Kitabı oku: «The History of Sir Charles Grandison, Volume 4 (of 7)», sayfa 17

This was too true to be forgiven. You'll say it, Harriet, if I don't. And to come from a man that was not overburdened with either—But I had too great a command of myself to say so. My dependence, my lord, [This I did say,] is upon your judgment: that will always be a balance to my wit; and, with the assistance of your reproving love, will in time teach me discretion.

Now, my dear, was not this a high compliment to him? Ought he not to have taken it as such? Especially as I looked grave, and dropt him a very fine courtesy. But either his conscience or his ill-nature, (perhaps you'll say both,) made him take it as a reflection, [True as you are alive, Harriet!] He bit his lip. Jenny, begone, said he—Jenny, don't go, said I—Jenny knew not which to obey. Upon my word, Harriet, I began to think the man would have cuffed me.—And while he was in his airs of mock-majesty, I stept to the door, and whipt down to my company.

As married people are not to expose themselves to their friends, (who I once heard you sagely remark, would remember disagreeable things, when the honest pair had forgotten them,) I was determined to be prudent. You would have been charmed with me, my dear, for my discretion. I will cheat by-standers, thought I; I will make my Lord and Lady L–, Dr. Bartlett, and Emily, whom I had before set in at cards, think we are egregiously happy—And down I sat, intending, with a lamb-like peaceableness, to make observations on the play. But soon after, in whipt my indiscreet lord, his colour heightened, his features working: and though I cautioned him not to expose himself, yet he assumed airs that were the occasion, as you shall hear, of frightening away my company. He withdrew, in consequence of those airs; and, after a little while, (repenting, as I hoped,) he sent for me out. Some wives would have played the queen Vashti on their tyrant, and refused to go: but I, all obedience, (my vow, so recently made, in my head,) obeyed, at the very first word: yet you must think that I (meek as I am naturally) could not help recriminating. He was too lordly to be expostulated with.– There was, 'I tell you, madam,' and 'I won't be told, sir;' and when I broke from the passionate creature, and hoped to find my company, behold! they were all gone! None but Emily left. And thus might poor Lady L– be sent home, weeping, perhaps, for such an early marriage-tyranny exerted on her meek sister.

Well, and don't you think that we looked like a couple of fools at each other, when we saw ourselves left alone, as I may say, to fight it out? I did expostulate with him as mildly as I could: he would have made it up with me afterwards; but, no! there was no doing that, as a girl of your nice notions may believe, after he had, by his violent airs, exposed us both before so many witnesses. In decency, therefore, I was obliged to keep it up: and now our misunderstanding blazes, and is at such a comfortable height, that if we meet by accident, we run away from each other by design. We have already made two breakfast-tables: yet I am meek; he is sullen: I make courtesies; he returns not bows.—Sullen creature, and a rustic!—I go to my harpsichord; melody enrages him. He is worse than Saul; for Saul could be gloomily pleased with the music even of the man he hated.

I would have got you to come to us: that I thought was tending to a compliance; for it would have been condescending too much, as he is so very perverse, if I had accompanied him to you. He has a great mind to appeal to you; but I have half rallied him out of his purpose. I sent to you. What an answer did you return me!—Cruel Harriet! to deny your requested mediation in a difference that has arisen between man and wife. —But let the fire glow. If it spares the house, and only blazes in the chimney, I can bear it.

Cross creature, adieu! If you know not such a woman as Grandison, Heaven grant that I may; and that my wishes may be answered as to the person; and then I will not know a Byron.

See, Lucy, how high this dear flighty creature bribes! But I will not be influenced, by her bribery, to take her part.

LETTER XXXII
MISS BYRON.—IN CONTINUATION TUESDAY NIGHT

I am just returned from St. James's-square.

But, first, I should tell you, that I had a visit from Lady Olivia and Lady Maffei. Our conversation was in Italian and French. Lady Olivia and I had a quarter of an hour's discourse in private: you may guess at our subject. She is not without that tenderness of heart which is the indispensable characteristic of a woman. She lamented the violence of her temper, in a manner so affecting, that I cannot help pitying her, though at the instant I had in my head a certain attempt, that makes me shudder whenever I think of it. She regrets my going to Northamptonshire so soon. I have promised to return her visit to-morrow in the afternoon.

