a letter in the streets + of London, or the metropolis. But never heed; stick to my arm, and I’ll + guide you, like a blind man, safe through the thick of them.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Nugent’s letter, which Lord Colambre read in spite of the jostling of + passengers, and the incessant talking of Sir Terence, was as follows:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Let me not be the cause of banishing you from your home and your + country, where you would do so much good, and make so many happy. + Let me not be the cause of your breaking your promise to your + mother; of your disappointing my dear aunt so cruelly, who has + complied with all our wishes, and who sacrifices, to oblige us, + her favourite tastes. How could she be ever happy in Ireland—how + could Clonbrony Castle be a home to her without her son? If you + take away all she had of amusement and <i>pleasure</i>, as it is + called, are not you bound to give her, in their stead, that + domestic happiness, which she can enjoy only with you, and by your + means? If, instead of living with her, you go into the army, she + will be in daily, nightly anxiety and alarm about you; and her son + will, instead of being a comfort, be a source of torment to her. + + “I will hope that you will do now, as you have always hitherto + done, on every occasion where I have seen you act, what is right, + and just, and kind. Come here on the day you promised my aunt you + would; before that time I shall be in Cambridgeshire, with my + friend Lady Berryl; she is so good as to come to Buxton for me—I + shall remain with her, instead of returning to Ireland. I have + explained my reasons to my dear aunt—Could I have any concealment + from her, to whom, from my earliest childhood, I owe every thing + that kindness and affection could give? She is satisfied—she + consents to my living henceforward with Lady Berryl. Let me have + the pleasure of seeing by your conduct, that you approve of mine. + + “Your affectionate cousin + + “and friend, + + “GRACE NUGENT.” + </pre> + <p> + This letter, as may be imagined by those who, like him, are capable of + feeling honourable and generous conduct, gave our hero exquisite pleasure. + Poor, good-natured Sir Terence O’Fay enjoyed his lordship’s delight; and + forgot himself so completely, that he never even inquired whether Lord + Colambre had thought of an affair on which he had spoken to him some time + before, and which materially concerned Sir Terence’s interest. The next + morning, when the carriage was at the door, and Sir Terence was just + taking leave of his friend Lord Clonbrony, and actually in tears, wishing + them all manner of happiness, though he said there was none left now in + London, or the wide world even, for him—Lord Colambre went up to + him, and said, “Sir Terence, you have never inquired whether I have done + your business.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear, I’m not thinking of that now—time enough by the post—I + can write after you; but my thoughts won’t turn for me to business now—no + matter.” + </p> + <p> + “Your business is done,” replied Lord Colambre. + </p> + <p> + “Then I wonder how you could think of it, with all you had upon your mind + and heart. When any thing’s upon my heart, good morning to my head, it’s + not worth a lemon. Good-bye to you, and thank you kindly, and all + happiness attend you.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye to you, Sir Terence O’Fay,” said Lord Clonbrony; “and, since + it’s so ordered, I must live without you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! you’ll live better without me, my lord; I am not a good liver, I + know, nor the best of all companions, for a nobleman, young or old; and + now you’ll be rich, and not put to your shifts and your wits, what would I + have to do for you?—Sir Terence O’Fay, you know, was only <i>the + poor nobleman’s friend</i>, and you’ll never want to call upon him again, + thanks to your jewel, your Pitt’s-diamond of a son there. So we part here, + and depend upon it you’re better without me—that’s all my comfort, + or my heart would break. The carriage is waiting this long time, and this + young lover’s aching to be off. God bless you both!—that’s my last + word.” + </p> + <p> + They called in Red Lion-square, punctual to the moment, on old Mr. + Reynolds, but his window-shutters were shut; he had been seized in the + night with a violent fit of the gout, which, as he said, held him fast by + the leg. “But here,” said he, giving Lord Colambre a letter, “here’s what + will do your business without me. Take this written acknowledgment I have + penned for you, and give my grand-daughter her father’s letter to read—it + would touch a heart of stone—touched mine—wish I could drag + the mother back out of her grave, to do her justice—all one now. You + see, at last, I’m not a suspicious rascal, however, for I don’t suspect + you of palming a false grand-daughter upon me.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you,” said Lord Colambre, “give your grand-daughter leave to come up + to town to you, sir! You would satisfy yourself, at least, as to what + resemblance she may bear to her father: Miss Reynolds will come instantly, + and she will nurse you.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no; I won’t have her come. If she comes, I won’t see her—sha’n’t + begin by nursing me—not selfish. As soon as I get rid of this gout, + I shall be my own man, and young again, and I’ll soon be after you across + the sea, that sha’n’t stop me: I’ll come to—what’s the name of your + place in Ireland?—and see what likeness I can find to her poor + father in this grand-daughter of mine, that you puffed so finely + yesterday. And let me see whether she will wheedle me as finely as Mrs. + Petito would. Don’t get ready your marriage settlements, do you hear? till + you have seen my will, which I shall sign at—what’s the name of your + place? Write it down there; there’s pen and ink; and leave me, for the + twinge is coming, and I shall roar.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you permit me, sir, to leave my own servant with you to take care of + you? I can answer for his attention and fidelity.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me see his face, and I’ll tell you.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre’s servant was summoned. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I like his face. God bless you!—Leave me.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre gave his servant a charge to bear with Mr. Reynolds’ rough + manner and temper, and to pay the poor old gentleman every possible + attention. Then our hero proceeded with his father on his journey, and on + this journey nothing happened worthy of note. On his first perusal of the + letter from Grace, Lord Colambre had feared that she would have left + Buxton with Lady Berryl before he could reach it; but, upon recollection, + he hoped that the few lines he had written, addressed to his mother <i>and</i> + Miss Nugent, with the assurance that he should be with them on Wednesday, + would be sufficient to show her that some great change had happened, and + consequently sufficient to prevent her from quitting her aunt, till she + could know whether such a separation would be necessary. He argued wisely, + more wisely than Grace had reasoned; for, notwithstanding this note, she + would have left Buxton before his arrival, but for Lady Berryl’s strength + of mind, and positive determination not to set out with her till Lord + Colambre should arrive to explain. In the interval, poor Grace was, + indeed, in an anxious state of suspense; and her uncertainty, whether she + was doing right or wrong, by staying to see Lord Colambre, tormented her + most. + </p> + <p> + “My dear, you cannot help yourself: be quiet,” said Lady Berryl: “I will + take the whole upon my conscience; and I hope my conscience may never have + any thing worse to answer for.” + </p> + <p> + Grace was the first person who, from her window, saw Lord Colambre, the + instant the carriage drove to the door. She ran to her friend Lady + Berryl’s apartment. “He is come!—Now, take me away.” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet, my sweet friend! Lie down upon this sofa, if you please; and + keep yourself tranquil, whilst I go and see what you ought to do; and + depend upon me for a true friend, in whose mind, as in your own, duty is + the first object.” + </p> + <p> + “I depend on you entirely,” said Grace, sinking down on the sofa: “and you + see I obey you!” + </p> + <p> + “Many thanks to you for lying down, when you can’t stand.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Berryl went to Lord Clonbrony’s apartment; she was met by Sir Arthur. + “Come, my love! come quick!—Lord Colambre is arrived.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it; and does he go to Ireland? Speak instantly, that I may tell + Grace Nugent.” + </p> + <p> + “You can tell her nothing yet, my love; for we know nothing. Lord Colambre + will not say a word till you come; but I know, by his countenance, that he + has good and extraordinary news.” + </p> + <p> + They passed rapidly along the passage to Lady Clonbrony’s room. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear, dear Lady Berryl, come! or I shall die with impatience,” + cried Lady Clonbrony, in a voice and manner between laughing and crying. + “There, now you have congratulated, are very happy, and very glad, and all + that—now, for mercy’s sake, sit down, Lord Clonbrony! for Heaven’s + sake, sit down—beside me here—or any where! Now, Colambre, + begin; and tell us all at once!” + </p> + <p> + But as nothing is so tedious as a twice told tale, Lord Colambre’s + narrative need not here be repeated. He began with Count O’Halloran’s + visit, immediately after Lady Clonbrony had left London; and went through + the history of the discovery that Captain Reynolds was the husband of Miss + St. Omar, and the father of Grace: the dying acknowledgment of his + marriage; the packet delivered by Count O’Halloran to the careless + ambassador—how recovered, by the assistance of his executor, Sir + James Brooke; the travels from Wrestham to Toddrington, and thence to Red + Lion-square; the interview with old Reynolds, and its final result: all + was related as succinctly as the impatient curiosity of Lord Colambre’s + auditors could desire. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, wonder upon wonder! and joy upon joy!” cried Lady Clonbrony. “So my + darling Grace is as legitimate as I am, and an heiress after all. Where is + she? where is she? In your room, Lady Berryl?—Oh, Colambre! why + wouldn’t you let her be by?—Lady Berryl, do you know, he would not + let me send for her, though she was the person of all others most + concerned!” + </p> + <p> + “For that very reason, ma’am; and that Lord Colambre was quite right, I am + sure you must be sensible, when you recollect, that Grace has no idea that + she is not the daughter of Mr. Nugent: she has no suspicion that the + breath of blame ever lighted upon her mother. This part of the story + cannot be announced to her with too much caution; and, indeed, her mind + has been so much harassed and agitated, and she is at present so far from + strong, that great delicacy—.” + </p> + <p> + “True! very true, Lady Berryl,” interrupted Lady Clonbrony; “and I’ll be + as delicate as you please about it afterwards: but, in the first and + foremost place, I must tell her the best part of the story—that + she’s an heiress; that never killed any body!” + </p> + <p> + So, darting through all opposition, Lady Clonbrony made her way into the + room where Grace was lying—“Yes, get up! get up! my own Grace, and + be surprised—well you may!—you are an heiress, after all.” + </p> + <p> + “Am I, my dear aunt?” said Grace. + </p> + <p> + “True, as I’m Lady Clonbrony—and a very great heiress—and no + more Colambre’s cousin than Lady Berryl here. So now begin and love him as + fast as you please—I give my consent—and here he is.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Clonbrony turned to her son, who just appeared at the door. + </p> + <p> + “Ob, mother! what have you done?” + </p> + <p> + “What have I done?” cried Lady Clonbrony, following her son’s eyes:—“Lord + bless me!—Grace fainted dead—Lady Berryl! Oh, what have I + done? My dear Lady Berryl, what shall we do?” + </p> + <p> + Lady Berryl hastened to her friend’s assistance. + </p> + <p> + “There! her colour’s coming again,” said Lord Clonbrony; “come away, my + dear Lady Clonbrony, for the present, and so will I—though I long to + talk to the darling girl myself; but she is not equal to it yet.” + </p> + <p> + When Grace came to herself, she first saw Lady Berryl leaning over her, + and, raising herself a little, she said, “What has happened?—I don’t + know yet—I don’t know whether I am happy or not.—Explain all + this to me, my dear friend; for I am still as if I were in a dream.” + </p> + <p> + With all the delicacy which Lady Clonbrony deemed superfluous, Lady Berryl + explained. Nothing could surpass the astonishment of Grace, on first + learning that Mr. Nugent was not her father. When she was told of the + stigma that had been cast on her birth; the suspicions, the disgrace, to + which her mother had been subjected for so many years—that mother, + whom she had so loved and respected; who had, with such care, instilled + into the mind of her daughter the principles of virtue and religion; that + mother whom Grace had always seen the example of every virtue she taught; + on whom her daughter never suspected that the touch of blame, the breath + of scandal, could rest—Grace could express her sensations only by + repeating, in tones of astonishment, pathos, indignation—“My mother!—my + mother!—my mother!” + </p> + <p> + For some time she was incapable of attending to any other idea, or of + feeling any other sensations. When her mind was able to admit the thought, + her friend soothed her, by recalling the expressions of Lord Colambre’s + love—the struggle by which he had been agitated, when he fancied a + union with her opposed by an invincible obstacle. + </p> + <p> + Grace sighed, and acknowledged that, in prudence, it ought to have been an + <i>invincible</i> obstacle—she admired the firmness of his decision, + the honour with which he had acted towards her. One moment she exclaimed, + “Then, if I had been the daughter of a mother who had conducted herself + ill, he never would have trusted me!” The next moment she recollected, + with pleasure, the joy she had just seen in his eyes—the affection, + the passion, that spoke in every word and look; then dwelt upon the sober + certainty, that all obstacles were removed. “And no duty opposes my loving + him!—And my aunt wishes it! my kind aunt! and my dear uncle! should + not I go to him?—But he is not my uncle, she is not my aunt. I + cannot bring myself to think that they are not my relations, and that I am + nothing to them.” + </p> + <p> + “You may be every thing to them, my dear Grace,” said Lady Berryl:—“whenever + you please, you may be their daughter.” + </p> + <p> + Grace blushed, and smiled, and sighed, and was consoled. But then she + recollected her new relation, Mr. Reynolds, her grandfather, whom she had + never seen, who had for years disowned her—treated her mother with + injustice. She could scarcely think of him with complacency: yet, when his + age, his sufferings, his desolate state, were represented, she pitied him; + and, faithful to her strong sense of duty, would have gone instantly to + offer him every assistance and attention in her power. Lady Berryl assured + her that Mr. Reynolds had positively forbidden her going to him; and that + he had assured Lord Colambre he would not see her if she went to him. + After such rapid and varied emotions, poor Grace desired repose, and her + friend took care that it should be secured to her for the remainder of the + day. + </p> + <p> + In the mean time, Lord Clonbrony had kindly and judiciously employed his + lady in a discussion about certain velvet furniture, which Grace had + painted for the drawing-room at Clonbrony Castle. + </p> + <p> + In Lady Clonbrony’s mind, as in some bad paintings, there was no <i>keeping</i>; + all objects, great and small, were upon the same level. + </p> + <p> + The moment her son entered the room, her ladyship exclaimed, “Every thing + pleasant at once! Here’s your father tells me, Grace’s velvet furniture’s + all packed: really Soho’s the best man in the world of his kind, and the + cleverest—and so, after all, my dear Colambre, as I always hoped and + prophesied, at last you will marry an heiress.” + </p> + <p> + “And Terry,” said Lord Clonbrony, “will win his wager from Mordicai.” + </p> + <p> + “Terry!” repeated Lady Clonbrony, “that odious Terry!—I hope, my + lord, that he is not to be one of my comforts in Ireland.” + </p> + <p> + “No, my dear mother; he is much better provided for than we could have + expected. One of my father’s first objects was to prevent him from being + any encumbrance to you. We consulted him as to the means of making him + happy; and the knight acknowledged that he had long been casting a sheep’s + eye at a little snug place, that will soon be open in his native country—the + chair of assistant barrister at the sessions. Assistant barrister!’ said + my father; ‘but, my dear Terry, you have been all your life evading the + laws, and very frequently breaking the peace; do you think this has + qualified you peculiarly for being a guardian of the laws?’ Sir Terence + replied, ‘Yes, sure; set a thief to catch a thief is no bad maxim. And did + not Mr. Colquhoun, the Scotchman, get himself made a great justice, by his + making all the world as wise as himself, about thieves of all sorts, by + land and by water, and in the air too, where he detected the mud-larks?—And + is not Barrington chief-justice of Botany Bay?” + </p> + <p> + “My father now began to be seriously alarmed, lest Sir Terence should + insist upon his using his interest to make him an assistant barrister. He + was not aware that five years’ practice at the bar was a necessary + accomplishment for this office; when, fortunately for all parties, my good + friend, Count O’Halloran, helped us out of the difficulty, by starting an + idea full of practical justice. A literary friend of the count’s had been + for some time promised a lucrative situation under government: but, + unfortunately, he was a man of so much merit and ability, that they could + not find employment for him at home, and they gave him a commission, I + should rather say a contract abroad, for supplying the army with Hungarian + horses. Now the gentleman had not the slightest skill in horse-flesh; and, + as Sir Terence is a complete <i>jockey</i>, the count observed that he + would be the best possible deputy for his literary friend. We warranted + him to be a thorough going friend; and I do think the coalition will be + well for both parties. The count has settled it all, and I left Sir + Terence comfortably provided for, out of your way, my dear mother; and as + happy as he could be, when parting from my father.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Colambre was assiduous in engaging his mother’s attention upon any + subject, which could for the present draw her thoughts away from her young + friend; but at every pause in the conversation, her ladyship repeated, “So + Grace is an heiress after all—so, after all, they know they are not + cousins! Well, I prefer Grace, a thousand times over, to any other heiress + in England. No obstacle, no objection. They have my consent. I always + prophesied Colambre would marry an heiress; but why not marry directly?” + </p> + <p> + Her ardour and impatience to hurry things forward seemed now likely to + retard the accomplishment of her own wishes; and Lord Clonbrony, who + understood rather more of the passion of love than his lady ever had felt + or understood, saw the agony into which she threw her son, and felt for + his darling Grace. With a degree of delicacy and address of which few + would have supposed Lord Clonbrony capable, his lordship co-operated with + his son in endeavouring to keep Lady Clonbrony quiet, and to suppress the + hourly thanksgivings of Grace’s <i>turning out an heiress</i>. On one + point, however, she vowed she would not be overruled—she would have + a splendid wedding at Clonbrony Castle, such as should become an heir and + heiress; and the wedding, she hoped, would be immediately on their return + to Ireland: she should announce the thing to her friends directly on her + arrival at Clonbrony Castle. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” said Lord Clonbrony, “we must wait, in the first place, the + pleasure of old Mr. Reynolds’ fit of the gout.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, that’s true, because of his will,” said her ladyship; “but a will’s + soon made, is not it? That can’t be much delay.” + </p> + <p> + “And then there must be settlements,” said Lord Clonbrony; “they take + time. Lovers, like all the rest of mankind, must submit to the law’s + delay. In the mean time, my dear, as these Buxton baths agree with you so + well, and as Grace does not seem to be over and above strong for + travelling a long journey, and as there are many curious and beautiful + scenes of nature here in Derbyshire—Matlock, and the wonders of the + Peak, and so on—which the young people would be glad to see + together, and may not have another opportunity soon—why not rest + ourselves a little? For another reason, too,” continued his lordship, + bringing together as many arguments as he could—for he had often + found, that though Lady Clonbrony was a match for any single argument, her + understanding could be easily overpowered by a number, of whatever sort—“besides, + my dear, here’s Sir Arthur and Lady Berryl come to Buxton on purpose to + meet us; and we owe them some compliment, and something more than + compliment, I think: so I don’t see why we should be in a hurry to leave + them, or quit Buxton—a few weeks sooner or later can’t signify—and + Clonbrony Castle will be getting all the while into better order for us. + Burke is gone down there; and if we stay here quietly, there will be time + for the velvet furniture to get there before us, and to be unpacked, and + up in the drawing-room.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s true, my lord,” said Lady Clonbrony; “and there is a great deal of + reason in all you say—so I second that motion, as Colambre, I see, + subscribes to it.” + </p> + <p> + They stayed some time in Derbyshire, and every day Lord Clonbrony proposed + some pleasant excursion, and contrived that the young people should be + left to themselves, as Mrs. Broadhurst used so strenuously to advise; the + recollection of whose authoritative maxims fortunately still operated upon + Lady Clonbrony, to the great ease and advantage of the lovers. + </p> + <p> + Happy as a lover, a friend, a son; happy in the consciousness of having + restored a father to respectability, and persuaded a mother to quit the + feverish joys of fashion for the pleasures of domestic life; happy in the + hope of winning the whole heart of the woman he loved, and whose esteem, + he knew, he possessed and deserved; happy in developing every day, every + hour, fresh charms in his destined bride—we leave our hero, + returning to his native country. + </p> + <p> + And we leave him with the reasonable expectation that he will support + through life the promise of his early character; that his patriotic views + will extend with his power to carry wishes into action; that his + attachment to his warm-hearted countrymen will still increase upon further + acquaintance; and that he will long diffuse happiness through the wide + circle, which is peculiarly subject to the influence and example of a + great resident Irish proprietor. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LETTER FROM LARRY TO HIS BROTHER, PAT BRADY, AT MR. MORDICAI’S, + COACH MAKER, LONDON. + + “MY DEAR BROTHER, + + “Yours of the 16th, enclosing the five pound note for my father, + came safe to hand Monday last; and with his thanks and blessing + to you, he commends it to you herewith enclosed back again, on + account of his being in no immediate necessity, nor likelihood to + want in future, as you shall hear forthwith; but wants you over + with all speed, and the note will answer for travelling charges; + for we can’t enjoy the luck it has pleased God to give us, without + <i>yees</i>; put the rest in your pocket, and read it when you’ve time. + + “Old Nick’s gone, and St. Dennis along with him, to the place he + come from—praise be to God! The <i>ould</i> lord has found him out in + his tricks; and I helped him to that, through the young lord that + I driv, as I informed you in my last, when he was a Welshman, + which was the best turn ever I did, though I did not know it no + more than Adam that time. So <i>Ould</i> Nick’s turned out of the + agency clean and clear; and the day after it was known, there was + surprising great joy through the whole country; not surprising, + either, but just what you might, knowing him, rasonably expect. + He (that is, Old Nick and St. Dennis) would have been burnt that + night—I <i>mane</i>, in <i>effigy</i>, through the town of Clonbrony, but + that the new man, Mr. Burke, came down that day too soon to stop + it, and said, ‘it was not becoming to trample on the fallen,’ or + something that way, that put an end to it; and though it was a + great disappointment to many, and to me in particular, I could not + but like the jantleman the better for it any how. They say he is + a very good jantleman, and as unlike Old Nick or the saint as can + be; and takes no duty fowl, nor glove, nor sealing money; nor asks + duty work nor duty turf. Well, when I was disappointed of the + <i>effigy</i>, I comforted myself by making a bonfire of Old Nick’s big + rick of duty turf, which, by great luck, was out in the road, away + from all dwelling-house, or thatch, or yards, to take fire: so no + danger in life, or objection. And such another blaze! I wished + you’d seed it—and all the men, women, and children, in the town + and country, far and near, gathered round it, shouting and dancing + like mad!—and it was light as day quite across the bog, as far as + Hartley Finnigan’s house. And I heard after, they seen it from all + parts of the three counties, and they thought it was St. John’s + Eve in a mistake—or couldn’t make out what it was; but all took + it in good part, for a good sign, and were in great joy. As for + St. Dennis and <i>Ould</i> Nick, an attorney had his foot upon ‘em with + an habere, a latitat, and three executions hanging over ‘em: and + there’s the end of rogues! and a great example in the country. + And—no more about it; for I can’t be wasting more ink upon them + that don’t deserve it at my hands, when I want it for them that + do, as you shall see. So some weeks past, and there was great + cleaning at Clonbrony Castle, and in the town of Clonbrony; and + the new agent’s smart and clever: and he had the glaziers, and + the painters, and the slaters, up and down in the town wherever + wanted; and you wouldn’t know it again. Thinks I, this is no bad + sign! Now, cock up your ears, Pat! for the great news is coming, + and the good. The master’s come home, long life to him! and family + come home yesterday, all entirely! The <i>ould</i> lord and the young + lord, (ay, there’s the man, Paddy!) and my lady, and Miss Nugent. + And I driv Miss Nugent’s maid and another; so I had the luck to be + in it along <i>wid</i> ‘em, and see all, from first to last. And first, + I must tell you, my young Lord Colambre remembered and noticed me + the minute he lit at our inn, and condescended to beckon me out of + the yard to him, and axed me—’ Friend Larry,’ says he, ‘did you + keep your promise?’—‘My oath again the whiskey, is it?’ says + I. ‘My lord, I surely did,’ said I; which was true, as all the + country knows I never tasted a drop since. ‘And I’m proud to see + your honour, my lord, as good as your word, too, and back again + among us.’ So then there was a call for the horses; and no more at + that time passed betwix’ my young lord and me, but that he pointed + me out to the <i>ould</i> one, as I went off. I noticed and thanked him + for it in my heart, though I did not know all the good was to come + of it. Well, no more of myself, for the present. + + “Ogh, it’s I driv ‘em well; and we all got to the great gate of + the park before sunset, and as fine an evening as ever you see; + with the sun shining on the tops of the trees, as the ladies + noticed; the leaves changed, but not dropped, though so late in + the season. I believe the leaves knew what they were about, and + kept on, on purpose to welcome them; and the birds were singing, + and I stopped whistling, that they might hear them; but sorrow + bit could they hear when they got to the park gate, for there was + such a crowd, and such a shout, as you never see—and they had + the horses off every carriage entirely, and drew ‘em home, with + blessings, through the park. And, God bless ‘em! when they got + out, they didn’t go shut themselves up in the great drawing-room, + but went straight out to the <i>tir</i>rass, to satisfy the eyes and + hearts that followed them. My lady <i>laning</i> on my young lord, and + Miss Grace Nugent that was, the beautifullest angel that ever you + set eyes on, with the finest complexion, and sweetest of smiles, + <i>laning</i> upon the <i>ould</i> lord’s arm, who had his hat off, bowing + to all, and noticing the old tenants as he passed by name. Oh, + there was great gladness and tears in the midst; for joy I could + scarce keep from myself. + + “After a turn or two upon the <i>tir</i>rass, my Lord Colambre <i>quit</i> + his mother’s arm for a minute, and he come to the edge of the + slope, and looked down and through all the crowd for some one. + + “‘Is it the Widow O’Neil, my lord?’ says I; ‘she’s yonder, with + the white kerchief, betwixt her son and daughter, as usual.’ + + “Then my lord beckoned, and they did not know which of the <i>tree</i> + would stir; and then he gave <i>tree</i> beckons with his own finger, + and they all <i>tree</i> came fast enough to the bottom of the slope + forenent my lord: and he went down and helped the widow up, (oh, + he’s the true jantleman!) and brought ‘em all <i>tree</i> up on the + <i>tir</i>rass, to my lady and Miss Nugent; and I was up close after, + that I might hear, which wasn’t manners, but I couldn’t help + it. So what he said I don’t well know, for I could not get near + enough, after all. But I saw my lady smile very kind, and take the + Widow O’Neil by the hand, and then my Lord Colambre <i>‘troduced</i> + Grace to Miss Nugent, and there was the word <i>namesake</i>, and + something about a check curtain; but, whatever it was, they was + all greatly pleased: then my Lord Colambre turned and looked for + Brian, who had fell back, and took him, with some commendation, to + my lord his father. And my lord the master said, which I didn’t + know till after, that they should have their house and farm at the + <i>ould</i> rent; and at the surprise, the widow dropped down dead; and + there was a cry as for ten <i>berrings</i>. ‘Be qui’te,’ says I, ‘she’s + only kilt for joy;’ and I went and lift her up, for her son had + no more strength that minute than the child new born; and Grace + trembled like a leaf, as white as the sheet, but not long, for the + mother came to, and was as well as ever when I brought some water, + which Miss Nugent handed to her with her own hand. + + “‘That was always pretty and good,’ said the widow, laying her + hand upon Miss Nugent, ‘and kind and good to me and mine.’ + + “That minute there was music from below. The blind harper, O’Neil, + with his harp, that struck up ‘Gracey Nugent.’ + + “And that finished, and my Lord Colambre smiling, with the tears + standing in his eyes too, and the <i>ould</i> lord quite wiping his, I + ran to the <i>tir</i>rass brink to bid O’Neil play it again; but as I + run, I thought I heard a voice call ‘Larry!’ + + “‘Who calls Larry?’ says I. + + “‘My Lord Colambre calls you, Larry,’ says all at once; and four + takes me by the shoulders and spins me round. ‘There’s my young + lord calling you, Larry—run for your life.’ + + “So I run back for my life, and walked respectful, with my hat in + my hand, when I got near. + + “‘Put on your hat, my father desires it,’ says my Lord Colambre. + The <i>ould</i> lord made a sign to that purpose, but was too full + to speak. ‘Where’s your father?’ continues my young lord. ‘He’s + very <i>ould</i>, my lord,’ says I.—’ I didn’t <i>ax</i> you how <i>ould</i> he + was,’ says he; ‘but where is he?’—‘He’s behind the crowd below, + on account of his infirmities; he couldn’t walk so fast as the + rest, my lord,’ says I; ‘but his heart is with you, if not his + body.’—‘I must have his body too: so bring him bodily before + us; and this shall be your warrant for so doing,’ said my lord, + joking: for he knows the <i>natur</i> of us, Paddy, and how we love a + joke in our hearts, as well as if he had lived all his life in + Ireland; and by the same token will, for that <i>rason</i>, do what he + pleases with us, and more may be than a man twice as good, that + never would smile on us. + + “But I’m telling you of my father. ‘I’ve a warrant for you, + father,’ says I; ‘and must have you bodily before the justice, and + my lord chief justice.’ So he changed colour a bit at first; but + he saw me smile. ‘And I’ve done no sin,’ said he; ‘and, Larry, you + may lead me now, as you led me all my life.’ + + “And up the slope he went with me as light as fifteen; and when we + got up, my Lord Clonbrony said, ‘I am sorry an old tenant, and a + good old tenant, as I hear you were, should have been turned out + of your farm.’ + + “‘Don’t fret, it’s no great matter, my lord,’ said my father. ‘I + shall be soon out of the way; but if you would be so kind to speak + a word for my boy here, and that I could afford, while the life is + in me, to bring my other boy back out of banishment.’ + + “‘Then,’ says my Lord Clonbrony, ‘I’ll give you and your sons + three lives, or thirty-one years, from this day, of your former + farm. Return to it when you please. And,’ added my Lord Clonbrony, + ‘the flaggers, I hope, will be soon banished.’ Oh, how could + I thank him—not a word could I proffer—but I know I clasped + my two hands, and prayed for him inwardly. And my father was + dropping down on his knees, but the master would not let him; and + <i>obsarved</i> that posture should only be for his God. And, sure + enough, in that posture, when he was out of sight, we did pray for + him that night, and will all our days. + + “But, before we quit his presence, he called me back, and bid me + write to my brother, and bring you back, if you’ve no objections, + to your own country. + + “So come, my dear Pat, and make no delay, for joy’s not joy + compl<i>a</i>te till you’re in it—my father sends his blessing, and + Peggy her love. The family entirely is to settle for good in + Ireland, and there was in the castle yard last night a bonfire + made by my lord’s orders of the <i>ould</i> yellow damask furniture, to + plase my lady, my lord says. And the drawing-room, the butler was + telling me, is new hung; and the chairs with velvet as white as + snow, and shaded over with natural flowers by Miss Nugent. Oh! how + I hope what I guess will come true, and I’ve <i>rason</i> to believe it + will, for I dreamt in my bed last night it did. But keep yourself + to yourself—that Miss Nugent (who is no more Miss Nugent, they + say, but Miss Reynolds, and has a new-found grandfather, and is a + big heiress, which she did not want in my eyes, nor in my young + lord’s), I’ve a notion, will be sometime, and may be sooner + than is expected, my Lady Viscountess Colambre—so haste to the + wedding. And there’s another thing: they say the rich <i>ould</i> + grandfather’s coming over;—and another thing, Pat, you would not + be out of the fashion—and you see it’s growing the fashion not to + be an Absentee. + + “Your loving brother, + + “LARRY BRADY.” + </pre> + <h3> + 1812. + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MADAME DE FLEURY + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “There oft are heard the notes of infant woe, + The short thick sob, loud scream, and shriller squall. + How can you, mothers, vex your infants so?”—POPE. +</pre> + <p> + “D’abord, madame, c’est impossible!—Madame ne descendra pas ici?<a + href="#linknote-12" name="linknoteref-12" id="linknoteref-12"><small>12</small></a>” + said François, the footman of Mad. de Fleury, with a half expostulatory, + half indignant look, as he let down the step of her carriage at the + entrance of a dirty passage, that led to one of the most miserable-looking + houses in Paris. + </p> + <p> + “But what can be the cause of the cries which I hear in this house?” said + Mad. de Fleury. + </p> + <p> + “‘Tis only some child, who is crying,” replied François: and he would have + put up the step, but his lady was not satisfied. + </p> + <p> + “‘Tis nothing in the world,” continued he, with a look of appeal to the + coachman, “it <i>can</i> be nothing, but some children, who are locked up + there above. The mother, the workwoman my lady wants, is not at home, + that’s certain.” + </p> + <p> + “I must know the cause of these cries; I must see these children,” said + Mad. de Fleury, getting out of her carriage. + </p> + <p> + François held his arm for his lady as she got out. + </p> + <p> + “Bon!” cried he, with an air of vexation. “Si madame la veut absolument, à + la bonne heure!—Mais madame sera abimée. Madame verra que j’ai + raison. Madame ne montera jamais ce vilain escalier. D’ailleurs c’est an + cinquième. Mais, madame, c’est impossible."<a href="#linknote-13" + name="linknoteref-13" id="linknoteref-13"><small>13</small></a> + </p> + <p> + Notwithstanding the impossibility, Mad. de Fleury proceeded; and bidding + her talkative footman wait in the entry, made her way up the dark, dirty, + broken staircase, the sound of the cries increasing every instant, till, + as she reached the fifth story, she heard the shrieks of one in violent + pain. She hastened to the door of the room from which the cries proceeded; + the door was fastened, and the noise was so great, that though she knocked + as loud as she was able, she could not immediately make herself heard. At + last the voice of a child from within answered, “The door is locked—mamma + has the key in her pocket, and won’t be home till night; and here’s + Victoire has tumbled from the top of the big press, and it is she that is + shrieking so.” + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Fleury ran down the stairs which she had ascended with so much + difficulty, called to her footman, who was waiting in the entry, + despatched him for a surgeon, and then she returned to obtain from some + people who lodged in the house assistance to force open the door of the + room in which the children were confined. + </p> + <p> + On the next floor there was a smith at work, filing so earnestly that he + did not hear the screams of the children. When his door was pushed open, + and the bright vision of Mad. de Fleury appeared to him, his astonishment + was so great that he seemed incapable of comprehending what she said. In a + strong provincial accent he repeated, “<i>Plait-il?</i>” and stood aghast + till she had explained herself three times: then suddenly exclaiming, “Ah! + c’est ça!”—he collected his tools precipitately, and followed to + obey her orders. The door of the room was at last forced half open, for a + press that had been overturned prevented its opening entirely. The + horrible smells that issued did not overcome Mad. de Fleury’s humanity: + she squeezed her way into the room, and behind the fallen press saw three + little children: the youngest, almost an infant, ceased roaring, and ran + to a corner: the eldest, a boy of about eight years old, whose face and + clothes were covered with blood, held on his knee a girl younger than + himself, whom he was trying to pacify, but who struggled most violently, + and screamed incessantly, regardless of Mad. de Fleury, to whose questions + she made no answer. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you hurt, my dear?” repeated Mad. de Fleury in a soothing + voice. “Only tell me where you feel pain?” + </p> + <p> + The boy, showing his sister’s arm, said, in a surly tone—“It is this + that is hurt—but it was not I did it.” + </p> + <p> + “It was, it <i>was</i>,” cried the girl as loud as she could vociferate: + “it was Maurice threw me down from the top of the press.” + </p> + <p> + “No—it was you that were pushing me, Victoire, and you fell + backwards.—Have done screeching, and show your arm to the lady.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t,” said the girl. + </p> + <p> + “She won’t,” said the boy. + </p> + <p> + “She <i>cannot</i>,” said Mad. de Fleury, kneeling down to examine it. + “She cannot move it: I am afraid that it is broken.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t touch it! don’t touch it!” cried the girl, screaming more + violently. + </p> + <p> + “Ma’am, she screams that way for nothing often,” said the boy. “Her arm is + no more broke than mine, I’m sure; she’ll move it well enough when she’s + not cross.” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid,” said Mad. de Fleury, “that her arm is broken.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it indeed?” said the boy, with a look of terror. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! don’t touch it—you’ll kill me, you are killing me,” screamed + the poor girl, whilst Mad. de Fleury with the greatest care endeavoured to + join the bones in their proper place, and resolved to hold the arm till + the arrival of the surgeon. + </p> + <p> + From the feminine appearance of this lady, no stranger would have expected + such resolution; but with all the natural sensibility and graceful + delicacy of her sex, she had none of that weakness or affectation, which + incapacitates from being useful in real distress. In most sudden + accidents, and in all domestic misfortunes, female resolution and presence + of mind are indispensably requisite: safety, health, and life, often + depend upon the fortitude of women. Happy they, who, like Mad. de Fleury, + possess strength of mind united with the utmost gentleness of manner and + tenderness of disposition! + </p> + <p> + Soothed by this lady’s sweet voice, the child’s rage subsided; and no + longer struggling, the poor little girl sat quietly on her lap, sometimes + writhing and moaning with pain. + </p> + <p> + The surgeon at length arrived: her arm was set: and he said, “that she had + probably been saved much future pain by Mad. de Fleury’s presence of + mind.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,—will it soon be well?” said Maurice to the surgeon. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, very soon, I dare say,” said the little girl. “To-morrow, + perhaps; for now that it is tied up, it does not hurt me to signify—and + after all, I do believe, Maurice, it was not you threw me down.” + </p> + <p> + As she spoke, she held up her face to kiss her brother.—“That is + right,” said Mad. de Fleury; “there is a good sister.” + </p> + <p> + The little girl put out her lips, offering a second kiss, but the boy + turned hastily away to rub the tears from his eyes with the back of his + hand. + </p> + <p> + “I am not cross now: am I, Maurice?” said she. + </p> + <p> + “No, Victoire, I was cross myself when I said <i>that</i>.” + </p> + <p> + As Victoire was going to speak again, the surgeon imposed silence, + observing that she must be put to bed, and should be kept quiet. Mad. de + Fleury laid her upon the bed, as soon as Maurice had cleared it of the + things with which it was covered; and as they were spreading the ragged + blanket over the little girl, she whispered a request to Mad. de Fleury, + that she would “stay till her mamma came home, to beg Maurice off from + being whipped, if mamma should be angry.” + </p> + <p> + Touched by this instance of goodness, and compassionating the desolate + condition of these children, Mad. de Fleury complied with Victoire’s + request; resolving to remonstrate with their mother for leaving them + locked up in this manner. They did not know to what part of the town their + mother was gone; they could tell only, “that she was to go to a great many + different places to carry back work, and to bring home more; and that she + expected to be in by five.” It was now half after four. + </p> + <p> + Whilst Mad. de Fleury waited, she asked the boy to give her a full account + of the manner in which the accident had happened. + </p> + <p> + “Why, ma’am,” said Maurice, twisting and untwisting a ragged handkerchief + as he spoke, “the first beginning of all the mischief was, we had nothing + to do; so we went to the ashes to make dirt pies: but Babet would go so + close that she burnt her petticoat, and threw about all our ashes, and + plagued us, and we whipped her: but all would not do, she would not be + quiet; so to get out of her reach, we climbed up by this chair on the + table to the top of the press, and there we were well enough for a little + while, till somehow we began to quarrel about the old scissors, and we + struggled hard for them till I got this cut.” + </p> + <p> + Here he unwound the handkerchief, and for the first time showed the wound, + which he had never mentioned before. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” continued he, “when I got the cut, I shoved Victoire, and she + pushed at me again, and I was keeping her off, and her foot slipped, and + down she fell; and caught by the press-door, and pulled it and me after + her, and that’s all I know.” + </p> + <p> + “It is well that you were not both killed,” said Mad. de Fleury. “Are you + often left locked up in this manner by yourselves, and without any thing + to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, always, when mamma is abroad—except sometimes we are let out + upon the stairs, or in the street; but mamma says we get into mischief + there.” + </p> + <p> + This dialogue was interrupted by the return of the mother. She came up + stairs slowly, much fatigued, and with a heavy bundle under her arm. + </p> + <p> + “How now! Maurice, how comes my door open? What’s all this?” cried she, in + an angry voice; but seeing a lady sitting upon her child’s bed, she + stopped short in great astonishment. Mad. de Fleury related what had + happened, and averted her anger from Maurice, by gently expostulating upon + the hardship and hazard of leaving her young children in this manner + during so many hours of the day. + </p> + <p> + “Why, my lady,” replied the poor woman, wiping her forehead, “every + hard-working woman in Paris does the same with her children; and what can + I do else? I must earn bread for these helpless ones, and to do that I + must be out backwards and forwards, and to the furthest parts of the town, + often from morning till night, with those that employ me; and I cannot + afford to send the children to school, or to keep any kind of a servant to + look after them; and when I’m away, if I let them run about these stairs + and entries, or go into the streets, they do get a little exercise and air + to be sure, such as it is; on which account I do let them out sometimes; + but then a deal of mischief comes of that, too—they learn all kinds + of wickedness, and would grow up to be no better than pickpockets, if they + were let often to consort with the little vagabonds they find in the + streets. So what to do better for them I don’t know.” + </p> + <p> + The poor mother sat down upon the fallen press, looked at Victoire, and + wept bitterly. Mad. de Fleury was struck with compassion: but she did not + satisfy her feelings merely by words or comfort, or by the easy donation + of some money—she resolved to do something more, and something + better. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Come often, then; for haply in my bow’r + Amusement, knowledge, wisdom, thou may’st gain: + If I one soul improve, I have not lived in vain.” + + BEATTIE. +</pre> + <p> + It is not so easy to do good as those who have never attempted it may + imagine; and they who without consideration follow the mere instinct of + pity, often by their imprudent generosity create evils more pernicious to + society than any which they partially remedy. “Warm Charity, the general + friend,” may become the general enemy, unless she consults her head as + well as her heart. Whilst she pleases herself with the idea that she daily + feeds hundreds of the poor, she is perhaps preparing want and famine for + thousands. Whilst she delights herself with the anticipation of gratitude + for her bounties, she is often exciting only unreasonable expectations, + inducing habits of dependence, and submission to slavery. + </p> + <p> + Those who wish to do good should attend to experience, from whom they may + receive lessons upon the largest scale that time and numbers can afford. + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Fleury was aware that neither a benevolent disposition nor a large + fortune were sufficient to enable her to be of real service, without the + constant exercise of her judgment. She had therefore listened with + deference to the conversation of well-informed men upon those subjects on + which ladies have not always the means or the wish to acquire extensive + and accurate knowledge. Though a Parisian belle, she had read with + attention some of those books which are generally thought too dry or too + deep for her sex. Consequently her benevolence was neither wild in theory, + nor precipitate nor ostentatious in practice. + </p> + <p> + Touched with compassion for a little girl, whose arm had been accidentally + broken, and shocked by the discovery of the confinement and the dangers to + which numbers of children in Paris were doomed, she did not make a parade + of her sensibility. She did not talk of her feelings in fine sentences to + a circle of opulent admirers, nor did she project for the relief of the + little sufferers some magnificent establishment, which she could not + execute or superintend. She was contented with attempting only what she + had reasonable hopes of accomplishing. + </p> + <p> + The gift of education she believed to be more advantageous than the gift + of money to the poor; as it ensures the means both of future subsistence + and happiness. But the application even of this incontrovertible principle + requires caution and judgment. To crowd numbers of children into a place + called a school, to abandon them to the management of any person called a + schoolmaster or a schoolmistress, is not sufficient to secure the + blessings of a good education. Mad. de Fleury was sensible that the + greatest care is necessary in the choice of the person to whom young + children are to be intrusted: she knew that only a certain number can be + properly directed by one superintendent; and that by attempting to do too + much, she might do nothing, or worse than nothing. Her school was formed, + therefore, on a small scale, which she could enlarge to any extent, if it + should be found to succeed. From some of the families of poor people, who + in earning their bread are obliged to spend most of the day from home, she + selected twelve little girls, of whom Victoire was the eldest, and she was + between six and seven. + </p> + <p> + The person under whose care Mad. de Fleury wished to place these children + was a nun of the <i>Soeurs de la Charité</i>, with whose simplicity of + character, benevolence, and mild, steady temper, she was thoroughly + acquainted. Sister Frances was delighted with the plan. Any scheme that + promised to be of service to her fellow-creatures was sure of meeting with + her approbation; but this suited her taste peculiarly, because she was + extremely fond of children. No young person had ever boarded six months at + her convent without becoming attached to good Sister Frances. + </p> + <p> + The period of which we are writing was some years before convents were + abolished; but the strictness of their rules had in many instances been + considerably relaxed. Without much difficulty, permission was obtained + from the abbess for our nun to devote her time during the day to the care + of these poor children, upon condition that she should regularly return to + her convent every night before evening prayers. The house which Mad. de + Fleury chose for her little school was in an airy part of the town; it did + not face the street, but was separated from other buildings at the back of + a court, retired from noise and bustle. The two rooms intended for the + occupation of the children were neat and clean, but perfectly simple, with + whitewashed walls, furnished only with wooden stools and benches, and + plain deal tables. The kitchen was well lighted (for light is essential to + cleanliness), and it was provided with utensils; and for these appropriate + places were allotted, to give the habit and the taste of order. The + school-room opened into a garden larger than is usually seen in towns. The + nun, who had been accustomed to purchase provisions for her convent, + undertook to prepare daily for the children breakfast and dinner; they + were to sup and sleep at their respective homes. Their parents were to + take them to Sister Frances every morning, when they went out to work, and + to call for them upon their return home every evening. By this + arrangement, the natural ties of affection and intimacy between the + children and their parents would not be loosened; they would be separate + only at the time when their absence must be inevitable. Mad. de Fleury + thought that any education which estranges children entirely from their + parents must be fundamentally erroneous; that such a separation must tend + to destroy that sense of filial affection and duty, and those principles + of domestic subordination, on which so many of the interests, and much of + the virtue and happiness, of society depend. The parents of these poor + children were eager to trust them to her care, and they strenuously + endeavoured to promote what they perceived to be entirely to their + advantage. They promised to take their daughters to school punctually + every morning—a promise which was likely to be kept, as a good + breakfast was to be ready at a certain hour, and not to wait for any body. + The parents looked forward with pleasure also to the idea of calling for + their little girls at the end of their day’s labour, and of taking them + home to their family supper. During the intermediate hours, the children + were constantly to be employed, or in exercise. It was difficult to + provide suitable employments for their early age; but even the youngest of + those admitted could be taught to wind balls of cotton, thread, and silk, + for haberdashers; or they could shell peas and beans, &c. for a + neighbouring <i>traiteur</i>; or they could weed in a garden. The next in + age could learn knitting and plain-work, reading, writing, and arithmetic. + As the girls should grow up, they were to be made useful in the care of + the house. Sister Frances said she could teach them to wash and iron, and + that she would make them as skilful in cookery as she was herself. This + last was doubtless a rash promise; for in most of the mysteries of the + culinary art, especially in the medical branches of it, in making savoury + messes palatable to the sick, few could hope to equal the neat-handed + Sister Frances. She had a variety of other accomplishments; but her + humility and good sense forbade her, upon the present occasion, to mention + these. She said nothing of embroidery, or of painting, or of cutting out + paper, or of carving in ivory, though in all these she excelled: her + cuttings-out in paper were exquisite as the finest lace; her embroidered + housewives, and her painted boxes, and her fan-mounts, and her curiously + wrought ivory toys, had obtained for her the highest reputation in the + convent, amongst the best judges in the world. Those only who have + philosophically studied and thoroughly understand the nature of fame and + vanity can justly appreciate the self-denial, or magnanimity, of Sister + Frances, in forbearing to enumerate or boast of these things. She alluded + to them but once, and in the slightest and most humble manner. + </p> + <p> + “These little creatures are too young for us to think of teaching them any + thing but plain-work at present; but if hereafter any of them should show + a superior genius, we can cultivate it properly! Heaven has been pleased + to endow me with the means—at least our convent says so.” + </p> + <p> + The actions of Sister Frances showed as much moderation as her words; for + though she was strongly tempted to adorn her new dwelling with those + specimens of her skill, which had long been the glory of her apartment in + the convent, yet she resisted the impulse, and contented herself with + hanging over the chimney-piece of her school-room a Madonna of her own + painting. + </p> + <p> + The day arrived when she was to receive her pupils in their new + habitation. When the children entered the room for the first time, they + paid the Madonna the homage of their unfeigned admiration. Involuntarily + the little crowd stopped short at the sight of the picture. Some dormant + emotions of human vanity were now awakened—played for a moment about + the heart of Sister Frances—and may be forgiven. Her vanity was + innocent and transient, her benevolence permanent and useful. Repressing + the vain-glory of an artist, as she fixed her eyes upon the Madonna, her + thoughts rose to higher objects, and she seized this happy moment to + impress upon the minds of her young pupils their first religious ideas and + feelings. There was such unaffected piety in her manner, such goodness in + her countenance, such persuasion in her voice, and simplicity in her + words, that the impression she made was at once serious, pleasing, and not + to be effaced. Much depends upon the moment and the manner in which the + first notions of religion are communicated to children: if these ideas be + connected with terror, and produced when the mind is sullen or in a state + of dejection, the future religious feelings are sometimes of a gloomy, + dispiriting sort; but if the first impression be made when the heart is + expanded by hope or touched by affection, these emotions are happily and + permanently associated with religion. This should be particularly attended + to by those who undertake the instruction of the children of the poor, who + must lead a life of labour, and can seldom have leisure or inclination + when arrived at years of discretion, to re-examine the principles early + infused into their minds. They cannot in their riper age conquer by reason + those superstitious terrors, or bigoted prejudices, which render their + victims miserable or perhaps criminal. To attempt to rectify any errors in + the foundation after an edifice has been constructed, is dangerous: the + foundation, therefore, should be laid with care. The religious opinions of + Sister Frances were strictly united with just rules of morality, strongly + enforcing, as the essential means of obtaining present and future + happiness, the practice of the social virtues; so that no good or wise + persons, however they might differ from her in modes of faith, could doubt + the beneficial influence of her general principles, or disapprove of the + manner in which they were inculcated. + </p> + <p> + Detached from every other worldly interest, this benevolent nun devoted + all her earthly thoughts to the children of whom she had undertaken the + charge. She watched over them with unceasing vigilance, whilst diffidence + of her own abilities was happily supported by her high opinion of Mad. de + Fleury’s judgment. This lady constantly visited her pupils every week; not + in the hasty, negligent manner in which fine ladies sometimes visit + charitable institutions, imagining that the honour of their presence is to + work miracles, and that every thing will go on rightly when they have + said, “<i>Let it be so</i>,” or, “<i>I must have it so</i>.” Mad. de + Fleury’s visits were not of this dictatorial or cursory nature. Not + minutes, but hours, she devoted to these children—she who could + charm by the grace of her manners, and delight by the elegance of her + conversation, the most polished circles<a href="#linknote-14" + name="linknoteref-14" id="linknoteref-14"><small>14</small></a> and the + best-informed societies of Paris, preferred to the glory of being admired + the pleasure of being useful— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Her life, as lovely as her face, + Each duty mark’d with every grace; + Her native sense improved by reading, + Her native sweetness by good-breeding.” + </pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Ah me! how much I fear lest pride it be; + But if that pride it be, which thus inspires, + Beware, ye dames! with nice discernment see + Ye quench not too the sparks of nobler fires.” + + SHENSTONE. +</pre> + <p> + By repeated observation, and by attending to the minute <i>reports</i> of + Sister Frances, Mad. de Fleury soon became acquainted with the habits and + temper of each individual in this little society. The most intelligent and + the most amiable of these children was Victoire. Whence her superiority + arose, whether her abilities were naturally more vivacious than those of + her companions, or whether they had been more early developed by + accidental excitation, we cannot pretend to determine, lest we should + involve ourselves in the intricate question respecting natural genius—a + metaphysical point, which we shall not in this place stop to discuss. Till + the world has an accurate philosophical dictionary (a work not to be + expected in less than half a dozen centuries), this question will never be + decided to general satisfaction. In the mean time, we may proceed with our + story. + </p> + <p> + Deep was the impression made on Victoire’s heart by the kindness that Mad. + de Fleury showed her at the time her arm was broken; and her gratitude was + expressed with all the enthusiastic <i>fondness</i> of childhood. Whenever + she spoke or heard of Mad. de Fleury, her countenance became interested, + and animated, in a degree that would have astonished a cool English + spectator. Every morning her first question to Sister Frances was—“Will + <i>she</i> come to-day?”