Kitabı oku: «The History of Sir Charles Grandison, Volume 4 (of 7)», sayfa 6

Well, my dear Lady Beauchamp, be all that as you will: not one retrospect of the past—

Yes, Sir Charles, but there shall: his allowance has been lessened for some years; not from considerations of family prudence—But—Well, 'tis all at an end, proceeded she—When the young man returns, you, Sir Harry, for my sake, and for the sake of this strange unaccountable creature, shall pay him the whole arrear.

Now, my dear Lady Beauchamp, said I, listing her hand to my lips, permit me to give you joy. All doubts and misgivings so triumphantly got over, so solid a foundation laid for family harmony—What was the moment of your nuptials to this? Sir Harry, I congratulate you: you may, and I believe you have been, as happy as most men; but now, you will be still happier.

Indeed, Sir Harry, said she, you provoked me in the morning: I should not else—

Sir Harry owned himself to blame; and thus the lady's pride was set down softly.

She desired Sir Harry to write, before the day concluded, the invitation of return, to Mr. Beauchamp; and to do her all the credit in it that she might claim from the last part of the conversation; but not to mention any thing of the first.

She afterwards abated a little of this right spirit, by saying, I think, Sir Harry, you need not mention any thing of the arrears, as I may call them—But only the future 600£. a year. One would surprise him a little, you know, and be twice thanked—

Surprises of such a nature as this, my dear Dr. Bartlett; pecuniary surprises!—I don't love them—They are double taxes upon the gratitude of a worthy heart. Is it not enough for a generous mind to labour under a sense of obligation?—Pride, vain-glory, must be the motive of such narrow-minded benefactors: a truly beneficent spirit cannot take delight in beholding the quivering lip indicating the palpitating heart; in seeing the downcast countenance, the up-lifted hands, and working muscles, of a fellow-creature, who, but for unfortunate accidents, would perhaps himself have had the will, with the power, of shewing a more graceful benevolence!

I was so much afraid of hearing farther abatements of Lady Beauchamp's goodness; so willing to depart with favourable impressions of her for her own sake; and at the same time so desirous to reach the Hall that night; that I got myself excused, though with difficulty, staying to dine; and accepting of a dish of chocolate, I parted with Sir Harry and my lady, both in equal good humour with themselves and me.

Could you have thought, my dear friend, that I should have succeeded so very happily, as I have done, in this affair, and at one meeting?

I think that the father and stepmother should have the full merit with our Beauchamp of a turn so unexpected. Let him not therefore ever see this letter, that he may take his impression of the favour done him, from that which Sir Harry will write to him.

My cousin Grandison, whom I hoped to find here, left the Hall on Tuesday last, though he knew of my intention to be down. I am sorry for it. Poor Everard! He has been a great while pretty good. I am afraid he will get among his old acquaintance; and then we shall not hear of him for some months perhaps. If you see him in town, try to engage him, till I return. I should be glad of his company to Paris, if his going with me, will keep him out of harm's way, as it is called.

***

SATURDAY, APRIL 1

I have had compliments sent me by many of my neighbours, who had hoped I was come to reside among them. They professed themselves disappointed on my acquainting them, that I must go up early on Monday morning. I have invited myself to their Saturday assembly at the Bowling-green-house.

Our reverend friend Mr. Dobson has been so good as to leave with me the sermon he is to preach to-morrow on the opening of the church: it is a very good discourse: I have only exceptions to three or four compliments he makes to the patron in as many different places of it: I doubt not but he will have the goodness to omit them.

I have already looked into all that has been done in the church; and all that is doing in the house and gardens. When both have had the direction and inspection of my dear Dr. Bartlett, need I say, that nothing could have been better?

***

Halden is just arrived from my lord, with a letter, which has enabled me to write to Lady Mansfield his lordship's high approbation of all our proceedings; and that he intends some one early day in next week to pay to her, and Miss Mansfield, his personal compliments.

He has left to me the article of settlements; declaring, that his regard for my future interest is all that he wishes may be attended to.

I have therefore written, as from himself, that he proposes a jointure of 1200£. a year, penny-rents, and 300 guineas a year for her private purse; and that his lordship desires, that Miss Mansfield will make a present to her sister of whatever she may be entitled to in her own right. Something was mentioned to me at Mansfield-house of a thousand pounds left to her by a godmother.

Halden being very desirous to see his future lady, I shall, at his request, send the letter I have written to Lady Mansfield by him early in the morning; with a line recommending him to the notice of that lady as Lord W–'s principal steward.