She sets out on Friday next for Oxford. She wished I could accompany her. She resolves to see all that is worth seeing in the western circuit, as I may call it. She observes, she says, that Sir Charles Grandison's sisters, and their lords, are very particularly engaged at present; and are in expectation of a call to Windsor, to attend Lord W–'s nuptials: she will therefore, having attendants enough, and two men of consideration in her train, one of whom is not unacquainted with England, take cursory tours over the kingdom; having a taste for travelling, and finding it a great relief to her spirits: and when Lady L– and Lady G– are more disengaged, will review the seats and places which she shall think worthy of a second visit, in their company.

She professed to like the people here, and the face of the country; and talked favourably of the religion of it: but, poor woman! she likes all those the better, I doubt not, for the sake of one Englishman. Love, Lucy, gilds every object which bears a relation to the person beloved.

Lady Maffei was very free in blaming her niece for this excursion. She took her chiding patiently; but yet, like a person that thought it too much in her power to gratify the person blaming her, to pay much regard to what she said.

I took a chair to Lady G–'s. Emily ran to meet me in the hall. She threw her arms about me: I rejoice you are come, said she. Did you not meet the house in the square?—What means my Emily?—Why, it has been flung out of the windows, as the saying is. Ah madam! we are all to pieces. One so careless, the other so passionate!—But, hush! Here comes Lady G–.

Take, Lucy, in the dialogue-way, particulars.

LADY G. Then you are come, at last, Harriet. You wrote, that you would not come near me.

HAR. I did; but I could not stay away. Ah, Lady G–, you will destroy your own happiness!

LADY G. So you wrote. Not one word, on the subject you hint at, that you have ever said or written before. I hate repetitions, child.

HAR. Then I must be silent upon it.

LADY G. Not of necessity. You can say new things upon old subjects.—

But hush! Here comes the man.—She ran to her harpsichord—Is this it, Harriet? and touched the keys—repeating

 
"Softly sweet, in Lydian measures,
Soon she sooth'd– –"
 

ENTER LORD G

LORD G. Miss Byron, I am your most obedient servant. The sight of you rejoices my soul.—Madam (to his lady), you have not been long enough together to begin a tune. I know what this is for—

LADY G. Harmony! harmony! is a charming thing! But I, poor I! know not any but what this simple instrument affords me.

LORD G. [Lifting up his hands.] Harmony, madam! God is my witness—

But I will lay every thing before Miss Byron.

LADY G. You need not, my lord: she knows as much as she can know, already; except the fine colourings be added to the woeful tale, that your unbridled spirit can give it.—Have you my long letter about you, Harriet?

LORD G. And could you, madam, have the heart to write—

LADY G. Why, my lord, do you mince the matter? For heart, say courage. You may speak as plain in Miss Byron's presence, as you did before she came: I know what you mean.

LORD G. Let it be courage, then.

HAR. Fie, fie, Lord G–! Fie, fie, Lady G–! What lengths do you run! If I understand the matter right, you have both, like children, been at play, till you have fallen out.

LORD G. If, Miss Byron, you know the truth, and can blame me—

HAR. I blame you only, my lord, for being in a passion. You see, my lady is serene: she keeps her temper: she looks as if she wanted to be friends with you.

LORD G. O that cursed serenity!—When my soul is torn by a whirlwind—

LADY G. A good tragedy rant!—But, Harriet, you are mistaken: My Lord G– is a very passionate man. So humble, so—what shall I call it? before marriage—Did not the man see what a creature I was?—To bear with me, when he had no obligation to me; and not now, when he has the highest—A miserable sinking!—O Harriet, Harriet! Never, never marry!

HAR. Dear Lady G–, you know in your own heart you are wrong—Indeed you are wrong—

LORD G. God for ever reward you, madam!—I will tell you how it began—

LADY G. 'Began!' She knows that already, I tell you, my lord. But what has passed within these four hours, she knows not: you may entertain her with that, if you please.—It was just about the time this day is a week, that we were altogether, mighty comfortably, at St. George's, Hanover-square—

LORD G. Every tittle of what you promised there, madam—

LADY G. And I, my lord, could be your echo in this, were I not resolved to keep my temper, as you cannot but say I have done, all along.

LORD G. You could not, madam, if you did not despise me.

LADY G. You are wrong, my lord, to think so: but you don't believe yourself: if you did, the pride of your heart ought not to permit you to own it.