—If Mad. de Fleury was expected, the hours + and the minutes were counted, and the sand in the hourglass that stood on + the school-room table was frequently shaken. The moment she appeared, + Victoire ran to her, and was silent; satisfied with standing close beside + her, holding her gown when unperceived, and watching, as she spoke and + moved, every turn of her countenance. Delighted by these marks of + sensibility, Sister Frances would have praised the child, but was warned + by Mad. de Fleury to refrain from injudicious eulogiums, lest she should + teach her affectation. + </p> + <p> + “If I must not praise, you will permit me at least to love her,” said + Sister Frances. + </p> + <p> + Her affection for Victoire was increased by compassion: during two months + the poor child’s arm hung in a sling, so that she could not venture to + play with her companions. At their hours of recreation, she used to sit on + the school-room steps, looking down into the garden at the scene of + merriment, in which she could not partake. + </p> + <p> + For those who know how to find it, there is good in every thing. Sister + Frances used to take her seat on the steps, sometimes with her work, and + sometimes with a book; and Victoire, tired of being quite idle, listened + with eagerness to the stories which Sister Frances read, or watched with + interest the progress of her work: soon she longed to imitate what she saw + done with so much pleasure, and begged to be taught to work and read. By + degrees she learned her alphabet; and could soon, to the amazement of her + schoolfellows, read the names of all the animals in Sister Frances’ <i>picture-book</i>. + No matter how trifling the thing done, or the knowledge acquired, a great + point is gained by giving the desire for employment. Children frequently + become industrious from impatience of the pains and penalties of idleness. + Count Rumford showed that he understood childish nature perfectly well, + when, in his House of Industry at Munich, he compelled the young children + to sit for some time idle in a gallery round the hall, where others a + little older than themselves were busied at work. During Victoire’s state + of idle convalescence, she acquired the desire to be employed, and she + consequently soon became more industrious than her neighbours. Succeeding + in her first efforts, she was praised—was pleased, and persevered + till she became an example of activity to her companions. But Victoire, + though now nearly seven years old, was not quite perfect. Naturally, or + accidentally, she was very passionate, and not a little self-willed. + </p> + <p> + One day being mounted, horsemanlike, with whip in hand, upon the banister + of the flight of stairs leading from the school-room to the garden, she + called in a tone of triumph to her playfellows, desiring them to stand out + of the way, and see her slide from top to bottom. At this moment Sister + Frances came to the school-room door, and forbade the feat: but Victoire, + regardless of all prohibition, slid down instantly, and moreover was going + to repeat the glorious operation, when Sister Frances, catching hold of + her arm, pointed to a heap of sharp stones that lay on the ground upon the + other side of the banisters. + </p> + <p> + “I am not afraid,” said Victoire. + </p> + <p> + “But if you fall there, you may break your arm again.” + </p> + <p> + “And if I do I can bear it,” said Victoire. “Let me go, pray let me go: I + must do it.” + </p> + <p> + “No; I forbid you, Victoire, to slide down again!—Babet, and all the + little ones, would follow your example, and perhaps break their necks.” + </p> + <p> + The nun, as she spoke, attempted to compel Victoire to dismount: but she + was so much of a heroine, that she would do nothing upon compulsion. + Clinging fast to the banisters, she resisted with all her might; she + kicked and screamed, and screamed and kicked; but at last her feet were + taken prisoners; then grasping the railway with one hand, with the other + she brandished high the little whip. + </p> + <p> + “What!” said the mild nun, “would you strike me with that <i>arm</i>?” + </p> + <p> + The arm dropped instantly—Victoire recollected Mad. de Fleury’s + kindness the day when the arm was broken: dismounting immediately, she + threw herself upon her knees in the midst of the crowd of young + spectators, and begged pardon of Sister Frances. For the rest of the day + she was as gentle as a lamb; nay, some assert that the effects of her + contrition were visible during the remainder of the week. + </p> + <p> + Having thus found the secret of reducing the little rebel to obedience by + touching her on the tender point of gratitude, the nun had recourse to + this expedient in all perilous cases: but one day, when she was boasting + of the infallible operation of her charm, Mad. de Fleury advised her to + forbear recurring to it frequently, lest she should wear out the + sensibility she so much loved. In consequence of this counsel, Victoire’s + violence of temper was sometimes reduced by force, and sometimes corrected + by reason; but the principle and the feeling of gratitude were not + exhausted or weakened in the struggle. The hope of reward operated upon + her generous mind more powerfully than the fear of punishment; and Mad. de + Fleury devised rewards with as much ability as some legislators invent + punishments. + </p> + <p> + Victoire’s brother Maurice, who was now of an age to earn his own bread, + had a strong desire to be bound apprentice to the smith who worked in the + house where his mother lodged. This most ardent wish of his soul he had + imparted to his sister: and she consulted her benefactress, whom she + considered as all-powerful in this, as in every other affair. + </p> + <p> + “Your brother’s wish shall be gratified,” replied Mad. de Fleury, “if you + can keep your temper one month. If you are never in a passion for a whole + month, I will undertake that your brother shall be bound apprentice to his + friend the smith. To your companions, to Sister Frances, and above all to + yourself, I trust, to make me a just report this day month.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “You she preferr’d to all the gay resorts, + Where female vanity might wish to shine, + The pomp of cities, and the pride of courts.” + + LYTTELTON. +</pre> + <p> + At the end of the time prescribed, the judges, including Victoire herself, + who was the most severe of them all, agreed she had justly deserved her + reward. Maurice obtained his wish; and Victoire’s temper never relapsed + into its former bad habits—so powerful is the effect of a + well-chosen motive!—Perhaps the historian may be blamed for dwelling + on such trivial anecdotes; yet a lady, who was accustomed to the + conversation of deep philosophers and polished courtiers, listened without + disdain to these simple annals. Nothing appeared to her a trifle that + could tend to form the habits of temper, truth, honesty, order, and + industry;—habits which are to be early induced, not by solemn + precepts, but by practical lessons. A few more examples of these shall be + recorded, notwithstanding the fear of being tiresome. + </p> + <p> + One day little Babet, who was now five years old, saw, as she was coming + to school, an old woman, sitting at a corner of the street, beside a large + black brazier full of roasted chestnuts. Babet thought that the chestnuts + looked and smelled very good; the old woman was talking earnestly to some + people, who were on her other side; Babet filled her work-bag with + chestnuts, and then ran after her mother and sister, who, having turned + the corner of the street, had not seen what passed. When Babet came to the + school-room, she opened her bag with triumph, displayed her treasure, and + offered to divide it with her companions. “Here, Victoire,” said she, + “here is the largest chestnut for you.” + </p> + <p> + But Victoire would not take it; for she said that Babet had no money, and + that she could not have come honestly by these chestnuts. She spoke so + forcibly upon this point, that even those who had the tempting morsel + actually at their lips, forbore to bite; those who had bitten laid down + their half-eaten prize; and those who had their hands full of chestnuts, + rolled them, back again towards the bag, Babet cried with vexation. + </p> + <p> + “I burned my fingers in getting them for you, and now you won’t eat them!—And + I must not eat them!” said she: then curbing her passion, she added, “But + at any rate, I won’t be a thief. I am sure I did not think it was being a + thief just to take a few chestnuts from an old woman, who had such heaps + and heaps: but Victoire says it is wrong, and I would not be a thief for + all the chestnuts in the world—I’ll throw them all into the fire + this minute!” + </p> + <p> + “No; give them back again to the old woman,” said Victoire. + </p> + <p> + “But, may be, she would scold me for having taken them,” said Babet; “or + who knows but she might whip me?” + </p> + <p> + “And if she did, could not you bear it?” said Victoire: “I am sure I would + rather bear twenty whippings than be a thief.” + </p> + <p> + “Twenty whippings! that’s a great many,” said Babet; “and I am so little, + consider—and that woman has such a monstrous arm!—Now, if it + was Sister Frances, it would be another thing. But come! if you will go + with me, Victoire, you shall see how I will behave.” + </p> + <p> + “We will all go with you,” said Victoire. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, all!” said the children; “and Sister Frances, I dare say, would go, + if you asked her.” + </p> + <p> + Babet ran and told her, and she readily consented to accompany the little + penitent to make restitution. The chestnut woman did not whip Babet, nor + even scold her; but said she was sure, that since the child was so honest + as to return what she had taken, she would never steal again. This was the + most <i>glorious</i> day of Babet’s life, and the happiest. When the + circumstance was told to Mad. de Fleury, she gave the little girl a bag of + the best chestnuts the old woman could select, and Babet with great + delight shared her reward with her companions. + </p> + <p> + “But, alas! these chestnuts are not roasted. Oh, if we could but roast + them!” said the children. + </p> + <p> + Sister Frances placed in the middle of the table, on which the chestnuts + were spread, a small earthenware furnace—a delightful toy, commonly + used by children in Paris to cook their little feasts. + </p> + <p> + “This can be bought for sixpence,” said she: “and if each of you twelve + earn one halfpenny a-piece to-day, you can purchase it to-night, and I + will put a little fire into it, and you will then he able to roast your + chestnuts.” + </p> + <p> + The children ran eagerly to their work—some to wind worsted for a + woman who paid them a <i>liard</i> for each ball, others to shell peas for + a neighbouring <i>traiteur</i>—all rejoicing that they were able to + earn <i>something</i>. The elder girls, under the directions and with the + assistance of Sister Frances, completed making, washing, and ironing, half + a dozen little caps, to supply a baby-linen warehouse. At the end of the + day, when the sum of the produce of their labours was added together, they + were surprised to find, that, instead of one, they could purchase two + furnaces. They received and enjoyed the reward of their united industry. + The success of their first efforts was fixed in their memory: for they + were very happy roasting the chestnuts, and they were all (Sister Frances + inclusive) unanimous in opinion that no chestnuts ever were so good, or so + well roasted. Sister Frances always partook in their little innocent + amusements; and it was her great delight to be the dispenser of rewards, + which at once conferred present pleasure, and cherished future virtue. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “To virtue wake the pulses of the heart, + And bid the tear of emulation start.”—ROGERS. +</pre> + <p> + Victoire, who gave constant exercise to the benevolent feelings of the + amiable nun, became every day more dear to her. Far from having the + selfishness of a favourite, Victoire loved to bring into public notice the + good actions of her companions. “Stoop down your ear to me, Sister + Frances,” said she, “and I will tell you a secret—I will tell you + why my friend Annette is growing so thin—I found it out this morning—she + does not eat above half her soup everyday. Look, there’s her porringer + covered up in the corner—she carries it home to her mother, who is + sick, and who has not bread to eat.” + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Fleury came in, whilst Sister Frances was yet bending down to hear + this secret; it was repeated to her, and she immediately ordered that a + certain allowance of bread should be given to Annette every day to carry + to her mother during her illness. + </p> + <p> + “I give it in charge to you, Victoire, to remember this, and I am sure it + will never be forgotten. Here is an order for you upon my baker: run and + show it to Annette. This is a pleasure you deserve; I am glad that you + have chosen for your friend a girl who is so good a daughter. Good + daughters make good friends.” + </p> + <p> + By similar instances of goodness Victoire obtained the love and confidence + of her companions, notwithstanding her manifest superiority. In their + turn, they were eager to proclaim her merits; and, as Sister Frances and + Mad. de Fleury administered justice with invariable impartiality, the + hateful passions of envy and jealousy were never excited in this little + society. No servile sycophant, no malicious detractor, could rob or + defraud their little virtues of their due reward. + </p> + <p> + “Whom shall I trust to take this to Mad. de Fleury?” said Sister Frances, + carrying into the garden where the children were playing a pot of fine + jonquils, which she had brought from her convent.—“These are the + first jonquils I have seen this year, and finer I never beheld! Whom shall + I trust to take them to Mad. de Fleury this evening?—It must be some + one who will not stop to stare about on the way, but who will be very, + very careful—some one in whom I can place perfect dependence.” + </p> + <p> + “It must be Victoire, then,” cried every voice. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, she deserves it to-day particularly,” said Annette, eagerly; + “because she was not angry with Babet, when she did what was enough to put + any body in a passion. Sister Frances, you know this cherry-tree which you + grafted for Victoire last year, and that was yesterday so full of blossoms—now + you see, there is not a blossom left!—Babet plucked them all this + morning to make a nosegay.” + </p> + <p> + “But she did not know,” said Victoire, “that pulling off the blossoms + would prevent my having any cherries.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I am very sorry I was so foolish,” said Babet; “Victoire did not even + say a cross word to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Though she was excessively anxious about the cherries,” pursued Annette, + “because she intended to have given the first she had to Mad. de Fleury.” + </p> + <p> + “Victoire, take the jonquils—it is but just,” said Sister Frances. + “How I do love to hear them all praise her!—I knew what she would be + from the first.” + </p> + <p> + With a joyful heart Victoire took the jonquils, promised to carry them + with the utmost care, and not to stop to stare on the way. She set out to + Mad. de Fleury’s hotel, which was in <i>La Place de Louis Quinze</i>. It + was late in the evening, the lamps were lighting, and as Victoire crossed + the Pont de Louis Seize, she stopped to look at the reflection of the + lamps in the water, which appeared in succession, as they were lighted, + spreading as if by magic along the river. While Victoire leaned over the + battlements of the bridge, watching the rising of these stars of fire, a + sudden push from the elbow of some rude passenger precipitated her pot of + jonquils into the Seine. The sound it made in the water was thunder to the + ear of Victoire; she stood for an instant vainly hoping it would rise + again, but the waters had closed over it for ever. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Dans cet êtat affreux, que faire? + Mon devoir.” + </pre> + <p> + Victoire courageously proceeded to Mad. de Fleury’s, and desired to see + her. + </p> + <p> + “D’abord c’est impossible—madame is dressing to go to a concert;” + said François. “Cannot you leave your message?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” said Victoire; “it is of great consequence—I must see <i>her</i> + myself; and she is so good, and you too, Monsieur François, that I am sure + you will not refuse.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I remember one day you found the seal of my watch, which I dropped + at your school-room door—one good turn deserves another. If it is + possible, it shall be done—I will inquire of madame’s woman.”—“Follow + me up stairs,” said he, returning in a few minutes; “madame will see you.” + </p> + <p> + She followed him up the large staircase, and through a suite of apartments + sufficiently grand to intimidate her young imagination. + </p> + <p> + “Madame est dans son cabinet. Entrez—mais entrez done, entrez + toujours.” + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Fleury was more richly dressed than usual; and her image was + reflected in the large looking-glass, so that at the first moment Victoire + thought she saw many fine ladies, but not one of them the lady she wanted. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Victoire, my child, what is the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it is her voice!—I know you now, madame, and I am not afraid—not + afraid even to tell you how foolish I have been. Sister Frances trusted me + to carry for you, madame, a beautiful pot of jonquils, and she desired me + not to stop on the way to stare; but I did stop to look at the lamps on + the bridge, and I forgot the jonquils, and somebody brushed by me, and + threw them into the river—and I am very sorry I was so foolish.” + </p> + <p> + “And I am very glad that you are so wise as to tell the truth, without + attempting to make any paltry excuses. Go home to Sister Frances, and + assure her that I am more obliged to her for making you such an honest + girl than I could be for a whole bed of jonquils.” + </p> + <p> + Victoire’s heart was so full that she could not speak—she kissed + Mad. de Fleury’s hand in silence, and then seemed to be lost in + contemplation of her bracelet. + </p> + <p> + “Are you thinking, Victoire, that you should be much happier, if you had + such bracelets as these?—Believe me, you are mistaken if you think + so; many people are unhappy, who wear fine bracelets; so, my child, + content yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Myself! Oh, madam, I was not thinking of myself—I was not wishing + for bracelets, I was only thinking that—” + </p> + <p> + “That what?” + </p> + <p> + “That it is a pity you are so very rich; you have every thing in this + world that you want, and I can never be of the least use to <i>you</i>—all + my life I shall never be able to do <i>you</i> any good—and what,” + said Victoire, turning away to hide her tears, “what signifies the + gratitude of such a poor little creature as I am?” + </p> + <p> + “Did you never hear the fable of the lion and the mouse, Victoire?” + </p> + <p> + “No, madam—never!” + </p> + <p> + “Then I will tell it to you.” + </p> + <p> + Victoire looked up with eyes of eager expectation—François opened + the door to announce that the Marquis de M—— and the Comte de + S—— were in the saloon; but Mad. de Fleury stayed to tell + Victoire her fable—she would not lose the opportunity of making an + impression upon this child’s heart. + </p> + <p> + It is whilst the mind is warm that the deepest impressions can be made. + Seizing the happy moment sometimes decides the character and the fate of a + child. In this respect what advantages have the rich and great in + educating the children of the poor! they have the power which their rank, + and all its decorations, obtain over the imagination. Their smiles are + favours; their words are listened to as oracular; they are looked up to as + beings of a superior order. Their powers of working good are almost as + great, though not quite so wonderful, as those formerly attributed to + beneficent fairies. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Knowledge for them unlocks her <i>useful</i> page, + And virtue blossoms for a better age.”—BARBAULD. +</pre> + <p> + A few days after Mad. de Fleury had told Victoire the fable of the lion + and the mouse, she was informed by Sister Frances that Victoire had put + the fable into verse. It was wonderfully well done for a child of nine + years old, and Mad. de Fleury was tempted to praise the lines; but, + checking the enthusiasm of the moment, she considered whether it would be + advantageous to cultivate her pupil’s talent for poetry. Excellence in the + poetic art cannot be obtained without a degree of application for which a + girl in her situation could not have leisure. To encourage her to become a + mere rhyming scribbler, without any chance of obtaining celebrity or + securing subsistence, would be folly and cruelty. Early prodigies, in the + lower ranks of life, are seldom permanently successful; they are cried up + one day, and cried down the next. Their productions rarely have that + superiority which secures a fair preference in the great literary market. + Their performances are, perhaps, said to be—<i>wonderful, all things + considered</i>, &c. Charitable allowances are made; the books are + purchased by associations of complaisant friends or opulent patrons; a + kind of forced demand is raised, but this can be only temporary and + delusive. In spite of bounties and of all the arts of protection, nothing + but what is intrinsically good will long be preferred, when it must be + purchased. But granting that positive excellence is attained, there is + always danger that for works of fancy the taste of the public may suddenly + vary; there is a fashion in these things; and when the mode changes, the + mere literary manufacturer is thrown out of employment; he is unable to + turn his hand to another trade, or to any but his own peculiar branch of + the business. The powers of the mind are often partially cultivated in + these self-taught geniuses. We often see that one part of their + understanding is nourished to the prejudice of the rest—the + imagination, for instance, at the expense of the judgment: so that, whilst + they have acquired talents for show, they have none for use. In the + affairs of common life, they are utterly ignorant and imbecile—or + worse than imbecile. Early called into public notice, probably before + their moral habits are formed, they are extolled for some play of fancy or + of wit, as Bacon calls it, some <i>juggler’s trick of the intellect</i>; + they immediately take an aversion to plodding labour, they feel raised + above their situation; <i>possessed</i> by the notion that genius exempts + them, not only from labour, but from vulgar rules of prudence, they soon + disgrace themselves by their conduct, are deserted by their patrons, and + sink into despair, or plunge into profligacy.<a href="#linknote-15" + name="linknoteref-15" id="linknoteref-15"><small>15</small></a> + </p> + <p> + Convinced of these melancholy truths, Mad. de Fleury was determined not to + add to the number of those imprudent or ostentatious patrons, who + sacrifice to their own amusement and vanity the future happiness of their + favourites. Victoire’s verses were not handed about in fashionable + circles, nor was she called upon to recite them before a brilliant + audience, nor was she produced in public as a prodigy; she was educated in + private, and by slow and sure degrees, to be a good, useful, and happy + member of society. Upon the same principles which decided Mad. de Fleury + against encouraging Victoire to be a poetess, she refrained from giving + any of her little pupils accomplishments unsuited to their situation. Some + had a fine ear for music, others showed powers of dancing; but they were + taught neither dancing nor music—talents which in their station were + more likely to be dangerous than serviceable. They were not intended for + actresses or opera-girls, but for shop-girls, mantua-makers, work-women, + and servants of different sorts; consequently they were instructed in + things which would be most necessary and useful to young women in their + rank of life. Before they were ten years old, they could do all kinds of + plain needlework, they could read and write well, and they were mistresses + of the common rules of arithmetic. After this age, they were practised by + a writing-master in drawing out bills neatly, keeping accounts, and + applying to every-day use their knowledge of arithmetic. Some were taught + by a laundress to wash, and <i>get up</i> fine linen and lace; others were + instructed by a neighbouring <i>traiteur</i> in those culinary mysteries + with which Sister Frances was unacquainted. In sweetmeats and + confectionaries she yielded to no one; and she made her pupils as expert + as herself. Those who were intended for ladies’ maids were taught + mantua-making, and had lessons from Mad. de Fleury’s own woman in + hair-dressing. + </p> + <p> + Amongst her numerous friends and acquaintances, and amongst the + shopkeepers whom she was in the habit of employing, Mad. de Fleury had + means of placing and establishing her pupils suitably and advantageously: + of this both they and their parents were aware, so that there was a + constant and great motive operating continually to induce them to exert + themselves, and to behave well. This reasonable hope of reaping the fruits + of their education, and of being immediately rewarded for their good + conduct; this perception of the connexion between what they are taught and + what they are to become, is necessary to make young people assiduous: for + want of attending to these principles, many splendid establishments have + failed to produce pupils answerable to the expectations which had been + formed of them. + </p> + <p> + During seven years that Mad. de Fleury persevered uniformly on the same + plan, only one girl forfeited her protection—a girl of the name of + Manon; she was Victoire’s cousin, but totally unlike her in character. + </p> + <p> + When very young, her beautiful eyes and hair caught the fancy of a rich + lady, who took her into her family as a sort of humble playfellow for her + children. She was taught to dance and to sing: she soon excelled in these + accomplishments, and was admired, and produced as a prodigy of talent. The + lady of the house gave herself great credit for having discerned, and + having <i>brought forward</i>, such talents. Manon’s moral character was + in the mean time neglected. In this house, where there was a constant + scene of hurry and dissipation, the child had frequent opportunities and + temptations to be dishonest. For some time she was not detected; her + caressing manners pleased her patroness, and servile compliance with the + humours of the children of the family secured their good-will. Encouraged + by daily petty successes in the art of deceit, she became a complete + hypocrite. With culpable negligence, her mistress trusted implicitly to + appearances; and without examining whether she were really honest, she + suffered her to have free access to unlocked drawers and valuable + cabinets. Several articles of dress were missed from time to time; but + Manon managed so artfully, that she averted from herself all suspicion. + Emboldened by this fatal impunity, she at last attempted depredations of + more importance. She purloined a valuable snuff-box—was detected in + disposing of the broken parts of it at a pawnbroker’s, and was immediately + discarded in disgrace; but by her tears and vehement expressions of + remorse, she so far worked upon the weakness of the lady of the house, as + to prevail upon her to conceal the circumstance that occasioned her + dismissal. Some months afterwards Manon, pleading that she was thoroughly + reformed, obtained from this lady a recommendation to Mad. de Fleury’s + school. It is wonderful that people, who in other respects profess and + practise integrity, can be so culpably weak as to give good characters to + those who do not deserve them: this is really one of the worst species of + forgery. Imposed upon by this treacherous recommendation, Mad. de Fleury + received into the midst of her innocent young pupils one who might have + corrupted their minds secretly and irrecoverably. Fortunately a discovery + was made in time of Manon’s real disposition. A mere trifle led to the + detection of her habits of falsehood. As she could not do any kind of + needlework, she was employed in winding cotton; she was negligent, and did + not in the course of the week wind the same number of balls as her + companions; and to conceal this, she pretended that she had delivered the + proper number to the woman, who regularly called at the end of the week + for the cotton. The woman persisted in her account; the children in + theirs; and Manon would not retract her assertion. The poor woman gave up + the point; but she declared that she would the next time send her brother + to make up the account, because he was <i>sharper</i> than herself, and + would not be imposed upon so easily. The ensuing week the brother came, + and he proved to be the very pawnbroker to whom Manon formerly offered the + stolen box: he knew her immediately; it was in vain that she attempted to + puzzle him, and to persuade him that she was not the same person. The man + was clear and firm. Sister Frances could scarcely believe what she heard. + Struck with horror, the children shrunk back from Manon, and stood in + silence. Mad. de Fleury immediately wrote to the lady who had recommended + this girl, and inquired into the truth of the pawnbroker’s assertions. The + lady, who had given Manon a false character, could not deny the facts, and + could apologize for herself only by saying, that “she believed the girl to + be partly reformed, and that she hoped, under Mad. de Fleury’s judicious + care, she would become an amiable and respectable woman.” + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Fleury, however, wisely judged, that the hazard of corrupting all + her pupils should not be incurred for the slight chance of correcting one, + whose had habits were of such long standing. Manon was expelled from this + happy little community—even Sister Frances, the most mild of human + beings, could never think of the danger to which they had been exposed + without expressing indignation against the lady who recommended such a + girl as a fit companion for her blameless and beloved pupils. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Alas! regardless of their doom, + The little victims play: + No sense have they of ills to come, + No care beyond to-day.”—GRAY. +</pre> + <p> + Good legislators always attend to the habits, and what is called the + genius, of the people they have to govern. From youth to age, the taste + for whatever is called <i>une fête</i> pervades the whole French nation. + Mad. de Fleury availed herself judiciously of this powerful motive, and + connected it with the feelings of affection more than with the passion for + show. For instance, when any of her little people had done any thing + particularly worthy of reward, she gave them leave to invite their parents + to a <i>fête</i> prepared for them by their children, assisted by the + kindness of Sister Frances. + </p> + <p> + One day—it was a holiday obtained by Victoire’s good conduct—all + the children prepared in their garden a little feast for their parents. + Sister Frances spread the table with a bountiful hand, the happy fathers + and mothers were waited upon by their children, and each in their turn + heard with delight from the benevolent nun some instance of their + daughter’s improvement. Full of hope for the future, and of gratitude for + the past, these honest people ate and talked, whilst in imagination they + saw their children all prosperously and usefully settled in the world. + They blessed Mad. de Fleury in her absence, and they wished ardently for + her presence. + </p> + <p> + “The sun is setting, and Mad. de Fleury is not yet come,” cried Victoire; + “she said she would be here this evening—What can be the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing is the matter, you may be sure,” said Babet; “but that she has + forgotten us—she has so many things to think of.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but I know she never forgets us,” said Victoire; “and she loves so + much to see us all happy together, that I am sure it must be something + very extraordinary that detains her.” + </p> + <p> + Babet laughed at Victoire’s fears: but presently even she began to grow + impatient; for they waited long after sunset, expecting every moment that + Mad. de Fleury would arrive. At last she appeared, but with a dejected + countenance, which seemed to justify Victoire’s foreboding. When she saw + this festive company, each child sitting between her parents, and all at + her entrance looking up with affectionate pleasure, a faint smile + enlivened her countenance for a moment; but she did not speak to them with + her usual ease. Her mind seemed pre-occupied by some disagreeable business + of importance. It appeared that it had some connexion with them; for as + she walked round the table with Sister Frances, she said with a voice and + look of great tenderness, “Poor children! how happy they are at this + moment!—Heaven only knows how soon they may be rendered, or may + render themselves, miserable!” + </p> + <p> + None of the children could imagine what this meant; but their parents + guessed that it had some allusion to the state of public affairs. About + this time some of those discontents had broken out, which preceded the + terrible days of the Revolution. As yet, most of the common people, who + were honestly employed in earning their own living, neither understood + what was going on, nor foresaw what was to happen. Many of their superiors + were not in such happy ignorance—they had information of the + intrigues that were forming; and the more penetration they possessed, the + more they feared the consequences of events which they could not control. + At the house of a great man, with whom she had dined this day, Mad. de + Fleury had heard alarming news. Dreadful public disturbances, she saw, + were inevitable; and whilst she trembled for the fate of all who were dear + to her, these poor children had a share in her anxiety. She foresaw the + temptations, the dangers, to which they must be exposed, whether they + abandoned, or whether they abided by, the principles their education had + instilled. She feared that the labour of years would perhaps be lost in an + instant, or that her innocent pupils would fall victims even to their + virtues. + </p> + <p> + Many of these young people were now of an age to understand and to govern + themselves by reason; and with these she determined to use those + preventive measures which reason affords. Without meddling with politics, + in which no amiable or sensible woman can wish to interfere, the influence + of ladies in the higher ranks of life may always be exerted with perfect + propriety, and with essential advantage to the public, in conciliating the + inferior classes of society, explaining to them their duties and their + interests, and impressing upon the minds of the children of the poor, + sentiments of just subordination and honest independence. How happy would + it have been for France, if women of fortune and abilities had always + exerted their talents and activity in this manner, instead of wasting + their powers in futile declamations, or in the intrigues of party! + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “E’en now the devastation is begun, + And half the business of destruction done.” + + GOLDSMITH. +</pre> + <p> + Madame de Fleury was not disappointed in her pupils. When the public + disturbances began, these children were shocked by the horrible actions + they saw. Instead of being seduced by bad example, they only showed + anxiety to avoid companions of their own age, who were dishonest, idle, or + profligate. Victoire’s cousin Manon ridiculed these <i>absurd</i> + principles, as she called them; and endeavoured to persuade Victoire that + she would be much happier if she <i>followed the fashion</i>. + </p> + <p> + “What! Victoire, still with your work-bag on your arm, and still going to + school with your little sister, though you are but a year younger than I + am, I believe!—thirteen last birthday, were not you?—Mon Dieu! + Why, how long do you intend to be a child? and why don’t you leave that + old nun, who keeps you in leading-strings?—I assure you, nuns, and + schoolmistresses, and schools, and all that sort of thing, are out of + fashion now—we have abolished all that—we are to live a life + of reason now—and all soon to be equal, I can tell you; let your + Mad. de Fleury look to that, and look to it yourself; for with all your + wisdom, you might find yourself in the wrong box by sticking to her, and + that side of the question.—Disengage yourself from her, I advise + you, as soon as you can.—My dear Victoire! believe me, you may spell + very well—but you know nothing of the rights of man, or the rights + of woman.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not pretend to know any thing of the rights of men, or the rights of + women,” cried Victoire; “but this I know, that I never can or will be + ungrateful to Mad. de Fleury. Disengage myself from her! I am bound to her + for ever, and I will abide by her till the last hour I breathe.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well! there is no occasion to be in a passion—I only speak as + a friend, and I have no more time to reason with you; for I must go home, + and get ready my dress for the ball to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Manon, how can you afford to buy a dress for a ball?” + </p> + <p> + “As you might, if you had common sense, Victoire—only by being a <i>good + citizen</i>. I and a party of us <i>denounced</i> a milliner and a + confectioner in our neighbourhood, who were horrible aristocrats; and of + their goods forfeited to the nation we had, as was our just share, such + delicious <i>marangles</i>, and charming ribands!—Oh, Victoire, + believe me, you will never get such things by going to school, or saying + your prayers either. You may look with as much scorn and indignation as + you please, but I advise you to let it alone, for all that is out of + fashion, and may moreover bring you into difficulties. Believe me, my dear + Victoire, your head is not deep enough to understand these things—you + know nothing of politics.” + </p> + <p> + “But I know the difference between right and wrong, Manon: politics can + never alter that, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Never alter that!—there you are quite mistaken,” said Manon: “I + cannot stay to convince you now—but this I can tell you, that I know + secrets that you don’t suspect.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not wish to know any of your secrets, Manon,” said Victoire, + proudly. + </p> + <p> + “Your pride may be humbled, Citoyenne Victoire, sooner than you expect,” + exclaimed Manon, who was now so provoked by her cousin’s contempt, that + she could not refrain from boasting of her political knowledge. “I can + tell you, that your fine friends will in a few days not be able to protect + you. The Abbé Tracassier is in love with a dear friend of mine, and I know + all the secrets of state from her—and I know what I know. Be as + incredulous, as you please, but you will see that, before this week is at + end, Monsieur de Fleury will be guillotined, and then what will become of + you? Good morning, my proud cousin.” + </p> + <p> + Shocked by what she had just heard, Victoire could scarcely believe that + Manon was in earnest; she resolved, however, to go immediately and + communicate this intelligence, whether true or false, to Mad. de Fleury. + It agreed but too well with other circumstances, which alarmed this lady + for the safety of her husband. A man of his abilities, integrity, and + fortune, could not in such times hope to escape persecution. He was + inclined to brave the danger; but his lady represented that it would not + be courage, but rashness and folly, to sacrifice his life to the villany + of others, without probability or possibility of serving his country by + his fall. + </p> + <p> + M. de Fleury, in consequence of these representations, and of Victoire’s + intelligence, made his escape from Paris; and the very next day <i>placards</i> + were put up in every street, offering a price for the head of Citoyen + Fleury, <i>suspected of incivisme</i>. + </p> + <p> + Struck with terror and astonishment at the sight of these <i>placards</i>, + the children read them as they returned in the evening from school; and + little Babet in the vehemence of her indignation mounted a lamplighter’s + ladder, and tore down one of the papers. This imprudent action did not + pass unobserved: it was seen by one of the spies of Citoyen Tracassier, a + man who, under the pretence of zeal <i>pour la chose publique</i>, + gratified without scruple his private resentments and his malevolent + passions. In his former character of an abbé, and a man of wit, he had + gained admittance into Mad. de Fleury’s society. There he attempted to + dictate both as a literary and religious despot. Accidentally discovering + that Mad. de Fleury had a little school for poor children, he thought + proper to be offended, because he had not been consulted respecting the + regulations, and because he was not permitted, as he said, to take the + charge of this little flock. He made many objections to Sister Frances, as + being an improper person to have the spiritual guidance of these young + people: but as he was unable to give any just reason for his dislike, Mad. + de Fleury persisted in her choice, and was at last obliged to assert, in + opposition to the domineering abbé, her right to judge and decide in her + own affairs. With seeming politeness, he begged ten thousand pardons for + his conscientious interference. No more was said upon the subject; and as + he did not totally withdraw from her society till the revolution broke + out, she did not suspect that she had any thing to fear from his + resentment. His manners and opinions changed suddenly with the times; the + mask of religion was thrown off; and now, instead of objecting to Sister + Frances as not being sufficiently strict and orthodox in her tenets, he + boldly declared, that a nun was not a fit person to be intrusted with the + education of any of the young citizens—they should all be <i>des + élèves de la patrie</i>. The abbé, become a member of the Committee of + Public Safety, denounced Mad. de Fleury, in the strange jargon of the day, + as “<i>the fosterer of a swarm of bad citizens, who were nourished in the + anticivic prejudices</i> de l’ancien régime, <i>and fostered in the most + detestable superstitions, in defiance of the law</i>.” He further + observed, that he had good reason to believe that some of these little <i>enemies + to the constitution</i> had contrived and abetted M. de Fleury’s escape. + Of their having rejoiced at it in a most indecent manner, he said he could + produce irrefragable proof. The boy who saw Babet tear down the <i>placard</i> + was produced and solemnly examined; and the thoughtless action of this + poor little girl was construed into a state crime of the most horrible + nature. In a declamatory tone, Tracassier reminded his fellow-citizens, + that in the ancient Grecian times of virtuous republicanism (times of + which France ought to show herself emulous), an Athenian child was + condemned to death for having made a plaything of a fragment of the + gilding that had fallen from a public statue. The orator, for the reward + of his eloquence, obtained an order to seize every thing in Mad. de + Fleury’s school-house, and to throw the nun into prison. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Who now will guard bewilder’d youth + Safe from the fierce assault of hostile rage?— + Such war can Virtue wage?” + </pre> + <p> + At the very moment when this order was going to be put in execution, Mad. + de Fleury was sitting in the midst of the children, listening to Babet, + who was reading Æsop’s fable of <i>The old man and his sons</i>. Whilst + her sister was reading, Victoire collected a number of twigs from the + garden: she had just tied them together; and was going, by Sister Frances’ + desire, to let her companions try if they could break the bundle, when the + attention of the moral of the fable was interrupted by the entrance of an + old woman, whose countenance expressed the utmost terror and haste, to + tell what she had not breath to utter. To Mad. de Fleury she was a + stranger; but the children immediately recollected her to be the <i>chestnut + woman</i>, to whom Babet had some years ago restored certain purloined + chestnuts. “Fly!” said she, the moment she had breath to speak: “Fly!—they + are coming to seize every thing here—carry off what you can—make + haste—make haste!—I came through a by-street. A man was eating + chestnuts at my stall, and I saw him show one that was with him the order + from Citoyen Tracassier. They’ll be here in five minutes—quick!—quick!—You, + in particular,” continued she, turning to the nun, “else you’ll be in + prison.” At these words, the children, who had clung round Sister Frances, + loosed their hold, exclaiming, “Go! go quick: but where? where?—we + will go with her.” “No, no!” said Madame de Fleury, “she shall come home + with me—my carriage is at the door.” “Ma belle dame!” cried the + chestnut woman, “your house is the worst place she can go to—let her + come to my cellar—the poorest cellar in these days is safer than the + grandest palace.” So saying, she seized the nun with honest roughness, and + hurried her away. As soon as she was gone, the children ran different + ways, each to collect some favourite thing, which they thought they could + not leave behind. Victoire alone stood motionless beside Mad. de Fleury; + her whole thoughts absorbed by the fear that her benefactress would be + imprisoned. “Oh, madame! dear, dear Madame de Fleury, don’t stay! don’t + stay!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, children, never mind these things.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t stay, madame, don’t stay! I will stay with them—I will stay—do + you go.” + </p> + <p> + The children hearing these words, and recollecting Mad. de Fleury’s + danger, abandoned all their little property, and instantly obeyed her + orders to go home to their parents. Victoire at last saw Mad. de Fleury + safe in her carriage. The coachman drove off at a great rate; and a few + minutes afterwards Tracassier’s myrmidons arrived at the school-house. + Great was their surprise, when they found only the poor children’s little + books, unfinished samplers, and half-hemmed handkerchiefs. They ran into + the garden to search for the nun. They were men of brutal habits; yet as + they looked at every thing round them, which bespoke peace, innocence, and + childish happiness, they could not help thinking it was a pity to destroy + what <i>could do the nation no great harm after all</i>. They were even + glad that the nun had made her escape, since they were not answerable for + it; and they returned to their employer, satisfied for once without doing + any mischief: but Citizen Tracassier was of too vindictive a temper to + suffer the objects of his hatred thus to elude his vengeance. The next day + Mad. de Fleury was summoned before his tribunal, and ordered to give up + the nun, against whom, as a suspected person, a decree of the law had been + obtained. + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Fleury refused to betray the innocent woman: the gentle firmness + of this lady’s answers to a brutal interrogatory was termed insolence; she + was pronounced a refractory aristocrat, dangerous to the state; and an + order was made out to seal up her goods, and to keep her a prisoner in her + own house. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Alas! full oft on Guilt’s victorious car + The spoils of Virtue are in triumph borne, + While the fair captive, mark’d with many a scar, + In lone obscurity, oppress’d, forlorn, + Resigns to tears her angel form.”—BEATTIE. +</pre> + <p> + A close prisoner in her own house, Mad. de Fleury was now guarded by men + suddenly become soldiers, and sprung from the dregs of the people; men of + brutal manners, ferocious countenances, and more ferocious minds. They + seemed to delight in the insolent, display of their newly-acquired power. + One of these men had formerly been convicted of some horrible crime, and + had been sent to the galleys by M. de Fleury. Revenge actuated this wretch + under the mask of patriotism, and he rejoiced in seeing the wife of the + man he hated a prisoner in his custody. Ignorant of the facts, his + associates were ready to believe him in the right, and to join in the + senseless cry against all who were their superiors in fortune, birth, and + education. This unfortunate lady was forbidden all intercourse with her + friends, and it was in vain she attempted to obtain from her jailers + intelligence of what was passing in Paris. + </p> + <p> + “Tu verras—Tout va bien—Ca ira,” were the only answers they + deigned to make: frequently they continued smoking their pipes in obdurate + silence. She occupied the back rooms of her house, because her guards + apprehended that she might from the front windows receive intelligence + from her friends. One morning she was awakened by an unusual noise in the + streets; and upon her inquiring the occasion of it, her guards told her + she was welcome to go to the front windows, and satisfy her curiosity. She + went, and saw an immense crowd of people surrounding a guillotine, that + had been erected the preceding night. Mad. de Fleury started back with + horror—her guards burst into an inhuman laugh, and asked whether her + curiosity was satisfied. She would have left the room; but it was now + their pleasure to detain her, and to force her to continue the whole day + in this apartment. When the guillotine began its work, they had even the + barbarity to drag her to the window, repeating, “It is there you ought to + be!—It is there your husband ought to be!—You are too happy, + that your husband is not there this moment. But he will be there—the + law will overtake him—he will be there in time—and you too!” + </p> + <p> + The mild fortitude of this innocent, benevolent woman made no impression + upon these cruel men. When at night they saw her kneeling at her prayers, + they taunted her with gross and impious mockery; and when she sunk to + sleep, they would waken her by their loud and drunken orgies: if she + remonstrated, they answered, “The enemies of the constitution should have + no rest.” + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Fleury was not an enemy to any human being; she had never + interfered in politics; her life had been passed in domestic pleasures, or + employed for the good of her fellow-creatures. Even in this hour of + personal danger she thought of others more than of herself: she thought of + her husband, an exile in a foreign country, who might be reduced to the + utmost distress, now that she was deprived of all means of remitting him + money. She thought of her friends, who, she knew, would exert themselves + to obtain her liberty, and whose zeal in her cause might involve them and + their families in distress. She thought of the good Sister Frances, who + had been exposed by her means to the unrelenting persecution of the + malignant and powerful Tracassier. She thought of her poor little pupils, + now thrown upon the world without a protector. Whilst these ideas were + revolving in her mind, one night, as she lay awake, she heard the door of + her chamber open softly, and a soldier, one of her guards, with a light in + his hand, entered: he came to the foot of her bed; and, as she started up, + laid his finger upon his lips. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t make the least noise,” said he in a whisper; “those without are + drunk, and asleep. Don’t you know me?—Don’t you remember my face?” + </p> + <p> + “Not in the least; yet I have some recollection of your voice.” + </p> + <p> + The man took off the bonnet-rouge—still she could not guess who he + was.—“You never saw me in an uniform before, nor without a black + face.” + </p> + <p> + She looked again, and recollected the smith, to whom Maurice was bound + apprentice, and remembered his <i>patois</i> accent. + </p> + <p> + “I remember you,” said he, “at any rate; and your goodness to that poor + girl the day her arm was broken, and all your goodness to Maurice—But + I’ve no time for talking of that now—get up, wrap this great coat + round you—don’t be in a hurry, but make no noise, and follow me.” + </p> + <p> + She followed him; and he led her past the sleeping sentinels, opened a + back door into the garden, hurried her, almost carried her, across the + garden, to a door at the furthest end of it, which opened into Les Champs + Elysées—“La voilà!” cried he, pushing her through the half-opened + door. “God be praised!” answered a voice, which Mad. de Fleury knew to be + Victoire’s, whose arms were thrown round her with a transport of joy. + </p> + <p> + “Softly; she is not safe yet—wait till we get her home, Victoire,” + said another voice, which she knew to be that of Maurice. He produced a + dark lantern, and guided Mad. de Fleury across the Champs Elysées, and + across the bridge, and then through various by-streets, in perfect + silence, till they arrived safely at the house where Victoire’s mother + lodged, and went up those very stairs which she had ascended in such + different circumstances several years before. The mother, who was sitting + up waiting most anxiously for the return of her children, clasped her + hands in an ecstasy, when she saw them return with Mad. de Fleury. + </p> + <p> + “Welcome, madame! Welcome, dear madame! but who would have thought of + seeing you here, in such a way? Let her rest herself—let her rest; + she is quite overcome. Here, madame, can you sleep on this poor bed?” + </p> + <p> + “The very same bed you laid me upon the day my arm was broken,” said + Victoire. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, Lord bless her!” said the mother; “and though it’s seven good years + ago, it seemed but yesterday that I saw her sitting on that bed, beside my + poor child, looking like an angel. But let her rest, let her rest—we’ll + not say a word more, only God bless her; thank Heaven, she’s safe with us + at last!” + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Fleury expressed unwillingness to stay with these good people, + lest she should expose them to danger; but they begged most earnestly that + she would remain with them without scruple. + </p> + <p> + “Surely, madame,” said the mother, “you must think that we have some + remembrance of all you have done for us, and some touch of gratitude.” + </p> + <p> + “And surely, madame, you can trust us, I hope,” said Maurice. + </p> + <p> + “And surely you are not too proud to let us do something for you. The lion + was not too proud to be served by the poor little mouse,” said Victoire. + “As to danger for us,” continued she, “there can be none; for Maurice and + I have contrived a hiding-place for you, madame, that can never be found + out—let them come spying here as often as they please, they will + never find her out, will they, Maurice? Look, madame, into this + lumber-room—you see it seems to be quite full of wood for firing; + well, if you creep in behind, you can hide yourself quite snug in the loft + above, and here’s a trap-door into the loft that nobody ever would think + of—for we have hung these old things from the top of it, and who + could guess it was a trap-door? So, you see, dear madame, you may sleep in + peace here, and never fear for us.” + </p> + <p> + Though but a girl of fourteen, Victoire showed at this time all the sense + and prudence of a woman of thirty. Gratitude seemed at once to develope + all the powers of her mind. It was she and Maurice who had prevailed upon + the smith to effect Mad. de Fleury’s escape from her own house. She had + invented, she had foreseen, she had arranged every thing; she had scarcely + rested night or day since the imprisonment of her benefactress; and now + that her exertions had fully succeeded, her joy seemed to raise her above + all feeling of fatigue; she looked as fresh and moved as briskly, her + mother said, as if she were preparing to go to a ball. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! my child,” said she, “your cousin Manon, who goes to those balls + every night, was never so happy as you are this minute.” + </p> + <p> + But Victoire’s happiness was not of long continuance; for the next day + they were alarmed by intelligence that Tracassier was enraged beyond + measure at Mad. de Fleury’s escape, that all his emissaries were at work + to discover her present hiding-place, that the houses of all the parents + and relations of her pupils were to be searched, and that the most severe + denunciations were issued against all by whom she should be harboured. + Manon was the person who gave this intelligence, but not with any + benevolent design; she first came to Victoire, to display her own + consequence; and to terrify her, she related all she knew from a soldier’s + wife, who was M. Tracassier’s mistress. Victoire had sufficient command + over herself to conceal from the inquisitive eyes of Manon the agitation + of her heart; she had also the prudence not to let any one of her + companions into her secret, though, when she saw their anxiety, she was + much tempted to relieve them, by the assurance that Mad. de Fleury was in + safety. All the day was passed in apprehension. Mad. de Fleury never + stirred from her place of concealment: as the evening and the hour of the + domiciliary visits approached, Victoire and Maurice were alarmed by an + unforeseen difficulty. Their mother, whose health had been broken by hard + work, in vain endeavoured to suppress her terror at the thoughts of this + domiciliary visit; she repeated incessantly that she knew they should all + be discovered, and that her children would be dragged to the guillotine + before her face. She was in such a distracted state, that they dreaded she + would, the moment she saw the soldiers, reveal all she knew. + </p> + <p> + “If they question me, I shall not know what to answer,” cried the + terrified woman. “What can I say?—What can I do?” + </p> + <p> + Reasoning, entreaties, all were vain; she was not in a condition to + understand, or even to listen to, any thing that was said. In this + situation they were, when the domiciliary visitors arrived—they + heard the noise of the soldiers’ feet on the stairs—the poor woman + sprang from the arms of her children; but at the moment the door was + opened, and she saw the glittering of the bayonets, she fell at full + length in a swoon on the floor—fortunately before she had power to + utter a syllable. The people of the house knew, and said, that she was + subject to fits on any sudden alarm; so that her being affected in this + manner did not appear surprising. They threw her on a bed, whilst they + proceeded to search the house: her children stayed with her; and, wholly + occupied in attending to her, they were not exposed to the danger of + betraying their anxiety about Mad. de Fleury. They trembled, however, from + head to foot, when they heard one of the soldiers swear that all the wood + in the lumber-room must be pulled out, and that he would not leave the + house till every stick was moved; the sound of each log, as it was thrown + out, was heard by Victoire: her brother was now summoned to assist. How + great was his terror, when one of the searchers looked up to the roof, as + if expecting to find a trap-door! fortunately, however, he did not + discover it. Maurice, who had seized the light, contrived to throw the + shadows so as to deceive the eye. The soldiers at length retreated; and + with inexpressible satisfaction Maurice lighted them down stairs, and saw + them fairly out of the house. For some minutes after they were in safety, + the terrified mother, who had recovered her senses, could scarcely believe + that the danger was over. She embraced her children by turns with wild + transport; and with tears begged Mad. de Fleury to forgive her cowardice, + and not to attribute it to ingratitude, or to suspect that she had a bad + heart. She protested that she was now become so courageous, since she + found that she had gone through this trial successfully, and since she was + sure that the hiding-place was really so secure, that she should never be + alarmed at any domiciliary visit in future. Mad. de Fleury, however, did + not think it either just or expedient to put her resolution to the trial. + She determined to leave Paris; and, if possible, to make her escape from + France. The master of one of the Paris diligences was brother to François, + her footman: he was ready to assist her at all hazards, and to convey her + safely to Bourdeaux, if she could disguise herself properly; and if she + could obtain a pass from any friend under a feigned name. + </p> + <p> + Victoire—the indefatigable Victoire—recollected that her + friend Annette had an aunt, who was nearly of Mad. de Fleury’s size, and + who had just obtained a pass to go to Bourdeaux, to visit some of her + relations. The pass was willingly given up to Mad. de Fleury; and upon + reading it over it was found to answer tolerably well—the colour of + the eyes and hair at least would do; though the words <i>un nez gros</i> + were not precisely descriptive of this lady’s. Annette’s mother, who had + always worn the provincial dress of Auvergne, furnished the high <i>cornette</i>, + stiff stays, boddice, &c.; and equipped in these, Mad. de Fleury was + so admirably well disguised, that even Victoire declared she should + scarcely have known her. Money, that most necessary passport in all + countries, was still wanting: as seals had been put upon all Mad. de + Fleury’s effects the day she had been first imprisoned in her own house, + she could not save even her jewels. She had, however, one ring on her + finger of some value. How to dispose of it without exciting suspicion was + the difficulty. Babet, who was resolved to have her share in assisting her + benefactress, proposed to carry the ring to a <i>colporteur</i>—a + pedlar, or sort of travelling jeweller, who had come to lay in a stock of + hardware at Paris: he was related to one of Mad. de Fleury’s little + pupils, and readily disposed of the ring for her: she obtained at least + two-thirds of its value—a great deal in those times. + </p> + <p> + The proofs of integrity, attachment, and gratitude, which she received in + these days of peril, from those whom she had obliged in her prosperity, + touched her generous heart so much, that she has often since declared she + could not regret having been reduced to distress. Before she quitted + Paris, she wrote letters to her friends, recommending her pupils to their + protection; she left these letters in the care of Victoire, who to the + last moment followed her with anxious affection. She would have followed + her benefactress into exile, but that she was prevented by duty and + affection from leaving her mother, who was in declining health. + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Fleury successfully made her escape from Paris. Some of the + municipal officers in the towns through which she passed on her road were + as severe as their ignorance would permit in scrutinizing her passport. It + seldom happened that more than one of these petty committees of public + safety could read. One usually spelled out the passport as well as he + could, whilst the others smoked their pipes, and from time to time held a + light up to the lady’s face to examine whether it agreed with the + description. + </p> + <p> + “Mais toi! tu n’as pas le nez gros!” said one of her judges to her. “Son + nez est assez gros, et c’est moi qui le dit,” said another. The question + was put to the vote; and the man who had asserted what was contrary to the + evidence of his senses was so vehement in supporting his opinion, that it + was carried in spite of all that could be said against it. Mad. de Fleury + was suffered to proceed on her journey. She reached Bourdeaux in safety. + Her husband’s friends—the good have always friends in adversity—her + husband’s friends exerted themselves for her with the most prudent zeal. + She was soon provided with a sum of money sufficient for her support for + some time in England; and she safely reached that free and happy country, + which has been the refuge of so many illustrious exiles. