CHAPTER VI.
CORIOLANUS.
Mademoiselle Moore had that morning a somewhat absent-minded pupil.Caroline forgot, again and again, the explanations which were given toher. However, she still bore with unclouded mood the chidings herinattention brought upon her. Sitting in the sunshine near the window,she seemed to receive with its warmth a kind influence, which made herboth happy and good. Thus disposed, she looked her best, and her bestwas a pleasing vision.
To her had not been denied the gift of beauty. It was not absolutelynecessary to know her in order to like her; she was fair enough toplease, even at the first view. Her shape suited her age: it wasgirlish, light, and pliant; every curve was neat, every limbproportionate; her face was expressive and gentle; her eyes werehandsome, and gifted at times with a winning beam that stole into theheart, with a language that spoke softly to the affections. Her mouthwas very pretty; she had a delicate skin, and a fine flow of brown hair,which she knew how to arrange with taste; curls became her, and shepossessed them in picturesque profusion. Her style of dress announcedtaste in the wearer--very unobtrusive in fashion, far from costly inmaterial, but suitable in colour to the fair complexion with which itcontrasted, and in make to the slight form which it draped. Her presentwinter garb was of merino--the same soft shade of brown as her hair; thelittle collar round her neck lay over a pink ribbon, and was fastenedwith a pink knot. She wore no other decoration.
So much for Caroline Helstone's appearance. As to her character orintellect, if she had any, they must speak for themselves in due time.
Her connections are soon explained. She was the child of parentsseparated soon after her birth, in consequence of disagreement ofdisposition. Her mother was the half-sister of Mr. Moore's father; thus,though there was no mixture of blood, she was, in a distant sense, thecousin of Robert, Louis, and Hortense. Her father was the brother of Mr.Helstone--a man of the character friends desire not to recall, afterdeath has once settled all earthly accounts. He had rendered his wifeunhappy. The reports which were known to be true concerning him hadgiven an air of probability to those which were falsely circulatedrespecting his better-principled brother. Caroline had never known hermother, as she was taken from her in infancy, and had not since seenher; her father died comparatively young, and her uncle, the rector, hadfor some years been her sole guardian. He was not, as we are aware, muchadapted, either by nature or habits, to have the charge of a young girl.He had taken little trouble about her education; probably he would havetaken none if she, finding herself neglected, had not grown anxious onher own account, and asked, every now and then, for a little attention,and for the means of acquiring such amount of knowledge as could not bedispensed with. Still, she had a depressing feeling that she wasinferior, that her attainments were fewer than were usually possessed bygirls of her age and station; and very glad was she to avail herself ofthe kind offer made by her cousin Hortense, soon after the arrival ofthe latter at Hollow's Mill, to teach her French and fine needle-work.Mdlle. Moore, for her part, delighted in the task, because it gave herimportance; she liked to lord it a little over a docile yet quick pupil.She took Caroline precisely at her own estimate, as anirregularly-taught, even ignorant girl; and when she found that she maderapid and eager progress, it was to no talent, no application, in thescholar she ascribed the improvement, but entirely to her own superiormethod of teaching. When she found that Caroline, unskilled in routine,had a knowledge of her own, desultory but varied, the discovery causedher no surprise, for she still imagined that from her conversation hadthe girl unawares gleaned these treasures. She thought it even whenforced to feel that her pupil knew much on subjects whereof she knewlittle. The idea was not logical, but Hortense had perfect faith in it.
Mademoiselle, who prided herself on possessing "un esprit positif," andon entertaining a decided preference for dry studies, kept her youngcousin to the same as closely as she could. She worked her unrelentinglyat the grammar of the French language, assigning her, as the mostimproving exercise she could devise, interminable "analyses logiques."These "analyses" were by no means a source of particular pleasure toCaroline; she thought she could have learned French just as well withoutthem, and grudged excessively the time spent in pondering over"propositions, principales, et incidents;" in deciding the "incidentedeterminative," and the "incidente applicative;" in examining whetherthe proposition was "pleine," "elliptique," or "implicite." Sometimesshe lost herself in the maze, and when so lost she would, now and then(while Hortense was rummaging her drawers upstairs--an unaccountableoccupation in which she spent a large portion of each day, arranging,disarranging, rearranging, and counter-arranging), carry her book toRobert in the counting-house, and get the rough place made smooth by hisaid. Mr. Moore possessed a clear, tranquil brain of his own. Almost assoon as he looked at Caroline's little difficulties they seemed todissolve beneath his eye. In two minutes he would explain all, in twowords give the key to the puzzle. She thought if Hortense could onlyteach like him, how much faster she might learn! Repaying him by anadmiring and grateful smile, rather shed at his feet than lifted to hisface, she would leave the mill reluctantly to go back to the cottage,and then, while she completed the exercise, or worked out the sum (forMdlle. Moore taught her arithmetic too), she would wish nature had madeher a boy instead of a girl, that she might ask Robert to let her be hisclerk, and sit with him in the counting-house, instead of sitting withHortense in the parlour.