LORD G. Miss Byron, give me leave—

LADY G. Lord bless me! that people are so fond of exposing themselves! Had you taken my advice, when you pursued me out of my dressing-room into company—My lord, said I, as mildly as I now speak, Don't expose yourself. But he was not at all the wiser for my advice.

LORD G. Miss Byron, you see—But I had not come down but to make my compliments to you. He bowed, and was about to withdraw.

I took him by the sleeve—My lord, you must not go. Lady G–, if your own heart justifies you for your part in this misunderstanding, say so; I challenge you to say so.—She was silent.

HAR. If otherwise, own your fault, promise amendment—ask pardon.

LADY G. Hey-day!

HAR. And my lord will ask yours, for mistaking you—For being too easily provoked—

LORD G. Too easily, madam—

HAR. What generous man would not smile at the foibles of a woman whose heart is only gay with prosperity and lively youth; but has not the least malice in it? Has not she made choice of your lordship in preference of any other man? She rallies every one; she can't help it: she is to blame.—Indeed, Lady G–, you are. Your brother felt your edge; he once smarted by it, and was angry with you.—But afterwards, observing that it was her way, my lord; that it was a kind of constitutional gaiety of heart, and exercised on those she loved best; he forgave, rallied her again, and turned her own weapons upon her; and every one in company was delighted with the spirit of both.—You love her, my lord.

LORD G. Never man more loved a woman. I am not an ill-natured man—

LADY G. But a captious, a passionate one, Lord G–. Who'd have thought it?

LORD G. Never was there, my dear Miss Byron, such a strangely-aggravating creature! She could not be so, if she did not despise me.

LADY G. Fiddle-faddle, silly man! And so you said before. If you thought so, you take the way, (don't you?) to mend the matter, by dancing and capering about, and putting yourself into all manner of disagreeable attitudes; and even sometimes being ready to foam at the mouth?—I told him, Miss Byron, There he stands, let him deny it, if he can; that I married a man with another face. Would not any other man have taken this for a compliment to his natural undistorted face, and instantly have pulled off the ugly mask of passion, and shewn his own?—

LORD G. You see, you see, the air, Miss Byron!—How ludicrously does she now, even now—

LADY G. See, Miss Byron!—How captious!—Lord G– ought to have a termagant wife: one who could return rage for rage. Meekness is my crime.—I cannot be put out of temper.—Meekness was never before attributed to woman as a fault.

LORD G. Good God!—Meekness!—Good God!

LADY G. But, Harriet, do you judge on which side the grievance lies.– Lord G– presents me with a face for his, that I never saw him wear before marriage: He has cheated me, therefore. I shew him the same face that I ever wore, and treat him pretty much in the same manner (or I am mistaken) that I ever did: and what reason can he give, that will not demonstrate him to be the most ungrateful of men, for the airs he gives himself? Airs that he would not have presumed to put on eight days ago. Who then, Harriet, has reason to complain of grievance; my lord, or I?

LORD G. You see, Miss Byron—Can there be any arguing with a woman who knows herself to be in jest, in all she says?

HAR. Why then, my lord, make a jest of it. What will not bear an argument, will not be worth one's anger.

LORD G. I leave it to Miss Byron, Lady G–, to decide between us, as she pleases.

LADY G. You'd better leave it to me, sir.

HAR. Do, my lord.

LORD G. Well, madam!—And what is your decree?

LADY G. You, Miss Byron, had best be Lady Chancellor, after all. I should not bear to have my decree disputed, after it is pronounced.

HAR. If I must, my decree is this:—You, Lady G– shall own yourself in fault; and promise amendment. My lord shall forgive you; and promise that he will, for the future, endeavour to distinguish between your good and your ill-nature: that he will sit down to jest with your jest, and never be disturbed at what you say, when he sees it accompanied with that archness of eye and lip which you put on to your brother, and to every one whom you best love, when you are disposed to be teazingly facetious.

LADY G. Why, Harriet, you have given Lord G– a clue to find me out, and spoil all my sport.

HAR. What say you, my lord?

LORD G. Will Lady G– own herself in fault, as you propose?

LADY G. Odious recrimination!—I leave you together. I never was in fault in my life. Am I not a woman? If my lord will ask pardon for his froppishness, as we say of children—

She stopt, and pretended to be going—

HAR. That my lord shall not do, Charlotte. You have carried the jest too far already. My lord shall preserve his dignity for his wife's sake. My lord, you will not permit Lady G– to leave us, however?