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Cosi rozzo diamante appena splende + Dalla rupe natìa quand’ esce fuora, + E a poco a poco lucido se rende + Sotto l’attenta che lo lavora.” + </pre> + <p> + Mad. de Fleury joined her husband, who was in London; and they both lived + in the most retired and frugal manner. They had too much of the pride of + independence to become burthensome to their generous English friends. + Notwithstanding the variety of difficulties they had to encounter, and the + number of daily privations to which they were forced to submit, yet they + were happy—in a tranquil conscience, in their mutual affection, and + the attachment of many poor but grateful friends. A few months after she + came to England, Mad. de Fleury received, by a private hand, a packet of + letters from her little pupils. Each of them, even the youngest, who had + but just begun to learn joining-hand, would write a few lines in this + packet. + </p> + <p> + In various hands, of various sizes, the changes were rung upon these + simple words: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “MY DEAR MADAME DE FLEURY, + + “I love you—I wish you were here again—I will be <i>very very</i> + good whilst you are away. If you stay away ever so long, I shall + never forget you, nor your goodness; but I hope you will soon be + able to come back, and this is what I pray for every night. Sister + Frances says I may tell you that I am very good, and Victoire + thinks so too.” + </pre> + <p> + This was the substance of several of their little letters. Victoire’s + contained rather more information:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “You will be glad to <i>learn</i> that dear Sister Frances is safe, and + that the good chestnut woman, in whose cellar she took refuge, did + not get into any difficulty. After you were gone, M. T—— said + that he did not think it worth while to pursue her, as it was only + you he wanted to humble. Manon, who has, I do not know how, means + of knowing, told me this. Sister Frances is now with her abbess, + who, as well as every body else that knows her, is very fond of + her. What was a convent is no longer a convent: the nuns are + turned out of it. Sister Frances’ health is not so good as it used + to be, though she never complains; I am sure she suffers much; she + has never been the same person since that day when we were driven + from our happy school-room. It is all destroyed—the garden and + every thing. It is now a dismal sight. Your absence also afflicts + Sister Frances much, and she is in great anxiety about all of + us. She has the six little ones with her every day, in her own + apartment, and goes on teaching them as she used to do. We six + eldest go to see her as often as we can. I should have begun, my + dear Mad. de Fleury, by telling you, that, the day after you left + Paris, I went to deliver all the letters you were so very kind to + write for us in the midst of your hurry. Your friends have been + exceedingly good to us, and have got places for us all. Rose is + with Mad. la Grace, your mantua-maker, who says she is more handy + and more expert at cutting out than girls she has had these three + years. Marianne is in the service of Mad. de V——, who has lost + a great part of her large fortune, and cannot afford to keep her + former waiting-maid. Mad. de V—— is well pleased with Marianne, + and bids me tell you that she thanks you for her. Indeed, + Marianne, though she is only fourteen, can do every thing her lady + wants. Susanne is with a confectioner; she gave Sister Frances + a box of <i>bonbons</i> of her own making this morning; and Sister + Frances, who is a judge, says they are excellent; she only wishes + you could taste them. Annette and I (thanks to your kindness!) are + in the same service, with Mad. Feuillot, the <i>brodeuse</i>, to whom + you recommended us: she is not discontented with our work, and + indeed sent a very civil message yesterday to Sister Frances on + this subject; but I believe it is too flattering for me to repeat + in this letter. We shall do our best to give her satisfaction. She + is glad to find that we can write tolerably, and that we can make + out bills and keep accounts; this being particularly convenient + to her at present, as the young man she had in the shop is become + an <i>orator</i>, and good for nothing but <i>la chose publique</i>: her + son, who could have supplied his place, is ill; and Mad. Feuillot + herself, not having had, as she says, the advantage of such a good + education as we have been blessed with, writes but badly, and + knows nothing of arithmetic. Dear Mad. de Fleury, how much, how + very much we are obliged to you! We feel it every day more and + more: in these times what would have become of us, if we could + do nothing useful? Who <i>would</i>, who <i>could</i> be burdened with us? + Dear madame, we owe every thing to you—and we can do nothing, not + the least thing, for you!—My mother is still in bad health, and + I fear will never recover: Babet is with her always, and Sister + Frances is very good to her. My brother Maurice is now so good a + workman that he earns a louis a week. He is very steady to his + business, and never goes to the revolutionary meetings, though + once he had a great mind to be an orator of the people, but never + since the day that you explained to him that he knew nothing about + equality and the rights of men, &c. How could I forget to tell + you, that his master the smith, who was one of your guards, and + who assisted you to escape, has returned without suspicion to his + former trade? and he declares that he will never more meddle with + public affairs. I gave him the money you left with me for him. He + is very kind to my brother—yesterday Maurice mended for Annette’s + mistress the lock of an English writing-desk, and he mended it so + astonishingly well, that an English gentleman, who saw it, could + not believe the work was done by a Frenchman; so my brother was + sent for, to prove it, and they were forced to believe it. To-day + he has more work than he can finish this twelvemonth—all this we + owe to you. I shall never forget the day when you promised that + you would grant my brother’s wish to be apprenticed to the smith, + if I was not in a passion for a month—that cured me of being so + passionate. + + “Dear Mad. de Fleury, I have written you too long a letter, and + not so well as I can write when I am not in a hurry; but I wanted + to tell you every thing at once, because, may be, I shall not for + a long time have so safe an opportunity of sending a letter to + you. + + “VICTOIRE.” + </pre> + <p> + Several months elapsed before Mad. de Fleury received another letter from + Victoire: it was short, and evidently written in great distress of mind. + It contained an account of her mother’s death. She was now left at the + early age of sixteen an orphan. Mad. Feuillot, the <i>brodeuse</i>, with + whom she lived, added a few lines to her letter, penned with difficulty + and strangely spelled, but expressive of her being highly pleased with + both the girls recommended to her by Mad. de Fleury, especially Victoire, + who she said was such a treasure to her, that she would not part with her + on any account, and should consider her as a daughter. “I tell her not to + grieve so much; for though she has lost one mother, she has gained another + for herself, who will always love her: and besides, she is so useful, and + in so many ways, with her pen and her needle, in accounts, and every thing + that is wanted in a family or a shop, she can never want employment or + friends in the worst times; and none can be worse than these, especially + for such pretty girls as she is, who have all their heads turned, and are + taught to consider nothing a sin that used to be sins. Many gentlemen, who + come to our shop, have found out that Victoire is very handsome, and tell + her so; but she is so modest and prudent, that I am not afraid for her. I + could tell you, madame, a good anecdote on this subject, but my paper will + not allow, and besides, my writing is so difficult.” + </p> + <p> + Above a year elapsed before Mad. de Fleury received another letter from + Victoire: this was in a parcel, of which an emigrant took charge: it + contained a variety of little offerings from her pupils, instances of + their ingenuity, their industry, and their affection: the last thing in + the packet was a small purse labelled in this manner— + </p> + <p> + “<i>Savings from our wages and earnings, for her who taught us all we know</i>.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Dans sa pompe élégante, admirez Chantilly, + De héros en héros, d’âge en âge, embelli.” + + DE LILLE. +</pre> + <p> + The health of the good Sister Frances, which had suffered much from the + shock her mind received at the commencement of the revolution, declined so + rapidly in the course of the two succeeding years, that she was obliged to + leave Paris, and she retired to a little village in the neighbourhood of + Chantilly. She chose this situation, because here she was within a + morning’s walk of Mad. de Fleury’s country-seat. The Château de Fleury had + not yet been seized as national property, nor had it suffered from the + attacks of the mob, though it was in a perilous situation, within view of + the high road to Paris. The Parisian populace had not yet extended their + outrages to this distance from the city; and the poor people who lived on + the estate of Fleury, attached from habit, principle, and gratitude to + their lord, were not disposed to take advantage of the disorder of the + times, to injure the property of those from whom they had all their lives + received favours and protection. A faithful old steward had the care of + the castle and the grounds. Sister Frances was impatient to talk to him, + and to visit the château, which she had never seen; but for some days + after her arrival in the village, she was so much fatigued and so weak, + that she could not attempt so long a walk. Victoire had obtained + permission from her mistress to accompany the nun for a few days to the + country, as Annette undertook to do all the business of the shop during + the absence of her companion. Victoire was fully as eager as Sister + Frances to see the faithful steward and the Château de Fleury, and the + morning was now fixed for their walk: but in the middle of the night they + were awakened by the shouts of a mob, who had just entered the village + fresh from the destruction of a neighbouring castle. The nun and Victoire + listened; but in the midst of the horrid yells of joy, no human voice, no + intelligible word, could be distinguished: they looked through a chink in + the window-shutter, and they saw the street below filled with a crowd of + men, whose countenances were by turns illuminated by the glare of the + torches which they brandished. + </p> + <p> + “Good Heavens!” whispered the nun to Victoire: “I should know the face of + that man who is loading his musket—the very man whom I nursed ten + years ago, when he was ill with a jail fever!” + </p> + <p> + This man, who stood in the midst of the crowd, taller by the head than the + others, seemed to be the leader of the party; they were disputing whether + they should proceed further, spend the remainder of the night in the + village alehouse, or return to Paris. Their leader ordered spirits to be + distributed to his associates, and exhorted them in a loud voice to + proceed in their glorious work. Tossing his firebrand over his head, he + declared that he would never return to Paris till he had razed to the + ground the Château de Fleury. At these words, Victoire, forgetful of all + personal danger, ran out into the midst of the mob, pressed her way up to + the leader of these ruffians, caught him by the arm, exclaiming, “You will + not touch a stone in the Château de Fleury—I have my reasons—I + say you will not suffer a stone in the Château de Fleury to be touched.” + </p> + <p> + “And why not?” cried the man, turning astonished; “and who are you, that I + should listen to you?” + </p> + <p> + “No matter who I am,” said Victoire; “follow me, and I will show you one + to whom you will not refuse to listen. Here!—here she is,” continued + Victoire, pointing to the nun, who had followed her in amazement; “here is + one to whom you will listen—yes, look at her well: hold the light to + her face.” + </p> + <p> + The nun, in a supplicating attitude, stood in speechless expectation. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, I see you have gratitude, I know you will have mercy,” cried + Victoire, watching the workings in the countenance of the man; “you will + save the Château de Fleury, for her sake—who saved your life.” + </p> + <p> + “I will,” cried this astonished chief of a mob, fired with sudden + generosity. “By my faith you are a brave girl, and a fine girl, and know + how to speak to the heart, and in the right moment. Friends, citizens! + this nun, though she is a nun, is good for something. When I lay ill with + a fever, and not a soul else to help me, she came and gave me medicines + and food—in short, I owe my life to her. ‘Tis ten years ago, but I + remember it well; and now it is our turn to rule, and she shall be paid as + she deserves. Not a stone of the Château de Fleury shall be touched!” + </p> + <p> + With loud acclamations, the mob joined in the generous enthusiasm of the + moment, and followed their leader peaceably out of the village. All this + passed with such rapidity as scarcely to leave the impression of reality + upon the mind. As soon as the sun rose in the morning, Victoire looked out + for the turrets of the Château de Fleury, and she saw that they were safe—safe + in the midst of the surrounding devastation. Nothing remained of the + superb palace of Chantilly but the white arches of its foundation! + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “When thy last breath, ere Nature sank to rest, + Thy meek submission to thy God express’d; + When thy last look, ere thought and feeling fled, + A mingled gleam of hope and triumph shed; + What to thy soul its glad assurance gave— + Its hope in death, its triumph o’er the grave? + The sweet remembrance of unblemish’d youth, + Th’inspiring voice of innocence and truth!” + + ROGERS. +</pre> + <p> + The good Sister Frances, though she had scarcely recovered from the shock + of the preceding night, accompanied Victoire to the Château de Fleury. The + gates were opened for them by the old steward and his son Basile, who + welcomed them with all the eagerness with which people welcome friends in + time of adversity. The old man showed them the place; and through every + apartment of the castle went on, talking of former times, and with + narrative fondness told anecdotes of his dear master and mistress. Here + his lady used to sit and read—here was the table at which she wrote—this + was the sofa on which she and the ladies sat the very last day she was at + the castle, at the open windows of the hall, whilst all the tenants and + people of the village were dancing on the green. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, those were happy times,” said the old man; “but they will never + return.” + </p> + <p> + “Never! Oh, do not say so,” cried Victoire. + </p> + <p> + “Never during my life, at least,” said the nun in a low voice, and with a + look of resignation. + </p> + <p> + Basile, as he wiped the tears from his eyes, happened to strike his arm + against the chord of Mad. de Fleury’s harp, and the sound echoed through + the room. + </p> + <p> + “Before this year is at an end,” cried Victoire, “perhaps that harp will + be struck again in this château by Mad. de Fleury herself. Last night we + could hardly have hoped to see these walls standing this morning, and yet + it is safe—not a stone touched! Oh, we shall all live, I hope, to + see better times!” + </p> + <p> + Sister Frances smiled, for she would not depress Victoire’s enthusiastic + hope: to please her, the good nun added, that she felt better this morning + than she had felt for months, and Victoire was happier than she had been + since Mad. de Fleury left France. But, alas! it was only a transient + gleam. Sister Frances relapsed, and declined so rapidly, that even + Victoire, whose mind was almost always disposed to hope, despaired of her + recovery. With placid resignation, or rather with mild confidence, this + innocent and benevolent creature met the approach of death. She seemed + attached to earth only by affection for those whom she was to leave in + this world. Two of the youngest of the children which had formerly been + placed under her care, and who were not yet able to earn their own + subsistence, she kept with her, and in the last days of her life she + continued her instructions to them with the fond solicitude of a parent. + Her father confessor, an excellent man, who never even in these dangerous + times shrunk from his duty, came to attend Sister Frances in her last + moments, and relieved her mind from all anxiety, by promising to place the + two little children with the lady who had been abbess of her convent, who + would to the utmost of her power protect and provide for them suitably. + Satisfied by this promise, the good Sister Frances smiled upon Victoire, + who stood beside her bed, and with that smile upon her countenance + expired.—It was some time before the little children seemed to + comprehend, or to believe, that Sister Frances was dead: they had never + before seen any one die; they had no idea what it was to die, and their + first feeling was astonishment: they did not seem to understand why + Victoire wept. But the next day when no Sister Frances spoke to them, when + every hour they missed some accustomed kindness from her,—when + presently they saw the preparations for her funeral,—when they heard + that she was to be buried in the earth, and that they should never see her + more,—they could neither play nor eat, but sat in a corner holding + each other’s hands, and watching every thing that was done for the dead by + Victoire. + </p> + <p> + In those times, the funeral of a nun, with a priest attending, would not + have been permitted by the populace. It was therefore performed as + secretly as possible: in the middle of the night the coffin was carried to + the burial-place of the Fleury family; the old steward, his son Basile, + Victoire, and the good father confessor, were the only persons present. It + is necessary to mention this, because the facts were afterwards + misrepresented. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The character is lost! + Her head adorn’d with lappets, pinn’d aloft, + And ribands streaming gay, superbly raised, + Indebted to some smart wig-weaver’s hand + For more than half the tresses it sustains.” + + COWPER. +</pre> + <p> + Upon her return to Paris, Victoire felt melancholy; but she exerted + herself as much as possible in her usual occupation; finding that + employment and the consciousness of doing her duty were the best remedies + for sorrow. + </p> + <p> + One day, as she was busy settling Mad. Feuillot’s accounts, a servant came + into the shop, and inquired for Mademoiselle Victoire: he presented her a + note, which she found rather difficult to decipher. It was signed by her + cousin Manon, who desired to see Victoire at her hotel. “<i>Her hotel</i>!” + repeated Victoire with astonishment. The servant assured her that one of + the finest hotels in Paris belonged to his lady, and that he was + commissioned to show her the way to it. Victoire found her cousin in a + magnificent house, which had formerly belonged to the Prince de Salms. + Manon, dressed in the disgusting, indecent extreme of the mode, was seated + under a richly-fringed canopy. She burst into a loud laugh as Victoire + entered. + </p> + <p> + “You look just as much astonished as I expected,” cried she. “Great + changes have happened since I saw you last—I always told you, + Victoire, I knew the world better than you did. What has come of all your + schooling, and your mighty goodness, and your gratitude truly?—Your + patroness is banished and a beggar, and you a drudge in the shop of a <i>brodeuse</i>, + who makes you work your fingers to the bone, no doubt.—Now you shall + see the difference. Let me show you my house; you know it was formerly the + hotel of the Prince de Salms, he that was guillotined the other day; but + you know nothing, for you have been out of Paris this month, I understand. + Then I must tell you, that my friend Villeneuf has acquired an immense + fortune! by assignats, made in the course of a fortnight—I say an + immense fortune! and has bought this fine house—Now do you begin to + understand?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not clearly know whom you mean by your friend Villeneuf,” said + Victoire. + </p> + <p> + “The hairdresser, who lived in our street,” said Manon; “he became a great + patriot, you know, and orator; and, what with his eloquence and his luck + in dealing in assignats, he has made his fortune and mine.” + </p> + <p> + “And yours! then he is your husband!” + </p> + <p> + “That does not follow—that is not necessary—but do not look so + shocked—every body goes on the same way now; besides, I had no other + resource—I must have starved—I could not earn my bread as you + do. Besides, I was too delicate for hard work of any sort—and + besides—but come, let me show you my house—you have no idea + how fine it is.” + </p> + <p> + With anxious ostentation, Manon displayed all her riches, to excite + Victoire’s envy. + </p> + <p> + “Confess, Victoire,” said she at last, “that you think me the happiest + person you have ever known.—You do not answer; whom did you ever + know that was happier?” + </p> + <p> + “Sister Frances, who died last week, appeared to be much happier,” said + Victoire. + </p> + <p> + “The poor nun!” said Manon, disdainfully. “Well, and whom do you think the + next happiest?” + </p> + <p> + “Madame de Fleury.” + </p> + <p> + “An exile and a beggar!—Oh, you are jesting now, Victoire—or—envious. + With that sanctified face, citoyenne—perhaps I should say + Mademoiselle Victoire, you would be delighted to change places with me + this instant. Come, you shall stay with me a week, to try how you like + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me,” said Victoire, firmly; “I cannot stay with you, Manon—you + have chosen one way of life, and I another—quite another. I do not + repent my choice—may you never repent yours!—Farewell!” + </p> + <p> + “Bless me! what airs! and with what dignity she looks! Repent of my + choice!—a likely thing, truly. Am not I at the top of the wheel?” + </p> + <p> + “And may not the wheel turn?” said Victoire. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it may,” said Manon; “but till it does I will enjoy myself. Since + you are of a different humour, return to Mad. Feuillot, and <i>figure</i> + upon cambric and muslin, and make out bills, and nurse old nuns, all the + days of your life. You will never persuade me, however, that you would not + change places with me if you could. Stay till you are tried, Mademoiselle + Victoire. Who was ever in love with you, or your virtues?—Stay till + you are tried.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “But beauty, like the fair Hesperian tree, + Laden with blooming gold, had need the guard + Of dragon watch with unenchanted eye + To save her blossoms, or defend her fruit.” + + MILTON. +</pre> + <p> + The trial was nearer than either Manon or Victoire expected. Manon had + scarcely pronounced the last words, when the ci-devant hairdresser burst + into the room, accompanied by several of his political associates, who met + to consult measures for the good of the nation. Among these patriots was + the Abbé Tracassier. + </p> + <p> + “Who is that pretty girl who is with you, Manon?” whispered he; “a friend + of yours, I hope?” + </p> + <p> + Victoire left the room immediately, but not before the profligate abbé had + seen enough to make him wish to see more. The next day he went to Mad. + Feuillot’s, under pretence of buying some embroidered handkerchiefs; he + paid Victoire a profusion of extravagant compliments, which made no + impression upon her innocent heart, and which appeared ridiculous to her + plain good sense. She did not know who he was, nor did Mad. Feuillot; for + though she had often heard of the abbé, yet she had never seen him. + Several succeeding days he returned, and addressed himself to Victoire, + each time with increasing freedom. Mad. Feuillot, who had the greatest + confidence in her, left her entirely to her own discretion. Victoire + begged her friend Annette to do the business of the shop, and stayed at + work in the back parlour. Tracassier was much disappointed by her absence; + but as he thought no great ceremony necessary in his proceedings, he made + his name known in a haughty manner to Mad. de Feuillot, and desired that + he might be admitted into the back parlour, as he had something of + consequence to say to Mlle. Victoire in private. Our readers will not + require to have a detailed account of this tête-à-tête; it is sufficient + to say, that the disappointed and exasperated abbé left the house + muttering imprecations. The next morning a note came to Victoire, + apparently from Manon: it was directed by her, but the inside was written + by an unknown hand, and contained these words:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “You are a charming, but incomprehensible girl—since you do not + like compliments, you shall not be addressed with empty flattery. + It is in the power of the person who dictates this, not only to + make you as rich and great as your cousin Manon, but also to + restore to fortune and to their country the friends for whom you + are most interested. Their fate as well as your own is in your + power: if you send a favourable answer to this note, the persons + alluded to will, to-morrow, be struck from the list of emigrants, + and reinstated in their former possessions. If your answer is + decidedly unfavourable, the return of your friends to France will + be thenceforward impracticable, and their château, as well as + their house in Paris, will be declared national property, and sold + without delay to the highest bidder. To you, who have as much + understanding as beauty, it is unnecessary to say more. Consult + your heart, charming Victoire! be happy, and make others happy. + This moment is decisive of your fate and of theirs, for you have + to answer a man of a most decided character.” + </pre> + <p> + Victoire’s answer was as follows:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “My friends would not, I am sure, accept of their fortune, or + consent to return to their country, upon the conditions proposed; + therefore I have no merit in rejecting them.” + </pre> + <p> + Victoire had early acquired good principles, and that plain, steady, good + sense, which goes straight to its object, without being dazzled or imposed + upon by sophistry. She was unacquainted with the refinements of sentiment, + but she distinctly knew right from wrong, and had sufficient resolution to + abide by the right. Perhaps many romantic heroines might have thought it a + generous self-devotion to have become in similar circumstances the + mistress of Tracassier; and those who are skilled “to make the worst + appear the better cause” might have made such an act of heroism the + foundation of an interesting, or at least a fashionable novel. Poor + Victoire had not received an education sufficiently refined to enable her + to understand these mysteries of sentiment. She was even simple enough to + flatter herself that this libertine patriot would not fulfil his threats, + and that these had been made only with a view to terrify her into + compliance. In this opinion, however, she found herself mistaken. M. + Tracassier was indeed a man of the most decided character, if this term + may properly be applied to those who act uniformly in consequence of their + ruling passion. The Château de Fleury was seized as national property. + Victoire heard this bad news from the old steward, who was turned out of + the castle, along with his son, the very day after her rejection of the + proposed conditions. + </p> + <p> + “I could not have believed that any human creature could be so wicked!” + exclaimed Victoire, glowing with indignation: but indignation gave way to + sorrow. + </p> + <p> + “And the Château de Fleury is really seized?—and you, good old man, + are turned out of the place where you were born?—and you too, + Basile?—and Mad. de Fleury will never come back again!—and + perhaps she may be put into prison in a foreign country, and may die for + want—and I might have prevented all this!” + </p> + <p> + Unable to shed a tear, Victoire stood in silent consternation, whilst + Annette explained to the good steward and his son the whole transaction. + Basile, who was naturally of an impetuous temper, was so transported with + indignation, that he would have gone instantly with the note from + Tracassier to <i>denounce</i> him before the whole National Convention, if + he had not been restrained by his more prudent father. The old steward + represented to him, that as the note was neither signed nor written by the + hand of Tracassier, no proof could be brought home to him, and the attempt + to convict one of so powerful a party would only bring certain destruction + upon the accusers. Besides, such was at this time the general depravity of + manners, that numbers would keep the guilty in countenance. There was no + crime which the mask of patriotism could not cover. + </p> + <p> + “There is one comfort we have in our misfortunes, which these men can + never have,” said the old man; “when their downfall comes, and come it + will most certainly, they will not feel as we do, INNOCENT. Victoire, look + up! and do not give way to despair—all will yet be well.” + </p> + <p> + “At all events, you have done what is right—so do not reproach + yourself,” said Basile. “Every body—I mean every body who is good + for any thing—must respect, admire, and love you, Victoire.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Ne mal cio che v’annoja, + Quello e vero gioire + Che nasce da virtude dopo il soffrire.” + </pre> + <p> + Basile had not seen without emotion the various instances of goodness + which Victoire showed during the illness of Sister Frances. Her conduct + towards M. Tracassier increased his esteem and attachment; but he forbore + to declare his affection, because he could not, consistently with + prudence, or with gratitude to his father, think of marrying, now that he + was not able to maintain a wife and family. The honest earnings of many + years of service had been wrested from the old steward at the time the + Château de Fleury was seized, and he now depended on the industry of his + son for the daily support of his age. His dependence was just, and not + likely to be disappointed; for he had given his son an education suitable + to his condition in life. Basile was an exact arithmetician, could write + an excellent hand, and was a ready draughtsman and surveyor. To bring + these useful talents into action, and to find employment for them, with + men by whom they would be honestly rewarded, was the only difficulty—a + difficulty which Victoire’s brother Maurice soon removed. His reputation + as a smith had introduced him, among his many customers, to a gentleman of + worth and scientific knowledge, who was at this time employed to make + models and plans of all the fortified places in Europe; he was in want of + a good clerk and draughtsman, of whose integrity he could be secure. + Maurice mentioned his friend Basile; and upon inquiry into his character, + and upon trial of his abilities, he was found suited to the place, and was + accepted. By his well-earned salary he supported himself and his father; + and began, with the sanguine hopes of a young man, to flatter himself that + he should soon be rich enough to marry, and that then he might declare his + attachment to Victoire. Notwithstanding all his boasted prudence, he had + betrayed sufficient symptoms of his passion to have rendered a declaration + unnecessary to any clear-sighted observer: but Victoire was not thinking + of conquests; she was wholly occupied with a scheme of earning a certain + sum of money for her benefactress, who was now, as she feared, in want. + All Mad. de Fleury’s former pupils contributed their share to the common + stock; and the mantua-maker, the confectioner, the servants of different + sorts, who had been educated at her school, had laid by, during the years + of her banishment, an annual portion of their wages and savings: with the + sum which Victoire now added to the fund, it amounted to ten thousand + livres. The person who undertook to carry this money to Mad. de Fleury, + was François, her former footman, who had procured a pass to go to England + as a hairdresser. The night before he set out was a happy night for + Victoire, as all her companions met, by Mad. Feuillot’s invitation, at her + house; and after tea they had the pleasure of packing up the little box, + in which each, besides the money, sent some token of their gratitude, and + some proof of their ingenuity. They would with all their hearts have sent + twice as many <i>souvenirs</i> as François could carry. + </p> + <p> + “D’abord c’est impossible!” cried he, when he saw the box that was + prepared for him to carry to England: but his good-nature was unable to + resist the entreaties of each to have her offering carried, “which would + take up no room.” + </p> + <p> + He departed—arrived safe in England—found out Mad. de Fleury, + who was in real distress, in obscure lodgings at Richmond. He delivered + the money, and all the presents of which he had taken charge: but the + person to whom she entrusted a letter, in answer to Victoire, was not so + punctual, or was more unlucky; for the letter never reached her, and she + and her companions were long uncertain whether their little treasure had + been received. They still continued, however, with indefatigable + gratitude, to lay by a portion of their earnings for their benefactress; + and the pleasure they had in this perseverance made them more than amends + for the loss of some little amusements, and for privations to which they + submitted in consequence of their resolution. + </p> + <p> + In the mean time Basile, going on steadily with his employments, advanced + every day in the favour of his master, and his salary was increased in + proportion to his abilities and industry; so that he thought he could now, + without any imprudence, marry. He consulted his father, who approved of + his choice; he consulted Maurice as to the probability of his being + accepted by Victoire; and encouraged by both his father and his friend, he + was upon the eve of addressing himself to Victoire, when he was prevented + by a new and unforeseen misfortune. His father was taken up, by an + emissary of Tracassier’s, and brought before one of their revolutionary + committees, where he was accused of various acts of incivisme. Among other + things equally criminal, it was proved that one Sunday, when he went to + see Le Petit Trianon, then a public-house, he exclaimed, “C’est ici que la + canaille danse, et que les honnêtes gens pleurent!” + </p> + <p> + Basile was present at this mock examination of his father—he saw him + on the point of being dragged to prison—when a hint was given that + he might save his father by enlisting immediately, and going with the army + out of France. Victoire was full in Basile’s recollection—but there + was no other means of saving his father. He enlisted, and in twenty-four + hours left Paris. + </p> + <p> + What appear to be the most unfortunate circumstances of life often prove + ultimately the most advantageous. Indeed, those who have knowledge, + activity, and integrity, can convert the apparent blanks in the lottery of + fortune into prizes. Basile was recommended to his commanding officer by + the gentleman who had lately employed him as a clerk—his skill in + drawing plans, and in taking rapid surveys of the country through which + they passed, was extremely useful to his general; and his integrity made + it safe to trust him as a secretary. His commanding officer, though a + brave man, was illiterate, and a secretary was to him a necessary of life. + Basile was not only useful, but agreeable; without any mean arts, or + servile adulation, he pleased, by simply showing the desire to oblige, and + the ability to serve. + </p> + <p> + “Diable!” exclaimed the general one day, as he looked at Basile’s plan of + a town, which the army was besieging. “How comes it that you are able to + do all these things? But you have a genius for this sort of work, + apparently.” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” said Basile, “these things were taught to me, when I was a + child, by a good friend.” + </p> + <p> + “A good friend he was indeed! he did more for you than if he had given you + a fortune; for, in these times, that might have been soon taken from you; + but now you have the means of making a fortune for yourself.” + </p> + <p> + This observation of the general’s, obvious as it may seem, is deserving of + the serious consideration of those who have children of their own to + educate, or who have the disposal of money for public charities. In these + times, no sensible person will venture to pronounce that a change of + fortune and station may not await the highest and the lowest; whether we + rise or fall in the scale of society, personal qualities and knowledge + will be valuable. Those who fall, cannot be destitute; and those who rise, + cannot be ridiculous or contemptible, if they have been prepared for their + fortune by proper education. In shipwreck, those who carry their all in + their minds are the most secure. + </p> + <p> + But to return to Basile. He had sense enough not to make his general + jealous of him by any unseasonable display of his talents, or any + officious intrusion of advice, even upon subjects which he best + understood. + </p> + <p> + The talents of the warrior and the secretary were in such different lines, + that there was no danger of competition; and the general, finding in his + secretary the soul of all the arts, good sense, gradually acquired the + habit of asking his opinion on every subject that came within his + department. It happened that the general received orders from the + Directory at Paris, to take a certain town, let it cost what it would, + within a given time: in his perplexity, he exclaimed before Basile against + the unreasonableness of these orders, and declared his belief that it was + impossible he should succeed, and that this was only a scheme of his + enemies to prepare his ruin. Basile had attended to the operations of the + engineer who acted under the general, and perfectly recollected the model + of the mines of this town, which he had seen when he was employed as + draughtsman by his Parisian friend. He remembered, that there was formerly + an old mine, that had been stopped up somewhere near the place where the + engineer was at work; he mentioned <i>in private</i> his suspicions to the + general, who gave orders in consequence; the old mine was discovered, + cleared out, and by these means the town was taken the day before the time + appointed. Basile did not arrogate to himself any of the glory of this + success—he kept his general’s secret and his confidence. Upon their + return to Paris, after a fortunate campaign, the general was more grateful + than some others have been, perhaps because more room was given by + Basile’s prudence for the exercise of this virtue. + </p> + <p> + “My friend,” said he to Basile, “you have done me a great service by your + counsel, and a greater still by holding your tongue. Speak now, and tell + me freely, if there is any thing I can do for you. You see, as a + victorious general, I have the upper hand amongst these fellows—Tracassier’s + scheme to ruin me missed—whatever I ask will at this moment he + granted; speak freely, therefore.” + </p> + <p> + Basile asked what he knew Victoire most desired—that M. and Mad. de + Fleury should be struck from the list of emigrants, and that their + property now in the hands of the nation should be restored to them. The + general promised that this should be done. A warm contest ensued upon the + subject between him and Tracassier; but the general stood firm; and + Tracassier, enraged, forgot his usual cunning, and quarrelling irrevocably + with a party now more powerful than his own, he and his adherents were + driven from that station in which they had so long tyrannized. From being + the rulers of France, they in a few hours became banished men, or, in the + phrase of the times, <i>des déportés</i>. + </p> + <p> + We must not omit to mention the wretched end of Manon. The man with whom + she lived perished by the guillotine. From his splendid house she went + upon the stage—did not succeed—sunk from one degree of + profligacy to another; and at last died in an hospital. + </p> + <p> + In the mean time, the order for the restoration of the Fleury property, + and for permission for the Fleury family to return to France, was made out + in due form, and Maurice begged to be the messenger of these good tidings:—he + set out for England with the order. + </p> + <p> + Victoire immediately went down to the Château de Fleury, to get every + thing in readiness for the reception of the family. + </p> + <p> + Exiles are expeditious in their return to their native country. Victoire + had but just time to complete her preparations, when M. and Mad. de Fleury + arrived at Calais. Victoire had assembled all her companions, all Mad. de + Fleury’s former pupils; and the hour when she was expected home, they with + the peasants of the neighbourhood were all in their holiday clothes, and + according to the custom of the country singing and dancing. Without music + and dancing there is no perfect joy in France. Never was <i>fête du + village</i> or <i>fête du Seigneur</i> more joyful than this. + </p> + <p> + The old steward opened the gate—the carriage drove in. Mad. de + Fleury saw that home which she had little expected evermore to behold; but + all other thoughts were lost in the pleasure of meeting her beloved + pupils. + </p> + <p> + “My children!” cried she, as they crowded round her the moment she got out + of her carriage—“My dear <i>good</i> children!” + </p> + <p> + It was all she could say. She leaned on Victoire’s arm as she went into + the house, and by degrees recovering from the almost painful excess of + pleasure, began to enjoy what she yet only confusedly felt. + </p> + <p> + Several of her pupils were so much grown and altered in their external + appearance, that she could scarcely recollect them till they spoke, and + then their voices and the expression of their countenances brought their + childhood fully to her memory. Victoire, she thought, was changed the + least, and at this she rejoiced. + </p> + <p> + The feeling and intelligent reader will imagine all the pleasure that Mad. + de Fleury enjoyed this day; nor was it merely the pleasure of a day. She + heard from all her friends, with prolonged satisfaction, repeated accounts + of the good conduct of these young people during her absence. She learned + with delight how her restoration to her country and her fortune had been + effected; and is it necessary to add, that Victoire consented to marry + Basile, and that she was suitably portioned, and, what is better still, + that she was perfectly happy?—M. de Fleury rewarded the attachment + and good conduct of Maurice, by taking him into his service; and making + him his manager under the old steward at the Château de Fleury. + </p> + <p> + On Victoire’s wedding-day, Mad. de Fleury produced all the little + offerings of gratitude which she had received from her and her companions + during her exile. It was now her turn to confer favours, and she knew how + to confer them both with grace and judgment. + </p> + <p> + “No gratitude in human nature! No gratitude in the lower classes of the + people!” cried she: “how much those are mistaken who think so! I wish they + could know my history and the history of these <i>my children</i>, and + they would acknowledge their error.” + </p> + <p> + <i>Edgeworthstown</i>, 1805. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + EMILIE DE COULANGES + </h2> + <p> + “I am young, I am in good health.” said Emilie de Coulanges; “I am not to + be pitied. But my poor mamma, who has been used all her life to such + luxuries! And now to have only her Emilie to wait upon her! Her Emilie, + who is but an awkward <i>femme de chambre</i>! But she will improve, it + must be hoped; and as to the rest, things, which are now always changing, + and which cannot change for the worse, must soon infallibly change for the + better—and mamma will certainly recover all her property one of + these days. In the mean time (if mamma is tolerably well), we shall be + perfectly happy in England—that charming country, which, perhaps, we + should never have seen but for this terrible revolution!—Here we + shall assuredly find friends. The English are such good people!—Cold, + indeed, at first—that’s their misfortune: but then the English + coldness is of manner, not of heart. Time immemorial, they have been + famous for making the best friends in the world; and even to us, who are + their <i>natural enemies</i>, they are generous in our distress. I have + heard innumerable instances of their hospitality to our emigrants; and + mamma will certainly not be the first exception. At her Hotel de + Coulanges, she always received the English with distinguished attention; + and though our hotel, with half Paris, has changed its name since those + days, the English have too good memories to forget it, I am sure.” + </p> + <p> + By such speeches Emilie endeavoured to revive her mother’s spirits. To a + most affectionate disposition and a feeling heart she joined all the + characteristic and constitutional gaiety of her nation; a gaiety which, + under the pressure of misfortune, merits the name of philosophy, since it + produces all the effects, and is not attended with any of the parade of + stoicism. + </p> + <p> + Emilie de Coulanges was a young French emigrant, of a noble family, and + heiress to a large estate; but the property of her family had been + confiscated during the revolution. She and her mother, la Comtesse de + Coulanges, made their escape to England. Mad. de Coulanges was in feeble + health, and much dispirited by the sudden loss of rank and fortune. Mlle. + de Coulanges felt the change more for her mother than for herself; she + always spoke of her mother’s misfortunes, never of her own. + </p> + <p> + Upon their arrival in London, Emilie, full of life and hope, went to + present some of her mother’s letters of recommendation. One of them was + addressed to Mrs. Somers. Mlle. de Coulanges was particularly delighted by + the manner in which she was received by this lady. + </p> + <p> + “No English coldness!—no English reserve!—So warm in her + expressions of kindness!—so eager in her offers of service!” Emilie + could speak of nothing for the remainder of the day, but “cette charmante + Mad. Somers!” The next day, and the next, and the next, she found + increasing reasons to think her charming. Mrs. Somers exerted herself, + indeed, with the most benevolent activity, to procure for Mad. de + Coulanges every thing that could be convenient or agreeable. She prepared + apartments in her own house for the mother and daughter, which she + absolutely insisted upon their occupying immediately: she assured them + that they should not be treated as visitors, but as inmates and friends of + the family. She pressed her invitation with such earnestness, and so + politely urged her absolute right to show her remembrance of the + civilities which she had received at Paris, that there was no possibility + of persisting in a refusal. The pride of high birth would have revolted at + the idea of becoming dependent, but all such thoughts were precluded by + the manner in which Mrs. Somers spoke; and the Comtesse de Coulanges + accepted of the invitation, resolving, however, not to prolong her stay, + if affairs in her own country should not take a favourable turn. She + expected remittances from a Paris banker, with whom she had lodged a + considerable sum—all that could be saved in ready money, in jewels, + &c. from the wreck of her fortune: with this sum, if she should find + all schemes of returning to France and recovering her property + impracticable, she determined to live, in some retired part of England, in + the most economical manner possible. But, in the mean time, as economy had + never been either her theory or her practice, and as she considered + retreat from <i>the world</i> as the worst thing, next to death, that + could befal a woman, she was glad to put off the evil hour. She + acknowledged that ill health made her look some years older than she + really was; but she could not think herself yet old enough to become <i>devout</i>; + and, till that crisis arrived, she, of course, would not willingly be + banished from <i>society</i>. So that, upon the whole, she was well + satisfied to find herself established in Mrs. Somers’s excellent house; + where, but for the want of three antechambers, and of the Parisian + quantity of looking-glass on every side of every apartment, la comtesse + might have fancied herself at her own Hotel de Coulanges. Emilie would + have been better contented to have been lodged and treated with less + magnificence; but she rejoiced to see that her mother was pleased, and + that she became freer from her <i>vapeurs noirs</i><a href="#linknote-16" + name="linknoteref-16" id="linknoteref-16"><small>16</small></a>. Emilie + began to love Mrs. Somers for making her mother well and happy—to + love her with all the fearless enthusiasm of a young, generous mind, which + accepts of obligation without any idea that gratitude may become + burdensome. Mrs. Somers excited not only affection—she inspired + admiration. Capable of the utmost exertion and of the most noble + sacrifices for her friends, the indulgence of her generosity seemed not + only to be the greatest pleasure of her soul, but absolutely necessary to + her nature. To attempt to restrain her liberality was to provoke her + indignation, or to incur her contempt. To refuse her benefits was to + forfeit her friendship. She grew extremely fond of her present guests, + because, without resistance, they permitted her to load them with favours. + According to her custom, she found a thousand perfections in those whom + she obliged. She had considered la Comtesse de Coulanges, when she knew + her at Paris, as a very well-bred woman, but as nothing more; yet now she + discovered that Mad. de Coulanges had a superior understanding and great + strength of mind;—and Emilie, who had pleased her when a child, only + by the ingenuous sweetness of her disposition and vivacity of her manners, + was now become a complete angel—no angel had ever such a variety of + accomplishments—none but an angel could possess such a combination + of virtues. Mrs. Somers introduced her charming and noble emigrants to all + her numerous and fashionable acquaintance; and she would certainly have + quarrelled with any one who did not at least appear to sympathize in her + sentiments. Fortunately there was no necessity for quarrelling; these + foreigners were well received in every company, and Emilie pleased + universally; or, as Mad. de Coulanges expressed it, “Elle avoit des grands + <i>succès</i> dans la société.” The French comtesse herself could hardly + give more emphatic importance to the untranslateable word <i>succès</i> + than Mrs. Somers annexed to it upon this occasion. She was proud of + producing Emilie as her protégée; and the approbation of others increased + her own enthusiasm: much as she did for her favourite, she longed to do + more.—An opportunity soon presented itself. + </p> + <p> + One evening, after Mad. de Coulanges had actually tired herself with + talking to the crowd, which her vivacity, grace, and volubility had + attracted about her sofa, she ran to entrench herself in an arm-chair by + the fireside, sprinkled the floor round her with <i>eau de senteur</i>, + drew, with her pretty foot, a line of circumvallation, and then, shaking + her tiny fan at the host of assailants, she forbade them, under pain of + her sovereign displeasure, to venture within the magic circle, or to + torment her by one more question or compliment. It was now absolutely + necessary to be serious, and to study the politics of Europe. She called + for the French newspapers, which Mrs. Somers had on purpose for her; and, + provided with a pinch of snuff, from the ever-ready box of a French abbé, + whose arm was permitted to cross the line of demarcation, Mad. de + Coulanges began to study. Silence ensued—for novelty always produces + silence in the first instant of surprise. An English gentleman wrote on + the back of a letter an offer to his neighbour of a wager, that the + silence would be first broken by the French countess, and that it could + not last above two minutes. The wager was accepted, and watches were + produced. Before the two minutes had expired, the pinch of snuff dropped + from the countess’s fingers, and, clasping her hands together, she + exclaimed, “Ah! ciel!”—The surrounding gentlemen, who were full of + their wager, and who had heard, from the lady, during the course of the + evening, at least a dozen exclamations of nearly equal vehemence about the + merest trifles, were more amused than alarmed at this instant: but Emilie, + who knew her mother’s countenance, and who saw the sudden change in it, + pressed through the circle, and just caught her mother in her arms as she + fainted. Mrs. Somers, much alarmed, hastened to her assistance. The + countess was carried out of the room, and every body was full of pity and + of curiosity. When Mad. de Coulanges recovered from her fainting-fit, she + was seized with one of her nervous attacks; so that no explanation could + be obtained. Emilie and Mrs. Somers looked over the French paper, but + could not find any paragraph unusually alarming. At length, more composed, + the countess apologized for the disturbance which she had occasioned; + thanked Mrs. Somers repeatedly for her kindness; but spoke in a hurried + manner, as if she did not well know what she said. She concluded by + declaring that she was subject to these nervous attacks, that she should + be quite well the next morning, and that she did not wish that any one + should sit up with her during the night except Emilie, who was used to her + ways. With that true politeness which understands quickly the feelings and + wishes of others, Mrs. Somers forbore to make any ill-timed inquiries or + officious offers of assistance; but immediately retired, and ordered the + attendants to leave the room, that Mad. de Coulanges and her daughter + might be at perfect liberty. Early in the morning Mrs. Somers heard + somebody knock softly at her door. It was Emilie. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Masham told me that you were awake, madam, or I should not—” + </p> + <p> + “Come in, come in, my dearest Emilie—I am awake—wide awake. Is + your mother better?” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! no, madam!” + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, my dear, and do not call me <i>madam</i>, so coldly.—I do + not deserve it.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear friend! friend of mamma! my dearest friend!” cried Emilie, + bursting into tears, and seizing Mrs. Somers’ hand; “do not accuse me of + coldness to you. I am always afraid that my French expressions should + sound exaggerated to English ears, and that you should think I say too + much to be sincere in expressing my gratitude.” + </p> + <p> + “My sweet Emilie, who could doubt your sincerity?—none but a brute + or a fool: but do not talk to me of gratitude.” + </p> + <p> + “I must,” said Emilie; “for I feel it.” + </p> + <p> + “Prove it to me, then, in the manner I like best—in the only manner + I like—by putting it in my power to serve you. I do not intrude upon + your mother’s confidence—I make no inquiries; but do me the justice + to tell me how I can be of use to her—or rather to you. From you I + expect frankness. Command my fortune, my time, my credit, my utmost + exertions—they are all, they ever have been, they ever shall be, + whilst I have life, at the command of my friends. And are not you my + friend?” + </p> + <p> + “Generous lady!—You overpower me with your goodness.” + </p> + <p> + “No praises, no speeches!—Actions for me!—Tell me how I can + serve you.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! <i>you</i>, even you, can do us no good in this business.” + </p> + <p> + “That I will never believe, till I know the business.” + </p> + <p> + “The worst of it is,” said Emilie, “that we must leave you.” + </p> + <p> + “Leave me! Impossible!” cried Mrs. Somers, starting up.—You shall + not leave me, that I am determined upon. Why cannot you speak out at once, + and tell me what is the matter, Emilie? How can I act, unless I am + trusted? and who deserves to be trusted by you, if I do not?” + </p> + <p> + “Assuredly nobody deserves it better; and if it were only my affair, dear + Mrs. Somers, you should have known it as soon as I knew it myself; but it + is mamma’s, more than mine.” + </p> + <p> + “Madame la comtesse, then, does not think me worthy of her confidence,” + said Mrs. Somers, in a haughty tone, whilst displeasure clouded her whole + countenance. “Is that what I am to understand from you, Mille. de + Coulanges?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no; that is not what you are to understand, dear madam—my dear + friend, I should say,” cried Emilie, alarmed. “Certainly I have explained + myself ill, or you could not suspect mamma for a moment of such injustice. + She knows you to be most worthy of her confidence; but on this occasion + her reserve, believe me, proceeds solely from motives of delicacy, of + which you could not but approve.” + </p> + <p> + “Motives of delicacy, my dear Emilie,” said Mrs. Somers, softening her + tone, but still with an air of dissatisfaction—“motives of delicacy, + my dear Emilie, are mighty pretty sounding words; and at your age I used + to think them mighty grand things; but I have long since found out that <i>motives + of delicacy</i> are usually the excuse of weak minds for not speaking the + plain truth to their friends. People quit the straight path from motives + of delicacy, may be, to a worm or a beetle—vulgar souls, observe, I + rank only as worms and beetles; they cross our path every instant in life; + and those who fear to give them offence must deviate and deviate, till + they get into a labyrinth, from which they can never extricate themselves, + or be extricated. My Emilie, I am sure, will always keep the straight road—I + know her strength of mind. Indeed, I did expect strength of mind from her + mother; but, like all who have lived a great deal in the world, she is, I + find, a slave to motives of delicacy.” + </p> + <p> + “Mamma’s delicacy is of a very different sort from what you describe, and + what you dislike,” said Emilie. “But, since persisting in her reserve + would, as I see, offend one whom she would be most sorry to displease, permit + me to go this moment and persuade her to let me tell you the simple + truth.” + </p> + <p> + “Go—run, my dear. Now I know my Emilie again. Now I shall be able to + do some good.” + </p> + <p> + By the time that Emilie returned, Mrs. Somers was dressed: she had dressed + in the greatest hurry imaginable, that she might be ready for action—instantaneous + action—if the service of her friends, as she hoped, required it. + Emilie brought the newspaper in her hand, which her mother had been + reading the preceding night. + </p> + <p> + “Here is all the mystery,” said she, pointing to a paragraph which + announced the failure of a Paris banker. “Mamma lodged all the money she + had left in this man’s hands.” + </p> + <p> + “And is that all?—I really expected something much more terrible.” + </p> + <p> + “It is terrible to mamma; because, depending on this man’s punctuality, + she has bought in London clothes and trinkets—chiefly for me, indeed—and + she has no immediate means of paying these debts; but, if she will only + keep her mind tranquil, all will yet be well. You flatter me that I play + tolerably on the piano-forte and the harp; you will recommend me, and I + can endeavour to teach music. So that, if mamma will but be well, we shall + not be in any great distress—except in leaving you; that is painful, + but must be done. Yes, it absolutely must. Mamma knows what is proper, and + so do I. We are not people to encroach upon the generosity of our friends. + I need not say more; for I am sure that Mrs. Somers, who is herself so + well-born and well-educated, must understand and approve of mamma’s way of + thinking.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Somers replied not one word, but rang her bell violently—ordered + her carriage. + </p> + <p> + “Do not you breakfast, madam, before you go out?” said the servant. + </p> + <p> + “No—no.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a dish of chocolate, ma’am?” + </p> + <p> + “My carriage, I tell you.—Emilie, you have been up all night: I + insist upon your going to bed this minute, and upon your sleeping till I + come back again. La comtesse always breakfasts in her own room; so I have + no apologies to make for leaving her. I shall be at home before her + toilette is finished, and hope she will then permit me to pay my respects + to her—you will tell her so, my dear. I must be gone instantly.—Why + will they not let me have this carriage?—Where are those gloves of + mine?—and the key of my writing-desk?—Ring again for the + coach.” + </p> + <p> + Between the acting of a generous thing and the first motion, all the + interim was, with Mrs. Somers, a delicious phantasma; and her ideas of + time and distance were as extravagant as those of a person in a dream. She + very nearly ran over Emilie in her way down stairs, and then said, “Oh! I + beg pardon a thousand times, my dear!—I thought you had been in bed + an hour ago.” + </p> + <p> + The toilette of Mad. de Coulanges, this morning, went on at the usual + rate. Whether in adversity or prosperity, this was to la comtesse an + elaborate, but never a tedious work. Long as it had lasted, it was, + however, finished; and she had full leisure for a fit and a half of the + vapours, before Mrs. Somers returned—she came in with a face radiant + with joy. + </p> + <p> + “Fortunately, most fortunately,” cried she, “I have it in my power to + repair the loss occasioned by the failure of this good-for-nothing banker! + Nay, positively, Mad. de Coulanges, I must not be refused,” continued she, + in a peremptory manner. “You make an enemy, if you refuse a friend.” + </p> + <p> + She laid a pocket-book on the table, and left the room instantly. The + pocket-book contained notes to a very considerable amount, surpassing the + sum which Mad. de Coulanges had lost by her banker; and on a scrap of + paper was written in pencil “Mad. de Coulanges must never return this sum, + for it is utterly useless to Mrs. Somers; as the superfluities it was + appropriated to purchase are now in the possession of one who will not + sell them.” + </p> + <p> + Astonished equally at the magnitude and the manner of the gift, Mad. de + Coulanges repeated, a million of times, that it was “noble! très noble! + une belle action!”