Adieu, my dear Dr. Bartlett: I have joy in the joy of all these good people. If Providence graciously makes me instrumental to it, I look upon myself but as its instrument. I hope ostentation has no share in what draws on me more thanks and praises than I love to hear.

Lord W– has a right to be made happy by his next relation, if his next relation can make him so. Is he not my mother's brother? Would not her enlarged soul have rejoiced on the occasion, and blessed her son for an instance of duty to her, paid by his disinterested regard for her brother? Who, my dear Dr. Bartlett, is so happy, yet who, in some cases, so unhappy, as your

CHARLES GRANDISON.

LETTER IX
MISS BYRON, TO MISS SELBY MONDAY, APRIL 3

The Countess of D–, and the earl, her son, have but just left us. The countess sent last night, to let my cousin Reeves know of their intended morning visit, and they came together. As the visit was made to my cousin, I did not think myself obliged to be in waiting for them below. I was therefore in my closet, comforting myself with my own agreeable reflections. They were there a quarter of an hour before I was sent to.

Their talk was of me. I am used to recite my own praises, you know; and what signifies making a parade of apologies for continuing the use? I don't value myself so much as I once did on peoples favourable opinions. If I had a heart in my own keeping, I should be glad it was thought a good one; that's all. Yet though it has littlenesses in it that I knew nothing of formerly, I hope it is not a bad one.

My Lord D–, by the whole turn of the partial conversation, was led to expect a very extraordinary young woman. The lady declared, that she would have her talk out, and hear all my two cousins were inclined to say of me, before I was sent up to, as I was not below when they came.

I was therefore to be seen only as a subject of curiosity. My lord had declared, it seems, that he would not be denied an introduction to me by his mother. But there were no thoughts of making any application to a girl whose heart was acknowledged not to be her own. My lord's honour would not allow of such an intention. Nor ought it.

His impatience, however, hastened the message to me. The countess met me half-way, and embraced me. My lovely girl, how do you?—My lord, said she, turning to the earl, I need not say—This is Miss Byron.

He bowed low, and made me a very high compliment; but it had sense in it, though high, and above my merits. Girls, writing of themselves on these occasions, must be disclaimers, you know: But, my dear uncle, what care I now for compliments? The man, from whose mouth only they could be acceptable, is not at liberty to make me any.

The countess engaged me in an easy general conversation; part of which turned upon Lord and Lady L–, Miss Grandison, and Miss Jervois, and how I had passed my time at Colnebrook, in this wintry season, when there were so many diversions in town. But, said she, you had a man with you, who is the admiration of every man and woman, wherever he goes.

Is there no making an acquaintance, said my lord, with Sir Charles Grandison? What I hear said of him, every time he is mentioned in company, is enough to fire a young man with emulation. I should be happy did I deserve to be thought of as a second or third man to Sir Charles Grandison.

I dare say, returned I, your lordship's acquaintance would be highly acceptable to him. He is easy of access. Men of rank, if men of merit, must be of kindred, and recognize one another the moment they meet. But Sir Charles will soon leave England.

The fool sighed: it was, you may believe, involuntarily. I felt myself blush, and was the more silly for that.

The countess took my hand—One word with you, my dear—and led me out into the next room, and sitting down, made me sit on the same settee with her.

O that I could call you daughter! began she at once; and turning half round to me, put one arm about me, with her other hand taking one of mine, and earnestly looking in my downcast face.

I was silent. Ah, Lucy! had Lady D– been the mother of Sir Charles Grandison, with what pleasure could I have listened to her!

You said, my dear, that Sir Charles Grandison will soon leave England: —and then you sighed—Will you be quite open-hearted?—May I ask you a question in hope that you will?

I was silent: yet the word Yes was on my lips.

You have caused it to be told me, that your affections are engaged. This has been a cruel blow upon us. My lord, nevertheless, has heard so much of you, [he is really a good young man, my dear,] that (against my advice, I own,) he would have me introduce him into your company. I see by his looks, that he could admire you above all women. He never was in love: I should be sorry if he were disappointed in his first love. I hope his promised prudence will be his guard, if there be no prospect of his succeeding with you—She paused—I was still silent—

It will be a mark of your frankness of heart, my dear, if, when you take my full meaning, you prevent me speaking more than I need.—I would not oppress you, my sweet love—Such a delicacy, and such a frankness mingled, have I never seen in young woman—But tell me, my dear, has Sir Charles Grandison made his addresses to you?

It was a grievous question for me to answer—But why was it so, my Lucy, when all the hopes I ever had, proceeded from my own presumption, confirmed (that's true, of late!) by his sisters partiality in my favour; and when his unhappy Clementina has such a preferable claim?