Occasionally--but this happened very rarely--she spent the evening atHollow's Cottage. Sometimes during these visits Moore was away attendinga market; sometimes he was gone to Mr. Yorke's; often he was engagedwith a male visitor in another room; but sometimes, too, he was at home,disengaged, free to talk with Caroline. When this was the case, theevening hours passed on wings of light; they were gone before they werecounted. There was no room in England so pleasant as that small parlourwhen the three cousins occupied it. Hortense, when she was not teaching,or scolding, or cooking, was far from ill-humoured; it was her custom torelax towards evening, and to be kind to her young English kinswoman.There was a means, too, of rendering her delightful, by inducing her totake her guitar and sing and play. She then became quite good-natured.And as she played with skill, and had a well-toned voice, it was notdisagreeable to listen to her. It would have been absolutely agreeable,except that her formal and self-important character modulated herstrains, as it impressed her manners and moulded her countenance.
Mr. Moore, released from the business yoke, was, if not lively himself,a willing spectator of Caroline's liveliness, a complacent listener toher talk, a ready respondent to her questions. He was somethingagreeable to sit near, to hover round, to address and look at. Sometimeshe was better than this--almost animated, quite gentle and friendly.
The drawback was that by the next morning he was sure to be frozen upagain; and however much he seemed, in his quiet way, to enjoy thesesocial evenings, he rarely contrived their recurrence. This circumstancepuzzled the inexperienced head of his cousin. "If I had a means ofhappiness at my command," she thought, "I would employ that means often.I would keep it bright with use, and not let it lie for weeks aside,till it gets rusty."
Yet she was careful not to put in practice her own theory. Much as sheliked an evening visit to the cottage, she never paid one unasked.Often, indeed, when pressed by Hortense to come, she would refuse,because Robert did not second, or but slightly seconded the request.This morning was the first time he had ever, of his own unprompted will,given her an invitation; and then he had spoken so kindly that inhearing him she had received a sense of happiness sufficient to keep herglad for the whole day.
The morning passed as usual. Mademoiselle, ever breathlessly busy, spentit in bustling from kitchen to parlour, now scolding Sarah, now lookingover Caroline's exercise or hearing her repetition-lesson. Howeverfaultlessly these tasks were achieved, she never commended: it was amaxim with her that praise is inconsistent with a teacher's dignity, andthat blame, in more or less unqualified measure, is in
dispensable to it.She thought incessant reprimand, severe or slight, quite necessary tothe maintenance of her authority; and if no possible error was to befound in the lesson, it was the pupil's carriage, or air, or dress, ormien, which required correction.
The usual affray took place about the dinner, which meal, when Sarah atlast brought it into the room, she almost flung upon the table, with alook that expressed quite plainly, "I never dished such stuff i' my lifeafore; it's not fit for dogs." Notwithstanding Sarah's scorn, it was asavoury repast enough. The soup was a sort of puree of dried peas, whichmademoiselle had prepared amidst bitter lamentations that in thisdesolate country of England no haricot beans were to be had. Then came adish of meat--nature unknown, but supposed to bemiscellaneous--singularly chopped up with crumbs of bread, seasoneduniquely though not unpleasantly, and baked in a mould--a queer but byno means unpalatable dish. Greens, oddly bruised, formed theaccompanying vegetable; and a pate of fruit, conserved after a recipedevised by Madame Gerard Moore's "grand'mere," and from the taste ofwhich it appeared probable that "melasse" had been substituted forsugar, completed the dinner.
Caroline had no objection to this Belgian cookery--indeed she ratherliked it for a change; and it was well she did so, for had she evincedany disrelish thereof, such manifestation would have injured her inmademoiselle's good graces for ever; a positive crime might have beenmore easily pardoned than a symptom of distaste for the foreigncomestibles.