—that she could not possibly accept of such an + obligation—that she could not tell how to refuse it—that Mrs. + Somers was the most generous woman upon earth—that Mrs. Somers had + thrown her into a terrible embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + Then la comtesse had recourse to her smelling-bottle, consulted Emilie’s + eyes, and answered them. + </p> + <p> + “Child! I have no thoughts of accepting; but I only ask you how I can + refuse, after what has been said, without making Mrs. Somers my enemy? You + see her humour—English humours must not be trifled with—her + humour, you see, is to give. It is a shocking thing for people of our + birth to be reduced to receive, but we cannot avoid it without losing Mrs. + Somers’ friendship entirely; and that is what you would not wish to do, + Emilie.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, indeed!” + </p> + <p> + “Now we must be under obligations to our milliner and jeweller, if we do + not pay them immediately; for these sort of people call it a favour to + give credit for a length of time: and I really think that it is much + better to be indebted to Mrs. Somers than to absolute strangers and to + rude tradespeople. It is always best to have to deal with polite persons.” + </p> + <p> + “And with generous persons!” cried Emilie; “and a more generous person + than Mrs. Somers, I am sure, cannot exist.” + </p> + <p> + “And then,” continued Mad. de Coulanges, “like all these rich English, she + can afford to be generous. I am persuaded that this Mrs. Somers is as rich + as a Russian princess; yes, as rich as the Russian princess with the + superb diadem of diamonds. You remember her at Paris?” + </p> + <p> + “No, mamma, I forget her,” answered Emilie, with a look of absence of + mind. + </p> + <p> + “Bon Dieu! what can you be thinking of?” exclaimed Mad. de Coulanges. “You + forget the Russian princess, with the diamond diadem, that was valued at + 200,000 livres! She wore it at her presentation—it was the + conversation of Paris for a week: you must recollect it, Emilie?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes: I recollect something about its cutting her forehead.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all, my dear; how you exaggerate! The princess only complained, by + way of something to say, that the weight of the diamonds made her head + ache. + </p> + <p> + “Was that all?” + </p> + <p> + “That was all. But I will tell you what you are thinking of, Emilie—quite + another thing—quite another person—broad Mad. + Vanderbenbruggen: her diamonds were not worth looking at; and they were so + horribly set, that she deserved all manner of misfortunes, and to be + disgraced in public, as she was. For you know the bandeau slipt over her + great forehead; and instead of turning to the gentlemen, and ordering some + man of sense to arrange her head-dress, she kept holding her stiff neck + stock still, like an idiot; she actually sat, with the patience of a + martyr, two immense hours, till somebody cried, ‘Ah! madame, here is the + blood coming!’ I see her before me this instant. Is it possible, my dear + Emilie, that you do not remember the difference between this <i>buche</i> + of a Mad. Vanderbenbruggen, and our charming princess? but you are as dull + as Mad. Vanderbenbruggen herself, this morning.” + </p> + <p> + The vivacious countess having once seized upon the ideas of Mad. + Vanderbenbruggen, the charming princess, and the fine diamonds, it was + some time before Emilie could recall her to the order of the day—to + the recollection of her banker’s failure, and of the necessity of giving + an answer to generous Mrs. Somers. The decision of Mad. de Coulanges was + probably at last influenced materially by the gay ideas of “stars and + dukes, and all their sweeping train,” associated with Mad. + Vanderbenbruggen’s image. The countess observed, that, after the style in + which she had been used to live in the first company at Paris, it would be + worse than death to be buried alive in some obscure country town in + England; and that she would rather see Emilie guillotined at once, than + condemned, with all her grace and talents, to work, like a galley slave, + at a tambour frame for her bread all the days of her life. + </p> + <p> + Emilie assured her mother that she should cheerfully submit to much + greater evils than that of working at a tambour frame; and that, as far as + her own feelings were concerned, she should infinitely prefer living by + labour to becoming dependent. She therefore intreated that her mother + might not, from any false tenderness for her Emilie, decide contrary to + her own principles or wishes. + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Coulanges, after looking in the glass, at length determined that + it would be best to accept of Mrs. Somers’ generous offer; and Emilie, who + usually contrived to find something agreeable in all her mother’s + decisions, rejoiced that by this determination, Mrs. Somers at least would + be pleased. Mrs. Somers, indeed, was highly gratified; and her expressions + of satisfaction were so warm, that any body would have thought she was the + person receiving, instead of conferring, a great favour. She thanked + Emilie, in particular, for having vanquished her mother’s false delicacy. + Emilie blushed at hearing this undeserved praise; and assured Mrs. Somers + that all the merit was her mother’s. + </p> + <p> + “What!” cried Mrs. Somers hastily, “was it contrary to your opinion?—Were + you treacherous—were you my enemy—Mlle. de Coulanges?” + </p> + <p> + Emilie replied that she had left the decision to her mother; that she + confessed she had felt some reluctance to receive a pecuniary obligation, + even from Mrs. Somers; but that she had rather be obliged to her than to + any body in the world, except to her mamma. + </p> + <p> + This explanation was not perfectly satisfactory to Mrs. Somers, and there + was a marked coldness in her manner towards Emilie during the remainder of + the day. Her affectionate and grateful disposition made her extremely + sensible to this change; and, when she retired to her own room at night, + she sat down beside her bed, and shed tears for the first time since she + had been in England. Mrs. Somers happened to go into Emilie’s room to + leave some message for Mad. de Coulanges—she found Emilie in tears—inquired + the cause—was touched and flattered by her sensibility—kissed + her—blamed herself—confessed she had been extremely + unreasonable—acknowledged that her temper was naturally too hasty + and susceptible, especially with those she loved—but assured Emilie + that this, which had been their first, should be their last quarrel;—a + rash promise, considering the circumstances in which they were both + placed. Those who receive and those who confer great favours are both in + difficult situations; but the part of the benefactor is the most difficult + to support with propriety. What a combination of rare qualities is + essential for this purpose! Amongst others, sense, delicacy and temper. + Mrs. Somers possessed all but the last; and, unluckily, she was not + sensible of the importance of this deficiency. Confident and proud, that, + upon all the grand occasions where the human heart is put to the trial, + she could display superior generosity, she disdained attention to the + minutiæ of kindness. This was inconvenient to her friends; because + occasion for a great sacrifice of the heart occurs, perhaps, but once in a + life, whilst small sacrifices of temper are requisite every day, and every + hour<a href="#linknote-17" name="linknoteref-17" id="linknoteref-17"><small>17</small></a>. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Somers had concealed from Mad. de Coulanges and from Emilie the full + extent of their obligation: she told them, that the sum of money which she + offered had become useless to her, because it had been destined to the + purchase of some superfluities, which were now in the possession of + another person. The fact was, that she had been in treaty for two fine + pictures, a Guido and a Correggio; these pictures might have been hers, + but that on the morning, when she heard of the failure of the banker of + Mad. de Coulanges, she had hastened to prevent the money from being paid + for them. She was extremely fond of paintings, and had long and earnestly + desired to possess these celebrated pictures; so that she had really made + a great sacrifice of her taste and of her vanity. For some time she was + satisfied with her own self-complacent reflections: but presently she + began to be displeased that Mad. de Coulanges and Emilie did not see the + full extent of her sacrifice. She became provoked by their want of + penetration in not discovering all that she studiously concealed; and her + mind, going on rapidly from one step to another, decided that this want of + penetration arose from a deficiency of sensibility. + </p> + <p> + One day, some of her visitors, who were admiring the taste with which she + had newly furnished a room, inquired for what those two compartments were + intended, looking at the compartments which had been prepared for the + famous pictures. Mrs. Somers replied that she had not yet determined what + she should put there: she glanced her eye upon Mad. de Coulanges and upon + Emilie, to observe whether they <i>felt as they ought to do</i>. Mad. de + Coulanges, imagining that an appeal was made to her taste, decidedly + answered, that nothing would have so fine an effect as handsome + looking-glasses: “Such,” added she, “as we have at Paris. No house is + furnished without them—they are absolute necessaries of life. And, + no doubt, these places were originally intended for mirrors.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Mrs. Somers, dryly, and with a look of great displeasure: “No, + madame la comtesse, those places were not originally intended for + looking-glasses.” + </p> + <p> + The countess secretly despised Mrs. Somers for her want of taste; but, + being too well bred to dispute the point, she confessed that she was no + judge—that she knew nothing of the matter; and then immediately + turned to her abbé, and asked him if he remembered the superb mirrors in + Mad. de V——‘s charming house on the Boulevards. “It is,” said + she, “in my opinion one of the very best houses in Paris. There you enter + the principal apartments by an antechamber, such as you ought to see in a + great house, with real ottomanes, covered with buff trimmed with black + velvet; and then you pass through the spacious salle à manger and the + delightful saloon, hung with blue silk, to the <i>bijou</i> of a boudoir, + that looks out upon the garden, with the windows shaded by the most + beautiful flowering shrubs in summer, and in winter adorned with exotics. + Then you see, through the plate-glass door of the boudoir, into the + gallery of paintings—I call it a gallery, but it is, in fact, a + delightful room, not a gallery—where you are not to perish in cold, + whilst you admire the magnificence of the place. Not at all: it is warmed + by a large stove, and you may examine the fine pictures at your ease, or, + as you English would say, in comfort. This gallery must have cost M. de V—— + an immense sum. The connoisseurs say that it is really the best collection + of Flemish pictures in the possession of any individual in France. + By-the-bye, Mrs. Somers, there is, amongst others, an excellent Van Dyck, + a portrait of your Charles the First, when a boy, which I wonder that none + of you rich English have purchased.” + </p> + <p> + The countenance of Mrs. Somers had clouded over more and more during this + speech; but the heedless countess went on, with her usual volubility. + </p> + <p> + “Yet, no doubt, M. de V—— would not sell this Van Dyck: but he + would, I am told, part with his superb collection of prints, which cost + him 30,000 of your pounds. He must look for a purchaser amongst those + Polish and Russian princes who have nothing to do with their riches—for + instance, my friend Lewenhof, who complained that he was not able to spend + half his income in Paris; that he could not contrive to give an + entertainment that cost him money enough. What can he do better than + commence amateur?—then he might throw away money as fast as his + heart could wish. M. l’abbé, why do not you, or some man of letters, write + directly, and advise him to this, for the good of his country? What a + figure those prints would make in Petersburgh!—and how they would + polish the Russians! But, as a good Frenchwoman, I ought to wish them to + remain at Paris: they certainly cannot be better than where they are.” + </p> + <p> + “True,” cried Emilie, “they cannot be better than where they are, in the + possession of those generous friends. I used to love to see Mad. de V—— + in the midst of all her fine things, of which she thought so little. Her + very looks are enough to make one happy—all radiant with + good-humoured benevolence. I am sure one might always salute Mad. de V—— + with the Chinese compliment, ‘Felicity is painted in your countenance.’” + </p> + <p> + This was a compliment which could not be paid to Mrs. Somers at the + present instant; for her countenance was as little expressive of felicity + as could well be imagined. Emilie, who suddenly turned and saw it, was so + much struck that she became immediately silent. There was a dead pause in + the conversation. Mad. de Coulanges was the only unembarrassed person in + company; she was very contentedly arranging her hair upon her forehead + opposite to a looking-glass. Mrs. Somers broke the silence by observing, + that, in her opinion, there was no occasion for more mirrors in this room; + and she added, in a voice of suppressed anger, “I did originally intend to + have filled those unfortunate blanks with something more to my taste.” + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Coulanges was too much occupied with her ringlets to hear or heed + this speech. Mrs. Somers fixed her indignant eyes upon Emilie, who, + perceiving that she was offended, yet not knowing by what, looked + embarrassed, and simply answered, “Did you?” + </p> + <p> + This reply, which seemed as neutral as words could make it, and which was + uttered not only with a pacific, but with an intimidated tone, incensed + Mrs. Somers beyond measure. It put the finishing stroke to the whole + conversation. All that had been said about elegant houses—antechambers—mirrors—pictures—amateurs—throwing + away money; and the generous Mad. de V——, <i>who was always + good-humoured</i>, Mrs. Somers fancied was meant <i>for her</i>. She + decided that it was absolutely impossible that Emilie could be so stupid + as not to have perfectly understood that the compartments had been + prepared for the Guido and Correggio, which she had so generously + sacrificed; and the total want of feeling—of common civility—evinced + by Emilie’s reply, was astonishing, was incomprehensible. + </p> + <p> + The more she reflected upon the words, the more of artifice, of duplicity, + of ingratitude, of insult, of meanness she discovered in them. In her cold + fits of ill-humour, this lady was prone to degrade, as monsters below the + standard of humanity, those whom, in the warmth of her enthusiasm, she had + exalted to the state of angelic perfection. Emilie, though aware that she + had unwittingly offended, was not aware how low she had sunk in her + friend’s opinion: she endeavoured, by playful wit and caresses, to atone + for her fault, and to reinstate herself in her favour. But playful wit and + caresses were aggravating crimes; they were proofs of obstinacy in deceit, + of a callous conscience, and of a heart that was not to be touched by the + marked displeasure of a benefactress. Three days and three nights did the + displeasure of Mrs. Somers continue in full force, and manifest itself by + a variety of signs, which were lost upon Mad. de Coulanges, but which were + all intelligible to poor Emilie. She made several attempts to bring on an + explanation, by saying, “Are you not well?—Is any thing the matter, + dear Mrs. Somers?” But these questions were always coldly answered by, “I + am perfectly well, I thank you, Mlle. de Coulanges—why should you + imagine that any thing is the matter with me?” + </p> + <p> + At the end of the third day of reprobation, Emilie, who could no longer + endure this state, resolved to take courage and to ask pardon for her + unknown offence. That night she went, trembling like a real criminal, into + Mrs. Somers’ dressing-room, kissed her forehead, and said, “I hope you + have not such a headache as I have?” + </p> + <p> + “Have you the headache?—I am sorry for it,” said Mrs. Somers; “but + you should take something for it—what will you take?” + </p> + <p> + “I will take nothing, except—your forgiveness.” + </p> + <p> + “My forgiveness!—you astonish me, Mlle. de Coulanges! I am sure that + I ought to ask yours, if I have said a word that could possibly give you + reason to imagine I am angry—I really am not conscious of any such + thing; but if you will point it out to me—” + </p> + <p> + “You cannot imagine that I come to accuse you, dear Mrs. Somers; I do not + attempt even to justify myself: I am convinced that, if you are + displeased, it cannot be without reason.” + </p> + <p> + “But still you do not tell me how I have shown this violent displeasure: I + have not, to the best of my recollection, said an angry or a hasty word.” + </p> + <p> + “No; but when we love people, we know when they are offended, without + their saying a hasty word—your manner has been so different towards + me these three days past.” + </p> + <p> + “My manner is very unfortunate. It is impossible always to keep a guard + over our manners: it is sufficient, I think, to guard our words.” + </p> + <p> + “Pray do not guard either with me,” said Emilie; “for I would a thousand + times rather that a friend should say or look the most angry things, than + that she should conceal from me what she thought; for then, you know, I + might displease her continually without knowing it, and perhaps lose her + esteem and affection irretrievably, before I was aware of my danger—and + with <i>you</i>—with you, to whom we owe so much!” + </p> + <p> + Touched by the feeling manner in which Emilie spoke, and by the artless + expression of her countenance, Mrs. Somers’ anger vanished, and she + exclaimed, “I have been to blame—I ask your pardon, Emilie—I + have been much to blame—I have been very unjust—very + ill-humoured—I see I was quite wrong—I see that I was quite + mistaken in what I imagined.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did you imagine?” said Emilie. + </p> + <p> + “<i>That</i> you must excuse me from telling,” said Mrs. Somers; “I am too + much ashamed of it—too much ashamed of myself. Besides, it was a + sort of thing that I could not well explain, if I were to set about it; in + short, it was the silliest trifle in the world: but I assure you that if I + had not loved you very much, I should not have been so foolishly angry. + You must forgive these little infirmities of temper—you know my + heart is as it should be.” + </p> + <p> + Emilie embraced Mrs. Somers affectionately; and, in her joy at this + reconciliation, and in the delight she felt at being relieved from the + uneasiness which she had suffered for three days, loved her friend the + better for this quarrel: she quite forgot the pain in the pleasure of the + reconciliation; and thought that, even if Mrs. Somers had been in the + wrong, the candour with which she acknowledged it more than made amends + for the error. + </p> + <p> + “You must forgive these little infirmities of temper—you know my + heart is as it should be.” + </p> + <p> + Emilie repeated these words, and said to herself, “Forgive them! yes, + surely; I should be the most ungrateful of human beings if I did + otherwise.” + </p> + <p> + Without being the most ungrateful of human beings, Emilie, however, found + it very difficult to keep her resolution. + </p> + <p> + Almost every day she felt the apprehension or the certainty of having + offended her benefactress: and the causes by which she gave offence were + sometimes so trifling as to elude her notice; so mysterious, that they + could not be discovered; or so various and anomalous, that, even when she + was told in what manner she had displeased, she could not form any rule, + or draw any inference, for her future conduct. Sometimes she offended by + differing, sometimes by agreeing, in taste or opinion with Mrs. Somers. + Sometimes she perceived that she was thought positive; at other times, too + complying. A word, a look, or even silence—passive silence—was + sufficient to affront this susceptible lady. Then she would go on with a + string of deductions, or rather of imaginations, to prove that there must + be something wrong in Emilie’s disposition; and she would insist upon it, + that she knew better what was passing, or what would pass, in her mind, + than Emilie could know herself. Nothing provoked Mrs. Somers more than the + want of success in any of her active attempts to make others happy. She + was continually angry with Emilie for not being sufficiently pleased or + grateful for things which she had not the vanity to suspect were intended + for her gratification, or which were not calculated to contribute to her + amusement: this humility, or this difference of taste, was always + considered as affectation or perversity. One day, Mrs. Somers was angry + with Emilie because she did not thank her for inviting a celebrated singer + to her concert; but Emilie had no idea that the singer was invited on her + account: of this nothing could convince Mrs. Somers. Another day, she was + excessively displeased because Emilie was not so much entertained as she + had expected her to be at the installation of a knight of the garter. + </p> + <p> + “Mad. de Coulanges expressed a wish to see the ceremony of the + installation; and, though I hate such things myself, I took prodigious + pains to procure tickets, and to have you well placed—” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, I was very sensible of it, dear madam.” + </p> + <p> + “May be so, my dear; but you did not look as if you were: you seemed tired + to death, and said you were sleepy; and ten times repeated, ‘Ah! qu’il + fait chaud!’ But this is what I am used to—what I have experienced + all my life. The more pains a person takes to please and oblige, the less + they can succeed, and the less gratitude they are to expect.” + </p> + <p> + Emilie reproached herself, and resolved that, upon the next similar trial, + she would not complain of being sleepy or tired; and that she would take + particular care not to say—“Ah! qu’il fait chaud!” A short time + afterwards she was in a crowded assembly, at the house of a friend of Mrs. + Somers, a <i>rout</i>—a species of entertainment of which she had + not seen examples in her own country (it appeared to her rather a + barbarous mode of amusement, to meet in vast crowds, to squeeze or to be + squeezed, without a possibility of enjoying any rational conversation). + Emilie was fatigued, and almost fainting, from the heat, but she bore it + all with a smiling countenance, and heroic gaiety; for this night she was + determined not to displease Mrs. Somers. On their return home, she was + rather surprised and disappointed to find this lady in a fit of extreme + ill-humour. + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to get away two hours ago,” cried she; “but you would not + understand any of my hints, Mlle. de Coulanges; and when I asked you + whether you did not find it very hot, you persisted in saying, ‘Not in the + least—not in the least.’” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Somers was the more angry upon this occasion, because she recollected + having formerly reproached Emilie, at the installation, for complaining of + the heat; and she persuaded herself, that this was an instance of + perversity in Emilie’s temper, and a sly method of revenging herself for + the past. Nothing could be more improbable, from a girl of such a frank, + forgiving, sweet disposition; and no one would have been so ready to say + so as Mrs. Somers in another mood; but the moment that she was irritated, + she judged without common sense—never from general observations, but + always from particular instances. It was in vain that Emilie disclaimed + the motives attributed to her: she was obliged to wait the return of her + friend’s reason, and in the mean time to bear her reproaches—she did + with infinite patience. Unfortunately this patience soon became the source + of fresh evils. Because Emilie was so gentle, and so ready to acknowledge + and to believe herself to be in the wrong, Mrs. Somers became convinced + that she herself was in the right in all her complaints; and she fancied + that she had great merit in passing over so many defects in one whom she + had so much obliged, and who professed so much gratitude. Between the fits + of her ill-humour, she would, however, waken to the full sense of Emilie’s + goodness, and would treat her with particular kindness, as if to make + amends for the past. Then, if Emilie could not immediately resume that + easy, gay familiarity of manner, which she used to have before experience + had taught her the fear of offending, Mrs. Somers grew angry again and + decided that Emilie had not sufficient elevation of soul to understand her + character, or to forgive the <i>little infirmities</i> of the best of + friends. When she was under the influence of this suspicion, every thing + that Emilie said or looked was confirmation strong. Mrs. Somers was apt in + conversation to throw out general reflections that were meant to apply to + particular persons; or to speak with one meaning obvious to all the + company, and another to be understood only by some individual whom she + wished to reproach. This art, which she had often successfully practised + upon Emilie, she, for that reason, suspected that Emilie tried upon her. + And then the utmost ingenuity was employed to torture words into strange + meanings: she would misinterpret the plainest expressions, or attribute to + them some double, mysterious signification. + </p> + <p> + One evening Emilie had been reading a new novel, the merits of which were + eagerly discussed by the company. Some said that the heroine was a fool: + others, that she was a mad woman; some, that she was not either, but that + she acted as if she were both; another party asserted that she was every + thing that was great and good, and that it was impossible to paint in + truer colours the passion of love. Mrs. Somers declared herself of this + opinion; but Emilie, who happened not to be present when this declaration + was made, on coming into the room and joining in the conversation, gave a + diametrically opposite judgment: she said, that the author had painted the + enthusiasm with which the heroine yielded to her passion, instead of the + violence of the passion to which she yielded. The French abbé, to whom + Emilie made this observation, repeated it triumphantly to Mrs. Somers, who + immediately changed colour, and replied in a constrained voice, “Certainly + that is a very apposite remark, and vastly well expressed; and I give + Mlle. de Coulanges infinite credit for it.” + </p> + <p> + Emilie, who knew every inflection of Mrs. Somers’ voice, and every turn of + her countenance, perceived that these words of praise were accompanied + with strong feelings of displeasure. She was much embarrassed, especially + as her friend fixed her eyes upon her whilst she blushed; and this made + her blush ten times more: she was afraid that the company, who were + silent, should take notice of her distress; and therefore she went on + talking very fast about the novel, though scarcely knowing what she said. + She made sundry blunders in names and characters, which were eagerly + corrected by the astonished Mad. de Coulanges, who could not conceive how + any body could forget the dramatis personæ of the novel of the day. Mrs. + Somers, all the time, preserved silence, as if she dared not trust herself + to speak; but her compressed lips showed sufficiently the constraint under + which she laboured. Whilst every body else went on talking, and helping + themselves to refreshments which the servants were handing about, Mrs. + Somers continued leaning on the mantel-piece in a deep reverie, pulling + her bracelet round and round upon her wrist, till she was roused by Mad. + de Coulanges, who appealed for judgment upon her new method of preparing + an orange. + </p> + <p> + “C’est à la corbeille—Tenez!” cried she, holding it by a slender + handle of orange-peel; “Tenez! c’est à la corbeille!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Somers, with a forced smile admired the orange-basket; but said, + that, for her part, her hands were not sufficiently dexterous to imitate + this fashion: “I,” said she, “can only do like the king of Prussia and <i>other + people</i>—squeeze the orange, and throw the peel away. By-the-bye, + how absurd it was of Voltaire to be angry with the king of Prussia for + that witty and just apologue!” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Just!</i>” repeated Emilie. + </p> + <p> + “Just!” reiterated Mrs. Somers, in a harsh voice: “surely you think it so. + For my part, I like the king the better for avowing his principles—all + the world act as he did, though few avow it.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” said Emilie, in a low voice, “do not you believe in the reality of + gratitude?” + </p> + <p> + “Apparently,” cried Mad. de Coulanges, who was still busy with her orange, + “apparently, madame is a disciple of our Rochefoucault, and allows of no + principle but self-love. In that case, I shall have as bitter quarrels + with her as I have with you, mon cher abbé;—for Rochefoucault is a + man I detest, or rather, I detest his maxims—the duke himself, they + say, was the most amiable man of his day. Only conceive, that such a man + should ascribe all our virtues to self-love and vanity!” + </p> + <p> + “And, perhaps,” said the abbé, “it was merely vanity that made him say so—he + wished to write a witty satirical book; but I will lay a wager he did not + think as ill of human nature as he speaks of it.” + </p> + <p> + “He could hardly speak or think too ill of it,” said Mrs. Somers, “if he + judged of human nature by such speeches as that of the king of Prussia + about his friend and the orange.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Emilie, in a timid voice, “would it not be doing poor human + nature injustice to judge of it by such words as those? I am convinced, + with M. l’abbé, that some men, for the sake of appearing witty, speak more + malevolently than they feel; and, perhaps, this was the case with the king + of Prussia.” + </p> + <p> + “And Mlle. de Coulanges thinks, then,” said Mrs. Somers, “that it is quite + allowable, for the sake of appearing witty, to speak malevolently?” + </p> + <p> + “Dear madam! dear Mrs. Somers!—no!” cried Emilie; “you quite + misunderstood me.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, I thought you were justifying the king of Prussia,” continued + Mrs. Somers; “and I do not well see how that can be done without allowing—what + many people do in practice, though not in theory—that it is right, + and becoming, and prudent, to sacrifice a friend for a bon-mot.” + </p> + <p> + The angry emphasis, and pointed manner, in which Mrs. Somers spoke these + words, terrified and completely abashed Emilie, who saw that something + more was meant than met the ear. In her confusion she ran over a variety + of thoughts; but she could not recollect any thing that she had ever said, + which merited the name of a bon-mot—and a malevolent bon-mot! + “Surely what I said about that foolish novel cannot have offended Mrs. + Somers?—How is it possible!—She cannot be so childish as to be + angry with me merely for differing with her in opinion. What I said might + be bad criticism, but it could not be malevolent; it referred only to the + heroine of a novel. Perhaps the author may be a friend of hers, or some + person who is in distress, and whom she has generously taken under her + protection. Why did not I think of this before?—I was wrong to give + my opinion so decidedly: but then my opinion is of so little consequence; + assuredly it can neither do good nor harm to any author. When Mrs. Somers + considers this, she will be pacified; and when she is once cool again, she + will feel that I could not mean to say any thing ill-natured.” + </p> + <p> + The moment Mrs. Somers saw that Emilie was sensible of her displeasure, + she exerted herself to assume, during the remainder of the evening, an + extraordinary appearance of gaiety and good-humour. Every body shared her + smiles and kindness, except the unfortunate object of her indignation: she + behaved towards Mlle. de Coulanges with the most punctilious politeness; + but “all the cruel language of the eye” was sufficiently expressive of her + real feelings. Emilie bore with this infirmity of temper with resolute + patience: she expected that the fit would last only till she could ask for + an explanation; and she followed Mrs. Somers, as was her usual custom upon + such occasions, to her room at night, in order to assert her innocence. + Mrs. Somers walked into her room in a reverie, without perceiving that she + was followed by Emilie—threw herself into a chair—and gave a + deep sigh. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter, my dear friend?” Emilie began; but, on hearing the + sound of her voice, Mrs. Somers started up with sudden anger; then, + constraining herself, she said, “Pardon me, Mlle. de Coulanges, if I tell + you that I really am tired to-night—body and mind—I wish to + have rest for both if possible—would you be so very obliging as to + pull that bell for Masham?—I wish you a very good night.—I + hope Mad. de Coulanges will have her ass’s milk at the proper hour + to-morrow—I have given particular orders for that purpose.” + </p> + <p> + “Your kindness to mamma, dear Mrs. Somers,” said Emilie, “has been + invariable, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Spare me, I beseech you, Mlle. de Coulanges, all these <i>grateful + speeches</i>—I really am not prepared to hear them with temper + to-night. Were you so good as to ring that bell—or will you give me + leave to ring it myself?” + </p> + <p> + “If you insist upon it,” said Emilie, gently withholding the tassel of the + bell; “but if you would grant me five minutes—one minute—you + might perhaps save yourself and me a sleepless night.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Somers, incapable of longer commanding her passion, made no reply, + but snatched the bell-rope, and rang violently—Emilie let go the + tassel and withdrew. She heard Mrs. Somers say to herself, as she left the + room—“This is too much—too much—really too much!—hypocrisy + I cannot endure.—Any thing but hypocrisy!” + </p> + <p> + These words hurt Emilie more than any thing Mrs. Somers had ever said: her + own indignation was roused, and she was upon the point of returning to + vindicate herself; but gratitude, if not prudence, conquered her + resentment: she recollected her promise to bear with the temper of her + benefactress; she recollected all Mrs. Somers’ kindness to her mother; and + quietly retired to her room, determining to wait till morning for a more + favourable opportunity to speak.—After passing a restless night, and + dreaming the common dream of falling down precipices, and the uncommon + circumstance of dragging Mrs. Somers after her by a bell-rope, she wakened + to the confused, painful remembrance of all that had passed the preceding + evening. She was anxious to obtain admittance to Mrs. Somers as soon as + she was dressed; but Masham informed her that her lady had given + particular orders that she should “<i>not be disturbed</i>.” When Mrs. + Somers made her appearance late at breakfast, there was the same forced + good-humour in her countenance towards the company in general, and the + same punctilious politeness towards Emilie, which had before appeared. She + studiously avoided all opportunity of explaining herself; and every + attempt of Emilie’s towards a reconciliation, either by submissive + gentleness or friendly familiarity, was disregarded, or noticed with cold + disdain. Yet all this was visible only to her; for every body else + observed that Mrs. Somers was in remarkably good spirits, and in the most + actively obliging humour imaginable. After breakfast she proposed and + arranged various parties of pleasure: she went with Mad. de Coulanges to + pay several visits; a large company dined with her; and at night she went + to a concert. In the midst of these apparent amusements, Emilie was made + as unhappy as the marked, yet mysterious, displeasure of a benefactress + could render a person of real sensibility. As she did not wish to expose + herself to a second repulse, she forbore to follow Mrs. Somers to her room + at night; but she sent her this note by Mrs. Masham. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I have done or said something to offend you, dear Mrs. Somers. + If you knew how much pain I have felt from your displeasure, I am + sure you would explain to me what it can be. Is it possible that + my differing in opinion from you about the heroine of the novel + can have offended you?—Perhaps the author of the book is a friend + of yours, or under your protection. Be assured, that if this be + the case, I did not in the least suspect it at the time I made the + criticism. Perhaps it was this to which you alluded when you said + that the King of Prussia was not the only person who would not + hesitate to sacrifice a friend for a bon-mot. What injustice you + do me by such an idea! I will not here say one word about my + gratitude or my affection, lest you should again reproach me with + hypocrisy—any thing else I am able to bear. Pray write, if you + will not speak to me. + + “EMILIE.” + </pre> + <p> + When Emilie was just falling asleep, Masham came into her room with a note + in her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle, I am sorry to waken you; but my mistress thought you would + not sleep, unless you read this note to-night.” + </p> + <p> + Emilie started up in her bed, and read the following <i>note</i> of four + pages. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Yes I will write, because I am ashamed to speak to you, my dear + Emilie. I beg your pardon for pulling the bell-cord so violently + from your hand last night—you must have thought me quite + ill-bred; and still more, I reproach myself for what I said about + <i>hypocracy</i>—You have certainly the sweetest and gentlest temper + imaginable—would to Heaven I had! But the strength of my feelings + absolutely runs away with me. It is the doom of persons of great + sensibility to be both unreasonable and unhappy; and often, alas! + to involve in their misery those for whom they have the most + enthusiastic affection. You see, my dear Emilie, the price you + must pay for being my friend; but you have strength of mind + joined to a feeling heart, and you will bear with my defects. + Dissimulation is not one of them. In spite of all my efforts, I + find it is impossible ever to conceal from you any of even my most + unreasonable fancies—your note, which is so characteristically + frank and artless, has opened my eyes to my own folly. I must show + you that, when I am in my senses, I do you justice. You deserve to + be treated with perfect openness; therefore, however humiliating + the explanation, I will confess to you the real cause of my + displeasure. When you spoke of the heroine of this foolish novel, + what you said was so applicable to some part of my own history + and character, that I could not help suspecting you had heard the + facts from a person with whom you spent some hours lately; and I + was much hurt by your alluding to them in such a severe and public + manner. You will ask me, how I could conceive you to be capable of + such unprovoked malevolence: and my answer is, ‘I cannot tell;’ I + can only say, such is the effect of the unfortunate susceptibility + of my heart, or, to speak more candidly, of my temper. I confess + I cannot, in these particulars, alter my nature. Blame me as much + as I blame myself; be as angry as you please, or as you can, my + gentle friend: but at last you must pity and forgive me. + + “Now that all this affair is off my mind, I can sleep in peace: + and so, I hope, will you, my dear Emilie—Good night! If + friends never quarrelled, they would never taste the joys of + reconciliation. Believe me, + + “Your ever sincere and affectionate + + “A. SOMERS.” + </pre> + <p> + No one tasted the joys of reconciliation more than Emilie; but, after + reiterated experience, she was inclined to believe that they cannot + balance the evils of quarrelling. Mrs. Somers was one of those, who + “confess their faults, but never mend;” and who expect, for this + gratuitous candour, more applause than others would claim for the real + merit of reformation. So far did this lady carry her admiration of her own + candour, that she was actually upon the point of quarrelling with Emilie + again, the next morning, because she did not seem sufficiently sensible of + the magnanimity with which she had confessed herself to be ill-tempered. + These few specimens are sufficient to give an idea of this lady’s powers + of tormenting; but, to form an adequate notion of their effect upon + Emilie’s spirits, we must conceive the same sort of provocations to be + repeated every day, for several months. Petty torments, incessantly + repeated, exhaust the most determined patience. + </p> + <p> + All this time, Mad. de Coulanges went on very smoothly with Mrs. Somers; + for she had not Emilie’s sensibility; and, notwithstanding her great + quickness, a hundred things might pass, and did pass, before her eyes, + without her seeing them. She examined no farther than the surface; and, + provided that there was not any deficiency of those <i>little attentions</i> + to which she had been accustomed, it never occurred to her that a friend + could be more or less pleased: she did not understand or study + physiognomy; a smile of the lips was, to her, always a sufficient token of + approbation; and, whether it were merely conventional, or whether it came + from the heart, she never troubled herself to inquire. Provided that she + saw at dinner the usual <i>couverts</i>, and that she had a sufficient + number of people to converse with, or rather to talk to, she was satisfied + that every thing was right. All the variations in Mrs. Somers’ temper were + unmarked by her, or went under the general head, <i>vapeurs noirs</i>. + This species of ignorance, or confidence, produced the best effects; for + as Mrs. Somers could not, without passing the obvious bounds of + politeness, make Mad. de Coulanges sensible of her displeasure, and as she + had the utmost respect for the countess’s opinion of her good breeding, + she was, to a certain degree, compelled to command her temper. Mad. de + Coulanges often, without knowing it, tried it terribly, by differing from + her in taste and judgment, and by supporting her own side of the question + with all the enthusiastic volubility of the French language. Sometimes the + English and French music were compared—sometimes the English and + French painters; and every time the theatre was mentioned, Mad. de + Coulanges pronounced an eulogium on her favourite French actors, and + triumphed over the comparison between the elegance of the French, and the + <i>grossièreté</i> of the English taste for comedy. + </p> + <p> + “Good Heaven!” said she, “your fashionable comedies would be too absurd to + make the lowest of our audiences at the Boulevards laugh; you have + excluded sentiment and wit, and what have you in their place? Characters + out of drawing and out of nature; grotesque figures, such as you see in a + child’s magic lantern. Then you talk of English humour—I wish I + could understand it; but I cannot be diverted with seeing a tailor turned + gentleman pricking his father with a needle, or a man making grimaces over + a jug of sour beer.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Somers, piqued perhaps by the justice of some of these observations, + would dryly answer, that it was impossible for a foreigner to comprehend + English humour—that she believed the French, in particular, were + destitute of taste for humour. + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Coulanges insisted upon it, that the French have humour; and + Molière furnished her with many admirable illustrations. + </p> + <p> + Emilie, in support of her mother, read a passage from that elegant writer, + M. Suard<a href="#linknote-18" name="linknoteref-18" id="linknoteref-18"><small>18</small></a>, + who has lately attacked, with much ability, the pretensions of the English + to the exclusive possession of humour. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Somers then changed her ground, and inveighed against French tragedy, + and the unnatural tones and attitudes of the French tragic actors. + </p> + <p> + “Your heroes on the French stage,” said she, “always look over their right + shoulders, to express magnanimous disdain; and a lover, whether he be + Grecian or Roman, Turk, Israelite, or American, must regularly show his + passion by the pompous emphasis with which he pronounces the word MADAME!—a + word which must certainly have, for a French audience, some magical charm, + incomprehensible to other nations.” + </p> + <p> + What was yet more incomprehensible to Mad. de Coulanges, was the + enthusiasm of the English for that bloody-minded barbarian Shakspeare, who + is never satisfied till he has strewn the stage with dead bodies; who + treats his audience like children, that are to be frightened out of their + wits by ghosts of all sorts and sizes in their winding sheets; or by a set + of old beggarmen, dressed in women’s clothes, armed with broomsticks, and + dancing and howling out their nonsensical song round a black kettle. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Somers, smiling as in scorn, would only reply, “Madame la comtesse, + yours is Voltaire’s Shakspeare, not ours.—Have you read Mrs. + Montagu’s essay upon Shakspeare?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Then positively you must read it before we say one word more upon the + subject.” + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Coulanges, though unwilling to give up the pleasure of talking, + took the book, which Mrs. Somers pressed upon her, with a promise to read + it through some morning; but, unluckily, she chanced to open it towards + the end, and happened to see some animadversions upon Racine, by which she + was so astonished and disgusted that she could read no more. She threw + down the book, defying <i>any good critic to point out a single bad line + in Racine</i>. “This is a defiance I have heard made by men of letters of + the highest reputation in Paris,” added la comtesse: “have not you, Mons. + l’Abbé?” + </p> + <p> + The abbé, who was madame’s common voucher, acceded, with this slight + emendation—that he had heard numbers defy any critic of good taste + to point out a flat line in <i>Phædre</i>. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Somers would, perhaps, have acknowledged the beauties of Phædre, if + she had not been piqued by this defiance; but exaggeration on one side + produced injustice on the other: and these disputes about Racine and + Shakspeare were continually renewed, and never ended to the satisfaction + of either party. Those who will not make allowances for national + prejudice, and who do not consider how much all our tastes are influenced + by early education, example, and the accidental association of ideas, may + dispute for ever without coming to any conclusion; especially, if they + avoid stating any distinct proposition; if each of the combatants sets up + a standard of his own, as the universal standard of taste; and if, instead + of arguments, both parties have recourse to wit and ridicule. In these + skirmishes, however, Mad. de Coulanges, though apparently the most eager + for victory, never seriously lost her temper—her eagerness was more + of manner than of mind; after pleading the cause of Racine, as if it were + a matter of life and death, as if the fate of Europe or the universe + depended upon it, she would turn to discuss the merits of a riband with + equal vehemence, or coolly observe that she was hoarse, and that she would + quit Racine for a better thing—<i>de l’eau sucré</i>. Mrs. Somers, + on the contrary, took the cause of Shakspeare, or any other cause that she + defended, seriously to heart. The wit or raillery of her adversary, if she + affected not to be hurt by it at the moment, left a sting in her mind + which rankled long and sorely. Though she often failed to refute the + arguments brought against her, yet she always rose from the debate + precisely of her first opinion; and even her silence, which Mad. de + Coulanges sometimes mistook for assent or conviction, was only the symptom + of contemptuous pity—the proof that she deemed the understanding of + her opponent beneath all fair competition with her own. The understanding + of Mad. de Coulanges had, indeed, in the space of a few months, sunk far + below the point of mediocrity, in Mrs. Somers’ estimation—she had + begun by overvaluing, and she ended by underrating it. She at first had + taken it for granted that Mad. de Coulanges possessed a “very superior + understanding and great strength of mind;” then she discovered that la + comtesse was “uncommonly superficial, even for a Frenchwoman;” and at last + she decided, that “really Mad. de Coulanges was a very silly woman.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Somers now began to be seriously angry with Emilie for always being + of her mother’s opinion: “It is really, Mlle. de Coulanges, carrying your + filial affection too far. We cold-hearted English can scarcely conceive + this sort of fervid passion, which French children express about every + thing, the merest trifle, that relates to <i>mamma!</i>—Well! it is + an amiable national prejudice; and one cannot help wishing that it may + never, like other amiable enthusiasms, fail in the moment of serious + trial.” + </p> + <p> + Emilie, touched to the quick upon a subject nearest her heart, replied + with a degree of dignity and spirit which surprised Mrs. Somers, who had + never seen in her any thing but the most submissive gentleness. “The + affection, whether enthusiastic or not, which we French children profess + for our parents, has been of late years put to some strong trials, and has + not been found to fail. In many instances it has proved superior to all + earthly terrors—to imprisonment—to torture—to death—to + Robespierre. Daughters have sacrificed themselves for their parents.—Oh! + if <i>my</i> life could have saved my father’s!” + </p> + <p> + Emilie clasped her hands, and looked up to heaven with the unaffected + expression of filial piety in her countenance. Every body was silent. Mrs. + Somers was struck with regret—with remorse—for the taunting + manner in which she had spoken. + </p> + <p> + “My dearest Emilie, forgive me!” cried she; “I am shocked at what I said.” + </p> + <p> + Emilie took Mrs. Somers’ hand between hers, and endeavoured to smile. Mrs. + Somers resolved that she would keep, henceforward, the strictest guard + upon her own temper; and that she would never more be so ungenerous, so + barbarous, as to insult one who was so gentle, so grateful, so much in her + power, and so deserving of her affection. These good resolutions, formed + in the moment of contrition, were, however, soon forgotten: strong + emotions of the heart are transient in their power; habits of the temper + permanent in their influence.—Like a child who promises to be always + <i>good</i>, and forgets its promise in an hour, Mrs. Somers soon grew + tired of keeping her temper in subjection. It did not, indeed, break out + immediately towards Emilie; but, in her conversations with Mad. de + Coulanges, the same feelings of irritation and contempt recurred; and + Emilie, who was a clear-sighted bystander, suffered continual uneasiness + upon these occasions—uneasiness, which appeared to Mad. de Coulanges + perfectly causeless, and at which she frequently expressed her + astonishment. Emilie’s prescient kindness often, indeed, “felt the coming + storm;” while her mother’s careless eye saw not, even when the dark cloud + was just ready to burst over her head. With all the innocent address of + which she was mistress, Emilie tried to turn the course of the + conversation whenever it tended towards <i>dangerous</i> subjects of + discussion; but her mother, far from shunning, would often dare and + provoke the war; and she would combat long after both parties were in the + dark, even till her adversary quitted the field of battle, exclaiming, “<i>Let + us have peace on any terms, my dear countess!—I give up the point to + you, Mad. de Coulanges.</i>” + </p> + <p> + This last phrase Emilie particularly dreaded, as the precursor of + ill-humour for some succeeding hours. Mrs. Somers at length became so + conscious of her own inability to conceal her contempt or to command her + temper, that she was almost as desirous as Emilie could be to avoid these + arguments; and, the moment the countess prepared for the attack, she would + recede, with, “Excuse me, Mad. de Coulanges: we had better not talk upon + these subjects—it is of no use—really of no manner of use: let + us converse upon other topics—there are subjects enough, I hope, + upon which we shall always agree.” + </p> + <p> + Emilie was at first rejoiced at this arrangement, but the constraint was + insupportable to her mother: indeed, the circle of proper subjects for + conversation contracted daily; for not only the declared offensive topics + were to be avoided, but innumerable others, bordering on or allied to + them, were to be shunned with equal care—a degree of caution of + which the volatile countess was utterly incapable. One day, at dinner, she + asked the gentleman opposite to her, “How long this intolerable rule—of + talking only upon subjects where people are of the same opinion—had + been the fashion, and what time it would probably last in England?—If + it continue much longer, I must fly the country,” said she. “I would + almost as soon, at this rate, be a prisoner in Paris, as in your land of + freedom. You value, above all things, your liberty of the press—now, + to me, liberty of the tongue, which is evidently a part, if not the best + part, of personal liberty, is infinitely more dear. Bon Dieu!—even + in l’Abbaye one might talk of Racine!” + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Coulanges spoke this half in jest, half in earnest; but Mrs. + Somers took it wholly in earnest, and was most seriously offended. Her + feelings upon the occasion were strongly expressed in a letter to a + friend, to whom she had, from her infancy, been in the habit of confiding + all her joys and sorrows—all the histories of her loves and hates—of + her quarrels and reconciliations. This friend was an elderly lady, who, + besides possessing superior mental endowments which inspired admiration, + and a character which commanded high respect, was blessed with an + uncommonly placid, benevolent temper. This enabled her to do what no other + human being had ever accomplished—to continue in peace and amity, + for upwards of thirty years, with Mrs. Somers. The following is one of + many hundreds of epistolary complaints or invectives, which, during the + course of that time, this “much enduring lady” was doomed to read and + answer. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “TO LADY LITTLETON. + + “For once, my dear friend, I am secure of your sympathizing in my + indignation—my long suppressed, just, virtuous indignation—yes, + virtuous; for I do hold indignation to be a part of virtue: it + is the natural, proper expression of a warm heart and a strong + character against the cold-blooded vices of meanness and + ingratitude. Would that those to whom I allude could feel it + as a punishment!—but no, this is not the sort of punishment + they are formed to feel. Nothing but what comes home to their + interests—their paltry interests!—their pleasures—their + selfish pleasures!—their amusements—their frivolous amusements! + can touch souls of such a sort. To this half-formed race of + <i>worldlings</i>, who are scarce endued with a moral sense, the + generous expression of indignation always appears something + incomprehensible—ridiculous; or, in their language, <i>outré! + inouï</i>! With such beings, therefore, I always am—as much as my + nature will allow me to be—upon my guard; I keep within what + they call the bounds of politeness—their dear politeness! What a + system of <i>simagrée</i> it is, after all! and how can honest human + nature bear to be penned up all its days by the Chinese paling of + ceremony, or that French filigree work, <i>politesse</i>? English human + nature cannot endure this, as <i>yet</i>; and I am glad of it—heartily + glad of it—Now to the point. + + “You guess that I am going to speak of the Coulanges. Yes, my + dear friend, you were quite right in advising me, when I first + became acquainted with them, not to give way blindly to my + enthusiasm—not to be too generous, or to expect too much + gratitude. Gratitude! why should I ever expect to meet with + any?—Where I have most deserved, most hoped for it, I have + been always most disappointed. My life has been a life of + sacrifices!—thankless and fruitless sacrifices! There is not any + possible species of sacrifice of interest, pleasure, happiness, + which I have not been willing to make—which I have not made—for + my friends—for my enemies. Early in life, I gave up a lover I + adored to a friend, who afterwards deserted me. I married a man I + detested to oblige a mother, who at last refused to see me on her + death-bed. What exertions I made for years to win the affection of + the husband to whom I was only bound in duty! My generosity was + thrown away upon him—he died—I became ambitious—I had means + of gratifying my ambition—a splendid alliance was in my power. + Ambition is a strong passion as well as love—but I sacrificed + it without hesitation to my children—I devoted myself to the + education of my two sons, one of whom has never, in any instance, + since he became his own master, shown his mother tenderness or + affection; and who, on some occasions, has scarcely behaved + towards her with the common forms of respect and duty. Despairing, + utterly despairing of gratitude from my own family and natural + friends, I looked abroad, and endeavoured to form friendships with + strangers, in hopes of finding more congenial tempers. I spared + nothing to earn attachment—my time, my health, my money. I + lavished money so, as even, notwithstanding my large income, to + reduce myself frequently to the most straitened and embarrassing + circumstances. And by all I have done, by all I have suffered, + what have I gained?—not a single friend—except yourself. You, on + whom I have never conferred the slightest favour, you are at this + instant the only friend upon earth by whom I am really beloved. To + you, who know my whole history, I may speak of myself as I have + done, Heaven knows! not with vanity, but with deep humiliation and + bitterness of heart. The experience of my whole life leaves me + only the deplorable conviction that it is impossible to do good, + that it is vain to hope even for friendship from those whom we + oblige. + + “My last disappointment has been cruel, in proportion to the fond + hopes I had formed. I cannot cure myself of this credulous folly. + I did form high expectations of happiness from the society and + gratitude of this Mad. and Mlle. de Coulanges; but the mother + turns out to be a mere frivolous French comtesse, ignorant, + vain, and positive—as all ignorant people are; full of national + prejudices, which she supports in the most absurd and petulant + manner. Possessed with the insanity, common to all Parisians, of + thinking that Paris is the whole world, and that nothing can be + good taste, or good sense, or good manners, but what is <i>à-la-mode + de Paris</i>; through all her boasted politeness, you see, even by + her mode of praising, that she has a most illiberal contempt for + all who are not Parisians—she considers the rest of the world + as barbarians. I could give you a thousand instances; but her + conversation is really so frivolous, that it is not worth + reciting. I bore with it day after day for several months with a + patience for which, I am sure, you would have given me credit; + and I let her go on eternally with absurd observations upon + Shakspeare, and extravagant nonsense about Racine. To avoid + disputing with her, I gave up every point—I acquiesced in all she + said—and only begged to have peace. Still she was not satisfied. + You know there are tempers which never can be contented, do what + you will to please them. Mad. de Coulanges actually quarrelled + with me for begging that we might have peace; and that we might + talk upon subjects where we should not be likely to disagree. + This will seem to you incredible; but it is the nature of French + caprice: and for this I ought to have been prepared. But, indeed, + I never could have prepared myself for the strange manner in which + this lady thought proper to manifest her anger this day at dinner, + before a large company. She spoke absolutely, notwithstanding all + her good-breeding, in the most brutally ungrateful manner; and, + after all I have done for her, she represented me as being as + great a tyrant as Robespierre, and spoke of my house as a more + intolerable prison than any in Paris!!! I only state the fact to + you, without making any comments—I never yet saw so thoroughly + selfish and unfeeling a human being. + + “The daughter has as far too much as the mother has too little + sensibility. Emilie plagues me to death with her fine feelings + and her sentimentality, and all her French parade of affection, + and superfluity of endearing expressions, which mean nothing, + and disgust English ears. She is always fancying that I am angry + or displeased with her or with her mother; and then I am to have + tears, and explanations, and apologies: she has not a mind large + enough to understand my character: and if I were to explain to + eternity, she would be as much in the dark as ever. Yet, after + all, there is something so ingenuous and affectionate about this + girl that I cannot help loving her, and that is what provokes me; + for she does not, and never can, feel for me the affection that I + have for her. My little hastiness of temper she has not strength + of mind sufficient to bear—I see she is dreadfully afraid of + me, and more constrained in my company than in that of any other + person. Not a visitor comes, however insignificant, but Mlle. de + Coulanges seems more at her ease, and converses more with them + than with me—she talks to me only of gratitude, and such stuff. + She is one of those feeble persons who, wanting confidence in + themselves, are continually afraid that they shall not be grateful + enough; and so they reproach and torment themselves, and refine + and <i>sentimentalize</i>, till gratitude becomes burdensome (as it + always does to weak minds), and the very idea of a benefactor + odious. Mlle. de Coulanges was originally unwilling to accept of + any obligation from me: she knew her own character better than I + did. I do not deny that she has a heart; but she has no soul: I + hope you understand and feel the difference. I rejoice, my dear + Lady Littleton, that you are coming to town immediately. I am + harassed almost to death between want of feeling and fine feeling. + I really long to see you and to talk over all these things. Nobody + but you, my dear friend, ever understood me.