What says Miss Byron?

She says, madam, that she reveres Lady D–, and will answer any questions that she puts to her, however affecting—Sir Charles Grandison has not.

Once I thought, proceeded she, that I never would make a second motion, were the woman a princess, who had confessed a prior love, or even liking: but the man is Sir Charles Grandison, whom all women must esteem; and the woman is Miss Byron, whom all men must love. Let me ask you, my dear—Have you any expectation, that the first of men (I will call him so) and the loveliest and most amiable-minded of women, can come together?—You sighed, you know, when you mentioned, that Sir Charles was soon to leave England; and you own that he has not made addresses to you —Don't be uneasy, my love!—We women, in these tender cases, see into each other's hearts from small openings—Look upon me as your mother— What say you, love?

Your ladyship compliments me with delicacy and frankness—It is too hard a question, if I have any of the first, to answer without blushes. A young woman to be supposed to have an esteem for a man, who has made no declarations, and whose behaviour to her is such only as shews a politeness to which he is accustomed, and only the same kind of tenderness as he shews to his sisters;—and whom sometimes he calls sister—as if—Ah, madam, how can one answer?

You have answered, my dear, and with that delicacy and frankness too, which make a principal part of your character. If my son (and he shall not be encouraged in his hopes, if he sees you not, mind as well as person, with his mother's eyes) should not be able to check himself by the apprehensions he has had reason for, of being but a second man in the favour of the object of his wishes [We, my dear, have our delicacies]; could you not allow him a second place in your favour, that might, in time, as he should merit, and as you should subdue your prepossessions, give him a first?—Hush—my dear, for one moment—Your honour, your piety, are my just dependence; and will be his.—And now speak: it is to me, my dear: speak your whole heart: let not any apprehended difficulty— I am a woman as well as you. And prepared to indulge—

Your goodness, madam, and nothing else, interrupted I, gives me difficulty.—My Lord D– seems to me to be a man of merit, and not a disagreeable man in his person and manners. What he said of Sir Charles Grandison, and of his emulation being fired by his example, gave him additional merit with me. He must have a good mind. I wish him acquainted with Sir Charles, for his own sake, and for the sake of the world, which might be benefited by his large power, so happily directed! —But as to myself, I should forfeit the character of frankness of heart, which your ladyship's goodness ascribes to me, if I did not declare, that although I cannot, and, I think ought not to entertain a hope with regard to Sir Charles Grandison, since there is a lady who deserved him by severe sufferings before I knew him; yet is my heart so wholly attached, that I cannot think it just to give the least encouragement to any other proposal.

You are an excellent young woman: but, my dear, if Sir Charles Grandison is engaged—your mind will, it must change. Few women marry their first loves. Your heart—

O, madam! it is already a wedded heart: it is wedded to his merits; his merits will be always the object of my esteem: I can never think of any other, as I ought to think of the man to whom I give my hand.

Like merits, my dear, as person is not the principal motive, may produce like attachments. My Lord D– will be, in your hands, another Sir Charles Grandison.

How good you are, my dear Lady D–! But allow me to repeat, as the strongest expression I can use, because I mean it to carry in it all the force that can be given it, that my heart is already a wedded heart.

You have spoken with great force: God bless you, my dear, as I love you! The matter shall take its course. If my lord should happen to be a single man some time hence (and, I can tell you, that your excellencies will make our choice difficult): and if your mind, from any accident, or from persuasion of friends, should then have received alteration; you may still be happy in each other. I will therefore only thank you for that openness of heart, which must set free the heart of my son—Had you had the least lurking inclination to coquetry, and could have taken pride in conquests, he might have been an undone man.—We will return to the company—But spare him, my dear: you must not talk much. He will love you, if you do, too fervently for his own peace. Try to be a little awkward—I am afraid for him: indeed I am. O that you had never seen Sir Charles Grandison!

I could not answer one word. She took my hand; and led me into the company.

Had I been silent, when my lord directed his discourse to me, or answered only No, or Yes, the Countess would have thought me very vain; and that I ascribed to myself the consequence she so generously gave me, with respect to my lord. I therefore behaved and answered unaffectedly; but avoided such a promptness of speech, as would have looked like making pretensions to knowledge and opinion, though some of my lord's questions were apparently designed to engage me into freedom of discourse. The countess observed me narrowly. She whispered to me, that she did; and made me a very high compliment on my behaviour. How much, Lucy, do I love and reverence her!