Soon after dinner Caroline coaxed her governess-cousin upstairs todress. This manoeuvre required management. To have hinted that thejupon, camisole, and curl-papers were odious objects, or indeed otherthan quite meritorious points, would have been a felony. Any prematureattempt to urge their disappearance was therefore unwise, and would belikely to issue in the persevering wear of them during the whole day.Carefully avoiding rocks and quicksands, however, the pupil, on pretenceof requiring a change of scene, contrived to get the teacher aloft; and,once in the bedroom, she persuaded her that it was not worth whilereturning thither, and that she might as well make her toilet now; andwhile mademoiselle delivered a solemn homily on her own surpassing meritin disregarding all frivolities of fashion, Caroline denuded her of thecamisole, invested her with a decent gown, arranged her collar, hair,etc., and made her quite presentable. But Hortense would put thefinishing touches herself, and these finishing touches consisted in athick handkerchief tied round the throat, and a large, servant-likeblack apron, which spoiled everything. On no account would mademoisellehave appeared in her own house without the thick handkerchief and thevoluminous apron. The first was a positive matter of morality--it wasquite improper not to wear a fichu; the second was the ensign of a goodhousewife--she appeared to think that by means of it she somehoweffected a large saving in her brother's income. She had, with her ownhands, made and presented to Caroline similar equipments; and the onlyserious quarrel they had ever had, and which still left a soreness inthe elder cousin's soul, had arisen from the refusal of the younger oneto accept of and profit by these elegant presents.
"I wear a high dress and a collar," said Caroline, "and I should feelsuffocated with a handkerchief in addition; and my short aprons do quiteas well as that very long one. I would rather make no change."
Yet Hortense, by dint of perseverance, would probably have compelled herto make a change, had not Mr. Moore chanced to overhear a dispute on thesubject, and decided that Caroline's little aprons would suffice, andthat, in his opinion, as she was still but a child, she might for thepresent dispense with the fichu, especially as her curls were long, andalmost touched her shoulders.
There was no appeal against Robert's opinion, therefore his sister wascompelled to yield; but she disapproved entirely of the piquant neatnessof Caroline's costume, and the ladylike grace of her appearance.Something more solid and homely she would have considered "beaucoup plusconvenable."
The afternoon was devoted to sewing. Mademoiselle, like most Belgianladies, was specially skilful with her needle. She by no means thoughtit waste of time to devote unnumbered hours to fine embroidery,sight-destroying lace-work, marvellous netting and knitting, and, aboveall, to most elaborate stocking-mending. She would give a day to themending of two holes in a stocking any time, and think her "mission"nobly fulfilled when she had accomplished it. It was another ofCaroline's troubles to be condemned to learn this foreign style ofdarning, which was done stitch by stitch, so as exactly to imitate thefabric of the stocking itself--a wearifu' process, but considered byHortense Gerard, and by her ancestresses before her for long generationsback, as one of the first "duties of a woman." She herself had had aneedle, cotton, and a fearfully torn stocking put into her hand whileshe yet wore a child's coif on her little black head; her "hauts faits"in the darning line had been exhibited to company ere she was six yearsold; and when she first discovered that Caroline was profoundly ignorantof this most essential of attainments, she could have wept with pityover her miserably-neglected youth.
No time did she lose in seeking up a hopeless pair of hose, of which theheels were entirely gone, and in setting the ignorant English girl torepair the deficiency. This task had been commenced two years ago, andCaroline had the stockings in her work-bag yet. She did a few rows everyday, by way of penance for the expiation of her sins. They were agrievous burden to her; she would much have liked to put them in thefire; and once Mr. Moore, who had observed her sitting and sighing overthem, had proposed a private incremation in the counting-house; but tothis proposal Caroline knew it would have been impolitic to accede--theresult could only be a fresh pair of hose, probably in worse condition.She adhered, therefore, to the ills she knew.
All the afternoon the two ladies sat and sewed, till the eyes andfingers, and even the spirits of one of them, were weary. The sky sincedinner had darkened; it had begun to rain again, to pour fast. Secretfears began to steal on Caroline that Robert would be persuaded by Mr.Sykes or Mr. Yorke to remain at Whinbury till it cleared, and of thatthere appeared no present chance. Five o'clock struck, and time stoleon; still the clouds streamed. A sighing wind whispered in theroof-trees of the cottage; day seemed already closing; the parlour fireshed on the clear hearth a glow ruddy as at twilight.