—Farewell! + + “Yours affectionately, + + “A. SOMERS.” + </pre> + <p> + To this long letter, Lady Littleton replied by the following short note. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I hope to see you the day after to-morrow, my dear friend; in the + mean time, do not decide, irrevocably, that Mlle. de Coulanges has + no soul. + + “Yours affectionately, + + “L. LITTLETON.” + </pre> + <p> + Mrs. Somers was rather disappointed by the calmness of this note; and she + was most impatient to see Lady Littleton, that she might work up her mind + to the proper pitch of indignation. She stationed a servant at her + ladyship’s house to give her notice the moment of her arrival in town. The + instant that she was informed of it she ordered her carriage; and the + whole of her conversation during this visit was an invective against + Emilie and Mad. de Coulanges. The next day, Emilie, who had heard the most + enthusiastic eulogiums upon Lady Littleton, expressed much satisfaction on + finding that she was come to town; and requested Mrs. Somers’ permission + to accompany her on her next visit. The request was rather embarrassing; + but Mrs. Somers granted it with a sort of constrained civility. It was + fortunate for Emilie that she was so unsuspicious; for her manner was + consequently frank, natural, and affectionate; and she appeared to the + greatest advantage to Lady Littleton. Mrs. Somers threw herself back in + the chair and sat silent, whilst Emilie, in hopes of pleasing her, + conversed with the utmost freedom with her friend. The conversation, at + last, was interrupted by an exclamation from Mrs. Somers, “Good Heavens! + my dear Lady Littleton, how can you endure this smell of paint? It has + made my head ache terribly—where does it come from?” + </p> + <p> + “From my bedchamber,” said Lady Littleton. “They have, unluckily, + misunderstood my orders; and they have freshly painted every one in my + house.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it is impossible that you should sleep here—I will not allow + you—it will poison you—it will give you the palsy immediately—it + is destruction—it is death. You must come home with me directly—I + insist upon it—But, no,” said she, checking herself, with a look of + sudden disappointment, “no, my dearest friend! I cannot invite you; for I + have not a bed to offer you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, mine—you forget mine—dear Mrs. Somers,” cried Emilie; + “you know I can sleep with mamma.” + </p> + <p> + “By no means, Mlle. de Coulanges; you cannot possibly imagine—” + </p> + <p> + “I only imagine the truth,” said Emilie, “that this arrangement would be + infinitely more convenient to mamma; I know she likes to have me in the + room with her. Pray, dear Mrs. Somers, let it be so.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Somers made many ceremonious speeches: but Lady Littleton seemed so + well inclined to accept Emilie’s offered room, that she was obliged to + yield. She was vexed to perceive that Emilie’s manners pleased Lady + Littleton; and, after they returned home, the activity with which Emilie + moved her books, her drawing-box, work, &c., furnished Mrs. Somers + with fresh matter for displeasure. At night, when Lady Littleton went to + take possession of her apartment, and when she observed how active and + obliging Mlle. de Coulanges had been, Mrs. Somers shook her head, and + replied, “All this is just a proof to me of what I asserted, Lady + Littleton—and what I must irrevocably assert—that Mlle. de + Coulanges has no soul. You are a new acquaintance, and I am an old friend. + She exerts herself to please you; she does not care what I think or what I + feel about the matter. Now this is just what I call having no soul.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Mrs. Somers,” said Lady Littleton, “be reasonable; and you must + perceive that Emilie’s eagerness to please me arises from her regard and + gratitude to you: she has, I make no doubt, heard that I am your intimate + friend, and your praises have disposed her to like me.—Is this a + proof that she has no soul?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Lady Littleton, we will not dispute about it—I see you are + fascinated, as I was at first. Manner is a prodigious advantage—but + I own I prefer solid English sincerity. Stay a little: as soon as Mlle. de + Coulanges thinks herself secure of you, she will completely abandon me. I + make no doubt that she will complain to you of my bad temper and ill + usage; and I dare say that she will succeed in prejudicing you against + me.” + </p> + <p> + “She will succeed only in prejudicing me against herself, if she attempt + to injure you,” said Lady Littleton; “but, till I have some plain proof of + it, I cannot believe that any person has such a base and ungrateful + disposition.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Somers spent an hour and a quarter in explaining her causes of + complaint against both mother and daughter; and she at last retired much + dissatisfied, because her friend was not as angry as she was, but + persisted in the resolution to see more before she decided. After passing + a few days in the house with Mlle. de Coulanges, Lady Littleton frankly + declared to Mrs. Somers that she thought her complaints of Emilie’s temper + quite unreasonable, and that she was a most amiable and affectionate girl. + Respect for Lady Littleton restrained Mrs. Somers from showing the full + extent of her vexation; she contented herself with repeating, “Mlle. de + Coulanges is certainly a very amiable young woman—I would by no + means prejudice you against her—but when you know her as well as I + do, you will find that she has no soul.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Somers, in the course of four-and-twenty hours, found a multitude of + proofs in support of her opinion; but they were none of them absolutely + satisfactory to Lady Littleton’s judgment. Whilst they were debating about + her character, Emilie came into the room to show Mrs. Somers a <i>French</i> + translation, which she had been making, of a pretty little English poem, + called “The Emigrant’s Grave.” It was impossible to be displeased with the + translation, or with the motive from which it was attempted; for it was + done at the particular request of Mrs. Somers. This lady’s ingenuity, + however, did not fail to discover some cause for dissatisfaction. Mlle. de + Coulanges had adapted the words to a French, and not to an English air. + </p> + <p> + “This is a favourite air of mamma’s,” said Emilie, “and I thought that she + would be pleased by my choosing it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Mrs. Somers, in her constrained voice, “I remember that the + Countess de Coulanges and her friend—or your friend—M. de + Brisac, were charmed with this air, when you sang it the other night. I + found fault with it, I believe—but then you had a majority against + me; and with some people that is sufficient. Few ask themselves <i>what + constitutes a majority</i>—numbers or sense. Judgments and tastes + may differ in value; but one vote is always as good as another, in the + opinion of those who are decided merely by numbers.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope that I shall never be one of those,” said Emilie. “Upon the + present occasion I assure you, my dear Mrs. Somers, that I was influenced + by—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! my dear Mlle. de Coulanges,” interrupted Mrs. Somers, “you need not + give yourself the trouble to explain about such a trifle—the thing + is perfectly clear. And nothing is more natural than that you should + despise the taste of a friend when put in competition with that of a + lover.” + </p> + <p> + “Of a lover!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of a lover. Why should Mlle. de Coulanges think it necessary to look + astonished? But young ladies imagine this sort of dissimulation is + becoming; and can I hope to meet with an exception, or to find one + superior to the <i>finesse</i> of her sex?—I beg your pardon, Mlle. + de Coulanges, I really forgot that Lady Littleton was present when this + terrible word lover escaped—but I can assure you that frankness is + not incompatible with <i>her</i> ideas of delicacy.” + </p> + <p> + “You are mistaken, dear Mrs. Somers; indeed you are mistaken,” said + Emilie; “but you are displeased with me now, and I will take a more + favourable moment to set you right. In the mean time, I will go and water + the hydrangia, which I forgot, and which I reproached myself for + forgetting yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + Emilie left the room. + </p> + <p> + “Are you convinced now, my dear Lady Littleton,” cried Mrs. Somers, “that + this girl has no soul—and very little heart?” + </p> + <p> + “I am convinced only that she has an excellent temper,” said Lady + Littleton. “I hope you do not think a good temper is incompatible with a + heart or a soul.” + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you what I think, and what I am sure of,” cried Mrs. Somers, + raising her voice; “that Mlle. de Coulanges will be a constant cause of + dispute and uneasiness between you and me, Lady Littleton—I foresee + the end of this. As a return for all I have done for her and her mother, + she will rob me of the affections of one whom I love and esteem, respect + and admire—as she well knows—above all other human beings. She + will rob me of the affections of one who has been my friend, my best, my + only constant friend, for twenty years!—Oh! why am I doomed + eternally to be the victim of ingratitude?” + </p> + <p> + In spite of Lady Littleton’s efforts to stop and calm her, Mrs. Somers + burst out of the room in an agony of passion. She ran up a back staircase + which led to her dressing-room, but suddenly stopped when she came to the + landing-place, for she found Emilie watering her plants. + </p> + <p> + “Look, dear Mrs. Somers, this hydrangia is just going to blow; though I + was so careless as to forget to water it yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg, Mlle. de Coulanges, that you will not trouble yourself,” said Mrs. + Somers, haughtily. “Surely there are servants enough in this house whose + business it is to remember these things.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Emilie, “it is their business, but it is my pleasure. You must + not, indeed you must not, take my watering-pot from me!” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, I must, mademoiselle—you are very condescending and + polite, and I am very blunt and rude, or whatever you please to think me. + But the fact is, that I am not to be flattered by what the French call <i>des + petites attentions</i>: they are suited to little minds, but not to me. + You will never know my character, Mlle. de Coulanges—I am not to be + pleased by such means.” + </p> + <p> + “Teach me then better means, my dear friend, and do not bid me despair of + ever pleasing you,” said Emilie, throwing her arms round Mrs. Somers to + detain her. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me—I am an Englishwoman, and do not love <i>embrassades</i>, + which mean nothing,” said Mrs. Somers, struggling to disengage herself; + and she rushed suddenly forward, without perceiving that Emilie’s foot was + entangled in her train. Emilie was thrown from the top of the stairs to + the bottom. Mrs. Somers screamed—Lady Littleton came out of her + room. + </p> + <p> + “She is dead!—I have killed her!”—cried Mrs. Somers. Lady + Littleton raised Emilie from the ground—she was quite stunned by the + violence of the fall. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! speak to me! dearest Emilie, speak once more!” said Mrs. Somers. + </p> + <p> + As soon as Emilie could speak, she assured Mrs. Somers that she should be + quite well in a few minutes. When she attempted, however, to walk, she + found she was unable to move, for her ankle was violently sprained: she + was carried into Lady Littleton’s room, and placed upon a sofa. She + exerted herself to bear the pain she felt, that she might not alarm or + seem to reproach Mrs. Somers; and she repeatedly blamed herself for the + awkwardness with which she had occasioned her own fall. Mrs. Somers, in + the greatest bustle and confusion, called every servant in the house about + her, sent them different ways for all the remedies she had ever heard of + for a sprain; then was sure Emilie’s skull was fractured—asked fifty + times in five minutes whether she did not feel a certain sickness in her + stomach, which was the infallible sign of “<i>something wrong</i>”—insisted + upon her smelling at salts, vinegar, and various essences; and made her + swallow, or at least taste, every variety of drops and cordials. By this + time Mad. de Coulanges, who was at her toilet, had heard of the accident, + and came running in half dressed; the hurry of Mrs. Somers’ manner, the + crowd of assistants, the quantity of remedies, the sight of Emilie + stretched upon a sofa, and the sound of the word <i>fracture</i>, which + caught her ear, had such an effect upon the countess, that she was + instantly seized with one of her nervous attacks; and Mrs. Somers was + astonished to see Emilie spring from the sofa to assist her mother. When + Mad. de Coulanges recovered, Emilie used all her powers of persuasion to + calm her spirits, laughed at the idea of her skull being fractured, and + said, that she had only twisted her ankle, which would merely prevent her + from dancing for a few days. The countess pitied herself for having such + terribly weak nerves—congratulated herself upon her daughter’s + safety—declared that it was a miracle how she could have escaped, in + falling down such a narrow staircase—observed, that, though the + stairs in London were cleaner and better carpeted, the staircases of Paris + were at least four times as broad, and, consequently, a hundred times as + safe. She then reminded Emilie of an anecdote mentioned by Mad. de Genlis + about a princess of France, who, when she retired to a convent, complained + bitterly of the narrowness of the staircase, which, she said, she found a + real misfortune to be obliged to descend. “Tell me, Emilie, what was the + name of the princess?” + </p> + <p> + “The Princess Louisa of France, I believe, mamma,” replied Emilie. + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Coulanges repeated, “Ay, the Princess Louisa of France;” and then, + well satisfied, returned to finish her toilette. + </p> + <p> + “You have an excellent memory, Mlle. de Coulanges,” said Mrs. Somers, + looking with an air of pique at Emilie. “I really am rejoiced to see you + so much yourself again—I thought you were seriously hurt.” + </p> + <p> + “I told you that I was not,” said Emilie, forcing a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but I was such a fool as to be terrified out of my senses by seeing + you lie down on the sofa. I might have saved myself and you a great deal + of trouble. I must have appeared ridiculously officious. I saw indeed that + I was troublesome; and I seem to be too much for you now. I will leave you + with Lady Littleton, to explain to her how the accident happened. Pray + tell the thing just as it was—do not spare me, I beg. I do not + desire that Lady Littleton, or any friend I have upon earth, should think + better of me than I deserve. Remember, you have my free leave, Mlle. de + Coulanges, to speak of me as you think—so don’t spare me!” cried + Mrs. Somers, shutting the door with violence as she left the room. + </p> + <p> + “Lean upon me, my dear,” said Lady Littleton, who saw that Emilie turned + exceedingly pale, and looked towards a chair, as if she wished to reach + it, but could not. + </p> + <p> + “I thought,” said she, in a faint voice, “that this pain would go off, but + it is grown more violent.” Emilie could say no more; she had borne intense + pain as long as she was able: and now, quite overcome, she leaned back, + and fainted. Lady Littleton threw open the window, sprinkled water upon + Emilie’s face, and gave her assistance in the kindest manner, without + calling any of the servants; she knew that the return of Mrs. Somers would + do more harm than good. Emilie soon recovered her recollection; and, + whilst Lady Littleton was rubbing the sprained ankle with ether, in hopes + of lessening the pain, she asked how the accident had happened.—Emilie + replied simply, that she had entangled her foot in Mrs. Somers’ gown. “I + understand, from what Mrs. Somers hinted when she left the room,” said + Lady Littleton, “that she was somehow in fault in this affair, and that + you could blame her if you would; but I see that you will not; and I love + you the better for justifying the good opinion that I had formed of you, + Emilie.—But I will not talk sentiment to you now—you are in + too much pain to relish it.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” said Emilie: “I feel more pleasure than pain at this moment; + indeed my ankle does not hurt me now that I am quite still—the + pleasant cold of the ether has relieved the pain. How kind you are to me, + Lady Littleton, and how much I am obliged to you for judging so favourably + of my character!” + </p> + <p> + “You are not obliged to me, my dear, for I do you only justice.” + </p> + <p> + “Justice is sometimes felt as the greatest possible obligation, especially + by those who have experienced the reverse.—But,” said Emilie, + checking herself, “let me not blame Mrs. Somers, or incline you to blame + her. I should do very wrong, indeed, if I were, in return for all she has + done for us, to cause any jealousies or quarrels between her and her best + friend. Oh! that is what I most dread! To prevent it, I would—it is + not polite to say so—but I would, my dear Lady Littleton, even + withdraw myself from your society. This very day you return to your own + house. You were so good as to ask me to go often to see you: forgive me if + I do not avail myself of this kind permission. You will know my reasons; + and I hope they are such as you will approve of.” + </p> + <p> + A servant came in, to say that her ladyship’s carriage was at the door. + </p> + <p> + “One word more before you go, my dear Lady Littleton,” said Emilie, with a + supplicating voice and countenance. “Tell me, I beseech you—for you + have been her friend from her childhood, and must know better than any one + living—tell me how I can please Mrs. Somers. I begin to be afraid + that I shall at last be weary of my fruitless efforts, and I dread—above + all things I dread—that my affection for her should be worn out. How + painful it would be to sustain the continual weight of obligation without + being able to feel the pleasure of gratitude!” + </p> + <p> + Lady Littleton was going to reply, but she was prevented by the sudden + entrance of Mrs. Somers with her face of wrath. + </p> + <p> + “So, Lady Littleton, you are actually going, I find!—And I have not + had one moment of your conversation. May I be allowed—if Mlle. de + Coulanges has finished her mysteries—to say a few words to you?” + </p> + <p> + “You will give me leave, I am sure, Emilie,” said Lady Littleton, “to + repeat to Mrs. Somers every word that you have said to me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, every word,” said Emilie, blushing, yet speaking with firmness. “I + have no mysteries—I do not wish to conceal from Mrs. Somers any + thing that I say or think.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Somers seized Lady Littleton’s arm, and left the room; but when she + had entire possession of her friend’s ear, she had nothing to say, or + nothing that she would say, except half sentences, reproaching her for not + staying longer, and insinuating that Emilie would be the cause of their + separating for ever.—“Now, as you have her permission, will you + favour me with a repetition of her last conversation?” + </p> + <p> + “Not in your present humour, my dear,” said Lady Littleton: “this is not + the happy moment to speak reason to you. Adieu! I give you four-and-twenty + hours’ grace before I declare you a bankrupt in temper. You shall hear + from me to-morrow; for, on some subjects, I have always found it better to + write than to speak to you.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Somers continued during the remainder of the day in a desperate state + of ill-humour, which was increased by finding that Mlle. de Coulanges + could neither stand nor walk. Mrs. Somers was persuaded that Emilie, if + she would have exerted herself, could have done both, but that she + preferred exciting the pity of the whole house; and this, all + circumstances considered, was a proof of total want of generosity and + gratitude. The next morning, however, she was alarmed by hearing from Mrs. + Masham, whom she had sent to attend upon Mlle. de Coulanges, that her + ankle was violently swelled and inflamed.—Just when the full tide of + her affections was beginning to flow in Emilie’s favour, Mrs. Somers + received the following letter from Lady Littleton:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Enclosed, I have sent you, as well as I can recollect it, every + word of the conversation that passed yesterday between Mlle. de + Coulanges and me. If I were less anxious for your happiness, + and if I had not so high an opinion of the excellence of your + disposition, I should wish, my dear friend, to spare both you and + myself the pain of speaking and hearing the truth. But I know that + I have preserved your affection many years beyond the usual limits + of female friendship, by daring to speak to you with perfect + sincerity, and by trusting to the justice of your better self. + Perhaps you would rather have a compliment to your generosity than + to your justice; but in this I shall not indulge you, because I + think you already set too high a value upon generosity. It has + been the misfortune of your life, my dear friend, to believe that, + by making great sacrifices, and conferring great benefits, you + could ensure to yourself, in return, affection and gratitude. You + mistake both the nature of obligation and the effect which it + produces on the human mind. Obligations may command gratitude, but + can never ensure love. If the benefit be of a pecuniary nature, it + is necessarily attended with a certain sense of humiliation, which + destroys the equality of friendship. Of whatever description the + favour may be, it becomes burdensome, if gratitude be expected as + a tribute, instead of being accepted as the free-will offering + of the heart: ‘still paying still to owe’ is irksome, even to + those who have nothing Satanic in their natures. A person who has + received a favour is in a defenceless state with respect to a + benefactor; and the benefactor who makes an improper use of the + power which gratitude gives becomes an oppressor. I know your + generous spirit, and I am fully sensible that no one has a more + just idea than you have of the delicacy that ought to be used + towards those whom you have obliged; but you must permit me to + observe, that your practice is not always conformable to your + theory. Temper is doubly necessary to those who love, as you do, + to confer favours: it is the duty of a benefactress to command her + feelings, and to refrain absolutely from every species of direct + or indirect reproach; else her kindness becomes only a source + of misery; and even from the benevolence of her disposition she + derives the means of giving pain. + + “I have said enough; and I know that you will not be offended. The + moment your understanding is convinced and your heart touched, + all paltry jealousies and petty irritations subside, and you + are always capable of acting in a manner worthy of yourself. + Adieu!—May you, my dear friend, preserve the affections of one + who feels for you, I am convinced, the most sincere gratitude! You + will reap a rich harvest, if you do not, with childish impatience, + disturb the seeds that you have sown, to examine whether they are + growing. + + “Your faithful friend, + + “L. LITTLETON.” + </pre> + <p> + This letter had an immediate and strong effect upon the mind of Mrs. + Somers: she went directly with it open in her hand to Emilie. “Here,” said + she, “is the letter of a noble-minded woman, who dares to speak truth, + painful truth, to her best friend. She does me justice in being convinced + that I shall not be offended; she does me justice in believing that an + appeal to my candour and generosity cannot be in vain, especially when it + is made by her voice. Emilie, you shall see that I am worthy to have a + sincere friend; you shall see that I can even command my temper, when I + have what, to my own feelings and understanding, appears adequate motive. + But, my dear, you are in pain—let me look at this ankle—I am + absolutely afraid to see it!—Good Heavens! how it is swelled!—And + I fancied, all yesterday, that you could have walked upon it!—And I + thought you wanted only to excite pity!—My poor child!—I have + used you barbarously—most barbarously!” cried Mrs. Somers, kneeling + down beside the sofa. “And can you ever forgive me?—Yes! that sweet + smile tells me that you can.” + </p> + <p> + “All I ask of you,” said Emilie, embracing Mrs. Somers, “is to believe + that I am grateful, and to continue to make me love you as long as I live. + This must depend upon you more than upon myself.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it, my dear,” said Mrs. Somers. “Be satisfied—I will not + wear out your affections. You have dealt fairly with me. I love you for + having the courage to speak as you think.—But now that it is all + over, I must tell you what it was that displeased me—for I hate half + reconciliations: I will tell you all that passed in my mind.” + </p> + <p> + “Pray do,” said Emilie; “for then I shall know how to avoid displeasing + you another time.” + </p> + <p> + “No danger of that, my dear. You will never make me angry again; for I am + sure you will now be as frank towards me as I am towards you. It was not + your adapting that little poem to a French rather than to an English air + that displeased me—I am not quite so childish as to be offended by + such a trifle; but I own I did not like your saying that you chose it + merely to comply with your mother’s taste.—And you will acknowledge, + Emilie, there was a want of sincerity, a want of candour, in your affected + look of astonishment, when I mentioned M. de Brisac. I do not claim your + confidence as a right—God forbid!—But if the warmest desire + for your happiness, the most affectionate sympathy, can merit confidence—But + I will not say a word that can imply reproach. On the contrary, I will + only assure you, that I have penetration sufficient always to know your + wishes, and activity enough to serve you effectually, even without being + your confidante. I shall this night see a friend who is in power—I + will speak to him about M. de Brisac: I have hopes that his pension from + our government may be doubled.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish it may, for his sake,” said Emilie; “but certainly not for my + own.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Mlle. de Coulanges!—But I have no right to extort confidence. I + will not, as I said before, utter a syllable that can imply reproach. Let + me go on with what I was telling you of my intentions. As soon as the + pension is doubled, I will speak to Mad. de Coulanges about M. de Brisac.” + </p> + <p> + “For Heaven’s sake, do not!” interrupted Emilie; “for you would do me the + greatest possible injury. Mamma would then think it a suitable match, and + she would wish me to marry him; and nothing could make me move unhappy + than to be under the necessity of acting contrary to my duty—of + disobeying and displeasing her for ever—or else of uniting myself to + M. de Brisac, whom I can neither love nor esteem.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible,” exclaimed Mrs. Somers, with joyful astonishment, “is it + possible that I have been under a mistake all this time? My dearest + Emilie! now you are every thing I first thought you! Indeed, I could not + think with patience of your making such a match; for M. de Brisac is a + mere nothing—worse than a mere nothing; a coxcomb, and a peevish + coxcomb.” + </p> + <p> + “And how could you suspect me of loving such a man?” said Emilie. + </p> + <p> + “I never thought you loved him, but I thought you would marry him. French + marriages, you know, according to <i>l’ancien régime</i>, in which you + were brought up, were never supposed to be affairs of the heart, but mere + alliances of interest, pride, or convenience.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—<i>des mariages de convenance</i>,” said Emilie. “We have + suffered terribly by the revolution; but I owe to it one blessing, which, + putting what mamma has felt out of the question, I should say has + overbalanced all our losses: I have escaped—what must have been my + fate in the ancient order of things—<i>un mariage de convenance</i>. + I must tell you how I escaped by a happy misfortune,” continued Emilie, + suddenly recovering her vivacity of manner. “The family of M. de Brisac + had settled, with mine, that I was to be la Comtesse de Brisac—But + we lost our property, and M. le comte his memory. Mamma was provoked and + indignant—I rejoiced. When I saw how shabbily he behaved, could I do + otherwise than rejoice at having escaped being his wife? M. le Comte de + Brisac soon lost his hereditary honours and possessions—Heaven + forgive me for not pitying him! I was only glad mamma now agreed with me + that we had nothing to regret. I had hoped that we should never have heard + more of him: but, lo! here he is again in my way with a commission in your + English army and a pension from your generous king, which make him, + amongst poor emigrants, a man of consequence. And he has taken it into his + head to sigh for me, because I laugh at him; and he talks of his + sentiments!—sentiments!—he who has no principles!—” + </p> + <p> + “My noble-minded Emilie!” cried Mrs. Somers; “I cannot express to you the + delight I feel at this explanation. How could I be such an idiot as not + sooner to see the truth! But I was misled by the solicitude that Mad. de + Coulanges showed about this M. de Brisac; and I foolishly concluded that + you and your mother were one. On the contrary, no two people can be more + different, thank Heaven!—I beg your pardon for that thanksgiving—I + see it distresses you, my dear Emilie—and believe me, I never was + less disposed to give you pain—I have made you suffer too much + already, both in mind and body. This terrible ankle—” + </p> + <p> + “It does not give me any pain,” said Emilie, “except when I attempt to + walk; and it is no great misfortune to be obliged to be quiet for a few + days.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Somers’ whole soul was now intent upon the means of making her young + friend amends for all she had suffered: this last conversation had raised + her to the highest point both of favour and esteem. Mrs. Somers was now + revolving in her mind a scheme, which she had formed in the first moments + of her partiality for Emilie—a scheme of marrying her to her son. + She had often quarrelled with this son; but she persuaded herself that + Emilie would make him every thing that was amiable and respectable, and + that she would form an indissoluble bond of family union and felicity. + “Then,” said she to herself, “Emilie will certainly be established + according to her mother’s satisfaction. M. de Brisac cannot possibly stand + in the way here; for my son has name and fortune, and every thing that + Mad. de Coulanges can desire.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Somers wrote immediately to summon her son home. In the mean time, + delighted with this new and grand project, and thinking herself sure of + success, she neglected, according to her usual custom, the “little + courtesies of life;” and all Lady Littleton’s excellent observations upon + the nature of gratitude, and the effect produced on the mind by + obligations, were entirely obliterated from her memory. + </p> + <p> + Emilie’s sprained ankle confined her to the house for some weeks; both + Mad. de Coulanges and Mrs. Somers began by offering in the most eager + manner, in competition with each other, to stay at home every evening to + keep her company; but she found that she could not accept of the offer of + one without offending the other; she knew that her mother would have <i>les + vapeurs noirs</i>, if she were not in <i>society</i>; and as she had + reason to apprehend that Mrs. Somers could not, with the best intentions + possible, remain three hours alone, with even a dear friend, without + finding or making some subject of quarrel, she wisely declined all these + kind offers. In fact, these were <i>trifling sacrifices</i>, which it + would not have suited Mrs. Somers’ temper to make: for there was no glory + to be gained by them. She regularly came every evening, as soon as she was + dressed, to pity Emilie—to repeat her wish that she might be allowed + to stay at home—then to step into her carriage, and drive away to + spend four hours in company which she professed to hate. + </p> + <p> + Lady Littleton made no complimentary speeches, but every day she contrived + to spend some time with Emilie; and, by a thousand small but kind + instances of attention, which asked neither for admiration nor gratitude, + she contributed to Emilie’s daily happiness. + </p> + <p> + This ready sympathy, and this promptitude to oblige in trifles, became + extremely agreeable to Mlle. de Coulanges: perhaps from the contrast with + Mrs. Somers’ defects, Lady Littleton’s manners pleased her peculiarly. She + was under no fear of giving offence, so that she could speak her + sentiments or express her feelings without constraint: and, in short, she + enjoyed in this lady’s society, a degree of tranquillity of mind and + freedom to which she had long been a stranger. Lady Littleton had employed + her excellent understanding in studying the minute circumstances which + tend to make people, of different characters and tempers, agree and live + happily together; and she understood and practised so successfully all the + <i>honest</i> arts of pleasing, that she rendered herself the centre of + union to a large circle of relations, many of whom she had converted into + friends. This she had accomplished without any violent effort, without + making any splendid sacrifices, but with that calm, gentle, persevering + kindness of temper, which, when united to good sense, forms the real + happiness of domestic life, and the true perfection of the female + character. Those who have not traced the causes of family quarrels would + not readily guess from what slight circumstances they often originate: + they arise more frequently from small defects in temper than from material + faults of character. People who would perhaps sacrifice their fortunes or + lives for each other cannot, at certain moments, give up their will, or + command their humour in the slightest degree. + </p> + <p> + Whilst Emilie was confined by her sprained ankle, she employed herself in + embroidering and painting various trifles, which she intended to offer as + <i>souvenirs</i> to her English friends. Amongst these, the prettiest was + one which she called <i>the watch of Flora</i>.<a href="#linknote-19" + name="linknoteref-19" id="linknoteref-19"><small>19</small></a> It was a + dial plate for a pendule, on which the hours were marked by flowers—by + those flowers which open or close their petals at particular times of the + day. “Linnæus has enumerated forty-six flowers which possess this kind of + sensibility; and has marked,” as he says, “their respective hours of + rising and setting.” From these forty-six Emilie wished to select the most + beautiful: she had some difficulty in finding such as would suit her + purpose, especially as the observations made in the botanic gardens of + Upsal could not exactly agree with our climate. She sometimes applied to + Mrs. Somers for assistance; but Mrs. Somers repeatedly forgot to borrow + for her the botanical books which she wanted: this was too small a service + for her to remember. She was provoked at last by Emilie’s reiterated + requests, and vexed by her own forgetfulness; so that Mlle. de Coulanges + at last determined not to run the risk of offending, and she reluctantly + laid aside her dial-plate. + </p> + <p> + Young people of vivacious and inventive tempers, who know what it is to be + eagerly intent upon some favourite little project, will give Emilie due + credit for her forbearance. Lady Littleton, though not a young person, + could so far sympathize in the pursuits of youth, as to feel for Emilie’s + disappointment. “No,” said she, “you must not lay aside your watch of + Flora; perhaps I can help you to what you want.” She was indefatigable in + the search of books and flowers; and, by assisting her in the pursuit of + this slight object, she not only enabled her to spend many happy hours, + but was of the most essential service to Emilie. It happened, that one + morning, when Lady Littleton went to Kew Gardens to search in the + hot-houses for some of the flowers, and to ascertain their hours of + closing, she met with a French botanist, who had just arrived from Paris, + who came to examine the arrangement of Kew Gardens, and to compare it with + that of the Jardin des Plantes. He paid some deserved compliments to the + superiority of Kew Gardens; and, with the ease of a Frenchman, he entered + into conversation with Lady Littleton. As he inquired for several French + emigrants, she mentioned the name of Mad. de Coulanges, and asked whether + he knew to whom the property of her family now belonged. He said, “that it + was still in the possession of that <i>scelerat</i> of a steward, who had, + by his informations, brought his excellent master, le Comte de Coulanges, + to the guillotine. But,” added the botanist, “if you, madam, are + acquainted with any of the family, will you give them notice that this + wretch is near his end; that he has, within a few weeks, had two strokes + of apoplexy; and that his eldest son by no means resembles him; but is a + worthy young man, who, to my certain knowledge, is shocked at his father’s + crimes, and who might be prevailed upon, by a reasonable consideration, to + restore to the family, to whom it originally belonged, the property that + has been seized. I have more than once, even in the most dangerous times, + heard him (in confidence) express the strongest attachment to the + descendant of the good master, who loaded him in his childhood with + favours. These sentiments he has been, of course, obliged to dissemble, + and to profess directly the contrary principles: it can only be by such + means that he can gain possession of the estate, which he wishes to + restore to the rightful owners. He passes for as great a scoundrel as his + father: this is not the least of his merits. But, madam, you may depend + upon the correctness of my information, and of my knowledge of his + character. I was once, as a man of science, under obligation to the late + Comte de Coulanges, who gave me the use of his library; and most happy + should I think myself, if I could by any means be instrumental in + restoring his descendants to the possession of that library.” + </p> + <p> + There was such an air of truth and frankness in the countenance and manner + of this gentleman, that, notwithstanding the extraordinary nature of his + information, and the still more extraordinary facility with which it was + communicated, Lady Littleton could not help believing him. He gave her + ladyship his address; told her that he should return to Paris in a few + days; and that he should be happy if he could be made, in any manner, + useful to Mad. de Coulanges. Impatient to impart all this good news to her + friends, Lady Littleton hastened to Mrs. Somers’; but just as she put her + hand on the lock of Emilie’s door, she recollected Mrs. Somers, and + determined to tell her the first, that she might have the pleasure of + communicating the joyful tidings. From her knowledge of the temper of her + friend, Lady Littleton thought that this would be peculiarly gratifying to + her; but, contrary to all rational expectation, Mrs. Somers heard the news + with an air of extreme mortification, which soon turned into anger. She + got up and walked about the room, whilst Lady Littleton was speaking; and, + as soon as she had finished her story, exclaimed, “Was there ever any + thing so provoking!” + </p> + <p> + She continued walking, deep in reverie, whilst Lady Littleton sat looking + at her in amazement. Mrs. Somers having once formed the <i>generous</i> + scheme of enriching Emilie by a marriage with her son, was actually + disappointed to find that there was a probability that Mlle. de Coulanges + should recover a fortune which would make her more than a suitable match + for Mr. Somers. There was another circumstance that was still more + provoking—this property was likely to be recovered without the + assistance of Mrs. Somers. There are people who would rather that their + best friends should miss a piece of good fortune than that they should + obtain it without their intervention. Mrs. Somers at length quieted her + own mind by the idea that all Lady Littleton had heard might have no + foundation in truth. + </p> + <p> + “I am surprised, my dear friend, that a person of your excellent judgment + can, for an instant, believe such a strange story as this,” said Mrs. + Somers. “I assure you, I do not give the slightest credit to it; and, in + my opinion, it would be much better not to say one word about the matter, + either to Emilie or Mad. de Coulanges: it will only fill their minds with + false and absurd hopes. Mad. de Coulanges will torment herself and me to + death with conjectures and exclamations; and we shall hear of nothing but + the Hotel de Coulanges, and the Chateau de Coulanges, from morning till + night; and, after all, I am convinced she will never see either of them + again.” + </p> + <p> + To this assertion, which Mrs. Somers could support only by repeating that + it was her conviction—that it was her unalterable conviction—Lady + Littleton simply replied, that it would be improper not to mention what + had happened to Mad. de Coulanges, because this would deprive her of an + opportunity of judging and acting for herself in her own affairs. “This + French gentleman has offered to carry letters, or to do her any service in + his power; and we should not be justifiable in concealing this: the + information may be false, but of that Mad. de Coulanges should at least + have an opportunity of judging; she should see this botanist, and she will + recollect whether what he says of the count, and his allowing him the use + of his library, be true or false: from these circumstances we may obtain + some farther reason to believe or disbelieve him. I should be sorry to + excite hopes which must end in disappointment; but the chance of good, in + this case, appears to me far greater than the chance of evil.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, my dear Lady Littleton,” interrupted Mrs. Somers, “you will + follow your judgment, and I must be allowed to follow mine, though I make + no doubt that yours is superior. Manage this business as you please: I + will have nothing to do with it. It is your opinion that Mad. de Coulanges + and her daughter should hear this wonderfully fine story; therefore I beg + you will be the relater—I must be excused—for my part, I can’t + give any credit to it—no, not the slightest. But your judgment is + better than mine, Lady Littleton—you will act as you think proper, + and manage the whole business yourself—I am sure I wish you success + with all my heart.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Littleton, by a mixture of firmness and gentleness in her manner, so + far worked upon the temper of Mrs. Somers, as to prevail upon her to + believe that the management of the business was not her object; and she + even persuaded Mrs. Somers to be present when the intelligence was + communicated to Mad. de Coulanges and Emilie. She could not, however, + forbear repeating, that she did not believe the story:—this + incredulity afforded her a plausible pretext for not sympathizing in the + general joy. Mad. de Coulanges was alternately in ecstasy and in despair, + as she listened to Lady Littleton or to Mrs. Somers: her exclamations + would have been much less frequent and violent, if Mrs. Somers had not + provoked them, by mixing with her hopes a large portion of fear. The next + day, when she saw the French gentleman, her hopes were predominant: for + she recollected perfectly having seen this gentleman, in former times, at + the Hotel de Coulanges; she knew that he was <i>un savant</i>; and that he + had, before the revolution, the reputation of being a very worthy man. + Mad. de Coulanges, by Lady Littleton’s advice, determined, however, to be + cautious in what she wrote to send to France by this gentleman. Emilie + took the letters to Mrs. Somers, and requested her opinion; but she + declined giving any. + </p> + <p> + “I have nothing to do with the business, Mlle. de Coulanges,” said she; + “you will be guided by the opinion of my Lady Littleton.” + </p> + <p> + Emilie saw that it was in vain to expostulate; she retired in silence, + much embarrassed as to the answer which she was to give to her mother, who + was waiting to hear the opinion of Mrs. Somers. Mad. de Coulanges, + impatient with Emilie, for bringing her only a reference to Lady + Littleton’s opinion, went herself, with what she thought the most amiable + politeness, to solicit the advice of Mrs. Somers; but she was astonished, + and absolutely shocked, by the coldness and want of good breeding with + which this lady persisted in a refusal to have any thing to do with the + business, or even to read the letters which waited for her judgment. The + countess opened her large eyes to their utmost orbicular extent; and, + after a moment’s <i>silence</i>, the strongest possible expression that + she could give of amazement, she also retired, and returned to Emilie, to + demand from her an explanation of what she could not understand. The + ill-humour of Mrs. Somers, now that Mad. de Coulanges was wakened to the + perception of it, was not, as it had been to poor Emilie, a subject of + continual anxiety and pain, but merely matter of astonishment and + curiosity. She looked upon Mrs. Somers as an English <i>oddity</i>, as a + <i>lusus naturæ</i>; and she alternately asked Emilie to account for these + strange appearances, or shrugged up her shoulders, and submitted to the + impossibility of a Frenchwoman’s ever understanding such <i>extravagances</i>. + </p> + <p> + “Ah que c’est bizarre! Mais, mon enfant, expliquez moi done tout ça—Mais + ça ne s’explique point—Certes c’est une Anglaise qui sçait donner, + mais qui ne sçait pas vivre.—Voltaire s’y connaissait mieux que moi + apparemment—et heureusement.” + </p> + <p> + Content with this easy method of settling things, Mad. de Coulanges sealed + and despatched her letters, appealed no more to Mrs. Somers for advice, + and, when she saw any extraordinary signs of displeasure, repeated to + herself—“Ah que c’est bizarre!” And this phrase was for some time a + quieting charm. But as the anxiety of the countess increased, at the time + when she expected to receive the decisive answer from her steward’s son, + she talked with incessant and uncontrollable volubility of her hopes and + fears—her conjectures and calculations—and of the Chateau and + Hotel de Coulanges; and she could not endure to see that Mrs. Somers heard + all this with affected coldness or real impatience. + </p> + <p> + “How is this possible, Emilie?” said she. “Here is a woman who would give + me half her fortune, and who yet seems to wish that I should not recover + the whole of mine! Here is a woman who would move heaven and earth to + serve me in her own way; but who, nevertheless, will not give me either a + word of advice or a look of sympathy, in the most important affair and the + most anxious moment of my life! But this is more than <i>bizarre</i>—this + is intolerably provoking. For my part, I would rather a friend would deny + me any thing than sympathy: without sympathy, there is no society—there + is no living—there is no talking. I begin to feel my obligations a + burden; and, positively, with the first money I receive from my estates, I + will relieve myself from my pecuniary debt to this generous but + incomprehensible Englishwoman.” + </p> + <p> + Every day Emilie dreaded the arrival of the post, when her mother asked, + “Are there any letters from Paris?”—Constantly the answer was—“No.”—Mrs. + Somers’ look was triumphant; and Mad. de Coulanges applied regularly to + her smelling-bottle or her snuff-box to conceal her emotion, which Mrs. + Somers increased by indirect reflections upon the absurdity of those who + listen to idle reports, and build castles in the air. Having set her + opinion in opposition to Lady Littleton’s, she supported it with a degree + of obstinacy, and even acrimony, which made her often transgress the + bounds of that politeness which she had formerly maintained in all her + differences with the comtesse. + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Coulanges could no longer consider her humour as merely <i>bizarre</i>, + she found it <i>insupportable</i>; and Mrs. Somers appeared to her totally + changed, and absolutely odious, now that she was roused by her own + sufferings to the perception of those evils which Emilie had long borne + with all the firmness of principle, and all the philosophy of gratitude. + Not a day passed without her complaining to Emilie of some <i>grossièreté</i> + from Mrs. Somers. Mad. de Coulanges suffered so much from irritation and + anxiety, that her <i>vapeurs noirs</i> returned with tenfold violence. + Emilie had loved Mrs. Somers, even when most unreasonable towards herself, + as long as she behaved with kindness to her mother; but now that, instead + of a source of pleasure, she became the hourly cause of pain to Mad. de + Coulanges, Emilie’s affection could no farther go; and she really began to + dislike this lady—to dread to see her come into the room—and + to tremble at hearing her voice. Emilie could judge only by what she saw; + and she could not divine that Mrs. Somers was occupied, all this time, + with the generous scheme of marrying her to her son and heir, and of + settling upon her a large fortune; nor could she guess, that all the + ill-humour in Mrs. Somers originated in the fear that her friends should + be made either rich or happy without her assistance. Her son’s delaying to + return home, according to her mandate, had disappointed and vexed her + extremely. Every day, when the post came in, she inquired for letters with + almost as much eagerness as Mad. de Coulanges. At length a letter came + from Mr. Somers, to inform his impatient mother that he should certainly + be in town the beginning of the ensuing week. Delighted by this news, she + could not refrain from the temptation of opening her whole mind to Emilie; + though she had previously resolved not to give the slightest intimation of + her scheme to any one, not even to Lady Littleton, till a definitive + answer had been received from Paris, respecting the fortune of Mad. de + Coulanges. Often, when Mrs. Somers was full of some magnanimous design, + the merest trifle that interrupted the full display of her generosity + threw her into a passion, even with those whom she was going to serve. So + it happened in the present instance. She went, with her open letter in her + hand, to the countess’s apartment, where unluckily she found M. de Brisac, + who was going to read the French newspapers to madame. Mrs. Somers sat + down beside Emilie, who was painting the last flower of her watch of + Flora. Mrs. Somers wrote on a slip of paper, “Don’t ask M. de Brisac to + read the papers, for I want to speak to you.” She threw down the note + before Emilie, who was so intent upon what she was about, that she did not + immediately see it—Mrs. Somers touched her elbow—Emilie + started, and let fall her brush, which made a blot upon her dial-plate. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! what a pity!—Just as I had finished my work,” cried Emilie, “I + have spoiled it!” + </p> + <p> + M. de Brisac laid down the newspaper to pour forth compliments of + condolence.—Mrs. Somers tore the piece of paper as he approached the + table, and said, with some asperity, “One would think this was a matter of + life and death, by the terms in which it is deplored.” + </p> + <p> + M. de Brisac, who stood so that Mrs. Somers could not see him, shrugged + his shoulders, and looked at Mad. de Coulanges, who answered him by + another look, that plainly said, “This is English politeness!” + </p> + <p> + Emilie, who saw that her mother was displeased, endeavoured to change the + course of her thoughts, by begging M. de Brisac to go on with what he was + reading from the French papers. This was a fresh provocation to Mrs. + Somers, who forgot that Emilie had not read the words on the slip of paper + which had been torn; and consequently could not know all Mrs. Somers’ + impatience for his departure. M. de Brisac read, in what this lady called + his <i>unemphatic French tone</i>, paragraph after paragraph, and column + after column, whilst her anxiety to have him go every moment increased. + She moulded her son’s letter into all manner of shapes as she sat in + penance. To complete her misfortunes, something in the paper put Mad. de + Coulanges in mind of former times; and she began a long history of the + destruction of some fine old tapestry hangings in the Chateau de + Coulanges, at the beginning of the Revolution: this led to endless + melancholy reflections; and at length tears began to flow from the fine + eyes of the countess. + </p> + <p> + Just at this instant a butterfly flew into the room, and passed by Mad. de + Coulanges, who was sitting near the open window. “Oh! the beautiful + butterfly!” cried she, starting up to catch it. “Did you ever see such a + charming creature? Catch it, M. de Brisac!—Catch it, Emilie!—Catch + it, Mrs. Somers!” + </p> + <p> + With the tears yet upon her cheeks, Mad. de Coulanges began the chase, and + M. de Brisac followed, beating the air with his perfumed handkerchief, and + the butterfly fluttered round the table at which Emilie was standing. + </p> + <p> + “Eh! M. de Brisac, catch it!—Catch it, Emilie!” repeated her mother.—“Catch + it, Mrs. Somers, for the love of Heaven!” + </p> + <p> + “<i>For the love of Heaven</i>!” repeated Mrs. Somers, who, immovably + grave, and sullenly indignant, kept aloof during this chase. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! pour le coup, papillon, je te tiens!” cried la comtesse, and with + eager joy she covered it with a glass, as it lighted on the table. + </p> + <p> + “Mlle. de Coulanges,” cried Mrs. Somers, “I acknowledge, now, that I was + wrong in my criticism of Caroline de Lichteld. I blamed the author for + representing Caroline, at fifteen, or just when she is going to be + married, as running after butterflies. I said that, at that age, it was + too frivolous—out of drawing—out of nature. But I should have + said only, that it was out of <i>English nature</i>.—I stand + corrected.” + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Coulanges and M. de Brisac again interchanged looks, which + expressed “<i>Est-il possible</i>!” And la comtesse then, with an unusual + degree of deliberation and dignity in her manner, walked out of the room. + Emilie, who saw that her mother was extremely offended, was much + embarrassed—she went on washing the blot out of her drawing. M. de + Brisac stood silently looking over her, and Mrs. Somers opposite to him, + wishing him fairly at the antipodes. M. de Brisac, to break the silence, + which seemed to him as if it never would be broken, asked Mlle. de + Coulanges if she had ever seen the stadtholder’s fine collection of + butterflies, and if she did not admire them extremely? No, she never had; + but she said that she admired extremely the generosity the stadtholder had + shown in sacrificing, not only his fine collection of butterflies, but his + most valuable pictures, to save the lives of the poor French emigrants, + who were under his protection. + </p> + <p> + At the sound of the word generosity, Mrs. Somers became attentive; and + Emilie was in hopes that she would recover her temper, and apologize to + her mother: but at this moment a servant came to tell Mlle. de Coulanges + that la comtesse wished to speak to her immediately. She found her mother + in no humour to receive any apology, even if it had been offered: nothing + could have hurt Mad. de Coulanges more than the imputation of being + frivolous. + </p> + <p> + “Frivole!—frivole!—moi frivole!” she repeated, as soon as + Emilie entered the room. “My dear Emilie! I would not live with this Mrs. + Somers for the rest of my days, were she to offer me the Pitt diamond, or + the whole mines of Golconda!—Bon Dieu!—neither money nor + diamonds, after all, can pay for the want of kindness and politeness!—There + is Lady Littleton, who has never done us any favour, but that of showing + us attention and sympathy; I protest I love her a million of times better + than I can love Mrs. Somers, to whom we owe so much. It is in vain, + Emilie, to remind me that she is our benefactress. I have said that over + and over to myself, till I am tired, and till I have absolutely lost all + sense of the meaning of the word. Bitterly do I repent having accepted of + such obligations from this strange woman; for, as to the idea of regaining + our estate, and paying my debt to her, I have given up all hopes of it. + You see that we have no letters from France. I am quite tired out. I am + convinced that we shall never have any good news from Paris. And I cannot, + I will not, remain longer in this house. Would you have me submit to be + treated with disrespect? Mrs. Somers has affronted me before M. de Brisac, + in a manner that I cannot, that I ought not, to endure—that you, + Emilie, ought not to wish me to endure. I positively will not live upon + the bounty of Mrs. Somers. There is but one way of extricating ourselves. + M. de Brisac—Why do you turn pale, child?—M. de Brisac has + this morning made me a proposal for you, and the best thing we can + possibly do is to accept of it.” + </p> + <p> + “The best!—Pray don’t say the best!” cried Emilie. “Ah! dear mamma, + for me the worst! Let me beseech you not to sacrifice my happiness for + ever by such a marriage!” + </p> + <p> + “And what other can you expect, Emilie, in your present circumstances?” + </p> + <p> + “None,” said Emilie. + </p> + <p> + “And here is an establishment—at least an independence for you—and + you call it sacrificing your happiness for ever to accept of it!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Emilie; “because it is offered to me by one whom I can neither + love nor esteem. Dearest mamma! can you forget all his former meanness of + conduct?” + </p> + <p> + “His present behaviour makes amends for the past,” said Mad. de Coulanges, + “and entitles him to my esteem and to yours, and that is sufficient. As to + love—well educated girls do not marry for love.” + </p> + <p> + “But they ought not to marry without feeling love, should they?” said + Emilie. + </p> + <p> + “Emilie! Emilie!” said her mother, “these are strange ideas that have come + into the heads of young women since the Revolution. If you had remained + safe in your convent, I should have heard none of this nonsense.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps not, mamma,” said Emilie, with a deep sigh. “But should I have + been happier?” + </p> + <p> + “A fine question, truly!—How can I tell? But this I can ask you—How + can any girl expect to be happy, who abandons the principles in which she + was bred up, and forgets her duty to the mother by whom she has been + educated—the mother, whose pride, whose delight, whose darling, she + has ever been? Oh, Emilie! this is to me worse than all I have ever + suffered!” + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Coulanges burst into a passion of tears, and Emilie stood looking + at her in silent despair. + </p> + <p> + “Emilie, you cannot deceive me,” cried her mother; “you cannot pretend + that it is simply your want of esteem for M. de Brisac which renders you + thus obstinately averse to the match. You are in love with another + person.” + </p> + <p> + “Not in love,” said Emilie, in a faltering voice. + </p> + <p> + “You cannot deceive me, Emilie—remember all you said to me about the + stranger who was our fellow prisoner at the Abbaye. You cannot deny this, + Emilie.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor do I, dear mamma,” said Emilie. “I <i>cannot</i> deceive you, indeed + I <i>would</i> not; and the best proof that I do not wish to deceive you—that + I never attempted it—is, that I told you all I thought and felt + about that stranger. I told you that his honourable, brave, and generous + conduct towards us, when we were in distress, made an impression upon my + heart—that I preferred him to any person I had ever seen—and I + told you, my dear mamma, that—” + </p> + <p> + “You told me too much,” interrupted Mad. de Coulanges; “more than I wished + to hear—more than I will have repeated, Emilie. This is romance and + nonsense. The man, whoever he was—and Heaven knows who he was!—behaved + very well, and was a very agreeable person: but what then? are you ever + likely to see him again? Do you even know his birth—his name—his + country—or any thing about him, but that he was brave and generous?—So + are fifty other men, five hundred, five thousand, five million, I hope. + But is this any reason that you should refuse to marry M. de Brisac? Henry + the Fourth was brave and generous two hundred years ago. That is as much + to the purpose. You have as much chance of establishing yourself, if you + wait for Henry the Fourth to come to life again, as if you wait for this + nameless nobody of a hero—who is perhaps married, after all—who + knows!—Really, Emilie, this is too absurd!” + </p> + <p> + “But, dear mamma, I cannot marry one man and love another—love I did + not quite mean to say. But whilst I prefer another, I cannot, in honour, + marry M. de Brisac.” + </p> + <p> + “Honour!—Love!