My lord was spoken too slightly of, by Miss Grandison, in a former conversation. He is really a fine gentleman. Any woman who is not engaged in her affections, may think herself very happy with him. His conversation was easy and polite, and he said nothing that was low or trifling. Indeed, Lucy, I think Mr. Greville and Mr. Fenwick are as greatly inferior to Lord D–, as Lord D– is to Sir Charles Grandison.

At parting, he requested of me, to be allowed to repeat his visits.

My lord, said the countess, before I could answer, you must not expect a mere stiff maiden answer from Miss Byron: she is above all vulgar forms. She and her cousins have too much politeness, and, I will venture to say, discernment, not to be glad of your acquaintance, as an acquaintance— But, for the rest, you must look to your heart.

I shall be afraid, said he, turning to the countess, to ask your ladyship for an explanation. Miss Byron, I hope, sir, addressing himself to Mr. Reeves, will not refuse me her company, when I pay you my compliments. Then turning to me, I hope, madam, I shall not be punished for admiring you.

My Lord D–, replied I, will be entitled to every civility. I had said more, had he not snatched my hand a little too eagerly, and kissed it.

And thus much for the visit of the Countess of D– and the earl.

***

Did I tell you in my former letter, that Emily is with me half her time? She is a most engaging young creature. Her manners are so pure! Her heart is so sincere and open!—O, Lucy! you would dearly love her. I wish I may be asked to carry her down with me. Yet she adores her guardian: but her reverence for him will not allow of the innocent familiarity in thinking of him, that—I don't know what I would say. But to love with an ardor, that would be dangerous to one's peace, one must have more tenderness than reverence for the object: Don't you think so, Lucy?

Miss Grandison made me one of her flying visits, as she calls them, soon after the countess and my lord went away.

Mr. and Mrs. Reeves told her all that had been said before them by the earl and countess, as well before I went down to them, as after. They could not tell her what passed between that lady and me, when she took me aside. I had not had time to tell them. They referred to me for that: but besides that I was not in spirits, and cared not to say much, I was not willing to be thought by my refusal of so great an offer, to seem to fasten myself upon her brother.

She pitied (who but must?) Lady Clementina. She pitied her brother also: and, seeing me dejected, she clasped her arms about me, and wet my cheek with a sisterly tear.

Is it not very strange, Lucy, that his father should keep him so long abroad? These free-living men! of what absurdities are they not guilty! What misfortunes to others do they not occasion? One might, with the excellent Clementina, ask, What had Mr. Grandison to do in Italy! Or why, if he must go abroad, did he stay so long?

Travelling! Young men travelling! I cannot, my dear, but think it a very nonsensical thing! What can they see, but the ruins of the gay, once busy world, of which they have read?

To see a parcel of giddy boys under the direction of tutors or governors hunting after—What?—Nothing: or, at best, but ruins of ruins; for the imagination, aided by reflection, must be left, after all, to make out the greater glories, which the grave-digger Time has buried too deep for discovery.

And when this grand tour is completed, the travelled youth returns: And, what is his boast? Why to be able to tell, perhaps his better taught friend, who has never been out of his native country, that he has seen in ruins, what the other has a juster idea of from reading; and of which, it is more than probable, he can give a much better account than the traveller.

And are these, petulant Harriet, (methinks, Lucy, you demand,) all the benefits that you will suppose Sir Charles Grandison has reaped from his travelling?

Why, no. But then, in turn, I ask, Is every traveller a Sir Charles Grandison?—And does not even he confess to Dr. Bartlett, that he wished he had never seen Italy? And may not the poor Clementina, and all her family, for her sake, wish he never had?

If an opportunity offers, I don't know, but I may ask Sir Charles, whether, in his conscience, he thinks, that, taking in every consideration, relating to time, expense, risques of life, health, morals, this part of the fashionable education of youth of condition is such an indispensable one, as some seem to suppose it? If Sir Charles Grandison give it not in favour of travelling, I believe it will be concluded, that six parts out of eight of the little masters who are sent abroad for improvement, might as well be kept at home; if, especially, they would be orderly, and let their fathers and mothers know what to do with them.

O, my uncle! I am afraid of you: but spare the poor girl: she acknowledges her petulance, her presumption. The occasion you know, and will pity her for it! However, neither petulance nor presumption shall make her declare as her sentiments what really are not so, in her unprejudiced hours; and she hopes to have her heart always open to conviction.

For the present, Adieu, my Lucy.

P.S. Dr. Bartlett tells me, that Mr. Beauchamp is at Calais, waiting the pleasure of his father; and that Sir Harry has sent express for him, as at his lady's motion.