He took her hand, and pressed it with his lips: for God's sake, madam, let us be happy: it is in your power to make us both so: it ever shall be in your power. If I have been in fault, impute it to my love. I cannot bear your contempt; and I never will deserve it.

LADY G. Why could not this have been said some hours ago?—Why, slighting my early caution, would you expose yourself?

I took her aside. Be generous, Lady G–. Let not your husband be the only person to whom you are not so.

LADY G. [Whispering.] Our quarrel has not run half its length. If we make up here, we shall make up clumsily. One of the silliest things in the world is, a quarrel that ends not, as a coachman after a journey comes in, with a spirit. We shall certainly renew it.

HAR. Take the caution you gave to my lord: don't expose yourself. And another; that you cannot more effectually do so, than by exposing your husband. I am more than half-ashamed of you. You are not the Charlotte I once thought you were. Let me see, if you have any regard to my good opinion of you, that you can own an error with some grace.

LADY G. I am a meek, humble, docile creature. She turned to me, and made me a rustic courtesy, her hands before her: I'll try for it: tell me, if I am right. Then stepping towards my lord, who was with his back to us looking out at the window—and he turning about to her bowing—My lord, said she, Miss Byron has been telling me more than I knew before of my duty. She proposes herself one day to make a won-der-ful obedient wife. It would have been well for you, perhaps, had I had her example to walk by. She seems to say, that, now I am married, I must be grave, sage, and passive: that smiles will hardly become me: that I must be prim and formal, and reverence my husband.—If you think this behaviour will become a married woman, and expect it from me, pray, my lord, put me right by your frowns, whenever I shall be wrong. For the future, if I ever find myself disposed to be very light-hearted, I will ask your leave before I give way to it. And now, what is next to be done? humorously courtesying, her hands before her.

He clasped her in his arms: dear provoking creature! This, this is next to be done—I ask you but to love me half as much as I love you, and I shall be the happiest man on earth.

My lord, said I, you ruin all by this condescension on a speech and air so ungracious. If this is all you get by it, never, never, my lord, fall out again. O Charlotte! If you are not generous, you come off much, much too easily.

Well now, my lord, said she, holding out her hand, as if threatening me, let you and me, man and wife like, join against the interposer in our quarrels.—Harriet, I will not forgive you, for this last part of your lecture.

And thus was this idle quarrel made up. All that vexes me on the occasion is, that it was not made up with dignity on my lord's part. His honest heart so overflowed with joy at his lips, that the naughty creature, by her arch leers, every now and then, shewed, that she was sensible of her consequence to his happiness. But, Lucy, don't let her sink too low in your esteem: she has many fine qualities.

They prevailed on me to stay supper. Emily rejoiced in the reconciliation: her heart was, as I may say, visible in her joy. Can I love her better than I do? If I could, she would, every time I see her, give me reason for it.

LETTER XXXIII
MISS BYRON.—IN CONTINUATION WEDNESDAY NOON, APRIL 19

It would puzzle you to guess at a visitor I had this morning.—Honest Mr. Fowler. I was very glad to see him. He brought me a Letter from his worthy uncle. Good Sir Rowland! I had a joy that I thought I should not have had while I stayed in London, on its being put into my hand, though the contents gave me sensible pain. I enclose it. It is dated from Caermarthen. Be pleased to read it here.

***

CAERMARTHEN, APRIL 11

How shall I, in fit manner, inscribe my letter to the loveliest of women! I don't mean because of your loveliness; but whether as daughter or not, as you did me the honour to call yourself. Really, and truly, I must say, that I had rather call you by another name, though a little more remote as to consanguinity. Lord have mercy upon me, how have I talked of you! How many of our fine Caermarthen girls have I filled with envy of your peerless perfections!