—But in France, in my time, who ever heard of a + young lady’s being in love before she was married? You astonish, you + frighten, you shock me, child! Recollect yourself, Emilie! Misfortune may + have deprived you of the vast possessions to which you are heiress; but do + not, therefore, degrade yourself and me by forgetting your principles, and + all that the representative of the house of Coulanges ought to remember. + And as for myself—have I no claim upon your affections, Emilie?—have + not I been a fond mother?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes!” said Emilie, melting into tears. “Of your kindness I think more + than of any thing else!—more than of the whole house of Coulanges!” + </p> + <p> + “Do not let me see you in tears, child!” said Mad. de Coulanges, moved by + Emilie’s grief. “Your tears hurt my nerves more even than Mrs. Somers’ <i>grossièreté</i>. + You must blame Mrs. Somers, not me, for all this—her temper drives + me to it—I cannot live with her. We have no alternative. Emilie, my + sweet child! make me happy!—I am miserable in this house. Hitherto + you have ever been the best of daughters, and you shall find me the most + indulgent of mothers. One whole month I will give you to change your mind, + and recollect your duty. At the end of that time, I must see you Mad. de + Brisac, and in a house of your own.—In the house of Mrs. Somers I + will not, I cannot longer remain.” + </p> + <p> + Poor Emilie was glad of the reprieve of one month. She retired from her + mother’s presence in silent anguish, and hastened to her own apartment, + that she might give way to her grief. There she found Mrs. Somers waiting + for her, seated in an arm-chair, with an open letter in her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you start, Emilie? You look as if you were sorry to find me here,” + cried Mrs. Somers—“IF THAT be the case, Mlle. de Coulanges—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mrs. Somers! do not begin to quarrel with me at this moment, for I + shall not be able to bear it—I am sufficiently unhappy already!” + said Emilie. + </p> + <p> + “I am extremely sorry that any thing should make you unhappy, Emilie,” + said Mrs. Somers; “but I think that you had never less reason than at this + moment to suspect me of an intention of quarrelling with you—I came + here with a very different design. May I know the cause of your distress?” + </p> + <p> + Emilie hesitated, for she did not know how to explain the cause without + imputing blame either to Mrs. Somers or to her mother—she could only + say—“<i>M. de Brisac</i>—” + </p> + <p> + “What!” cried Mrs. Somers, “your mother wants you to marry him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Immediately?” + </p> + <p> + “In one month.” + </p> + <p> + “And you have consented?” + </p> + <p> + “No—But—” + </p> + <p> + “<i>But</i>—Good Heavens! Emilie, what weakness of mind there is in + that <i>but</i>—” + </p> + <p> + “Is it weakness of mind to fear to disobey my mother—to dread to + offend her for ever—to render her unhappy—and to deprive her, + perhaps, even of the means of subsistence?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>The means of subsistence</i>! my dear. This phrase, you know, can only + be a figure of rhetoric,” said Mrs. Somers. “Your refusing M. de Brisac + cannot deprive your mother of the means of subsistence. In the first + place, she expects to recover her property in France.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Emilie; “she has given up these hopes—you have persuaded + her that they are vain.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I think them so. But still you must know, my dear, that your + mother can never be in want of the means of subsistence, nor any of the + conveniences, and, I may add, luxuries of life, whilst I am alive.” + </p> + <p> + Emilie sighed; and when Mrs. Somers urged her more closely, she said, + “Mamma has not, till lately, been accustomed to live on the bounty of + others; the sense of dependence produces many painful feelings, and + renders people more susceptible than perhaps they would be, were they on + terms of equality.” + </p> + <p> + “To what does all this tend, my dear?” interrupted Mrs. Somers. “Is Mad. + de Coulanges offended with me?—Is she tired of living with me?—Does + she wish to quit my house?—And where does she intend to go?—Oh! + that is a question that I need not ask!—Yes, yes—I have long + foreseen it—you have arranged it admirably—you go to Lady + Littleton, I presume?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no!” + </p> + <p> + “To M. de Brisac?” + </p> + <p> + “Mamma wishes to go—” + </p> + <p> + “Then to M. de Brisac, for Heaven’s sake, let her go,” cried Mrs. Somers, + bursting into a fit of laughter, which astonished Emilie beyond measure. + “To M. de Brisac let her go—‘tis the best thing she can possibly do, + my dear; and seriously to tell you the truth, I have always thought it + would be an excellent match. Since she is so much prepossessed in his + favour, can she do better than marry him? and, as he is so much attached + to the house of Coulanges, when he cannot have the daughter, can he do + better than marry the mother?—Your mother does not look too old for + him, when she is well rouged; and I am sure, if she heard me say so, she + would forgive me all the rest—butterfly, frivolity, and all + inclusive. Permit me, Emilie, to laugh.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot permit any body to laugh at mamma,” said Emilie; “and Mrs. + Somers is the last person whom I should have supposed would have been + inclined to laugh, when I told her that I was really unhappy.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Emilie, I forgive you for being angry, because I never saw you + angry before; and that is more than you can say for me. You do me justice, + however, by supposing that I should be the last person to laugh when you + are in woe, unless I thought—unless I was sure—that I could + remove the cause, and make you completely happy.” + </p> + <p> + “That, I fear, is impossible,” said Emilie: “for mamma’s pride and her + feelings have been so much hurt, that I do not think any apology would now + calm her mind.” + </p> + <p> + “Apology!—I am not in the least inclined to make any. Can I tell + Mad. de Coulanges that I do not think her frivolous?—Impossible, + indeed, my dear! I will do any thing else to oblige you. But I have as + much pride, and as much feeling, in my own way, as any of the house of + Coulanges: and if, after all I have done, madame can quarrel with me about + a butterfly, I must say, not only that she is the most frivolous, but the + most ungrateful woman upon earth; and, as she desires to quit my house, + far from attempting to detain her, I can only wish that she may accomplish + her purpose as soon as possible—as soon as it may suit her own + convenience. As for you, Emilie, I do not suspect you of the ingratitude + of wishing to leave me—I can make distinctions, even when I have + most reason to be angry. I do not blame you, my dear—I do not ever + ask you to blame your mother. I respect your filial piety—I am sure + you must think her to blame, but I do not desire you to say so. Could any + thing be more barbarously selfish than the plan of marrying <i>you</i> to + this M. de Brisac, that <i>she</i> might have an establishment more to her + taste than my house has been able to afford?” + </p> + <p> + Emilie attempted, but in vain, to say a few words for her mother. Mrs. + Somers ran on with her own thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “And at what a time, at what a cruel time for me, did Mad. de Coulanges + choose to express her desire to leave my house—at the moment when my + whole soul was intent upon a scheme for the happiness of her daughter! + Yes, Emilie, for your happiness!—and, my dear, your mother’s conduct + shall change nothing in my views. You I have always found uniformly kind, + gentle, grateful—I will say no more—I have found in you, + Emilie, real magnanimity. I have tried your temper much—sometimes + too much—but I have always found you proof against these petty + trials. Your character is suited to mine. I love you, as if you were my + daughter, and I wish you to be my daughter.—Now you know my whole + mind, Emilie. My son—my <i>eldest</i> son, I should with emphasis + say, if I were speaking to Mad. de Coulanges—will be here in a few + days: read this letter. How happy I shall be if you find him—or if + you will make him—such as you can entirely approve and love! You + will have power over him—your influence will do what his mother’s + never could accomplish. But whatever reasons I may have to complain of + him, this is not the time to state them—you will connect him with + me. At all events, he is a man of honour and a gentleman; and as he is + not, thank Heaven! under the debasing necessity of considering fortune in + the choice of a wife, he is, at least in this respect, worthy of my dear + and high-minded Emilie.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Somers paused, and fixed her eyes eagerly on Emilie, impatient for + her answer, and already half provoked by not seeing the sudden transition + of countenance which she had pictured in her imagination. With a mixture + of dignity and affectionate gratitude in her manner, Emilie was beginning + to thank Mrs. Somers for the generous kindness of her intention; but this + susceptible lady interrupted her, and exclaimed, “Spare me your thanks, + Mlle. de Coulanges, and tell me at once what is passing in your mind; for + something very extraordinary is certainly passing there, which I cannot + comprehend. Surely you cannot for a moment imagine that your mother will + insist upon your now accepting of M. de Brisac; or, if she does, surely + you would not have the weakness to yield. I must have some proof of + strength of mind from my friends. You must judge for yourself, Emilie, or + you are not the person I take you for. You will have full opportunity of + judging in a few days. Will you promise me that you will decide entirely + for yourself, and that you will keep your mind unbiassed? Will you promise + me this? And will you speak, at all events, my dear, that I may understand + you?” + </p> + <p> + Emilie, who saw that even before she spoke Mrs. Somers was on the brink of + anger, trembled at the idea of confessing the truth—that her heart + was already biassed in favour of another: she had, however, the courage to + explain to her all that passed in her mind. Mrs. Somers heard her with + inexpressible disappointment. She was silent for some minutes. At last she + said, in a voice of constrained passion, “Mlle. de Coulanges, I have only + one question to ask of you—you will reflect before you answer it, + because on your reply depends the continuance or utter dissolution of our + friendship—do you, or do you not, think proper to refuse my son + before you have seen him?” + </p> + <p> + “Before I have seen Mr. Somers, it surely can be no affront to you or to + him,” said Emilie, “to decline an offer that I cannot accept, especially + when I give as my reason, that my mind is prepossessed in favour of + another. With that prepossession, I cannot unite myself to your son: I can + only express to you my gratitude—my most sincere gratitude—for + your kind and generous intentions, and my hopes that he will find, amongst + his own countrywomen, one more suited to him than I can be. His fortune is + far above—” + </p> + <p> + “Say no more, I beg, Mlle. de Coulanges—I asked only for a simple + answer to a plain question. You refuse my son—you refuse to be my + daughter. I am satisfied—perfectly satisfied. I suppose you have + arranged to go to Lady Littleton’s. I heartily hope that she may be able + to make her house more agreeable to you than I could render mine. Shake + hands, Mlle. de Coulanges. You have my best wishes for your health and + happiness—Here we part.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! do not let us part in anger!” said Emilie. + </p> + <p> + “In anger!—not in the least—I never was cooler in my life. You + have completely cooled me—you have shown me the folly of that warmth + of friendship which can meet with no return.” + </p> + <p> + “Would it be a suitable return for your warm friendship to deceive your + son?” said Emilie. + </p> + <p> + “To deceive me, I think still less suitable!” cried Mrs. Somers. + </p> + <p> + “And how have I deceived you?” + </p> + <p> + “You know best. Why was I kept in ignorance till the last moment? Why did + you never confide your thoughts to me, Emilie? Why did you never till now + say one word to me of this strange attachment?” + </p> + <p> + “There was no necessity for speaking till now,” said Emilie. “It is a + subject I never named to any one except to mamma—a subject on which + I did not think it right to speak to any one but to a parent.” + </p> + <p> + “Your notions of right and wrong, ma’am, differ widely from mine—we + are not fit to live together. I have no idea of a friend’s concealing any + thing from me: without entire confidence, there is no friendship—at + least no friendship with me. Pray no tears. I am not fond of <i>scenes</i>. + Nobody ever is that feels much.—Adieu!—Adieu!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Somers hurried out of the room, repeating, “I’ll write directly—this + instant—to Lady Littleton. Mad. de Coulanges shall not be kept + prisoner in <i>my</i> house.” Emilie stood motionless. + </p> + <p> + In a few minutes Mrs. Somers returned with an unfolded letter, which she + put into Emilie’s passive hand. “Read it, ma’am, I beg—read it. I do + every thing openly—every thing handsomely, I hope—whatever may + be my faults.” + </p> + <p> + The letter was written with a rapid hand, which was scarcely legible, + especially to a foreigner. Emilie, with her eyes full of tears, had no + chance of deciphering it. + </p> + <p> + “Do not hurry yourself, ma’am,” said Mrs. Somers. “I will leave you my + letter to show to madame la comtesse, and then you will be so good as to + despatch it.—Mlle. de Coulanges,” cried Mrs. Somers, “you will be so + obliging as to refrain from mentioning to the countess the foolish offer + that I made you in my son’s name this morning. There is no necessity for + mortifying my pride any farther—a refusal from you is quite decisive—so + pray let there be no consultations. As to the rest, the blame of our + disagreement will of course be thrown upon me.” + </p> + <p> + As Emilie moved towards the door, Mrs. Somers said, “Mlle. de Coulanges, I + beg pardon for calling you back: but should you ever think of this + business or of me, hereafter, you will do me the justice to remember that + I made the proposal to you at a time when I was under the firm belief that + you would never recover an inch of your estates in France.” + </p> + <p> + “And you, dear Mrs. Somers, if you should ever think of me hereafter,” + said Emilie, “will, I hope, remember that my answer was given under the + same belief.” + </p> + <p> + With a look which seemed to refuse assent, Mrs. Somers continued, “I am as + well aware, ma’am, as you, or Mad. de Coulanges, can be, that if you + should recover your hereditary property, the heiress of the house of + Coulanges would be a person to whom my son should not presume to aspire.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mrs. Somers! Is not this cruel mockery—undeserved by me—unworthy + of you?” + </p> + <p> + “Mockery!—Ma’am, it is not three days since your mother was so + positive in her expectations of being in the Hotel de Coulanges before + next winter, that she was almost in fits because I ventured to differ on + this point from her and Lady Littleton—Lady Littleton’s judgment is + much better than mine, and has, of course, had its weight—very + justly—But I insist upon your understanding clearly that it had no + weight with me in this affair. Whatever you may imagine, I never thought + of the Coulanges estate.” + </p> + <p> + “Believe me, I never could have imagined that you did. If <i>I</i> could + suspect Mrs. Somers of interested motives,” said Emilie, with emotion so + great that she could scarcely articulate the words, “I must be an + unfeeling—an ungrateful idiot!” + </p> + <p> + “No, not an idiot, Mlle. de Coulanges—nobody can mistake you for an + idiot: but, as I was going to say, if you inquire, Lady Littleton can tell + you that I was absolutely provoked when I first heard you had a chance of + recovering your property—you may smile, ma’am, but it is perfectly + true. I own I might have been more prudent; but prudence, in affairs of + the heart, is not one of my virtues: I own, however, it would have been + more prudent to have refrained from making this proposal, till you had + received a positive answer from France.” + </p> + <p> + “And why?” said Emilie. “Whatever that answer might have been, surely you + must be certain that it would not have made any alteration in my conduct.—You + are silent, Mrs. Somers!—You wound me to the heart!—Oh! do me + justice!—Justice is all I ask.” + </p> + <p> + “I think that I do you justice—full justice—Mlle. de + Coulanges; and if it wounds you to the heart, I am sorry for it; but that + is not my fault.” + </p> + <p> + Emilie’s countenance suddenly changed from the expression of supplicating + tenderness to haughty indignation. “You doubt my integrity!” she + exclaimed: “then, indeed, Mrs. Somers, it is best that we should part!” + </p> + <p> + Mlle. de Coulanges disappeared, and Mrs. Somers shut herself up in her + room, where she walked backwards and forwards for above an hour, then + threw herself upon a sofa, and remained nearly another hour, till Mrs. + Masham came to say that it was time to dress for dinner. She then started + up, saying aloud, “I will think no more of these ungrateful people.” + </p> + <p> + “They are gone, ma’am,” said Mrs. Masham—“gone, and gave no vails!—which + I don’t think <i>on</i>, upon my own account, God knows! for if millions + were offered me, in pocket-pieces, I would not touch one from any soul + that comes to the house, having enough, and more than enough, from my own + generous lady, who is the only person I stoop to receive from with + pleasure. But there are others in the house who are accustomed to vails, + and, after staying so long, it was a little ungenteel to go without so + much as offering any one any thing—and to go in such a hurry and + huff—taking only a French leave, after all! I must acknowledge with + you, ma’am, that they are the ungratefullest people that ever were seen in + England. Why, ma’am, I went backwards and forwards often enough into their + apartments, to try to make out the cause of the packings and messages to + the washer-woman, that I might inform you, but nothing transpired; yet I + am certain, in their hearts, they are more black and ungrateful than any + that ever were born; for there!—at the last moment, when even, for + old acquaintance sake, the tears stood in my eyes, there was Miss Emilie, + sitting as composedly as a judge, painting a butterfly’s wing on some of + her Frenchifications! Her eyes were red, to do her justice; but whether + with painting or crying, I can’t pretend to be certain. But as to Mad. de + Coulanges, I can answer for her that the sole thing in nature she thought + of, in leaving this house, was the bad step of the hackney-coach.” + </p> + <p> + “Hackney-coach!” cried Mrs. Somers, with surprise. “Did they go away in a + hackney-coach?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma’am, much against the countess’ stomach, I am sure: I only wish + you had seen the face she made when the glass would not come up.” + </p> + <p> + “But why did not they take my carriage, or wait for Lady Littleton’s? They + were, it seems, in a violent hurry to be gone,” said Mrs. Somers. + </p> + <p> + “So it seems, indeed, ma’am—no better proof of their being the most + ungratefullest people in the universe: but so it is, by all accounts, with + all of their nation—the French having no constant hearts for any + thing but singing, and dancing, and dressing, and making merry-andrews of + themselves. Indeed, I own, till to-day, I thought Miss Emilie had less of + the merry-andrew nature than any of her country; but the butterfly has + satisfied me that there is no striving against climate and natural + character, which conquer gratitude and every thing else.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Somers sighed, and told Masham that she had said enough upon this + disagreeable subject. At dinner the subject was renewed by many visitors, + who, as soon as they found that Mad. and Mlle. de Coulanges had left Mrs. + Somers, began to find innumerable faults with the French in general, and + with the countess and her daughter in particular. On the chapter of + gratitude they were most severe; and Mrs. Somers was universally pitied + for having so much generosity, and blamed for having had so much patience. + Every body declared that they foresaw how she would be treated; and the + exclamations of wonder at Lady Littleton’s inviting to her house those who + had behaved so ill to her friend were unceasing. Mrs. Somers all the time + denied that she had any cause of complaint against either Mad. de + Coulanges or her daughter; but the company judiciously trusted more to her + looks than her words. Every thing was said or hinted that could exasperate + her against her former favourites: for Mad. de Coulanges had made many + enemies by engrossing an unreasonable share in the conversation; and + Emilie by attracting too great a portion of attention by her beauty and + engaging manners. Malice often overshoots the mark: Mrs. Somers was at + first glad to hear the objects of her indignation abused; but at last she + began to think the profusion of blame greater than was merited, and when + she retired to rest at night, and when Masham began with “Oh, ma’am! do + you know that Mlle. de Coulanges—” Mrs. Somers interrupted her, and + said, “Masham, I desire to hear nothing more about Mlle. de Coulanges: I + have heard her and her mother abused, without ceasing, these two hours, + and that is enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Lord! ma’am, I was not going to abuse them—God forbid! I was just + going to tell you,” cried Masham, “that never was any thing so mistaken as + all I said before dinner. Just now, ma’am, when I went into the little + dressing-room, within Mad. de Coulanges’ room, and happened to open the + wardrobe, I was quite struck back with shame at my own unjustice: there, + ma’am, poor Miss Emilie left something—and out of her best things!—to + every maid-servant in the house; all directed in her own hand, and with a + good word for each; and this ring for me, which she is kind enough to say + is of no value but to put me in mind of all the attentions I have shown + her and her mother—which, I am sure, were scarcely worth noticing, + especially at such a time when she had enough to do, and her heart full, + no doubt, poor soul!—There are her little paintings and + embroideries, and pretty things, that she did when she was confined with + her sprain, all laid out in order—‘tis my astonishment how she found + time!—and directed to her friends in London, as keep-sakes:—and + the very butterfly that I was so angry with her for staying to finish, is + on something for you, ma’am; and here’s a packet that was with it, and + that nobody saw till this minute.” + </p> + <p> + “Give it me!” cried Mrs. Somers. She tore it open, and found, in the first + place, the pocketbook, full of bank notes, which she had given Mad. de + Coulanges, with a few polite but haughty lines from the countess, saying + that only twenty guineas had been used, which she hoped, at some future + period, to be able to repay. Then came a note from Emilie, in which Mrs. + Somers found her own letter to Lady Littleton. Emilie expressed herself as + follows. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Many thanks for the enclosed, but we have determined not to go to + Lady Littleton’s: at least we will take care not to be the cause + of quarrel between friends to whom we are so much obliged.—No, + dear Mrs. Somers! we do not part in anger. Excuse me, if the last + words I said to you were hasty—they were forced from me by a + moment of passion—but it is past: all your generosity, all your + kindness, the recollection of all that you have done, all that you + have wished for my happiness, rush upon my mind; and every other + thought, and every other feeling, is forgotten. Would to Heaven + that I could express to you my gratitude by actions!—but words, + alas! are all that I have in my power—and where shall I find + words that can reach your heart? I had better be silent, and trust + to time and to you. I know your generous temper—you will soon + blame yourself for having judged too severely of Emilie. But + do not reproach yourself—do not let this give you a moment’s + uneasiness: the clouds pass away, and the blue sky remains. Think + only—as I ever shall—of your goodness to mamma and to me. Adieu! + + “EMILIE DE COULANGES.” + </pre> + <p> + Mrs. Somers was much affected by this letter, and by the information that + Emilie and her mother had declined taking refuge with Lady Littleton, lest + they should occasion jealousies between her and her friend. Generous + people are, of all others, the most touched by generosity of sentiment or + of action. Mrs. Somers went to bed, enraged against herself—but it + was now too late. + </p> + <p> + In the mean time, Emilie and her mother were in an obscure lodging, at a + haberdasher’s near Golden Square. The pride of Mad. de Coulanges, at + first, supported her even beyond her daughter’s expectations; she uttered + no complaints, but frequently repeated, “Mais nous sommes bien ici, très + bien—we cannot expect to have things as well as at the Hotel de + Coulanges.” In a short time she was threatened with fits of her <i>vapeurs + noirs</i>; but Emilie, with the assistance of her whole store of French + songs, a bird-organ, a lap-dog, and a squirrel, belonging to the girl of + the house, contrived to avert the danger for the present—as to the + future, she trembled to think of it. M. de Brisac seemed to be continually + in her mother’s thoughts; and whatever occurred, or whatever was the + subject of conversation, Mad. de Coulanges always found means to end with + “<i>à propos de M. de Brisac</i>.” Faithful to her promise, however, which + Emilie, with the utmost delicacy, recalled to her mind, she declared that + she would not give M. de Brisac an answer till the end of the month, which + she had allowed her daughter for reflection, and that, till that period, + she would not even let him know where they were to be found. Emilie + thought that the time went very fast, and her mother evidently rejoiced at + the idea that the month would soon be at an end. Emilie endeavoured, with + all her skill, to demonstrate to her mother that it would be possible to + support themselves, by her industry and ingenuity, without this marriage; + and to this, Mad. de Coulanges at first replied, “Try, and you will soon + be tired, child.” Emilie’s spirits rose on receiving this permission: she + began by copying music for a music-shop in the neighbourhood; and her + mother saw, with astonishment, that she persevered in her design, and that + no fatigue or discouraging circumstances could vanquish her resolution. + </p> + <p> + “Good Heavens! my child,” said she, “you will wear yourself to a skeleton + with copying music, and with painting, and embroidery, besides stooping so + many hours over that tambour frame. My dear, how can you bear all this?” + </p> + <p> + “How!—Oh! dear mamma!” said Emilie, “there is no great difficulty in + all this to me—the difficulty, the impossibility would be, to live + happily with a man I despise.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish,” cried Mad. de Coulanges, “I wish to all the saints, that that + hero of yours, that fellow-prisoner of ours at the Abbaye, with his + humanity, and his generosity, and his courage, and all his fine qualities, + had kept out of your way, Emilie: I wish he were fairly at the bottom of + the Black Sea.” + </p> + <p> + “But you forget that he was the means of obtaining your liberty, mamma.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could forget it—I am always doomed to be obliged to those + whom I cannot love. But, after all, you might as well think of the khan of + Tartary as of this man, whom we shall never hear of more. Marry M. de + Brisac, like a reasonable creature, and do not let me see you bending, as + you do, for ever, over a tambour frame, wasting your fine eyes and + spoiling your charming shape.” + </p> + <p> + “But, mamma,” said Emilie, “would it not be much worse to marry one man, + and like another?” + </p> + <p> + “For mercy’s sake! say something new to me, Emilie; at all events, I have + heard this a hundred times.” + </p> + <p> + “The simple truth, alas!” said Emilie, “must always be the same: I wish I + could put it in any new light that would please you, dear mamma.” + </p> + <p> + “It never can please me, child,” cried Mad. de Coulanges, angrily; “nor + can you please me, either, as you are going on. Fine heroism, truly!—you + will sacrifice your duty and your mother to your obstinacy in an idle + fancy. But, remember, the last days of the month are at hand—longer + I will not listen to such provoking nonsense—it has half killed me + already.” + </p> + <p> + Neither lap-dog, squirrel, bird-organ, nor Emilie’s whole stock of French + songs, could longer support the vivacity of Mad. de Coulanges; for some + days she had passed the time in watching and listening to the London + cries, as she sat at her window: the figures and sounds in this busy part + of the town were quite new to her; and, whilst the novelty lasted, she + was, like a child, good-humoured and full of exclamations. The want of + some one to listen to these exclamations was an insupportable evil; she + complained terribly of her daughter’s silence, whilst she was attending to + her different employments. This want of conversation, and of all the + luxuries she enjoyed at the house of Mrs. Somers, her anger against that + lady, her loss of all hope of hearing from France, and her fear that + Emilie would at last absolutely refuse to obey and marry M. de Brisac, all + together operated so powerfully upon Mad. de Coulanges, that she really + felt sick, and kept her bed. Emilie now confined herself to her mother’s + room, and attended her with the most affectionate care, and with a degree + of anxiety, which those only can comprehend who have believed themselves + to be the cause of the illness of a friend—of a parent. Mad. de + Coulanges would sometimes reply, when her daughter asked her if such or + such a thing had done her good, “No, my child, nothing will do me good but + your obedience, which you refuse me—perhaps on my deathbed.” + </p> + <p> + Though Emilie did not apprehend that her mother was in any immediate + danger, yet these continual fits of low spirits and nervous attacks + excited much alarm. Emilie’s reflections on her own helpless situation + contributed to magnify her fears: she considered that she was a stranger, + a foreigner, without friends, without credit, almost without money, and + deprived, by the necessary attendance on her sick mother, of all power to + earn any by her own exertions. The bodily fatigue that she endured, even + without any mental anxiety, would have been sufficient to wear out the + spirits of a more robust person than Emilie. She had no human being to + assist her but a young girl, a servant-maid belonging to the house, who, + fortunately, was active and good-natured; but her mistress was excessively + cross, vulgar, and avaricious; avarice, indeed, often seemed to conquer in + her the common feelings of humanity. Once, whilst Mad. de Coulanges was + extremely ill, she forced her way into her bedchamber, to insist upon + changing the counterpane upon the bed, which she said was too good to be + stained with coffee: another day, when she was angry with Mlle. de + Coulanges, for having cracked a basin by heating some soup for her mother, + she declared, in the least ceremonious terms possible, that she hated to + have any of the French <i>refugees</i> and emigrants in the house, for + that she was not accustomed to let her lodgings to folk that nobody ever + came near to visit, and that lived only upon soups and salads, and such + low stuff; “and who, when they were ill, never so much as called in a + physician, or even a nurse, but must take up the time of people that were + not bound to wait upon them.” + </p> + <p> + Mlle. de Coulanges bore all this patiently rather than run the hazard of + removing to other lodgings whilst her mother was so ill. The countess had + a prejudice against English physicians, as she affirmed that it was + impossible that they could understand French constitutions, especially + hers, which was different from that of any other human being, and which, + as she said, only one medical man in France rightly understood. At last, + however, she yielded to the persuasions of her daughter, and permitted + Emilie to send for a physician. When she inquired what he thought of her + mother, he said, that she was in a nervous fever, and that unless her mind + was kept free from anxiety he could not answer for her recovery. Mad. de + Coulanges looked full at her daughter, who was standing at the foot of her + bed; a mist came before Emilie’s eyes, a cold dew covered her forehead, + and she was forced to hold by the bed-post to support herself. + </p> + <p> + At this instant the door opened, and Lady Littleton appeared. Emilie + sprang forward, and threw herself into her arms—Mad. de Coulanges + started up in her bed, exclaiming “Ah Ciel!” and then all were silent—except + the mistress of the house, who went on making apologies about the dirt of + her stairs, and its being Friday night. But as she at length perceived + that not a soul in the room knew a word she was saying, she retreated. The + physician took leave—and, when they were thus left at liberty, Lady + Littleton seated herself in the broken arm-chair beside the bed, and told + Mad. de Coulanges that Mrs. Somers had been very unhappy, in consequence + of their quarrel; and that she had been indefatigable in her inquiries and + endeavours to find out the place of their retreat; that she had at last + given up the search in despair. “But,” continued Lady Littleton, “it has + been my good fortune to discover you by means of this flower of Emilie’s + painting”—(she produced a little hand-screen, which Emilie had + lately made, and which she had sent to be disposed of at the Repository + for Ingenious Works). “I knew it to be yours, my dear, because it is an + exact resemblance of one upon your watch of Flora, which was drawn from + the flower I brought you from Kew Gardens. Now you must not be angry with + me for finding you out, nor for begging of you to be reconciled to poor + Mrs. Somers, who has suffered much in your absence—much from the + idea of what you would endure—and more from her self-reproaches. She + has, indeed, an unfortunate susceptibility of temper, which makes her + sometimes forget both politeness and justice: but, as you well know, her + heart is excellent. Come, you must promise me to meet her at my house, as + soon as you are able to go out, my dear Mad. de Coulanges.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know when that will be,” replied Mad. de Coulanges, in a sick + voice: “I was never so ill in my life—and so the physician says. But + I am revived by seeing Lady Littleton—she is, and ever has been, all + goodness and politeness to us. I am ashamed that she should see us in such + a miserable place. Emilie, give me my other night-riband, and the wretched + little looking-glass.” + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Coulanges sat up and arranged her head-dress. At this moment, Lady + Littleton took Emilie aside, and put into her hand a letter from France!—“I + would not speak of it suddenly to your mother, my dear,” said she; “but + you will find the proper time. I hope it contains good news—at + present I will have patience. You shall see me again soon; and you must, + at all events, let me take you from this miserable place. Mrs. Somers has + been punished enough.—Adieu!—I long to know the news from + France.” + </p> + <p> + The news from France was such as made the looking-glass drop from the hand + of Mad. de Coulanges. It was a letter from the son of her old steward, to + tell her that his father was dead—that he was now in possession of + all the family fortune, which he was impatient to restore to the wife and + daughter of his former master and friend. + </p> + <p> + “Heaven be praised!” exclaimed Mad. de Coulanges, in an ecstasy of joy—“Heaven + be praised! we shall once more see dear Paris, and the Hotel de + Coulanges!” + </p> + <p> + “Heaven be praised!” cried Emilie, “I shall never more see M. de Brisac. + My mother, I am sure, will no longer wish me to marry him.” + </p> + <p> + “No, in truth,” said the countess, “it would now be a most unequal match, + and one to which he is by no means entitled. How fortunate it is that I + had not given him my promise!—After all, your aversion to him, + child, was quite providential. Now you may form the most splendid alliance + that your heart can desire.” + </p> + <p> + “My heart,” said Emilie, sighing, “desires no splendid alliance. But had + you not better lie down, dear mamma?—You will certainly catch cold—and + remember, your mind must be kept quiet.” + </p> + <p> + It was impossible to keep her mind quiet; she ran on from one subject to + another with extravagant volubility; and Emilie was afraid that she would, + the next day, be quite exhausted; but, on the contrary, after talking + above half the night, she fell into a sound sleep; and when she wakened, + after having slept fourteen hours, she declared that she would no longer + be kept a prisoner in bed. The renovating effects of joy and the influence + of the imagination were never more strongly displayed. “Le malheur passé + n’est bon qu’à être oublié,” was la comtesse’s favourite maxim—and + to do her justice, she was as ready to forget past quarrels as past + misfortunes. She readily complied with Emilie’s request that she would, as + soon as she was able to go out, accompany her to Lady Littleton’s, that + they might meet and be reconciled to Mrs. Somers. + </p> + <p> + “She has the most tormenting temper imaginable,” said the countess; “and I + would not live with her for the universe—Mais d’ailleurs c’est la + meilleure femme du monde.” + </p> + <p> + If, instead of being the best woman in the world, Mrs. Somers had been the + worst, and if, instead of being a benefactress, she had been an enemy, it + would have been all the same thing to the countess; for, in this moment, + she was, as usual, like a child, a <i>friend</i> to every creature of + every kind. + </p> + <p> + Her volubility was interrupted by the arrival of Lady Littleton, who came + to carry Mad. de Coulanges and Emilie to her house, where, as her ladyship + said, Mrs. Somers was impatiently waiting for them. Lady Littleton had + prevented her from coming to this poor lodging-house, because she knew + that the being seen there would mortify the pride of some of the house of + Coulanges. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Somers was indeed waiting for them with inexpressible impatience. The + moment she heard their voices in the hall at Lady Littleton’s, she ran + down stairs to meet them; and as she embraced Emilie she could not refrain + from bursting into tears. + </p> + <p> + “Tears of joy, these must be,” cried Mad. de Coulanges: “we are all happy + now—perfectly happy—Are not we?—Embrace me, Mrs. Somers—Emilie + shall not have all your heart—I have some gratitude as well as my + daughter; and I should have none if I did not love you—especially at + this moment.” + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Coulanges was, by this time, at the head of the stairs; a servant + opened the drawing-room door; but something was amiss with the strings of + her sandals—she would stay to adjust them—and said to Emilie, + “Allez, allez—entrez.” + </p> + <p> + Emilie obeyed. An instant afterwards Mad. de Coulanges thought she heard a + sudden cry, either of joy or grief, from Emilie—she hurried into the + drawing-room. + </p> + <p> + “Bon Dieu! c’est notre homme de l’Abbaye!” cried she, starting back at the + sight of a gentleman who had been kneeling at Emilie’s feet, and who arose + as she entered. + </p> + <p> + “My son!” said Mrs. Somers, eagerly presenting him to Mad. de Coulanges—“my + son! whom it is in your power to make the happiest or the most miserable + of men!” + </p> + <p> + “In my power!—in Emilie’s, you mean, I suppose,” said the countess, + smiling. “She is so good a girl that I cannot make her miserable; and as + for you, Mrs. Somers, the honour of your alliance—and our + obligations—But then I shall be miserable myself if she does not go + back with me to the Hotel de Coulanges—Ah! Ciel!—And then poor + M. de Brisac, he will be miserable, unless, to comfort him, I marry him + myself.”—Half laughing, half crying, Mad. de Coulanges scarcely knew + what she said or did. + </p> + <p> + It was some time before she was sufficiently composed to understand + clearly what was said to her by any person in the room, though she asked, + half a dozen times, at least, from every one present, an explanation of + all that had happened. + </p> + <p> + Lady Littleton was the only person who could give an explanation. She had + contrived this meeting, and even Mrs. Somers had not foreseen the event—she + never suspected that her own son was the very person to whom Emilie was + attached, and that it was for Emilie’s sake her son had hitherto refused + to comply with her earnest desire that he should marry and settle in the + world. He had no hopes that she would consent to his marrying a French + girl without fortune, because she formerly quarrelled with him for + refusing to marry a rich lady of quality, who happened to be, at that + time, high in her favour. Upon the summons home that he received from her, + he was alarmed by the apprehension that she had some new alliance in view + for him, and he resolved, before he saw his mother, to trust his secret to + Lady Littleton, who had always been a mediatrix and peace-maker. He + declined telling the name of the object of his affections; but, from his + description, and from many concomitant dates and circumstances, Lady + Littleton was led to suspect that it might be Emilie de Coulanges. She + consequently contrived an interview, which she knew must be decisive. + </p> + <p> + Mad. de Coulanges, whose imagination was now at Paris, felt rather + disappointed at the idea of her daughter’s marrying an Englishman, who was + neither a count, a marquis, nor even a baron; but Lady Littleton at length + obtained that consent which she knew would be necessary to render Emilie + happy, even in following the dictates of her heart, or her reason. + </p> + <p> + Some conversation passed between Lady Littleton and Mrs. Somers about a + dormant title in the Somers’ family, which might be revived. This made a + wonderful impression on the countess. She yielded, as she did every thing + else, with a good grace. + </p> + <p> + History does not say, whether she did or did not console M. de Brisac: we + are only informed that, immediately after her daughter’s marriage, she + returned to Paris, and gave a splendid ball at her Hotel de Coulanges. We + are further assured that Mrs. Somers never quarrelled with Emilie from the + day of her marriage till the day of her death—but that is + incredible. + </p> + <h3> + 1803. + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE MODERN GRISELDA. + </h2> + <h3> + A TALE. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “And since in man right reason bears the sway, + Let that frail thing, weak woman, have her way.” + </pre> + <h3> + POPE. + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Blest as th’immortal gods is he, + The youth who fondly sits by thee, + Who sees and hears thee all the while, + Softly speak and sweetly smile.” + </pre> + <p> + “Is not this ode set to music, my dear Griselda?” said the happy + bridegroom to his bride. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, surely, my dear: did you never hear it?” + </p> + <p> + “Never; and I am glad of it, for I shall have the pleasure of hearing it + for the first time from you, my love: will you be so kind as to play it + for me?” + </p> + <p> + “Most willingly,” said Griselda, with an enchanting smile; “but I am + afraid that I shall not be able to do it justice,” added she, as she sat + down to her harp, and threw her white arm across the chords. + </p> + <p> + “Charming! Thank you, my love,” said the bridegroom, who had listened with + enthusiastic devotion.—“Will you let me hear it once more?” + </p> + <p> + The complaisant bride repeated the strain. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, my dear love,” repeated her husband. This time he omitted the + word “<i>charming</i>”—she missed it, and, pouting prettily, said, + </p> + <p> + “I never can play any thing so well the second time as the first.”—She + paused: but as no compliment ensued, she continued, in a more pettish + tone, “And for that reason, I do hate to be made to play any thing twice + over.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not know that, my dearest love, or I would not have asked you to do + it; but I am the more obliged to you for your ready compliance.” + </p> + <p> + “Obliged!—Oh, my dear, I am sure you could not be the least obliged + to me, for I know I played it horridly: I hate flattery.” + </p> + <p> + “I am convinced of that, my dear, and therefore I never flatter: you know + I did not say that you played as well the last time as the first, did I?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I did not say you did,” cried Griselda, and her colour rose as she + spoke: she tuned her harp with some precipitation—“This harp is + terribly out of tune.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it? I did not perceive it.” + </p> + <p> + “Did not you, indeed? I am sorry for that.” + </p> + <p> + “Why so, my dear?” + </p> + <p> + “Because, my dear, I own that I would rather have had the blame thrown on + my harp than upon myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Blame? my love!—But I threw no blame either on you or your harp. I + cannot recollect saying even a syllable that implied blame.” + </p> + <p> + “No, my dear, you did not say a syllable; but in some cases the silence of + those we love is the worst, the most mortifying species of blame.” + </p> + <p> + The tears came into Griselda’s beautiful eyes. + </p> + <p> + “My sweet love,” said he, “how can you let such a trifle affect you so + much?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing is a trifle to me which concerns those I love,” said Griselda.—Her + husband kissed away the pearly drops which rolled over her + vermeil-tinctured cheeks. “My love,” said he, “this is having too much + sensibility.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I own I have too much sensibility,” said she, “too much—a + great deal too much, for my own happiness.—Nothing ever can be a + trifle to me which marks the decline of the affection of those who are + most dear to me.” + </p> + <p> + The tenderest protestations of undiminished and unalterable affection + could not for some time reassure this timid sensibility: but at length the + lady suffered herself to be comforted, and with a languid smile said, that + she hoped she was mistaken—that her fears were perhaps unreasonable—that + she prayed to Heaven they might in future prove groundless. + </p> + <p> + A few weeks afterwards her husband unexpectedly met with Mr. Granby, a + friend, of whose company he was particularly fond: he invited him home to + dinner, and was talking over past times in all the gaiety and innocence of + his heart, when suddenly his wife rose and left the room.—As her + absence appeared to him long, and as he had begged his friend to postpone + <i>an excellent story</i> till her return, he went to her apartment and + called “Griselda!—Griselda, my love!”—No Griselda answered.—He + searched for her in vain in every room in the house: at last, in an alcove + in the garden, he found the fair dissolved in tears. + </p> + <p> + “Good Heavens! my dear Griselda, what can be the matter?” + </p> + <p> + A melancholy, not to say sullen, silence was maintained by his dear + Griselda, till this question had been reiterated in all the possible tones + of fond solicitude and alarm: at last, in broken sentences, she replied + that she saw he did not love her—never had loved her; that she had + now but too much reason to be convinced that all her fears were real, not + imaginary; that her presentiments, alas! never deceived her; that she was + the most miserable woman on earth. + </p> + <p> + Her husband’s unfeigned astonishment she seemed to consider as an + aggravation of her woes, and it was an additional insult to plead + ignorance of his offence. + </p> + <p> + If he did not understand her feelings, it was impossible, it was needless, + to explain them. He must have lost all sympathy with her, all tenderness + for her, if he did not know what had passed in her mind. + </p> + <p> + The man stood in stupid innocence. Provoked to speak more plainly, the + lady exclaimed, “Unfeeling, cruel, barbarous man!—Have not you this + whole day been trying your utmost skill to torment me to death? and, proud + of your success, now you come to enjoy your triumph.” + </p> + <p> + “Success!—triumph!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, triumph!—I see it in your eyes—it is in vain to deny it. + All this I owe to your friend Mr. Granby. Why he should be my enemy!—I + who never injured him, or any body living, in thought, word, or deed—why + he should be my enemy!”— + </p> + <p> + “Enemy!—My love, this is the strangest fancy! Why should you imagine + that he is your enemy?” + </p> + <p> + “He <i>is</i> my enemy—nobody shall ever convince me of the + contrary; he has wounded me in the tenderest point, and in the basest + manner: has not he done his utmost, in the most artful, insidious way,—even + before my face,—to persuade you that you were a thousand times + happier when you were a bachelor than you are now—than you ever have + been since you married me?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear Griselda, you totally misunderstand him: such a thought never + entered his mind.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, I know him better than you do.” + </p> + <p> + “But I have known him ever since I was a child.” + </p> + <p> + “That is the very reason you cannot judge of him as well as I can: how + could you judge of character when you were a child?” + </p> + <p> + “But now that I am a man—” + </p> + <p> + “Now that you are a man you are prejudiced in his favour by all the + associations of your childhood—all those associations,” continued + the fair one, renewing her tears, “all those early associations, which are + stronger than every other species of affection—all those + associations which I never <i>can</i> have in your mind, which ever must + act against me, and which no merit—if I had any merit—no + tenderness, no fidelity, no fondness of mine, can ever hope to balance in + the heart of the man I love.” + </p> + <p> + “My dearest Griselda! be reasonable, and do not torment yourself and me + for no earthly purpose about these associations: really it is ridiculous. + Come, dry these useless tears, let me beseech you, my love. You do not + know how much pain they give me, unreasonable as they are.” + </p> + <p> + At these words they flowed more bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, my love, I conjure you to compose yourself, and return to the + company: you do not know how long you have been away, and I too. We shall + be missed; we shall make ourselves ridiculous.” + </p> + <p> + “If it be ridiculous to love, I shall be ridiculous all my life. I am + sorry you think me so; I knew it would come to this; I must bear it if I + can,” said Griselda; “only be so kind to excuse me from returning to the + company to-night—indeed I am not fit, I am not able: say that I am + not well; indeed, my love, you may say so with truth.—Tell your + friend that I have a terrible head-ache, and that I am gone to bed—but + not to rest,” added she, in a lower and more plaintive tone, as she drew + her hand from her husband’s, and in spite of all his entreaties retired to + her room with an air of heart-broken resignation. + </p> + <p> + Whoever has had the felicity to be beloved by such a wife as our Griselda, + must have felt how much the charms of beauty are heightened by the anguish + of sensibility. Even in the moment when a husband is most tormented by her + caprices, he feels that there is something so amiable, so flattering to + his vanity in their source, that he cannot complain of the killing + pleasure. On the contrary, he grows fonder of his dear tormentor; he folds + closer to him this pleasing bosom ill. + </p> + <p> + Griselda perceived the effects, and felt the whole extent of the power of + sensibility; she had too much prudence, however, at once to wear out the + excitability of a husband’s heart; she knew that the influence of tears, + potent as it is, might in time cease to be irresistible, unless aided by + the magic of smiles; she knew the power of contrast even in charms; she + believed the poets, who certainly understand these things, and who assure + us that the very existence of love depends on this blest vicissitude. + Convinced, or seemingly convinced, of the folly of that fond melancholy in + which she persisted for a week, she next appeared all radiant with joy; + and she had reason to be delighted by the effect which this produced. Her + husband, who had not yet been long enough her husband to cease to be her + lover, had suffered much from the obstinacy of her sorrow; his spirits had + sunk, he had become silent, he had been even seen to stand motionless with + his arms folded; he was in this attitude when she approached and smiled + upon him in all her glory. He breathed, he lived, he moved, he spoke.—Not + the influence of the sun on the statue of Memnon was ever more + exhilarating. + </p> + <p> + Let any candid female say, or, if she will not say, imagine, what she + should have felt at that moment in Griselda’s place.—How + intoxicating to human vanity, to be possessed of such powers of + enchantment!—How difficult to refrain from their exercise!—How + impossible to believe in their finite duration! + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “<i>Some</i> hope a lover by their faults to win, + As spots on ermine beautify the skin.” + </pre> + <p> + When Griselda thought that her husband had long enough enjoyed his new + existence, and that there was danger of his forgetting the taste of + sorrow, she changed her tone.—One day, when he had not returned home + exactly at the appointed minute, she received him with a frown,—such + as would have made even Mars himself recoil, if Mars could have beheld + such a frown upon the brow of his Venus. + </p> + <p> + “Dinner has been kept waiting for you this hour, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + “I am very sorry for it; but why did you wait, my dear? I am really very + sorry I am so late, but (looking at his watch) it is only half past six by + me.” + </p> + <p> + “It is seven by me.” + </p> + <p> + They presented their watches to each other; he, in an apologetical, she, + in a reproachful attitude. + </p> + <p> + “I rather think you are too fast, my dear,” said the gentleman. + </p> + <p> + “I am very sure you are too slow, my dear,” said the lady. + </p> + <p> + “My watch never loses a minute in the four-and-twenty hours,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Nor mine a second,” said she. + </p> + <p> + “I have reason to believe I am right, my love,” said the husband, mildly. + </p> + <p> + “Reason!” exclaimed the wife, astonished; “what reason can you possibly + have to believe you are right, when I tell you I am morally certain you + are wrong, my love?” + </p> + <p> + “My only reason is, that I set my watch by the sun to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “The sun must be wrong, then,” cried the lady, hastily.—“You need + not laugh; for I know what I am saying—the variation, the + declination, must be allowed for in computing it with the clock. Now you + know perfectly well what I mean, though you will not explain it for me, + because you are conscious I am in the right.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, my dear, if <i>you</i> are conscious of it, that is sufficient. We + will not dispute any more about such a trifle.—Are they bringing up + dinner?” + </p> + <p> + “If they know that you are come in; but I am sure I cannot tell whether + they do or not.—Pray, my dear Mrs. Nettleby,” cried the lady, + turning to a female friend, and still holding her watch in her hand, “what + o’clock is it by you? There is nobody in the world hates disputing about + trifles as much as I do; but I own I do love to convince people that I am + in the right.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Nettleby’s watch had stopped. How provoking!—Vexed at having no + immediate means of convincing people that she was in the right, our + heroine consoled herself by proceeding to criminate her husband, not in + this particular instance, where he pleaded guilty, but upon the general + charge of being always late for dinner, which he strenuously denied. + </p> + <p> + There is something in the species of reproach, which advances thus + triumphantly from particulars to generals, peculiarly offensive to every + reasonable and susceptible mind: and there is something in the general + charge of being always late for dinner, which the punctuality of man’s + nature cannot easily endure, especially if he be hungry. We should humbly + advise our female friends to forbear exposing a husband’s patience to this + trial, or at least to temper it with much fondness, else mischief will + infallibly ensue. For the first time Griselda saw her husband angry; but + she recovered him by saying, in a softened tone, “My love, you must be + sensible that I can have but one reason for being so impatient for your + return home.—If I liked your company less, I should not complain so + much of your want of punctuality.” + </p> + <p> + Finding that this speech had the desired effect, it was afterwards + repeated with variations whenever her husband stayed from home to enjoy + any species of amusement, or to gratify any of his friends. When he + betrayed symptoms of impatience under this constraint, the expostulations + became more urgent, if not more forcible. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, my dear, I take it rather unkindly of you that you pay so little + attention to my feelings—” + </p> + <p> + “I see I am of no consequence to you <i>now</i>; I find every body’s + society is preferred to mine: it was not always so.—Well! it is what + I might have expected—” + </p> + <p> + “Heigho!—Heigho!—” + </p> + <p> + Griselda’s sighs were still persuasive, and her husband, notwithstanding + that he felt the restraints which daily multiplied upon his time and upon + his personal liberty becoming irksome, had not the barbarity to give pain + to the woman by whom he was so tenderly beloved. He did not consider that + in this case, as well as in many others, apparent mercy is real cruelty. + The more this monopolizing humour of his wife’s was indulged, the more + insatiable it became. Every person, every thing but herself, was to be + excluded from his heart; and when this sole patent for pleasure was + granted to her, she became rather careless in its exercise, as those are + apt to be who fear no competitors. In proportion as her endeavours to + please abated, her expectations of being adored increased: the slightest + word of blame, the most remote hint that any thing in her conduct, + manners, or even dress, could be altered for the better, was the signal + for battle or for tears. + </p> + <p> + One night she wept for an hour, and debated for two, about an alteration + in her head-dress, which her husband unluckily happened to say made it + more becoming. <i>More becoming</i>! implied that it was before + unbecoming. She recollected the time when every thing she wore was + becoming in his eyes—but that time, alas! was completely past; and + she only wished that she could forget that it had ever been. + </p> + <p> + “To have been happy is additional misery.” + </p> + <p> + This misery may appear comic to some people, but it certainly was not so + to our heroine’s unfortunate husband. It was in vain that, in mitigation + of his offence, he pleaded total want of knowledge in the arcana of the + toilette, absolute inferiority of taste, and a willing submission to the + decrees of fashion. + </p> + <p> + This submission was called indifference—this calmness construed into + contempt. He stood convicted of having said that the lady’s dress was + unbecoming—she was certain that he thought more than he said, and + that every thing about her was grown disagreeable to him. + </p> + <p> + It was in vain he represented that his affection had not been created, and + could not be annihilated, by such trifles; that it rested on the solid + basis of esteem. + </p> + <p> + “Esteem!” cried his wife—“that is the unkindest stroke of all! When + a man begins to talk of esteem, there is an end of love.” + </p> + <p> + To illustrate this position, the fair one, as well as the disorder of her + mind would permit, entered into a refined disquisition, full of all the + metaphysics of gallantry, which proved that love—genuine love—is + an æthereal essence, a union of souls, regulated by none of those formal + principles, and founded upon none of those vulgar moral qualities on which + friendship, and the other connexions of society, depend. Far, far above + the jurisdiction of reason, true love creates perfect sympathy in taste, + and an absolute identity of opinion upon all subjects, physical, + metaphysical, moral, political, and economic. After having thus + established her theory, her practice was wonderfully consistent, and she + reasonably expected from her husband the most exact conformity to her + principles—of course, his five senses and his understanding were to + be identified with hers. If he saw, heard, felt, or understood differently + from her, he did not, could not, love her. Once she was offended by his + liking white better than black; at another time she was angry with him for + loving the taste of mushrooms. One winter she quarrelled with him for not + admiring the touch of satin, and one summer she was jealous of him for + listening to the song of a blackbird. Then because he could not prefer to + all other odours the smell of jessamine, she was ready “to die of a rose + in aromatic pain.” The domain of taste, in the more enlarged sense of the + word, became a glorious field of battle, and afforded subjects of + inextinguishable war. Our heroine was accomplished, and knew how to make + all her accomplishments and her knowledge of use. As she was mistress not + only of the pencil, but of all “the cant of criticism,” had infinite + advantages in the wordy war. From the <i>beau ideal</i> to the choice of a + snuffer-dish, all came within her province, and was to be submitted, + without appeal, to her instinctive sense of moral order.—Happy + fruits of knowledge!—Happy those who can thus enlarge their + intellectual dominion, and can vary eternally the dear delight of giving + pain. The range of opinion was still more ample than the province of + taste, affording scope for all the joys of assertion and declamation—for + the opposing of learned and unlearned authorities—for the quoting + the opinions of friends—counting voices instead of arguments—wondering + at the absurdity of those who can be of a different way of thinking—appealing + to the judgment of the whole world—or resting perfectly satisfied + with her own. Sometimes the most important, sometimes the most trivial, + and seemingly uninteresting subjects, gave exercise to Griselda’s powers; + and in all cases being entirely of her opinion was the only satisfactory + proof of love. + </p> + <p> + Our heroine knew how, with able generalship, to take advantage of time and + situation.—Just before the birth of their child, which, by-the-bye, + was born dead, a dispute arose between the husband and wife concerning + public and private education, which, from its vehemence, alarmed the + gentleman into a perfect conviction that he was in the wrong. Scarcely had + Griselda gained this point, when a question arose at the tea-table + respecting the Chinese method of making tea. It was doubted by some of the + company whether it was made in a tea-pot or a tea-cup. Griselda gave her + opinion loudly for the tea-pot—her lord and master inclined to the + tea-cup; and as neither of them had been in China, they could debate + without fear of coming to a conclusion. The subject seemed at first + insignificant; but the lady’s method of managing it supplied all + deficiencies, and roused all the passions of human nature on the one side + or the other. Victory hung doubtful; but our heroine won the day by taking + time into the account.—Her adversary was in a hurry to go to meet + some person on business, and quitted the field of battle. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Self-valuing Fancy, highly-crested Pride, + Strong sovereign Will, and some desire to chide.” + </pre> + <p> + “There are,” says Dr. Johnson, “a thousand familiar disputes which reason + can never decide; questions that elude investigation, and make logic + ridiculous—cases where something must be done, and where little can + be said.—Wretched would be the pair above all names of wretchedness + who should be doomed to adjust by reason every morning all the detail of a + domestic day.” + </p> + <p> + Our heroine made a double advantage of this passage: for she regularly + reasoned where logic was ridiculous, and could not be prevailed upon to + listen to reason when it might have been useful.—She substituted her + <i>will</i> most frequently for arguments, and often opposed it to her + husband’s, in order to give him the merit of sacrificing his wishes. When + he wanted to read, she suddenly wished to walk; when he wished to walk, + she was immersed in her studies. When he was busy, she was talkative; when + he was eager to hear her converse, she was inclined to be silent. The + company that he liked, she disliked; the public amusements that she most + frequented were those of which he least approved. This species of + wilfulness was the strongest proof of her solicitude about his good + opinion.—She could not bear, she said, that he should consider her + as a child, who was not able to govern herself. She could not believe that + a man had confidence in her unless he proved it by leaving her at liberty + to decide and act for herself. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes she receded, sometimes she advanced in her claims; but without + marking the daily ebbs and flows of her humour, it is sufficient to + observe, that it continually encroached upon her husband’s indulgence. She + soon insisted upon being <i>consulted</i>, that is, obeyed, in affairs + which did not immediately come under the cognizance of her sex—politics + inclusive. This apparently exorbitant love of power was veiled under the + most affectionate humility. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my love! I know you despise my abilities; you think these things + above the comprehension of poor women. I know I am but your plaything + after all: you cannot consider me for a moment as your equal or your + friend—I see that!—You talk of these things to your friend Mr. + Granby—I am not worthy to hear them.—Well, I am sure I have no + ambition, except to possess the confidence of the man I love.” + </p> + <p> + The lady forgot that she had, upon a former occasion, considered a + profession of esteem from her husband as an insult, and that, according to + her definition of true love, esteem was incompatible with its existence. + </p> + <p> + Tacitus remarks, that it is common with princes to will contradictories; + in this characteristic they have the honour to resemble some of the fair + sex, as well as all spoiled children. Having every feasible wish + gratified, they are obliged to wish for what is impossible, for want of + something to desire or to do: they are compelled to cry for the moon, or + for new worlds to conquer.—Our heroine having now attained the + summit of human glory and happiness, and feeling almost as much ennui as + was expressed by the conqueror of the world, yawned one morning, as she + sat tête-à-tête with her husband, and said— + </p> + <p> + “I wish I knew what was the matter with me this morning.—Why do you + keep the newspaper all to yourself, my dear?” + </p> + <p> + “Here it is for you, my dear: I have finished it.” + </p> + <p> + “I humbly thank you for giving it to me when you have done with it—I + hate stale news.—Is there any thing in the paper? for I cannot be at + the trouble of hunting it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my dear, there are the marriages of two of our friends—” + </p> + <p> + “Who? Who?” + </p> + <p> + “Your friend the Widow Nettleby, to her cousin John Nettleby.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Nettleby! Lord! but why did you tell me?” + </p> + <p> + “Because you asked me, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! but it is a hundred times pleasanter to read the paragraph one’s + self: one loses all the pleasure of the surprise by being told.—Well! + whose was the other marriage?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! my dear, I will not tell you—I will leave you the pleasure of + the surprise.” + </p> + <p> + “But you see I cannot guess it.—How provoking you are, my dear! Do + pray tell it me.” + </p> + <p> + “Our friend Mr. Granby.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Granby!—Dear! Why did not you make me guess? I should have + guessed him directly: but why do you call him our friend? I am sure he is + no friend of mine, nor ever was; I took an aversion to him, as you may + remember, the very first day I saw him: I am sure he is no friend of + mine.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry for it, my dear; but I hope you will go and see Mrs. Granby?” + </p> + <p> + “Not I, indeed, my dear.—Who was she?” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Cooke.” + </p> + <p> + “Cooke!—but there are so many Cookes.—Can’t you distinguish + her any way?—Has she no Christian name?” + </p> + <p> + “Emma, I think—yes, Emma.” + </p> + <p> + “Emma Cooke!—No; it cannot be my friend Emma Cooke—for I am + sure she was cut out for an old maid.” + </p> + <p> + “This lady seems to me to be cut out for a good wife.” + </p> + <p> + “May be so—I am sure I’ll never go to see her—Pray, my dear, + how came you to see so much of her?” + </p> + <p> + “I have seen very little of her, my dear: I only saw her two or three + times before she was married.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, my dear, how could you decide that she is cut out for a good wife?—I + am sure you could not judge of her by seeing her only two or three times, + and before she was married.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, my love, that is a very just observation.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand that compliment perfectly, and thank you for it, my dear.—I + must own I can bear any thing better than irony.” + </p> + <p> + “Irony! my dear; I was perfectly in earnest.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes; in earnest—so I perceive—I may naturally be dull of + apprehension, but my feelings are quick enough: I comprehend you too well. + Yes—it is impossible to judge of a woman before marriage, or to + guess what sort of a wife she will make. I presume you speak from + experience; you have been disappointed yourself, and repent your choice.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear, what did I say that was like this? Upon my word I meant no such + thing; I really was not thinking of you in the least.” + </p> + <p> + “No—you never think of me now: I can easily believe that you were + not thinking of me in the least.” + </p> + <p> + “But I said that only to prove to you that I could not be thinking ill of + you, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + “But I would rather that you thought ill of me than that you did not think + of me at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, my dear,” said her husband, laughing, “I will even think ill of + you, if that will please you.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you laugh at me?” cried she, bursting into tears. “When it comes to + this, I am wretched indeed! Never man laughed at the woman he loved! As + long as you had the slightest remains of love for me, you could not make + me an object of derision: ridicule and love are incompatible, absolutely + incompatible. Well, I have done my best, my very best, to make you happy, + but in vain. I see I am not <i>cut out</i> to be a good wife. Happy, happy + Mrs. Granby!” + </p> + <p> + “Happy I hope sincerely that she will be with my friend; but my happiness + must depend on you, my love; so, for my sake, if not for your own, be + composed, and do not torment yourself with such fancies.” + </p> + <p> + “I do wonder,” cried our heroine, starting from her seat, “whether this + Mrs. Granby is really that Miss Emma Cooke. I’ll go and see her directly; + see her I must.” + </p> + <p> + “I am heartily glad of it, my dear; for I am sure a visit to his wife will + give my friend Granby real pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + “I promise you, my dear, I do not go to give him pleasure, or you either; + but to satisfy my own—<i>curiosity</i>.” + </p> + <p> + The rudeness of this speech would have been intolerable to her husband if + it had not been for a certain hesitation in the emphasis with which she + pronounced the word curiosity, which left him in doubt as to her real + motive. + </p> + <p> + Jealousy is sometimes thought to be a proof of love; and, in this point of + view, must not all its caprices, absurdities, and extravagances, be + graceful, amiable, and gratifying? + </p> + <p> + A few days after Griselda had satisfied her curiosity, she thus, in the + presence of her husband, began to vent her spleen: + </p> + <p> + “For Heaven’s sake, dear Mrs. Nettleby,” cried she, addressing herself to + the new-married widow, who came to return her wedding visit—“for + pity’s sake, dear Mrs. Nettleby, can you or any body else tell me what + possessed Mr. Granby to marry Emma Cooke?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure I cannot tell, for I have not seen her yet.” + </p> + <p> + “You will be less able to tell after you have seen her, and still less + after you have heard her.” + </p> + <p> + “What, then, she is neither a wit nor a beauty! I’m quite surprised at + that; for I thought, to be sure, Mr. Granby, who is such a judge and such + a critic, and so nice about female manners, would not have been content + without something very extraordinary.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing can be more ordinary.” + </p> + <p> + “Astonishing! but I am quite tired of being astonished at marriages! One + sees such strange matches every day, I am resolved never to be surprised + at any thing: who <i>can</i>, that lives in the world? But really now I am + surprised at Mr. Granby. What! is she nothing?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing—absolutely nothing; a cipher; a nonentity.” + </p> + <p> + “Now really? you do not tell me so,” said Mrs. Nettleby. “Well, I am so + disappointed; for I always resolved to take example by Mr. Granby’s wife.” + </p> + <p> + “I would rather that she should take warning by me,” said Griselda, + laughing. “But to be candid, I must tell you that to some people’s taste + she is a pattern wife—a perfect Grizzle. She and I should have + changed names—or characters. Which, my dear?” cried she, appealing + to her husband. + </p> + <p> + “Not names, my dear,” answered he. + </p> + <p> + The conversation might here have ended happily, but unluckily our heroine + could not be easily satisfied before Mrs. Nettleby, to whom she was proud + of showing her conjugal ascendancy. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” said she to her husband, “a-propos to pattern wives: you have + read Chaucer’s Tales. Do you seriously like or dislike the real, original, + old Griselda?” + </p> + <p> + “It is so long since I have seen her that I cannot tell,” replied he. + </p> + <p> + “Then, my dear, you must read the story over again, and tell me without + evasion.” + </p> + <p> + “And if he could read it before Mrs. Granby and me, what a compliment that + would be to one bride,” added the malicious Mrs. Nettleby, “and what a + lesson for another!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it must be so! it must be so!” cried Griselda. “I will ask her here + on purpose to a reading party; and you, my dear Mrs. Nettleby, will come + for your lesson. You, my love, who read so well—and who, I am sure, + will be delighted to pay a compliment to your favourite, Mrs. Granby—you + will read, and I will—weep. On what day shall it be? Let me see: + Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, I’m + engaged: but Sunday is only a party at home; I can put that off:—then + Sunday let it be.” + </p> + <p> + “Sunday, I am unluckily engaged, my dear,” said her husband. + </p> + <p> + “Engaged? Oh, nonsense! You have no engagements of any consequence: and + when I put off <i>my</i> party on purpose to have the pleasure of hearing + you read, oblige me, my love, for once.” + </p> + <p> + “My love, to oblige you, I will do any thing.” + </p> + <p> + Griselda cast a triumphant glance at Mrs. Nettleby, which said as plainly + as a look could say, “You see how I rule him!” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Feels every vanity in fondness lost, + And asks no power but that of pleasing most.” + </pre> + <p> + On Sunday evening a large company assembled at our heroine’s summons. They + were all seated in due form: the reader with his book open, and waiting + for the arrival of the bride, for whom a conspicuous place was destined, + where the spectators, and especially Mrs. Nettleby and our Griselda, could + enjoy a full view of her countenance. + </p> + <p> + “Lord bless me! it is getting late: I am afraid—I am really afraid + Mrs. Granby will not come.” + </p> + <p> + The ladies had time to discuss who and what she was: as she had lived in + the country, few of them had seen, or could tell any thing about her; but + our heroine circulated her opinion in whispers, and every one was prepared + to laugh at <i>the pattern wife, the original Griselda revived</i>, as + Mrs. Nettleby sarcastically called her. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Granby was announced. The buzz was hushed and the titter suppressed; + affected gravity appeared in every countenance, and all eyes turned with + malicious curiosity upon the bride as she entered.—The timidity of + Emma’s first appearance was so free both from awkwardness and affectation, + that it interested at least every gentleman present in her favour. + Surrounded by strangers, but quite unsuspicious that they were prepared to + consider her as an object of ridicule or satire, she won her way to the + lady of the house, to whom she addressed herself as to a friend. + </p> + <p> + “Is not she quite a different person from what you had expected?” + whispered one of the ladies to her neighbour, as Emma passed. Her manner + seemed to solicit indulgence rather than to provoke envy. She was very + sorry to find that the company had been waiting for her; she had been + detained by the sudden illness of Mr. Granby’s mother. + </p> + <p> + Whilst Emma was making this apology, some of the audience observed that + she had a remarkably sweet voice; others discovered that there was + something extremely feminine in her person. A gentleman, who saw that she + was distressed at the idea of being seated in the conspicuous place to + which she was destined by the lady of the house, got up, and offered his + seat, which she most thankfully accepted. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear Mrs. Granby, I cannot possibly allow you to sit there,” cried + the lady of the house. “You must have the honours of the day,” added she, + seizing Emma’s hand to conduct her to the <i>place of honour</i>. + </p> + <p> + “Pray excuse me,” said Mrs. Granby, “honours are so little suited to me: I + am perfectly well here.” + </p> + <p> + “But with that window <i>at your back</i>, my dear madam!” said Mrs. + Nettleby. + </p> + <p> + “I do not feel the slightest breath of air. But perhaps I crowd these + ladies.” + </p> + <p> + “Not in the least, not in the least,” said the ladies, who were on each + side of her: they were won by the irresistible gentleness of Emma’s + manner. Our heroine was vexed to be obliged to give up her point; and + relinquishing Mrs. Granby’s hand, returned to her own seat, and said in a + harsh tone to her husband, + </p> + <p> + “Well! my dear, if we are to have any reading to-night, you had better + begin.” + </p> + <p> + The reading began; and Emma was so completely absorbed, that she did not + perceive that most of the audience were intent upon her. Those who act any + part may be ridiculous in the playing it, but those are safe from the + utmost malignity of criticism who are perfectly unconscious that they have + any part to perform. Emma had been abashed at her first appearance in an + assembly of strangers, and concerned by the idea that she had kept them + waiting; but as soon as this embarrassment passed over, her manners + resumed their natural ease—a degree of ease which surprised her + judges, and which arose from the persuasion that she was not of sufficient + consequence to attract attention. Our heroine was provoked by the sight of + this insolent tranquillity, and was determined that it should not long + continue. The reader came to the promise which Gualtherus exacts from his + bride:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Swear that with ready will, and honest heart, + Like or dislike, without regret or art, + In presence or alone, by night or day, + All that I will, you fail not to obey; + All I intend to forward, that you seek, + Nor ever once object to what I speak. + Nor yet in part alone my wish fulfil; + Nor though you do it, do it with ill-will; + Nor with a forced compliance half refuse; + And acting duty, all the merit lose. + To strict obedience add a willing grace, + And let your soul be painted in your face; + No reasons given, and no pretences sought, + To swerve in deed or word, in look or thought.” + </pre> + <p> + “Well, ladies!” cried the modern Griselda, “what do you think of this?” + </p> + <p> + Shrill exclamations of various vehemence expressed with one accord the + sentiments, or rather feelings, of almost all the married ladies who were + present. + </p> + <p> + “Abominable! Intolerable! Insufferable! Horrible! I would rather have seen + the man perish at my feet; I would rather have died: I would have remained + unmarried all my life rather than have submitted to such terms.” + </p> + <p> + A few young unmarried ladies who had not spoken, or who had not been heard + to speak in the din of tongues, were appealed to by the gentlemen next + them. They could not be prevailed upon to pronounce any distinct opinion: + they qualified, and hesitated, and softened, and equivocated, and “were + not positively able to judge, for really they had never thought upon the + subject.” + </p> + <p> + Upon the whole, however, it was evident that they did not betray that + natural horror which pervaded the more experienced matrons. All agreed + that the terms were “hard terms,” and ill expressed: some added, that only + love could persuade a woman to submit to them: and some still more + sentimental maidens, in a lower voice, were understood to say, that as + nothing is impossible to Cupid, they might be induced to such submission; + but that it must be by a degree of love which they solemnly declared they + had never felt or could imagine as yet. + </p> + <p> + “For my part,” cried the modern Griselda, “I would sooner have lived an + old maid to the days of Methusalem than have been so mean as to have + married any man on earth upon such terms. But I know there are people who + can never think ‘marriage dear-bought.’ My dear Mrs. Granby, we have not + yet heard your opinion, and we should have had yours first, as bride.” + </p> + <p> + “I forgot that I was bride,” said Emma. + </p> + <p> + “Forgot! Is it possible?” cried Mrs. Nettleby: “now this is an excess of + modesty of which I have no notion.” + </p> + <p> + “But for which Mr. Granby,” continued our heroine, turning to Mr. Granby, + who at this moment entered the room, “ought to make his best bow. Here is + your lady, sir, who has just assured us that she forgot she was a bride: + bow to this exquisite humility.” + </p> + <p> + “Exquisite vanity!” cried Mr. Granby; “she knows + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘How much the wife is dearer than the bride.’” + </pre> + <p> + “She will be a singularly happy woman if she knows <i>that</i> this time + twelvemonth,” replied our heroine, darting a reproachful look at her + silent husband. “In the mean time, do let us hear Mrs. Granby speak for + herself; I must have her opinion of Griselda’s promise to obey her lord, + right or wrong, in all things, no reasons given, to submit in deed, and + word, and look, and thought. If Mrs. Granby tells us that is her theory, + we must all reform our practice.” + </p> + <p> + Every eye was fixed upon Emma, and every ear was impatient for her answer. + </p> + <p> + “I should never have imagined,” said she, smiling, “that any person’s + practice could be influenced by my theory, especially as I have no + theory.” + </p> + <p> + “No more humility, my dear; if you have no theory, you have an opinion of + your own, I hope, and we must have a distinct answer to this simple + question: Would you have made the promise that was required from + Griselda?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Emma; “distinctly no; for I could never have loved or + esteemed the man who required such a promise.” + </p> + <p> + Disconcerted by this answer, which was the very reverse of what she + expected; amazed at the modest self-possession with which the timid Emma + spoke, and vexed by the symptoms of approbation which Emma’s words and + voice excited, our heroine called upon her husband, in a more than usually + authoritative tone, and bid him—read on. + </p> + <p> + He obeyed. Emma became again absorbed in the story, and her countenance + showed how much she felt all its beauties, and all its pathos. Emma did + all she could to repress her feelings; and our heroine all she could to + make her and them ridiculous. But in this attempt she was unsuccessful; + for many of the spectators, who at her instigation began by watching + Emma’s countenance to find subject for ridicule, ended by sympathizing + with her unaffected sensibility. + </p> + <p> + When the tale was ended, the modern Griselda, who was determined to oppose + as strongly as possible the charms of spirit to those of sensibility, + burst furiously forth into an invective against the meanness of her + namesake, and the tyranny of the odious Gualtherus. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Could</i> you have forgiven him, Mrs. Granby? could you have forgiven + the monster?” + </p> + <p> + “He repented,” said Emma; “and does not a penitent cease to be a monster?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I never, never would have forgiven him, penitent or not penitent; I + would not have forgiven him such sins.” + </p> + <p> + “I would not have put it into his power to commit them,” said Emma. + </p> + <p> + “I confess the story never touched me in the least,” cried our heroine. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps for the same reason that Petrarch’s friend said that he read it + unmoved,” replied Mrs. Granby: “because he could not believe that such a + woman as Griselda ever existed.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, not for that reason: I believe many such poor, meek, + mean-spirited creatures exist.” + </p> + <p> + Emma was at length wakened to the perception of her friend’s envy and + jealousy; but— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “She mild forgave the failing of her sex.” + </pre> + <p> + “I cannot admire the original Griselda, or any of her imitators,” + continued our heroine. + </p> + <p> + “There is no great danger of her finding imitators in these days,” said + Mr. Granby. “Had Chaucer lived in our enlightened times, he would + doubtless have drawn a very different character.” + </p> + <p> + The modern Griselda looked “fierce as ten furies.” Emma softened her + husband’s observation by adding, “that allowance should certainly be made + for poor Chaucer, if we consider the times in which he wrote. The + situation and understandings of women have been so much improved since his + days. Women were then slaves, now they are free. My dear,” whispered she + to her husband, “your mother is not well; shall we go home?” + </p> + <p> + Emma left the room; and even Mrs. Nettleby, after she was gone, said, + “Really she is not ugly when she blushes.” + </p> + <p> + “No woman is ugly when she blushes,” replied our heroine; “but, unluckily, + a woman cannot <i>always</i> blush.” + </p> + <p> + Finding that her attempt to make Emma ridiculous had failed, and that it + had really placed Mrs. Granby’s understanding, manners, and temper in a + most advantageous and amiable light, Griselda was mortified beyond + measure. She could scarcely bear to hear Emma’s name mentioned. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “She that can please, is certain to persuade, + To-day is lov’d, to-morrow is obey’d.” + </pre> + <p> + A few days after the reading party, Griselda was invited to spend an + evening at Mrs. Granby’s. + </p> + <p> + “I shall not go,” said she, throwing down the card with an air of disdain. + </p> + <p> + “I shall go,” said her husband, calmly. + </p> + <p> + “You will go, my dear!” cried she, amazed. “You will go without <i>me</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “Not without you, if you will be so kind as to go with me, my love,” said + he. + </p> + <p> + “It is quite out of my power,” said she: “I am engaged to my friend, Mrs. + Nettleby.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, my dear,” said he; “do as you please.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly I shall. And I am surprised, my dear, that you do not go to see + Mr. John Nettleby.” + </p> + <p> + “I have no desire to see him, my dear. He is, as I have often heard you + say, an obstinate fool. He is a man I dislike particularly.” + </p> + <p> + “Very possibly; but you ought to go to see him notwithstanding.” + </p> + <p> + “Why so, my dear?” + </p> + <p> + “Because he is married to a woman I like. If you had any regard for me, + your own feelings would have saved you the trouble of asking that + question.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear, should not your regard for me also suggest to you the + propriety of keeping up an acquaintance with Mrs. Granby, who is married + to a man I like, and who is not herself an obstinate fool?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall not enter into any discussion upon the subject,” replied our + heroine; for this was one of the cases where she made it a rule never to + reason. “I can only say that I have my own opinion, and that I beg to be + excused from keeping up any acquaintance whatever with Mrs. Granby.” + </p> + <p> + “And I beg to be excused from keeping up any acquaintance whatever with + Mr. Nettleby,” replied her husband. + </p> + <p> + “Good Heavens!” cried she, raising herself upon the sofa, on which she had + been reclining, and fixing her eyes upon her husband, with unfeigned + astonishment: “I do not know you this morning, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + “Possibly not, my dear,” replied he; “for hitherto you have seen only your + lover; now you see your husband.” + </p> + <p> + Never did metamorphosis excite more astonishment. The lady was utterly + unconscious that she had had any part in producing it—that she had + herself dissolved the spell. She raged, she raved, she reasoned, in vain. + Her point she could not compass. Her cruel husband persisted in his + determination not to go to see Mr. John Nettleby. Absolutely astounded, + she was silent. There was a truce for some hours. She renewed the attack + in the evening, and ceased not hostilities for three succeeding days and + nights, in reasonable hopes of wearying the enemy, still without success. + </p> + <p> + The morning rose, the great, the important day, which was to decide the + fate of the visit. The contending parties met as usual at breakfast; they + seemed mutually afraid of each other, and stood at bay. There was a forced + calm in the gentleman’s demeanour—treacherous smiles played upon the + lady’s countenance. He seemed cautious to prolong the suspension of + hostilities—she fond to anticipate the victory. The name of Mrs. + Granby, or of Mr. John Nettleby, was not uttered by either party, nor did + either inquire where the other was to spend the evening. At dinner they + met again, and preserved on this delicate subject a truly diplomatic + silence; whilst on the topics foreign to their thoughts, they talked with + admirable fluency: actuated by as sincere desire as ever was felt by + negotiating politicians to establish peace on the broadest basis, they + were, <i>with the most perfect consideration</i>, each other’s devoted, + and most obedient humble servants. Candour, however, obliges us to + confess, that though the deference on the part of the gentleman was the + most unqualified and praiseworthy, the lady was superior in her inimitable + air of frank cordiality. The <i>volto sciolto</i> was in her favour, the + <i>pensieri stretti</i> in his. Any one but an ambassador would have been + deceived by the husband; any one but a woman would have been duped by the + wife. + </p> + <p> + So stood affairs when, after dinner, the high and mighty powers separated. + The lady retired to her toilette. The gentleman remained with his bottle. + He drank a glass of wine extraordinary. She stayed half an hour more than + usual at her mirror. Arrayed for battle, our heroine repaired to the + drawing-room, which she expected to find unoccupied;—the enemy had + taken the field. + </p> + <p> + “Dressed, my dear?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Ready, my love!” said she. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I ring the bell for your carriage, my dear?” said the husband. + </p> + <p> + “If you please. You go with me, my dear?” said the wife. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know where you are going, my love.” + </p> + <p> + “To Mrs. Nettleby’s of course,—and you?” + </p> + <p> + “To Mrs. Granby’s.” + </p> + <p> + The lightning flashed from Griselda’s eyes, ere he had half pronounced the + words. The lightning flashed without effect. + </p> + <p> + “To Mrs. Granby’s!” cried she, in a thundering tone. “To Mrs. Granby’s!” + echoed he. She fell back on the sofa, and a shower of tears ensued. Her + husband walked up and down the room, rang again for the carriage, ordered + it in the tone of a master. Then hummed a tune. The fair one sobbed: he + continued to sing, but was out in the time. The lady’s sobs grew alarming, + and threatened hysterics. He threw open the window, and approached the + sofa on which she lay. She, half recovering, unclasped one bracelet; in + haste to get the other off, he broke it. The footman came in to announce + that the carriage was at the door. She relapsed, and seemed in danger of + suffocation from her pearl necklace, which she made a faint effort to + loosen from her neck. + </p> + <p> + “Send your lady’s woman instantly,” cried Griselda’s husband to the + footman. + </p> + <p> + Our heroine made another attempt to untie her necklace, and looked up + towards her husband with supplicating eyes. His hands trembled; he + entangled the strings. It would have been all over with him if the maid + had not at this instant come to his assistance. To her he resigned his + perilous post; retreated precipitately; and before the enemy’s forces + could rally, gained his carriage, and carried his point. + </p> + <p> + “To Mr. Granby’s!” cried he, triumphantly. Arrived there, he hurried to + Mr. Granby’s room. + </p> + <p> + “Another such victory,” cried he, throwing himself into an arm-chair, + “another such victory, and I am undone.” + </p> + <p> + He related all that had just passed between him and his wife. + </p> + <p> + “Another such combat,” said his friend, “and you are at peace for life.” + </p> + <p> + We hope that our readers will not, from this speech, be induced to + consider Mr. Granby as an instigator of quarrels between man and wife; or, + according to the plebeian but expressive apophthegm, one who would come + between the bark and the tree. On the contrary, he was most desirous to + secure his friend’s domestic happiness; and, if possible, to prevent the + bad effects which were likely to ensue from excessive indulgence, and + inordinate love of dominion. He had a high respect for our heroine’s + powers, and thought that they wanted only to be well managed. The same + force which, ill-directed, bursts the engine, and scatters destruction, + obedient to the master-hand, answers a thousand useful purposes, and works + with easy, smooth, and graceful regularity. Griselda’s husband, or, as he + now deserves to have his name mentioned, Mr. Bolingbroke, roused by his + friend’s representations, and perhaps by a sense of approaching danger, + resolved to assume the guidance of his wife, or at least—of himself. + In opposition to his sovereign lady’s will, he actually spent this evening + as he pleased. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “E sol quei giorni io mi vidi contenta, + Ch’averla compiaciuto mi trovai.” + </pre> + <p> + “You are a great deal more courageous than I am, my dear,” said Emma to + her husband, after Mr. Bolingbroke had left them. “I should be very much + afraid of interfering between your friend and his wife.” + </p> + <p> + “What is friendship,” said Mr. Granby, “if it will run no risks? I must + run the hazard of being called a mischief-maker.” + </p> + <p> + “That is not the danger of which I was thinking,” said Emma; “though I + confess that I should be weak enough to fear that a little: but what I + meant to express was an apprehension of our doing harm where we most wish + to do good.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you, my dear Emma, think Griselda incorrigible?” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed,” cried Emma, with anxious emphasis; “far from it. But without + thinking a person incorrigible, may we not dislike the idea of inflicting + correction? I should be very sorry to be the means of giving Griselda any + pain; she was my friend when we were children; I have a real regard for + her, and if she does not now seem disposed to love me, that must be my + fault, not hers: or if it is not my fault, call it my misfortune. At all + events, I have no right to force myself upon her acquaintance. She prefers + Mrs. Nettleby; I have not the false humility to say, that I think Mrs. + Nettleby will prove as safe or as good a friend as I hope I should he. But + of this Mrs. Bolingbroke has a right to judge. And I am sure, far from + resenting her resolution to avoid my acquaintance, my only feeling about + it, at this instant, is the dread that it should continue to be a matter + of dispute between her and her husband.” + </p> + <p> + “If Mr. Bolingbroke insisted, or if I advised him to insist upon his + wife’s coming here, when she does not like it,” said Mr. Granby, “I should + act absurdly, and he would act unjustly; but all that he requires is + equality of rights, and the liberty of going where <i>he</i> pleases. She + refuses to come to see you: he refuses to go to see Mr. John Nettleby. + Which has the best of the battle?” + </p> + <p> + Emma thought it would be best if there were no battle; and observed, that + refusals and reprisals would only irritate the parties, whose interest and + happiness it was to be pacified and to agree. She said, that if Mr. + Bolingbroke, instead of opposing his will to that of his wife, which, in + fact, was only conquering force by force, would speak reasonably to her, + probably she might be induced to yield, or to command her temper. Mrs. + Granby suggested, that a compromise, founded on an offer of mutual + sacrifice and mutual compliance, might be obtained. That Mr. Bolingbroke + might promise to give up some of his time to the man he disliked, upon + condition that Griselda should submit to the society of a woman to whom + she had an aversion. + </p> + <p> + “If she consented to this,” said Emma, “I would do my best to make her + like me; or at least to make her time pass agreeably at our house: her + liking me is a matter of no manner of consequence.” + </p> + <p> + Emma was capable of putting herself entirely out of the question, when the + interest of others was at stake; her whole desire was to conciliate, and + all her thoughts were intent upon making her friends happy. She seemed to + live in them more than in herself, and from sympathy arose the greatest + pleasure and pain of her existence. Her sympathy was not of that useless + kind which is called forth only by the elegant fictitious sorrows of a + heroine of romance; hers was ready for all the occasions of real life; nor + was it to be easily checked by the imperfections of those to whom she + could be of service. At this moment, when she perceived that her husband + was disgusted by Griselda’s caprice, she said all she could think of in + her favour: she recollected every anecdote of Griselda’s childhood, which + showed an amiable disposition; and argued, that it was not probable her + temper should have entirely changed in a few years. Emma’s quick-sighted + good-nature could discern the least portion of merit, where others could + find only faults; as certain experienced eyes can discover grains of gold + in the sands, which the ignorant have searched, and abandoned as useless. + In consequence of Emma’s advice—for who would reject good advice, + offered with so much gentleness?—Mr. Granby wrote a note to Mr. + Bolingbroke, to recommend the compromise which she had suggested. Upon his + return home, Mr. Bolingbroke was informed that his lady had gone to bed + much indisposed; he spent a restless night, notwithstanding all his + newly-acquired magnanimity. He was much relieved in the morning by his + friend’s note, and blessed Emma for proposing the compromise. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Each widow to her secret friend alone + Whisper’d;—thus treated, he had had his own.” + </pre> + <p> + Mr. Bolingbroke waited with impatience for Griselda’s appearance the next + morning; but he waited in vain: the lady breakfasted in her own apartment, + and for two hours afterwards remained in close consultation with Mrs. + Nettleby, whom she had summoned the preceding night by the following note: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I have been prevented from spending this evening with you, my + dearest Mrs. Nettleby, by the strangest conduct imaginable: am + sure you will not believe it when I tell it to you. Come to me, I + conjure you, as early to-morrow as you possibly can, that I may + explain to you all that has passed, and consult as to the future. + My dearest friend, I never was so much in want of an adviser. Ever + yours, + + “GRISELDA.” + </pre> + <p> + At this consultation, Mrs. Nettleby expressed the utmost astonishment at + Mr. Bolingbroke’s strange conduct, and assured Griselda, that if she did + not exert herself, all was lost, and she must give up the hope of ever + having her own way again as long as she lived. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” said she, “I have had some experience in these things; a wife + must be either a tyrant or a slave: make your choice; now is your time.” + </p> + <p> + “But I never knew him say or do any thing unkind before,” said Griselda. + </p> + <p> + “Then the first offence should be properly resented. If he finds you + forgiving, he will become encroaching; ‘tis the nature of man, depend upon + it.” + </p> + <p> + “He always yielded to me till now,” said Griselda; “but even when I was + ready to go into fits, he left me, and what could I do then?” + </p> + <p> + “You astonish me beyond expression! you who have every advantage—youth, + wit, accomplishments, beauty! My dear, if <i>you</i> cannot keep a + husband’s heart, who can ever hope to succeed?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! as to his heart, I have no doubts of his heart, to do him justice,” + said Griselda; “I know he loves me—passionately loves me.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet you cannot manage him! And you expect me to pity you? Bless me, + if I had half your advantages, what I would make of them! But if you like + to be a tame wife, my dear—if you are resolved upon it, tell me so + at once, and I will hold my tongue.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know well what I am resolved upon,” said Griselda, leaning her + head in a melancholy posture upon her hand: “I am vexed, out of spirits, + and out of sorts.” + </p> + <p> + “Out of sorts! I am not surprised at that: but out of spirits! My dear + creature, you who have every thing to put you in spirits. I am never so + much <i>myself</i> as when I have a quarrel to fight out.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot say that is the case with me, unless where I am sure of the + victory.” + </p> + <p> + “And it is your own fault if you are not always sure of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought so till last night; but I assure you last night he showed such + a spirit!” + </p> + <p> + “Break that spirit, my dear, break it, or else it will break your heart.” + </p> + <p> + “The alternative is terrible,” said Griselda, “and more terrible perhaps + than you could imagine, or I either till now: for would you believe it, I + never loved him in my life half so well as I did last night in the midst + of my anger, and when he was doing every thing to provoke me?” + </p> + <p> + “Very natural, my dear; because you saw him behave with spirit, and you + love spirit; so does every woman; so does every body; show him that you + have spirit too, and he will be as angry as you were, and love you as well + in the midst of his anger, whilst you are doing every thing to provoke + him.” + </p> + <p> + Griselda appeared determined to take this good advice one moment, and the + next hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear Mrs. Nettleby, did you always find this succeed yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, always.” + </p> + <p> + This lady had the reputation indeed of having broken the heart of her + first husband; how she would manage her second was yet to be seen, as her + honeymoon was but just over. The pure love of mischief was not her only + motive in the advice which she gave to our heroine; she had, like most + people, mixed motives for her conduct. She disliked Mr. Bolingbroke, + because he disliked her; yet she wished that an acquaintance should be + kept up between him and her husband, because Mr. Bolingbroke was a man of + fortune and fashion. + </p> + <p> + Griselda promised that she would behave with that proper spirit, which was + to make her at once amiable and victorious; and the friends parted. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0041" id="link2HCH0041"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “With patient, meek, submissive mind, + To her hard fate resign’d.” + </pre> + <h3> + POTTER’S ÆSCHYLUS + </h3> + <p> + Left to her own good genius, Griselda reflected that novelty has the most + powerful effect upon the heart of man. In all the variations of her + humour, her husband had never yet seen her in the sullen mood; and in this + she now sat prepared to receive him. He came with an earnest desire to + speak to her in the kindest and most reasonable manner. He began by saying + how much it had cost him to give her one moment’s uneasiness:—his + voice, his look, were those of truth and love. + </p> + <p> + Unmoved, Griselda, without raising her leaden eyes, answered in a cold + voice, “I am very sorry that you should have felt <i>any</i> concern upon + my account.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Any</i>! my love; you do not know how <i>much</i> I have felt this + night.” + </p> + <p> + She looked upon him with civil disbelief; and replied, “that she was sure + she ought to be much obliged to him.” + </p> + <p> + This frigid politeness repressed his affection: he was silent for some + moments. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Griselda,” said he, “this is not the way in which we should live + together; we who have every thing that can make us contented: do not let + us throw away our happiness for trifles not worth thinking of.” + </p> + <p> + “If we are not happy, it is not my fault,” said Griselda. + </p> + <p> + “We will not inquire whose fault it is, my dear; let the blame rest upon + me: let the past be forgotten; let us look towards the future. In future, + let us avoid childish altercations, and live like reasonable creatures. I + have the highest opinion of your sex in general, and of you in particular; + I wish to live with my wife as my equal, my friend; I do not desire that + my will should govern: where our inclinations differ, let reason decide + between us; or where it is a matter not worth reasoning about, let us + alternately yield to one another.” He paused. + </p> + <p> + “I do not desire or expect that you should ever henceforward yield to my + wishes either in trifles or in matters of consequence,” replied Griselda, + with provoking meekness; “you have taught me my duty: the duty of a wife + is to submit; and submit I hope I shall in future, without reply or + reasoning, to your sovereign will and pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, my dear,” said he, “do not treat me as a brutal tyrant, when I wish + to do every thing in my power to make you happy. Use your own excellent + understanding, and I shall always, I hope, be inclined to yield to your + reasons.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall never trouble you with my reasons; I shall never use my own + understanding in the least: I know that men cannot bear understanding in + women; I shall always, as it is my duty, submit to your better judgment.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my love, I do not require duty from you; this sort of blind + submission would be mortifying, instead of gratifying to me, from a wife.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know what a wife can do to satisfy a husband, if submitting in + every thing be not sufficient.” + </p> + <p> + “I say it would be too much for me, my dearest love!” + </p> + <p> + “I can do nothing but submit,” repeated the perverse Griselda, with a most + provoking immoveable aspect of humility. + </p> + <p> + “Why <i>will</i> you not understand me, my dear?” cried her husband. + </p> + <p> + “It is not my fault if I cannot understand you, my dear: I do not pretend + to have your understanding,” said the fair politician, affecting weakness + to gain her point; like those artful candidates for papal dominion, who + used to affect decrepitude and imbecility, till they secured at once + absolute power and infallibility. + </p> + <p> + “I know my abilities are quite inferior to yours, my dear,” said Griselda; + “but I thought it was sufficient for a woman to know how to obey; I can do + no more.” + </p> + <p> + Fretted beyond his patience, her husband walked up and down the room + greatly agitated, whilst she sat content and secure in tranquil obstinacy. + </p> + <p> + “You are enough to provoke the patience of Job, my dear,” cried her + husband; “you’ll break my heart.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry for it, my dear; but if you will only tell me what I can do + more to please you, I will do it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, my love,” cried he, taking hold of her white hand, which hung in a + lifeless attitude over the arm of the couch, “be happy, I conjure you! all + I ask of you is to be happy.” + </p> + <p> + “That is out of my power,” said she, mildly, suffering her husband to keep + her hand, as if it was an act of duty to submit to his caresses. He + resigned her hand; her countenance never varied; if she had been slave to + the most despotic sultan of the East, she could not have shown more utter + submission than she displayed to this most indulgent European “husband + lover.” + </p> + <p> + Unable to command his temper, or to conceal how much he was hurt, he rose + and said, “I will leave you for the present, my dear; some time when you + are better disposed to converse with me, I will return.” + </p> + <p> + “Whenever you please, sir; all times are alike to me: whenever you are at + leisure, I can have no choice.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0042" id="link2HCH0042"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “And acting duty all the merit lose.” + </pre> + <p> + Some hours afterwards, hoping to find his sultana in a better humour, Mr. + Bolingbroke returned; but no sooner did he approach the sofa on which she + was still seated, than she again seemed to turn into stone, like the + Princess Rhezzia, in the Persian Tales; who was blooming and charming, + except when her husband entered the room. The unfortunate Princess Rhezzia + loved her husband tenderly, but was doomed to this fate by a vile + enchanter. If she was more to be pitied for being subject to involuntary + metamorphosis, our heroine is surely more to be admired, for the constancy + with which she endured a self-inflicted penance; a penance calculated to + render her odious in the eyes of her husband. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” said this most patient of men, “I am sorry to renew any ideas + that will be disagreeable to you; I will mention the subject but once + more, and then let it be forgotten for ever—our foolish dispute + about Mr. Nettleby. Let us compromise the matter. I will bear Mr. John + Nettleby for your sake, if you will bear Mrs. Granby for mine. I will go + to see Mr. Nettleby to-morrow, if you will come the day afterwards with me + to Mr. Granby’s. Where husband and wife do not agree in their wishes, it + is reasonable that each should yield a little of their will to the other. + I hope this compromise will satisfy you, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + “It does not become a wife to enter into any compromise with her husband; + she has nothing to do but to obey, as soon as he signifies his pleasure. I + shall go to Mr. Granby’s on Tuesday, as you command.” + </p> + <p> + “Command! my love.” + </p> + <p> + “As you—whatever you please to call it.” + </p> + <p> + “But are you satisfied with this arrangement, my dear?” + </p> + <p> + “It is no manner of consequence whether I am or not.” + </p> + <p> + “To me, you know, it is of the greatest: you must be sensible that my + sincere wish is to make you happy: I give you some proof of it by + consenting to keep up an acquaintance with a man whose company I dislike.” + </p> + <p> + “I am much obliged to you, my dear; but as to your going to see Mr. John + Nettleby, it is a matter of perfect indifference to me; I only just + mentioned it as a thing of course; I beg you will not do it on my account: + I hope you will do whatever you think best and what pleases yourself, upon + this and every other occasion. I shall never more presume to offer my + advice.” + </p> + <p> + Nothing more could be obtained from the submissive wife; she went to Mr. + Granby’s; she was all duty, for she knew the show of it was the most + provoking thing upon earth to a husband, at least to such a husband as + hers. She therefore persisted in this line of conduct, till she made her + victim at last exclaim— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I love thee and hate thee, but if I can tell + The cause of my love and my hate, may I die. + I can feel it, alas! I can feel it too well, + That I love thee and hate thee, but cannot tell why.” + </pre> + <p> + His fair one was much flattered by this confession; she triumphed in + having excited “this contrariety of feelings;” nor did she foresee the + possibility of her husband’s recollecting that stanza which the + school-boy, more philosophical than the poet, applies to his tyrant. + </p> + <p> + Whilst our heroine was thus acting to perfection the part of a dutiful + wife, Mrs. Nettleby was seconding her to the best of her abilities, and + announcing her amongst all their acquaintance, in the interesting + character of—“a woman that is very much to be pitied.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor Mrs. Bolingbroke!—Don’t you think, ma’am, she is very much + changed since her marriage?—Quite fallen away!—and all her + fine spirits, what are become of them?—It really grieves my heart to + see her.—Oh, she is a very unhappy woman!! really to be pitied, if + you knew but all.” + </p> + <p> + Then a significant nod, or a melancholy mysterious look, set the + imagination of the company at work; or, if this did not succeed, a whisper + in plain terms pronounced Mr. Bolingbroke “a sad sort of husband, a very + odd-tempered man, and, in short, a terrible tyrant; though nobody would + guess it, who only saw him in company: but men are such deceivers!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bolingbroke soon found that all his wishes were thwarted, and all his + hopes of happiness crossed, by the straws which this evil-minded dame + contrived to throw in his way. Her influence over his wife he saw + increased every hour: though they visited each other every day, these + ladies could never meet without having some important secrets to impart, + and conspiracies were to be performed in private, at which a husband could + not be permitted to assist. Then notes without number were to pass + continually, and these were to be thrown hastily into the fire at the + approach of the enemy. Mr. Bolingbroke determined to break this league, + which seemed to be more a league of hatred than of amity.—The London + winter was now over, and, taking advantage of the continuance of his + wife’s perverse fit of duty and unqualified submission, he one day + requested her to accompany him into the country, to spend a few weeks with + his friend Mr. Granby, at his charming place in Devonshire. The part of a + wife was to obey, and Griselda was bound to support her character. She + resolved, however, to make her obedience cost her lord as dear as + possible, and she promised herself that this party of pleasure should + become a party of pain. She and her lord were to travel in the same + carriage with Mr. and Mrs. Granby. Griselda had only time, before she set + off, to write a hasty billet to Mrs. Nettleby, to inform her of these + intentions, and to bid her adieu till better times. Mrs. Nettleby + sincerely regretted this interruption of their hourly correspondence; for + she was deprived not only of the pleasure of hearing, but of making + matrimonial complaints. She had now been married two months; and her fool + began to grow restive; no animal on earth is more restive than a fool: + but, confident that Mrs. Nettleby will hold the bridle with a strong hand, + we leave her to pull against his hard mouth. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0043" id="link2HCH0043"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Playzir ne l’est qu’autant qu’on le partage.” + </pre> + <p> + We pass over the infinite variety of petty torments, which our heroine + contrived to inflict upon her fellow-travellers during her journey down to + Devonshire. Inns, food, beds, carriage, horses, baggage, roads, prospect, + hill, dale, sun, wind, dust, rain, earth, air, fire, and water, all + afforded her matter of complaint. It was astonishing that Emma discovered + none of these inconveniences; but, as fast as they were complained of, she + amused herself in trying to obviate them. + </p> + <p> + Lord Kames has observed, that a power to recall at will pleasing objects + would be a more valuable gift to any mortal than ever was bestowed in a + fairy tale. With this power Emma was endowed in the highest perfection; + and as fast as our heroine recollected some evil that had happened, or was + likely to happen, Emma raised the opposite idea of some good, past, + present, or future; so that it was scarcely possible even for the spirit + of contradiction personified to resist the magic of her good-humour. + </p> + <p> + No sooner did she arrive at her own house, than she contrived a variety of + ways of showing attention and kindness to her guest; and when all this was + received with sullen indifference, or merely as tributes due to + superiority, Emma was not discouraged in her benevolence, but, instead of + being offended, seemed to pity her friend for “having had her temper so + unhappily spoiled.” + </p> + <p> + “Griselda is so handsome,” said Mrs. Granby one day, in her defence, “she + has such talents—she has been so much admired, worshipped, and + indulged—that it would be wonderful if she were not a little + spoiled. I dare say that, if I had been in her place, my brain would never + have stood the intoxication. Who can measure their strength, or their + weakness, till they are tried? Another thing should be considered; + Griselda excites envy, and though she may not have more faults than her + neighbours, they are more noticed, because they are in the full light of + prosperity. What a number of motes swarm in a single ray of light, coming + through the shutter of a darkened room! There are not more motes in that + spot than in any other part of the room, but the sun-beams show them more + distinctly. The dust that lives in snug obscurity should consider this, + and have mercy upon its fellow dust.” + </p> + <p> + In Emma’s kindness there was none of the parade of goodness; she seemed to + follow her natural disposition; and, as Griselda once said of her, to be + good because she could not help it. She required neither praise nor thanks + for any thing that she did; and, provided her friends were happy, she was + satisfied, without ever wishing to be admired as the cause of that + happiness. Her powers of pleasing were chiefly remarkable for lasting + longer than others, and the secret of their permanence was not easily + guessed, because it was so simple. It depended merely on the equability of + her humour. It is said, that there is nothing marvellous in the colours of + those Egyptian monuments which have been the admiration of ages; the + secret of their duration is supposed to depend simply on the fineness of + the climate and invariability of the temperature.—But + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Griselda will admit no wandering muse.” + </pre> + <p> + Mrs. Bolingbroke was by this time tired of continuing in one mood, even + though it was the sullen; and her genius was cramped by the constraint of + affected submission. She recovered her charming spirits soon after she + came into the country, and for a short time no mortal mixture of earth’s + mould could be more agreeable. She called forth every charm; she was all + gaiety, wit, and smiles; she poured light and life upon conversation. + </p> + <p> + As the Marquis de Chastellux said of some fascinating fair one—“She + had no expression without grace, and no grace without expression.” It was + delightful to our heroine to hear it said, “How charming Mrs. Bolingbroke + can be when she pleases; when she wishes to captivate, how irresistible!—Who + can equal Mrs. Bolingbroke when she is in one of her <i>good days</i>?” + </p> + <p> + The triumph of eclipsing Mrs. Granby would have been delightful, but that + Emma seemed to feel no mortification from being thrown into the shade; she + seemed to enjoy her friend’s success so sincerely, that it was impossible + to consider her as a rival. She had so carefully avoided noticing any + little disagreement or coolness between Mr. and Mrs. Bolingbroke, that it + might have been doubted whether she attended to their mutual conduct; but + the obvious delight she took in seeing them again on good terms with each + other proved that she was not deficient in penetration. She appeared to + see only what others desired that she should see, upon these delicate + occasions, where voluntary blindness is not artifice, but prudence. Mr. + Bolingbroke was now enchanted with Griselda, and ready to exclaim every + instant, “Be ever thus!” + </p> + <p> + Her husband thought he had found a mine of happiness; he began to breathe, + and to bless his kind stars. He had indeed lighted unexpectedly upon a + rich vein, but it was soon exhausted, and all his farther progress was + impeded by certain vapours, dangerous to approach. Fatal sweets! which + lure the ignorant to destruction, but from which the more experienced fly + with precipitation.—Our heroine was now fully prepared to kill her + husband with kindness; she was afraid, if he rode, that his horse would + throw him; if he walked, that he would tire himself; if he sat still, that + he must want exercise; if he went out, that he would catch cold; if he + stayed at home, that he was kept a prisoner; if he did not eat, that he + was sick; if he did eat, that he would be sick;—&c. &c. + &c. &c. There was no end to these fond fears: he felt that there + was something ridiculous in submitting to them; and yet to resist in the + least was deemed the height of unkindness and ingratitude. One night she + fell into a fit of melancholy, upon his laughing at her fears, that he + should kill himself, by standing for an instant at an open window, on a + fine night, to look at a beautiful rising moon. When he endeavoured to + recover her from her melancholy, it was suddenly converted into anger, + and, after tears, came a storm of reproaches. Her husband, in + consideration of the kindness of her original intention, passed over her + anger, and even for some days refrained from objecting to any regimen she + prescribed for his health and happiness. But his forbearance failed him at + length, and he presumed to eat some salad, which his wife “knew would + disagree with him.” She was provoked afterwards, because she could not + make him allow that it had made him ill. She termed this extreme + obstinacy; he pleaded that it was simple truth. Truth upon some occasions + is the most offensive thing that can be spoken: the lady was enraged, and, + after saying every thing provoking that matrimonial spleen could suggest, + when he in his turn grew warm, she cooled, and said, “You must be + sensible, my dear, that all I say and do arises from affection.