Here am I settled to my heart's content, could I but obtain—You know whom I mean.—A town of gentry: A fine country round us—A fine estate of our own. Esteemed, nay, for that matter, beloved, by all our neighbours and tenants. Who so happy as Rowland Meredith, if his poor boy could be happy!—Ah, madam!—And can't it be so? I am afraid of asking. Yet I understand, that, notwithstanding all the jack-a-dandies that have been fluttering about you, you are what you were when I lest town. Some whispers have gone out of a fine gentleman, indeed, who had a great kindness for you; but yet that something was in the way between you. The Lord bless and prosper my dear daughter, as I must then call you, and not niece, if you have any kindness for him. And if as how you have, it would be wonderfully gracious if you would but give half a hint of it to my nephew, or if so be you will not to him, to me, your father you know, under your own precious hand. The Lord be good unto me! But I shall never see the she that will strike my fancy, as you have done. But what a dreadful thing would it be, if you, who are so much courted and admired by many fine gallants, should at last be taken with a man who could not be yours! God forbid that such a disastrous thing should happen! I profess to you, madam, that a tear or two have strayed down my cheeks at the thoughts of it. For why? Because you played no tricks with any man: you never were a coquette, as they call them. You dealt plainly, sincerely, and tenderly too, to all men; of which my nephew and I can bear witness.

Well, but what now is the end of my writing?—Lord love you, cannot, cannot you at last give comfort to two honest hearts? Honester you never knew! And yet, if you could, I dare say you would. Well, then, and if you can't, we must sit down as contented as we can; that's all we have for it.—But, poor young man! Look at him, if you read this before him. Strangely altered! Poor young man!—And if as how you cannot, why then, God bless my daughter; that's all. And I do assure you, that you have our prayers every Lord's day, from the bottom of our hearts.

And now, if you will keep a secret, I will tell it you; and yet, when I began, I did not intend it: the poor youth must not know it. It is done in the singleness of our hearts; and if you think we mean to gain your love for us by it, I do assure you, that you wrong us.—My nephew declares, that he never will marry, if it be not somebody: and he has made his will, and so have I his uncle; and, let me tell you, that if as how I cannot have a niece, my daughter shall be the better for having known, and treated as kindly, as power was lent her,

Her true friend, loving father, and obedient servant, ROWLAND MEREDITH.

Love and service to Mr. and Mrs. Reeves, and all friends who inquire after me. Farewell. God bless you! Amen.

***

Have you, could you, Lucy, read this letter with dry eyes? Generous, worthy, honest men! I read but half way before Mr. Fowler—Glad I was, that I read no further. I should not have been able to have kept his uncle's secret, if I had; had it been but to disclaim the acceptance of the generous purpose. The carrying it into effect would exceedingly distress me, besides the pain the demise of the honest man would give me; and the more, as I bespoke the fatherly relation from him myself. If such a thing were to be, Sir Charles Grandison's generosity to the Danbys should be my example.

Do you know, Mr. Fowler, said I, the contents of the letter you have put into my hand?

No farther than that my uncle told me, it contained professions of fatherly love; and with wishes only—But without so much as expressing his hopes.

Sir Rowland is a good man, said I: I have not read above half his letter. There seems to be too much of the father in it, for me to read further, before my brother. God bless my brother Fowler, and reward the fatherly love of Sir Rowland to his daughter Byron! I must write to him.

Mr. Fowler, poor man! profoundly sighed; bowed; with such a look of respectful acquiescence—Bless me, my dear, how am I to be distressed on all sides! by good men too; as Sir Charles could say by good women.

Is there nothing less than giving myself to either, that I can do to shew Mr. Orme and Mr. Fowler my true value for them?

Poor Mr. Fowler!—Indeed he looks to be, as Sir Rowland hints, not well. —Such a modest, such a humble, such a silent lover!—He cost me tears at parting: I could not hide them. He heaped praises and blessings upon me, and hurried away at last, to hide his emotion, with a sentence unfinished.—God preserve you, dear and worthy sir! was all I could try to say. The last words stuck in my throat, till he was out of hearing; and then I prayed for blessings upon him and his uncle: and repeated them, with fresh tears, on reading the rest of the affecting letter.

Mr. Fowler told Mr. Reeves, before I saw him, that he is to go to Caermarthen for the benefit of his native air, in a week. He let him know where he lodged in town. He had been riding for his health and diversion about the country, ever since his uncle went; and has not been yet at Caermarthen.

I wish Mr. Fowler had once, if but once, called me sister: it would have been such a kind acquiescence, as would have given me some little pleasure on recollection. Methinks I don't know how to have done writing of Sir Rowland and Mr. Fowler.

I sat down, however, while the uncle and nephew filled my thoughts, and wrote to the former. I have enclosed the copy of my letter.

Adieu, my Lucy.