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! my love,” said he, recovering his good-humour, “this never-failing + opiate soothes my vanity, and lulls my anger; then you may govern me as + you please. Torment me to death,—I cannot oppose you.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” said she, “you think me like the vampire-bat, who fans his + victim to sleep with its wings, whilst she sucks its life-blood.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, exactly,” said he, smiling: “thank you for the apt allusion.” + </p> + <p> + “Very apt, indeed,” said she; and a thick gloom overspread her + countenance. She persisted in taking his assent in sober earnest. “Yes,” + said she, “I find you think all my kindness is treacherous. I will show + you no more, and then you cannot accuse me of treachery.” + </p> + <p> + It was in vain that he protested he had been only in jest; she was + convinced that he was in earnest; she was suddenly afflicted with an + absolute incapacity of distinguishing jest from earnest. She recurred to + the idea of the vampire-bat, whenever it was convenient to her to suppose + that her husband thought strange things of her, which never entered his + brain. This bat proved to him a bird of ill omen, which preceded a train + of misfortunes, that no mortal foresight could reach, and no human + prudence avert. His goddess was not to be appeased by any propitiatory or + expiatory sacrifice. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0044" id="link2HCH0044"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Short is the period of insulting power, + Offended Cupid finds his vengeful hour.” + </pre> + <p> + Finding it impossible to regain his fair one’s favour, Mr. Bolingbroke + absented himself from her presence. He amused himself for some days with + his friend Mr. Granby, in attending to a plantation which he was laying + out in his grounds. Griselda was vexed to perceive that her husband could + find any amusement independent of her; and she never failed, upon his + return, to mark her displeasure. + </p> + <p> + One morning the gentlemen had been so much occupied with their plantation, + that they did not attend the breakfast-table precisely in due time: the + contrast in the looks of the two ladies when their husbands entered the + room was striking. Griselda was provoked with Mrs. Granby for being so + good-humoured. + </p> + <p> + “Lord bless me! Mrs. Granby, how you spoil these men,” cried she. + </p> + <p> + All the time the gentlemen were at breakfast, Mrs. Bolingbroke played with + her tea-spoon, and did not deign to utter a syllable; and when the + gentlemen left the breakfast-table, and returned to their business, + Griselda, who was, as our readers may have observed, one of the + fashionable lollers by profession, established herself upon a couch, and + began an attack upon Emma, for spoiling her husband in such a sad manner. + Emma defended herself in a playful way, by answering that she could not + venture to give unnecessary pain, because she was not so sure as some of + her friends might be of their power of giving pleasure. Mrs. Bolingbroke + proceeded to descant upon the difference between friendship and love: with + some vanity, and some malice, she touched upon the difference between the + <i>sorts of sentiments</i> which different women excited. Passion, she + argued, could be kept alive only by a certain happy mixture of caprice and + grace, coldness and ill-humour. She confessed that, for her part, she + never could be content with the friendship of a husband. Emma, without + claiming or disclaiming her pretensions to love, quoted the saying of a + French gentleman: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “L’Amitié est l’Amour sans ailes.” + + “Friendship is Love deprived of his wings.” + </pre> + <p> + Griselda had no apprehension that love could ever fly from her, and she + declared she could not endure him without his wings. + </p> + <p> + Our heroine did not imagine that any of the little vexations which she + habitually inflicted upon her husband could really diminish his regard. + She, never had calculated the prodigious effects which can be produced by + petty causes constantly acting. Indeed this is a consideration, to which + the pride or short-sightedness of human nature is not prone. + </p> + <p> + Who in contemplating one of Raphael’s finest pictures, fresh from the + master’s hand, ever bestowed a thought upon the wretched little worm which + works its destruction? Who that beholds the gilded vessel gliding in + gallant trim—“youth at the prow, and pleasure at the helm;” ever at + that instant thought of—barnacles? The imagination is disgusted by + the anti-climax; and of all species of the bathos, the sinking from + visionary happiness to sober reality is that from which human nature is + most averse. The wings of the imagination, accustomed to ascend, resist + the downward flight. + </p> + <p> + Confident of her charms, heedless of danger, accustomed to think her + empire absolute and eternal; our heroine, to amuse herself, and to display + her power to Emma, persisted in her practice of tormenting. The ingenuity + with which she varied her tortures was certainly admirable. After + exhausting old ones, she invented new; and when the new lost their + efficacy, she recurred to the old. She had often observed, that the blunt + method of contradicting, which some bosom friends practise in + conversation, is of sovereign power to provoke; and this consequently, + though unpolite, she disdained not to imitate. It had the greater effect, + as it was in diametrical opposition to the style of Mrs. Granby’s + conversation; who, in discussions with her husband, or her intimate + friends, was peculiarly and habitually attentive to politeness. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0045" id="link2HCH0045"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Ella biasmandol sempre, e dispregiando + Se gli venia piu sempre inimicando.” + </pre> + <p> + By her judicious and kind interposition, Emma often prevented the + disagreeable consequences that threatened to ensue from Griselda’s + disputatious habits; but one night it was past her utmost skill to avert a + violent storm, which arose about the pronunciation of a word. It began + about eleven o’clock. Just as the family were sitting down to supper, + seemingly in perfect harmony of spirits, Mr. Bolingbroke chanced to say, + “I think the wind is rising.” (He pronounced the word <i>wi*nd, short</i>.) + </p> + <p> + [Transcriber’s note: What is printed in the original text as an “i” with a + breve is rendered here as “i*”.] + </p> + <p> + “<i>Wi*nd</i>! my dear,” cried his wife, echoing his pronunciation; “do, + for heaven’s sake, call it wi*nd.” + </p> + <p> + The lady sounded this word long. + </p> + <p> + “Wind! my love,” repeated he after her: “I doubt whether that be the right + pronunciation.” + </p> + <p> + “I am surprised you can doubt it,” said she, “for I never heard any body + call it <i>wi*nd</i> but yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Did not you, my love? that is very extraordinary: many people, I believe, + call it <i>wi*nd</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Vulgarians, perhaps!” + </p> + <p> + “Vulgarians! No, indeed, my dear; very polite, well-informed people.” + </p> + <p> + Griselda, with a look of unutterable contempt, reiterated the word <i>polite</i>. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my dear, <i>polite</i>,” persisted Mr. Bolingbroke, who was now come + to such a pass, that he would defend his opinion in opposition to hers, + stoutly and warmly. “Yes, <i>polite</i>, my dear, I maintain it; the most + <i>polite</i> people pronounce it as I do.” + </p> + <p> + “You may maintain what you please, my dear,” said the lady, coolly; “but I + maintain the contrary.” + </p> + <p> + “Assertion is no proof on either side, I acknowledge,” said Mr. + Bolingbroke, recollecting himself. + </p> + <p> + “No, in truth,” said Mrs. Bolingbroke, “especially such an absurd + assertion as yours, my dear. Now I will go no farther than Mrs. Granby:—Mrs. + Granby, did you ever hear any person, who knew how to speak, pronounce + wi*nd—<i>wi*nd</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Granby, have not you heard it called <i>wi*nd</i> in good company?” + </p> + <p> + The disputants eagerly approached her at the same instant, and looked as + if their fortunes or lives depended upon the decision. + </p> + <p> + “I think I have heard the word pronounced both ways, by well-bred and + well-informed people,” said Mrs. Granby. + </p> + <p> + “That is saying nothing, my dear,” said Mrs. Bolingbroke, pettishly. + </p> + <p> + “This is saying all I want,” said Mr. Bolingbroke, satisfied. + </p> + <p> + “I would lay any wager, however, that Mr. ——, if he were here, + would give it in my favour; and I suppose you will not dispute his + authority.” + </p> + <p> + “I will not dispute the authority of Sheridan’s Dictionary,” cried Mr. + Bolingbroke, taking it down from the book-case, and turning over the + leaves hastily.—“Sheridan gives it for me, my dear,” said he, with + exultation. + </p> + <p> + “You need not speak with such triumph, my dear, for I do not submit to + Sheridan.” + </p> + <p> + “No! Will you submit to Kenrick, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Let us see what he says, and I will then tell you,” said the lady. “No—Kenrick + was not of her opinion, and he was no authority.” Walker was produced; and + this battle of the pronouncing dictionaries seemed likely to have no end. + Mrs. Granby, when she could be heard, remarked that it was difficult to + settle any dispute about pronunciation, because in fact no reasons could + be produced, and no standard appealed to but custom, which is perpetually + changing; and, as Johnson says, “whilst our language is variable with the + caprice of all who use it, words can no more be ascertained in a + dictionary, than a grove in the agitation of a storm can be accurately + delineated from its picture in the water.” + </p> + <p> + The combatants would scarcely allow Emma time to finish this allusion, and + certainly did not give themselves time to understand it; but continued to + fight about the word custom, the only word that they had heard. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, custom! custom!” cried they at once, “custom must decide, to be + sure.” Then came <i>my</i> custom and <i>your</i> custom; the custom of + the stage, the custom of the best company, the custom of the best poets; + and all these were opposed to one another with increasing rapidity. “Good + heavens, my dear! did you ever hear Kemble say, ‘Rage on, ye <i>wi*nds</i>!’—Ridiculous!” + </p> + <p> + “I grant you on the stage it may be winds; but in common conversation it + is allowable to pronounce it as I do, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + “I appeal to the best poets, Mr. Bolingbroke: nothing can be more absurd + than your way of—” + </p> + <p> + “Listen, lively lordlings all!” interrupted Emma, pressing with playful + vehemence between the disputants; “I must be heard, for I have not spoken + this half hour, and thus I pronounce—You both are right, and both + are wrong. + </p> + <p> + “And now, my good friends, had not we better go to rest?” said she; “for + it is past midnight.” + </p> + <p> + As they took their candles, and went up stairs, the parties continued the + battle: Mrs. Bolingbroke brought quotations innumerable to her aid, and in + a shrill tone repeated, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘He might not let even the winds of heaven + Visit her face too roughly.’ + + ——“‘pass by me as the idle wind, + Which I respect not.’ + + “‘And let her down the wind to prey at fortune.’ + + “‘Blow, thou winter’s wind, + Thou art not so unkind.’ + + “‘Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks; rage, blow.’” + </pre> + <p> + Her voice was raised to the highest pitch: it was in vain that her husband + repeated that he acknowledged the word should be called as she pronounced + it in poetry; she reiterated her quotations and her assertions till at + last she knew not what she said; her sense failed the more her anger + increased. At length Mr. Bolingbroke yielded. Noise conquers sometimes + where art fails. + </p> + <p> + “Thus,” said he, “the hawk that could not be hoodwinked, was at last + tamed, by being exposed to the din of a blacksmith’s hammer.” + </p> + <p> + Griselda was incensed by this remark, and still more by the allusion, + which she called the second edition of the vampire-bat. Both husband and + wife went to sleep mutually displeased, and more disgusted with each other + than they had ever been since their marriage: and all this for the + pronunciation of a word! + </p> + <p> + Early in the morning they were wakened by a messenger, who brought an + express, informing Mr. Bolingbroke that his uncle was not expected to + live, and that he wished to see him immediately. Mr. Bolingbroke rose + instantly; all the time that he was dressing, and preparing in the + greatest hurry for his journey, Griselda tormented him by disputing about + the propriety of his going, and ended with, “Promise me to write every + post, my dear; positively you must.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0046" id="link2HCH0046"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “He sighs for freedom, she for power.” + </pre> + <p> + Mr. Bolingbroke did not comply with his wife’s request, or rather with her + injunction, to write <i>every post</i>: and when he did write, Griselda + always found some fault with his letters. They were too short, too stiff, + or too cold, and “very different indeed,” she said, “from what he used to + write before he was married.” This was certainly true; and absence was not + at the present crisis the most advantageous thing possible to our heroine. + Absence is said to extinguish a weak flame, and to increase a strong one. + Mr. Bolingbroke’s passion for his Griselda had, by some means, been of + late diminished. He parted from her with the disagreeable impression of a + dispute upon his mind. As he went farther from her he perceived that + instead of dragging a lengthened chain, his chain grew lighter. His uncle + recovered: he found agreeable society in the neighbourhood; he was + persuaded to prolong his stay: his mind, which had been continually + harassed, now enjoyed some tranquillity. On an unlucky evening, he + recollected Martial’s famous epigram and his wife, in one and the same + instant: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “My mind still hovering round about you, + I thought I could not live without you; + But now we have lived three weeks asunder, + How I lived with you is the wonder.” + </pre> + <p> + In the mean time, our heroine’s chief amusement, in her husband’s absence, + was writing to complain of him to Mrs. Nettleby. This lady’s answers were + now filled with a reciprocity of conjugal abuse; she had found, to her + cost, that it is the most desperate imprudence to marry a fool, in the + hopes of governing him. All her powers of tormenting were lost upon her + blessed helpmate. He was not to be moved by wit or sarcasm, eloquence or + noise, tears or caresses, reason, jealousy, or the opinion of the world. + </p> + <p> + What did he care what the world thought, he would do as he pleased + himself; he would be master in his own house: it did not signify talking + or crying, or being in the right; right or wrong, he would be obeyed; a + wife should never govern him; he had no notion of letting a woman rule, + for his part; women were born to obey, and promised it in church. As to + jealousy, let his wife look to that; if she did not choose to behave + properly, he knew his remedy, and would as soon be divorced as not: “Rule + a wife and have a wife,” was the burden of his song. + </p> + <p> + It was in vain to goad his insensible nature, in hopes of obtaining any + good: vain as the art said to be possessed by Linnæus, of producing pearls + by pricking oysters. Mrs. Nettleby, the witty, the spirited Widow + Nettleby, was now in the most hopeless and abject condition; tyrannized + over by a dunce,—and who could pity her? not even her dear Griselda. + </p> + <p> + One day Mrs. Bolingbroke received an epistle of seven pages from <i>poor</i> + Mrs. Nettleby, giving a full and true account of Mr. Nettleby’s + extraordinary obstinacy about “the awning of a pleasure-boat, which he + would not suffer to be made according to her directions, and which + consequently caused the oversetting of the boat, and <i>very nearly</i> + the deaths of all the party.” Tired with the long history, and with the + notes upon the history of this adventure, in Mrs. Nettleby’s declamatory + style, our heroine walked out to refresh herself. She followed a pleasant + path in a field near the house, and came to a shady lane, where she heard + Mr. and Mrs. Granby’s voices. She went towards the place. There was a turn + in the lane, and a thick hedge of hawthorn prevented them from being + immediately seen. As she approached, she heard Mr. Granby saying to Emma, + in the fondest tone of affection, “My dear Emma, pray let it be done the + way that you like best.” + </p> + <p> + They were looking at a cottage which they were building. The masons had, + by mistake, followed the plan which Mr. Granby proposed, instead of that + which Emma had suggested. The wall was half built; but Mr. Granby desired + that it might be pulled down and altered to suit Emma’s taste. + </p> + <p> + “Bless me!” cried Griselda, with great surprise, “are you really going to + have it pulled down, Mr. Granby?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” replied he; “and what is more, I am going to help to pull it + down.” + </p> + <p> + He ran to assist the masons, and worked with a degree of zeal, which + increased Mrs. Bolingbroke’s astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Good Heavens!—He could not do more for you if you were his + mistress.” + </p> + <p> + “He never did so much for me, till I was his wife,” said Emma. + </p> + <p> + “That’s strange!—Very unlike other men. But, my dear,” said Mrs. + Bolingbroke, taking Mrs. Granby’s arm, and drawing her aside, “how did you + acquire such surprising power over your husband?” + </p> + <p> + “By not desiring it, I believe,” replied Emma, smiling; “I have never used + any other art.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0047" id="link2HCH0047"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Et cependant avec toute sa diablerie, + Il faut que je l’appelle et mon coeur et ma mie.” + </pre> + <p> + Our heroine was still meditating upon the extraordinary method by which + Emma had acquired power over her husband, when a carriage drove down the + lane, and Mr. Bolingbroke’s head appeared looking out of the chaise + window. His face did not express so much joy as she thought it ought to + display at the sight of her, after three weeks’ absence. She was vexed, + and received him coldly. He turned to Mr. and Mrs. Granby, and was not + miserable. Griselda did not speak one word during their walk home; still + her husband continued in good spirits: she was more and more out of + humour, and took no pains to conceal her displeasure. He bore it well, but + then he seemed to feel it so little, that she was exasperated beyond + measure; she seized the first convenient opportunity, when she found him + alone, of beginning a direct attack. + </p> + <p> + “This is not the way in which you <i>used</i> to meet me, after an absence + ever so short.” He replied, that he was really very glad to see her, but + that she, on the contrary, seemed sorry to see him. + </p> + <p> + “Because you are quite altered now,” continued she, in a querulous tone. + “I always prophesied, that you would cease to love me.” + </p> + <p> + “Take care, my dear,” said he, smiling; “some prophecies are the cause of + their own accomplishment,—the sole cause. Come, my Griselda,” + continued he, in a serious tone, “do not let us begin to quarrel the + moment we meet.” He offered to embrace her, but she drew back haughtily. + “What! do you confess that you no longer love me?” cried she. + </p> + <p> + “Far from it: but it is in your own power,” said he, hesitating, “to + diminish or increase my love.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it is no love, if it can be either increased or diminished,” cried + she; “it is no love worth having. I remember the day when you swore to me, + that your affection could not be increased or diminished.” + </p> + <p> + “I was <i>in</i> love in those days, my dear, and did not know what I + swore,” said Mr. Bolingbroke, endeavouring to turn the conversation: + “never reproach a man, when he is sober, with what he said when he was + drunk.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are sober now, are you?” cried she angrily. + </p> + <p> + “It is to be hoped I am,” said he, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Cruel, barbarous man!” cried she. + </p> + <p> + “For being sober?” said he: “have not you been doing all you could to + sober me these eighteen months, my dear? and now do not be angry if you + have in some degree succeeded.” + </p> + <p> + “Succeeded!—Oh, wretched woman! this is thy lot!” exclaimed + Griselda, clasping her hands in an agony of passion. “Oh, that my whole + unfortunate sex could <i>see</i> me,—could <i>hear</i> you at this + instant! Never, never did the love of man endure one twelvemonth after + marriage. False, treacherous, callous, perjured tyrant! leave me! leave + me!” + </p> + <p> + He obeyed; she called him back, with a voice half suffocated with rage, + but he returned not. + </p> + <p> + Never was departing love recalled by the voice of reproach. It is not, as + the poet fables, at the sight of human ties, that Cupid is frightened, for + he is blind; but he has the most delicate ears imaginable: scared at the + sound of female objurgation, Love claps his wings and urges his + irrevocable flight. + </p> + <p> + Griselda remained for some time in her apartment to indulge her + ill-humour; she had leisure for this indulgence; she was not now, as + formerly, disturbed by the fond interruptions of a husband. Longer had her + angry fit lasted, but for a circumstance, which may to many of our readers + appear unnatural: our heroine became hungry. The passions are more under + the control of the hours of meals<a href="#linknote-20" + name="linknoteref-20" id="linknoteref-20"><small>20</small></a> than any + one, who has not observed human life out of novels, can easily believe. + Dinner-time came, and Mrs. Bolingbroke appeared at dinner as usual. In the + presence of Mr. and Mrs. Granby pride compelled Griselda to command + herself, and no one could guess what had passed between her and her + husband: but no sooner was she again tête-à-tête with him, than her + reproaches recommenced with fresh violence.—“Will you only do me the + justice to tell me, Mr. Bolingbroke,” cried she, “what reason you have to + love me less?” + </p> + <p> + “Reason, my dear,” said he; “you know love is independent of reason, + according to your own definition: love is involuntary, you cannot + therefore blame me for its caprices.” + </p> + <p> + “Insulting casuistry!” said she, weeping; “sophistical nonsense! Have you + any rational complaint to make against me, Bolingbroke?” + </p> + <p> + “I make no complaints, rational or irrational, my dear; they are all on + your side.” + </p> + <p> + “And well they may be,” cried Griselda, “when you treat me in such a + barbarous manner: but I do not complain; the world shall be my judge; the + world will do me justice, if you will not. I appeal to every body who + knows me, have I ever given you the slightest cause for ill-usage? Can you + accuse me of any extravagance, of any imprudence, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “I accuse you of neither, Mrs. Bolingbroke.” + </p> + <p> + “No, because you cannot, sir; my character, my fidelity is unimpeached, + unimpeachable: the world will do me justice.” + </p> + <p> + Griselda contrived to make even her virtues causes of torment. Upon the + strength of this unimpeachable fidelity, she thought she might be as + ill-humoured as she pleased; she seemed now to think that she had acquired + an indefeasible right to reproach her husband, since she had extorted from + him the confession that he loved her less, and that he had no crime to lay + to her charge. Ten days passed on in this manner; the lady becoming every + hour more irritable, the gentleman every hour more indifferent. + </p> + <p> + To have revived or killed affection <i>secundem artem</i>, the fair + practitioner should now have thrown in a little jealousy: but, unluckily, + she was so situated that this was impossible. No object any way fit for + the purpose was at hand; nothing was to be found within ten miles of her + but honest country squires; and, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “With all the powers of nature and of art, + She could not break one stubborn country heart.” + </pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0048" id="link2HCH0048"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “To whom the virgin majesty of Eve, + As one who loves and some unkindness meets, + With sweet austere composure thus replies.” + </pre> + <p> + Many privileges are, and ought to be, allowed to the virgin majesty of the + sex; and even when the modern fair one does not reply with all the sweet + austere composure of Eve, her anger may have charms for a lover. There is + a certain susceptibility of temper, that sometimes accompanies the pride + of virtue, which indicates a quick sense of shame, and warm feelings of + affection; in whatsoever manner this may be shown, it appears amiable and + graceful. And if this sensibility degenerate into irritability, a lover + pardons it in his mistress; it is her prerogative to be haughty; and if he + be dexterous to seize “the moment of returning love,” it is often his + interest to promote quarrels, for the sake of the pleasures of + reconciliation. The jealous doubts, the alternate hopes and fears, + attendant on the passion of love, are dear to the lover whilst his passion + lasts; but when that subsides—as subside it must—his taste for + altercation ceases. The proverb which favours the quarrels of lovers may + prove fatal to the happiness of husbands; and woe be to the wife who puts + her faith in it! There are, however, people who would extend that + dangerous maxim even to the commerce of friendship; and it must be allowed + (for morality, neither in small matters nor great, can gain any thing by + suppressing the truth), it must be allowed that in the commencement of an + intimacy the quarrels of friends may tend to increase their mutual regard, + by affording to one or both of them opportunities of displaying qualities + superior even to good humour; such as truth, fidelity, honour, or + generosity. But whatever may be the sum total of their merit, when upon + long acquaintance it comes to be fully known and justly appreciated, the + most splendid virtues or talents can seldom compensate in domestic life + for the want of temper. The fallacy of a maxim, like the absurdity of an + argument, is sometimes best proved by pushing it as far as it can go, by + observing all its consequences. Our heroine, in the present instance, + illustrates this truth to admiration: her life and her husband’s had now + become a perpetual scene of disputes and reproaches; every day the + quarrels grew more bitter, and the reconciliations less sweet. + </p> + <p> + One morning, Griselda and her husband were present whilst Emma was busy + showing some poor children how to plait straw for hats. + </p> + <p> + “Next summer, my dear, when we are settled at home, I hope you will + encourage some manufacture of this kind amongst the children of our + tenants,” said Mr. Bolingbroke to his lady. + </p> + <p> + “I have no genius for teaching manufactures of this sort,” replied Mrs. + Bolingbroke, scornfully. + </p> + <p> + Her husband urged the matter no farther. A few minutes afterwards, he drew + out a straw from a bundle, which one of the children held. + </p> + <p> + “This is a fine straw!” said he, carelessly. + </p> + <p> + “Fine straw!” cried Mrs. Bolingbroke: “no—that is very coarse. + This,” continued she, pulling one from another bundle; “this is a fine + straw, if you please.” + </p> + <p> + “I think mine is the finest,” said Mr. Bolingbroke. + </p> + <p> + “Then you must be blind, Mr. Bolingbroke,” cried the lady, eagerly + comparing them. + </p> + <p> + “Well, my dear,” said he, laughing, “we will not dispute about straws.” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed,” said she; “but I observe whenever you know you are in the + wrong, Mr. Bolingbroke, you say, <i>we will not dispute, my dear</i>: now + pray look at these straws, Mrs. Granby, you that have eyes—which is + the finest?” + </p> + <p> + “I will draw lots,” said Emma, taking one playfully from Mrs. Bolingbroke; + “for it seems to me, that there is little or no difference between them.” + </p> + <p> + “No difference? Oh, my dear Emma!” said Mrs. Bolingbroke. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Griselda,” cried her husband, taking the other straw from her and + blowing it away; “indeed it is not worth disputing about: this is too + childish.” + </p> + <p> + “Childish!” repeated she, looking after the straw, as it floated down the + wind; “I see nothing childish in being in the right: your raising your + voice in that manner never convinces me. Jupiter is always in the wrong, + you know, when he has recourse to his thunder.” + </p> + <p> + “Thunder, my dear Griselda, about a straw! Well, when women are determined + to dispute, it is wonderful how ingenious they are in finding subjects. I + give you joy, my dear, of having attained the perfection of the art: you + can now literally dispute about straws.” + </p> + <p> + Emma insisted at this instant upon having an opinion about the shape of a + hat, which she had just tied under the chin of a rosy little girl of six + years old; upon whose smiling countenance she fixed the attention of the + angry lady. + </p> + <p> + All might now have been well; but Griselda had a pernicious habit of + recurring to any slight words of blame which had been used by her friends. + Her husband had congratulated her upon having attained the perfection of + the art of disputing, since she could cavil about straws. This reproach + rankled in her mind. There are certain diseased states of the body, in + which the slightest wound festers, and becomes incurable. It is the same + with the mind; and our heroine’s was in this dangerous predicament. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0049" id="link2HCH0049"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Que suis je?—qu’ai je fait? Que dois-je faire encore? + Quel transport me saisit? Quel chagrin me dévore?” + </pre> + <p> + Some hours after the quarrel about the straws, when her husband had + entirely forgotten it, and was sitting very quietly in his own apartment + writing a letter, Griselda entered the room with a countenance prepared + for great exploits. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bolingbroke,” she began in an awful tone of voice, “if you are at + leisure to attend to me, I wish to speak to you upon a subject of some + importance.” + </p> + <p> + “I am quite at leisure, my dear; pray sit down: what is the matter? you + really alarm me!” + </p> + <p> + “It is not my intention to alarm you, Mr. Bolingbroke,” continued she in a + still more solemn tone; “the time is past when what I have to say could + have alarmed: I am persuaded that you will now hear it without emotion, or + with an emotion of pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + She paused; he laid down his pen, and looked all expectation. + </p> + <p> + “I am come to announce to you a fixed, unalterable resolution—To + part from you, Mr. Bolingbroke.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you serious, my dear?” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly serious, sir.” + </p> + <p> + These words did not produce the revolution in her husband’s countenance + which Griselda had expected. She trembled with a mixed indescribable + emotion of grief and rage when she heard him calmly reply, “Let us part, + then, Griselda, if that be your wish; but let me be sure that it is your + wish: I must have it repeated from your lips when you are perfectly calm.” + </p> + <p> + With a voice inarticulate from passion, Griselda began to assure him that + she was perfectly calm; but he stopped her, and mildly said, “Take + four-and-twenty hours to consider of what you are about, Griselda; I will + be here at this time to-morrow to learn your final determination.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bolingbroke left the room. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Bolingbroke was incapable of thinking: she could only feel. + Conflicting passions assailed her heart. All the woman rushed upon her + soul; she loved her husband more at this instant than she had ever loved + him before. His firmness excited at once her anger and her admiration. She + could not believe that she had heard his <i>words rightly</i>. She sat + down to recall minutely every circumstance of what had just passed, every + word, every look; she finished by persuading herself, that his calmness + was affected, that the best method she could possibly take was by a show + of resistance to bully him out of his indifference. She little knew what + she hazarded; when the danger of losing her husband’s love was imaginary, + and solely of her own creating, it affected her in the most violent + manner; but now that the peril was real and imminent, she was insensible + to its existence. + </p> + <p> + A celebrated traveller in the Alps advises people to imagine themselves + walking amidst precipices, when they are safe upon smooth ground; and he + assures them that by this practice they may inure themselves so to the + idea of danger, as to prevent all sense of it in the most perilous + situations. + </p> + <p> + The four-and-twenty hours passed; and at the appointed moment our heroine + and her husband met. As she entered the room, she observed that he held a + book in his hand, but was not reading: he put it down, rose deliberately, + and placed a chair for her, in silence. + </p> + <p> + “I thank you, I would rather stand,” said she: he put aside the chair, and + walked to a door at the other end of the room, to examine whether there + was any one in the adjoining apartment. + </p> + <p> + “It is not necessary that what we have to say should be overheard by + servants,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “I have no objection to being overheard,” said Griselda: “I have nothing + to say of which I am ashamed; and all the world must know it soon.” + </p> + <p> + As Mr. Bolingbroke returned towards her, she examined his countenance with + an inquisitive eye. It was expressive of concern; grave, but calm. + </p> + <p> + Whoever has seen a balloon—the reader, however impatient, must + listen to this allusion—whoever has seen a balloon, may have + observed that in its flaccid state it can be folded and unfolded with the + greatest ease, and it is manageable even by a child; but when once filled, + the force of multitudes cannot restrain, nor the art of man direct its + course. Such is the human mind—so tractable before, so ungovernable + after it fills with passion. By slow degrees, unnoticed by our heroine, + the balloon had been filling. It was full; but yet it was held down by + strong cords: it remained with her to cut or not to cut them. + </p> + <p> + “Reflect before you speak, my dear Griselda,” said her husband; “consider + that on the words which you are going to pronounce depend your fate and + mine.” + </p> + <p> + “I have reflected sufficiently,” said she, “and decide, Mr. Bolingbroke—to + part.” + </p> + <p> + “Be it so!” cried he; fire flashed from his eyes; he grew red and pale in + an instant. “Be it so,” repeated he, in an irrevocable voice—“We + part for ever!” + </p> + <p> + He vanished before Griselda could speak or think. She was breathless; her + limbs trembled; she could not support herself; she sunk she knew not + where. She certainly loved her husband better than any thing upon earth, + except power. When she came to her senses, and perceived that she was + alone, she felt as if she was abandoned by all the world. The dreadful + words “for ever,” still sounded in her ears. She was tempted to yield her + humour to her affection. It was but a momentary struggle; the love of sway + prevailed. When she came more fully to herself, she recurred to the belief + that her husband could not be in earnest, or at least that he would never + persist, if she had but the courage to dare him to the utmost. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0050" id="link2HCH0050"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “L’ai-je vu se troubler, et me plaindre un moment? + En ai-je pu tirer un seul gémissement?” + </pre> + <p> + Ashamed of her late weakness, our heroine rallied all her spirits, and + resolved to meet her husband at supper with an undaunted countenance. Her + provoking composure was admirably prepared: but it was thrown away, for + Mr. Bolingbroke did not appear at supper. When Griselda retired to rest, + she found a note from him on her dressing-table; she tore it open with a + triumphant hand, certain that it came to offer terms of reconciliation. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “You will appoint whatever friend you think proper to settle + the terms of our separation. The time I desire to be as soon as + possible. I have not mentioned what has passed to Mr. or Mrs. + Granby; you will mention it to them or not, as you think fit. On + this point, as on all others, you will henceforward follow your + own discretion. + + “T. BOLINGBROKE.” + + “Twelve o’clock; + + “Saturday, Aug. 10th.” + </pre> + <p> + Mrs. Bolingbroke read and re-read this note, weighed every word, examined + every letter, and at last exclaimed aloud, “He will not, cannot, part from + me.” + </p> + <p> + “He cannot be in earnest,” thought she. “Either he is acting a part or he + is in a passion. Perhaps he is instigated by Mr. Granby: no, that cannot + be, because he says he has not mentioned it to Mr. or Mrs. Granby, and he + always speaks the truth. If Emma had known it, she would have prevented + him from writing such a harsh note, for she is such a good creature. I + have a great mind to consult her; she is so indulgent, so soothing. But + what does Mr. Bolingbroke say about her? He leaves me to my own + discretion, to mention what has passed or not. That means, mention it, + speak to Mrs. Granby, that she may advise you to submit. I will not say a + word to her; I will out-general him yet. He cannot leave me when it comes + to the trial.” + </p> + <p> + She sat down, and wrote instantly this answer to her husband’s note: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I agree with you entirely, that the sooner we part the better. + I shall write to-morrow to my friend Mrs. Nettleby, with whom I + choose to reside. Mr. John Nettleby is the person I fix upon to + settle the terms of our separation. In three days I shall have + Mrs. Nettleby’s answer. This is Saturday: on Tuesday, then, we + part—for ever. + + “GRISELDA BOLINGBROKE.” + </pre> + <p> + Mrs. Bolingbroke summoned her maid. “Deliver this note,” said she, “with + your own hand; do not send Le Grand with it to his master.” + </p> + <p> + Griselda waited impatiently for her maid’s return. + </p> + <p> + “No answer, madam.” + </p> + <p> + “No answer! are you certain?” + </p> + <p> + “Certain, ma’am: my master only said, ‘Very well.’” + </p> + <p> + “And why did not you ask him if there was any answer?” + </p> + <p> + “I did, ma’am. I said, ‘Is there no answer for my lady?’ ‘No answer,’ said + he.” + </p> + <p> + “Was he up?” + </p> + <p> + “No, ma’am: he was in bed.” + </p> + <p> + “Was he asleep when you went in?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot say positively, ma’am: he undrew the curtain as I went in, and + asked, ‘Who’s there?’” + </p> + <p> + “Did you go in on tiptoe?” + </p> + <p> + “I forget, really, ma’am.” + </p> + <p> + “You forget really! Idiot!” + </p> + <p> + “But, ma’am, I recollect he turned his head to go to sleep as I closed the + curtain.” + </p> + <p> + “You need not wait,” said Mrs. Bolingbroke. + </p> + <p> + Provoked beyond the power of sleep, Mrs. Bolingbroke gave free expression + to her feelings, in an eloquent letter to Mrs. Nettleby; but even after + this relief, Griselda could not rest; so much was she disturbed by the + repose that her husband enjoyed, or was reputed to enjoy. In the morning + she placed her letter in full view upon the mantel-piece in the + drawing-room, in hopes that it would strike terror into the heart of her + husband. To her great mortification, she saw Mr. Bolingbroke, with an + unchanged countenance, give it to the servant, who came to ask for + “letters for the post.” She had now three days of grace, before Mrs. + Nettleby’s answer could arrive; but of these she disdained to take + advantage: she never mentioned what had passed to Mrs. Granby, but + persisted in the same haughty conduct towards her husband, persuaded that + she should conquer at last. + </p> + <p> + The third day came, and brought an answer from Mrs. Nettleby. After a + prodigious parade of professions, a decent display of astonishment at Mr. + Bolingbroke’s strange conduct, and pity for her dear Griselda, Mrs. + Nettleby came to the point, and was sorry to say, that Mr. Nettleby was in + one of his obstinate fits, and could not be brought to listen to the + scheme so near her heart: “He would have nothing to do, he said, with + settling the terms of Mr. and Mrs. Bolingbroke’s separation, not he!—He + absolutely refuses to meddle between man and wife; and calls it meddling,” + continued Mrs. Nettleby, “to receive you as an inmate, after you have + parted from your husband. Mr. Bolingbroke, he says, has always been very + civil to him, and came to see him in town; therefore he will not encourage + Mrs. Bolingbroke in her tantarums. I represented to him, that Mr. B. + desires the thing, and leaves the choice of a residence to yourself: but + Mr. Nettleby replied, in his brutal way, that you might choose a residence + where you would, except in his house; that his house was his castle, and + should never be turned into an asylum for runagate wives; that he would + not set such an example to his own wife, &c. But,” continued Mrs. + Nettleby, “you can imagine all the foolish things he said, and I need not + repeat them, to vex you and myself. I know that he refuses to receive you, + my dear Mrs. Bolingbroke, on purpose to provoke me. But what can one do or + say to such a man?—Adieu, my dear. Pray write when you are at + leisure, and tell me how things are settled, or rather what is settled + upon you; which, to be sure, is now the only thing that you have to + consider. + </p> + <p> + “Ever yours, affectionately, + </p> + <h3> + “R. H. NETTLEBY. + </h3> + <p> + “P.S. Before you leave Devonshire, do, my dear, get me some of the fine + Devonshire lace; three or four dozen yards will do. I trust implicitly to + your taste. You know I do not mind the price; only let it be broad, for + narrow lace is my aversion.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0051" id="link2HCH0051"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Lost is the dear delight of giving pain!” + </pre> + <p> + Mortified by her dear friend’s affectionate letter and postscript, + Griselda was the more determined to persist in her resolution to defy her + husband to the utmost. The catastrophe, she thought, would always be in + her own power; she recollected various separation scenes in novels and + plays where the lady, after having tormented her husband or lover by every + species of ill conduct, reforms in an instant, and a reconciliation is + effected by some miraculous means. Our heroine had seen Lady Townley + admirably well acted, and doubted not that she could now perform her part + victoriously. With this hope, or rather in this confidence, she went in + search of Mr. Bolingbroke. He was not in the house; he had gone out to + take a solitary walk. Griselda hoped that she was the object of his + reflections, during his lonely ramble. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said she to herself, “my power is not exhausted: I shall make his + heart ache yet; and when he yields, how I will revenge myself!” + </p> + <p> + She rang for her woman, and gave orders to have every thing immediately + prepared for her departure. “As soon as the trunks are packed, let them be + corded, and placed in the great hall,” said she. + </p> + <p> + Our heroine, who had a happy memory, full well recollected the effect + which the sight of the corded trunks produced in the “Simple Story,” and + she thought the stroke so good that it would bear repetition. With malice + prepense, she therefore prepared the blow, which she flattered herself + could not fail to astound her victim. Her pride still revolted from the + idea of consulting Mrs. Granby; but some apology was requisite for thus + abruptly quitting her house. Mrs. Bolingbroke began in a tone that seemed + intended to preclude all discussion. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Granby, do you know that Mr. Bolingbroke and I have come to a + resolution to be happy the rest of our lives; and, for this purpose, we + find it expedient to separate. Do not start or look so shocked, my dear. + This word separation may sound terrible to some people, but I have, thank + Heaven! sufficient strength of mind to hear it with perfect composure. + When a couple who are chained together pull different ways, the sooner + they break their chain the better. I shall set out immediately for + Weymouth. You will excuse me, my dear Mrs. Granby; you see the necessity + of the case.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Granby, with the most delicate kindness, began to expostulate; but + Griselda declared that she was incapable of using a friend so ill as to + pretend to listen to advice, when her mind was determined irrevocably. + Emma had no intention, she said, of obtruding her advice, but she wished + that Mrs. Bolingbroke would give her own excellent understanding time to + act, and that she would not throw away the happiness of her life in a fit + of passion. Mrs. Bolingbroke protested that she never was freer from + passion of every sort than she was at this moment. With an unusually + placid countenance, she turned from Mrs. Granby and sat down to the + piano-forte. “We shall not agree if I talk any more upon this subject,” + continued she, “therefore I had better sing. I believe my music is better + than my logic: at all events I prefer music.” + </p> + <p> + In a fine <i>bravura</i> style Griselda then began to sing— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “What have I to do with thee, + Dull, unjoyous constancy?” &c. +</pre> + <p> + And afterwards she played all her gayest airs to convince Mrs. Granby that + her heart was quite at ease. She continued playing for an unconscionable + time, with the most provoking perseverance. + </p> + <p> + Emma stood at the window, watching for Mr. Bolingbroke’s return. “Here + comes Mr. Bolingbroke!—How melancholy he looks!—Oh, my dear + Griselda,” cried she, stopping Mrs. Bolingbroke’s hand as it ran gaily + over the keys, “this is no time for mirth or bravado: let me conjure you—” + </p> + <p> + “I hate to be conjured,” interrupted Griselda, breaking from her; “I am + not a child, to be coaxed and kissed and sugar-plummed into being good, + and behaving prettily. Do me the favour to let Mr. Bolingbroke know that I + am in the study, and desire to speak to him for one minute.” + </p> + <p> + No power could detain the peremptory lady: she took her way to the study, + and rejoiced as she crossed the hall, to see the trunks placed as she had + ordered. It was impossible that her husband could avoid seeing them the + moment he should enter the house.—What a satisfaction!—Griselda + seated herself at ease in an arm-chair in the study, and took up a book + which lay open on the table. Mr. Bolingbroke’s pencil-case was in it, and + the following passage was marked: + </p> + <p> + “Il y a un lieu sur la terre où les joies pures sont inconnues; d’où la + politesse est exilée et fait place à l’ègoîsme, à la contradiction, aux + injures à demivoilées; le remords et l’inquiétude, furies infatigables, y + tourmentent les habitans. Ce lieu est la maison de deux époux qui ne + peuvent ni s’estimer, ni s’aimer. + </p> + <p> + “Il y a un lieu sur la terre où le vice ne s’introduit pas, où les + passions tristes n’ont jamais d’empire, où le plaisir et l’innocence + habitent toujours ensemble, où les soins sont chers, où les travaux sont + doux, où les peines s’oublient dans les entretiens, où l’on jouit du + passé, du présent, de l’avenir; et c’est la maison de deux époux qui + s’aiment."<a href="#linknote-21" name="linknoteref-21" id="linknoteref-21"><small>21</small></a> + </p> + <p> + A pang of remorse seized Griselda, as she read these words; they seemed to + have been written on purpose for her. Struck with the sense of her own + folly, she paused—she doubted;—but then she thought that she + had gone too far to recede. Her pride could not bear the idea of + acknowledging that she had been wrong, or of seeking reconcilement. + </p> + <p> + “I could live very happily with this man; but then to yield the victory to + him!—and to reform!—No, no—all reformed heroines are + stupid and odious.” + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0052" id="link2HCH0052"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “And, vanquish’d, quit victoriously the field.” + </pre> + <p> + Griselda flung the book from her as her husband entered the room. + </p> + <p> + “You have had an answer, madam, from your friend, Mrs. Nettleby, I + perceive,” said he, calmly. + </p> + <p> + “I have, sir. Family reasons prevent her from receiving me at present; + therefore I have determined upon going to Weymouth; where, indeed, I + always wished to spend this summer.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bolingbroke evinced no surprise, and made not the slightest + opposition. Mrs. Bolingbroke was so much vexed, that she could scarcely + command her countenance: she bit her lip violently. + </p> + <p> + “With respect to any arrangements that are to be made, I am to understand + that you wish me to address myself to Mr. J. Nettleby,” said her husband. + </p> + <p> + “No, to myself, if you please; I am prepared to listen, sir, to whatever + you may have to propose.” + </p> + <p> + “These things are always settled best in writing,” replied Mr. + Bolingbroke. “Be so obliging as to leave me your direction, and you shall + hear from me, or from Mrs. Granby, in a few days.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Bolingbroke hastily wrote a direction upon a card, and put it into + her husband’s hand, with as much unconcern as she could maintain. Mr. + Bolingbroke continued, precisely in the same tone: “If you have any thing + to suggest, that may contribute to your future convenience, madam, you + will be so good as to leave a memorandum with me, to which I shall + attend.” + </p> + <p> + He placed a sheet of paper before Mrs. Bolingbroke, and put a pen into her + hand. She made an effort to write, but her hand trembled so that she could + not form a letter. Her husband took up Saint Lambert, and read, or seemed + to read.—“Open the window, Mr. Bolingbroke,” said she. He obeyed, + but did not, as formerly, “hang over her enamoured.” He had been so often + duped by her fainting-fits and hysterics, that now, when she suffered in + earnest, he suspected her of artifice. He took up his book again, and + marked a page with his pencil. She wrote a line with a hurried hand, then + starting up, flung her pen from her, and exclaimed—“I need not, will + not write; I have no request to make to you, Mr. Bolingbroke; do what you + will; I have no wishes, no wish upon earth—but to leave you.” + </p> + <p> + “That wish will be soon accomplished, madam,” replied he, unmoved. + </p> + <p> + She pulled the bell till it broke.—A servant appeared. + </p> + <p> + “My carriage to the door directly, if you please, sir,” cried she. + </p> + <p> + A pause ensued. Griselda sat swelling with unutterable rage.—“Heavens! + have you no feeling left?” exclaimed she, snatching the book from his + hand; “have you no feeling left, Mr. Bolingbroke, for any thing?” + </p> + <p> + “You have left me none for some things, Mrs. Bolingbroke, and I thank you. + All this would have broken my heart six months ago.” + </p> + <p> + “You have no heart to break,” cried she.—The carriage drove to the + door. + </p> + <p> + “One word more, before I leave you for ever, Mr. Bolingbroke,” continued + she.—“Blame yourself, not me, for all this.—When we were first + married, you humoured, you spoiled me; no temper could bear it.—Take + the consequences of your own weak indulgence.—Farewell.” + </p> + <p> + He made no effort to retain her, and she left the room. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ——“Thus it shall befall + Him who to worth in woman overtrusting + Lets tier will rule: restraint she will not brook; + And left to herself, if evil thence ensue, + She first his <i>weak indulgence</i> will accuse.” + </pre> + <p> + A confused recollection of this warning of Adam’s was in Mr. Bolingbroke’s + head at this moment. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Bolingbroke’s carriage drove by the window, and she kissed her hand + to him as she passed. He had not sufficient presence of mind to return the + compliment. Our heroine enjoyed this last triumph of superior temper. + </p> + <p> + Whether the victory was worth the winning, whether the modern Griselda + persisted in her spirited sacrifice of happiness, whether she was ever + reconciled to her husband, or whether the fear of “reforming and growing + stupid” prevailed, are questions which we leave to the sagacity or the + curiosity of her fair contemporaries. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “He that knows better how to tame a shrew, + Let him now speak, ‘tis charity to shew.” + </pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_FOOT" id="link2H_FOOT"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FOOTNOTES: + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="linknote-1" id="linknote-1"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 1 (<a href="#linknoteref-1">return</a>)<br /> [ Fact.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-2" id="linknote-2"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 2 (<a href="#linknoteref-2">return</a>)<br /> [ <i>Feel</i> it, become + sensible of it, know it.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-3" id="linknote-3"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 3 (<a href="#linknoteref-3">return</a>)<br /> [ <i>Nor</i>, than.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-4" id="linknote-4"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 4 (<a href="#linknoteref-4">return</a>)<br /> [ As it may be satisfactory + to a large portion of the public, and to all men of taste, the editor + subjoins the following account of the Irish ortolan, which will convince + the world that this bird is not in the class of fabulous animals: + </p> + <p> + “There is a small bird, which is said to be peculiar to the Blasquet + Islands, called by the Irish, Gourder, the English name of which I am at a + loss for, nor do I find it mentioned by naturalists. It is somewhat larger + than a sparrow; the feathers of the back are dark, and those of the belly + are white; the bill is straight, short, and thick; and it is web-footed: + they are almost one lump of fat; when roasted, of a most delicious taste, + and are reckoned to exceed an ortolan; for which reason the gentry + hereabouts call them the <i>Irish Ortolan</i>. These birds are worthy of + being transmitted a great way to market; for ortolans, it is well known, + are brought from France to supply the markets of London.”—See + Smith’s Account of the County of Kerry, p. 186. + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-5" id="linknote-5"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 5 (<a href="#linknoteref-5">return</a>)<br /> [ <i>Convenient</i>, near.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-6" id="linknote-6"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 6 (<a href="#linknoteref-6">return</a>)<br /> [ Do I make you understand?] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-7" id="linknote-7"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 7 (<a href="#linknoteref-7">return</a>)<br /> [ Owned.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-8" id="linknote-8"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 8 (<a href="#linknoteref-8">return</a>)<br /> [ <i>Neger</i>, quasi negro; + meo periculo, <i>niggard</i>] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-9" id="linknote-9"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 9 (<a href="#linknoteref-9">return</a>)<br /> [ <i>Opening</i>; perhaps, + from <i>lacher</i>, to loosen.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-10" id="linknote-10"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 10 (<a href="#linknoteref-10">return</a>)<br /> [ What I can do without.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-11" id="linknote-11"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 11 (<a href="#linknoteref-11">return</a>)<br /> [ Leaving any woman out of + the question.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-12" id="linknote-12"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 12 (<a href="#linknoteref-12">return</a>)<br /> [ In the first place, my + lady, it is impossible! Surely my lady will not get out of her carriage + here?] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-13" id="linknote-13"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 13 (<a href="#linknoteref-13">return</a>)<br /> [ To be sure it must be as + my lady pleases—but my lady will find it terribly dirty!—my + Lady will find I was right—my lady will never get up that shocking + staircase—it is impossible!] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-14" id="linknote-14"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 14 (<a href="#linknoteref-14">return</a>)<br /> [ It was of this lady that + Marmontel said—“She has the art of making the most common thoughts + appear new, and the most uncommon simple, by the elegance and clearness of + her expressions.”] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-15" id="linknote-15"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 15 (<a href="#linknoteref-15">return</a>)<br /> [ To these observations + there are honourable exceptions.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-16" id="linknote-16"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 16 (<a href="#linknoteref-16">return</a>)<br /> [ <i>Vapeurs noirs</i>—vulgarly + known by the name of <i>blue devils</i>.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-17" id="linknote-17"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 17 (<a href="#linknoteref-17">return</a>)<br /> [ Since this was written, + the author has seen the same thoughts so much better expressed in the + following lines that she cannot forbear to quote them: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Since trifles make the sum of human things, + And half our mis’ry from our foibles springs; + Since life’s best joys consist in peace and ease, + And few can save or serve, but all may please: + Oh! let th’ungentle spirit learn from hence, + A small unkindness is a great offence. + Large bounties to bestow we wish in vain; + But all may shun the guilt of giving pain.” + + SENSIBILITY. <i>By Mrs. H. More.</i>] +</pre> + <p> + <a name="linknote-18" id="linknote-18"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 18 (<a href="#linknoteref-18">return</a>)<br /> [ “Il est très-difficile de + se faire une idée nette de ce que les Anglais entendent par ce mot; on a + tenté plusieurs fois sans succès d’en donner une définition précise. + Congreve, qui assurement a mis beaucoup d’<i>humour</i> dans ses comédies, + dit, que c’est <i>une manière singulière et inévitable de faire ou de dire + quelque chose, qui est naturelle et propre à un homme seul, et qui + distingue ses discours et ses actions des discours et des actions de tout + autre.</i> + </p> + <p> + “Cette définition, que nous traduisons littéralement, n’est pas lumineuse; + elle conviendrait également à la manière dont Alexandre parle et agit dans + Plutarque, et à celle dont Sancho parle et agit dans Cervantes. II y a + apparence que l’<i>humour</i> est comme l’esprit, et que ceux qui en ont + le plus ne savent pas trop bien ce que c’est. + </p> + <p> + “Nous croyons que ce genre de plaisanterie consiste surtout dans des idées + ou des tournures originales, qui tiennent plus au caractère qu’à l’esprit, + et qui semblent échapper à celui qui les produit. + </p> + <p> + “L’homme d’<i>humour</i> est un plaisant sérieux, qui dit des choses + plaisantes sans avoir l’air de vouloir être plaisant. Au reste, une scene + de Vanbrugh ou une satire de Swift, feront mieux sentir ce que c’est, que + toutes les définitions du monde. Quant à la prétention de quelques Anglais + sur la possession exclusive de l’<i>humour</i>, nous pensons que si ce + qu’ils entendent par ce mot est un genre de plaisanterie qu’on ne trouve + ni dans Aristophane, dans Plaute, et dans Lucien, chez lea anciens; ni + dans l’Arioste, le Berni, le Pulci, et tant d’autres, chez les Italiens; + ni dans Cervantes, chez les Espagnols; ni dans Rabener, chez les + Allemands; ni dans le Pantagruel, la satire Ménippée, le Roman comique, + les comédies de Molière, de Dufrèny, de Regnard etc., nous ne savons pas + ce que c’est, et nous ne prendrons pas la peine de la chercher.”—<i>Suard, + Mélanges de Littérature</i>, vol. iv. p. 366.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-19" id="linknote-19"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 19 (<a href="#linknoteref-19">return</a>)<br /> [ See Botanic Garden, canto + 2.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-20" id="linknote-20"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 20 (<a href="#linknoteref-20">return</a>)<br /> [ De Retz’ Memoirs.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="linknote-21" id="linknote-21"> </a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 21 (<a href="#linknoteref-21">return</a>)<br /> [ M. de Saint Lambert, + Oeuvres Philosophiques, tome ii.] + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0058" id="link2H_4_0058"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + END OF VOLUME VI + </h2> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + +<pre> + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s Tales and Novels, Vol. 6, by Maria Edgeworth + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES AND NOVELS, VOL. 6 *** + +***** This file should be named 9620-h.htm or 9620-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/9/6/2/9620/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, William Flis, David Widger and the Project +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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