"It will not be fair till the moon rises," pronounced MademoiselleMoore, "consequently I feel assured that my brother will not return tillthen. Indeed I should be sorry if he did. We will have coffee. It wouldbe vain to wait for him."
"I am tired. May I leave my work now, cousin?"
"You may, since it grows too dark to see to do it well. Fold it up; putit carefully in your bag; then step into the kitchen and desire Sarah tobring in the gouter, or tea, as you call it."
"But it has not yet struck six. He may still come."
"He will not, I tell you. I can calculate his movements. I understand mybrother."
Suspense is irksome, disappointment bitter. All the world has, sometime or other, felt that. Caroline, obedient to orders, passed into thekitchen. Sarah was making a dress for herself at the table.
"You are to bring in coffee," said the young lady in a spiritless tone;and then she leaned her arm and head against the kitchen mantelpiece,and hung listlessly over the fire.
"How low you seem, miss! But it's all because your cousin keeps you soclose to work. It's a shame!"
"Nothing of the kind, Sarah," was the brief reply.
"Oh! but I know it is. You're fit to cry just this minute, for nothingelse but because you've sat still the whole day. It would make a kittendull to be mewed up so."
"Sarah, does your master often come home early from market when it iswet?"
"Never, hardly; but just to-day, for some reason, he has made adifference."
"What do you mean?"
"He is come. I am certain I saw Murgatroyd lead his horse into the yardby the back-way, when I went to get some water at the pump five minutessince. He was in the counting-house with Joe Scott, I believe."
"You are mistaken."
"What should I be mistaken for? I know his horse surel
y?"
"But you did not see himself?"
"I heard him speak, though. He was saying something to Joe Scott abouthaving settled all concerning ways and means, and that there would be anew set of frames in the mill before another week passed, and that thistime he would get four soldiers from Stilbro' barracks to guard thewagon."
"Sarah, are you making a gown?"
"Yes. Is it a handsome one?"
"Beautiful! Get the coffee ready. I'll finish cutting out that sleevefor you, and I'll give you some trimming for it. I have some narrowsatin ribbon of a colour that will just match it."
"You're very kind, miss."
"Be quick; there's a good girl. But first put your master's shoes on thehearth: he will take his boots off when he comes in. I hear him; he iscoming."
"Miss, you are cutting the stuff wrong."
"So I am; but it is only a snip. There is no harm done."
The kitchen door opened; Mr. Moore entered, very wet and cold. Carolinehalf turned from her dressmaking occupation, but renewed it for amoment, as if to gain a minute's time for some purpose. Bent over thedress, her face was hidden; there was an attempt to settle her featuresand veil their expression, which failed. When she at last met Mr. Moore,her countenance beamed.
"We had ceased to expect you. They asserted you would not come," shesaid.
"But I promised to return soon. _You_ expected me, I suppose?"
"No, Robert; I dared not when it rained so fast. And you are wet andchilled. Change everything. If you took cold, I should--we should blameourselves in some measure."
"I am not wet through: my riding-coat is waterproof. Dry shoes are all Irequire. There--the fire is pleasant after facing the cold wind and rainfor a few miles."
He stood on the kitchen hearth; Caroline stood beside him. Mr. Moore,while enjoying the genial glow, kept his eyes directed towards theglittering brasses on the shelf above. Chancing for an instant to lookdown, his glance rested on an uplifted face, flushed, smiling, happy,shaded with silky curls, lit with fine eyes. Sarah was gone into theparlour with the tray; a lecture from her mistress detained her there.Moore placed his hand a moment on his young cousin's shoulder, stooped,and left a kiss on her forehead.
"Oh!" said she, as if the action had unsealed her lips, "I was miserablewhen I thought you would not come. I am almost too happy now. Are youhappy, Robert? Do you like to come home?"
"I think I do--to-night, at least."
"Are you certain you are not fretting about your frames, and yourbusiness, and the war?"
"Not just now."
"Are you positive you don't feel Hollow's Cottage too small for you, andnarrow, and dismal?"
"At this moment, no."
"Can you affirm that you are not bitter at heart because rich and greatpeople forget you?"
"No more questions. You are mistaken if you think I am anxious to curryfavour with rich and great people. I only want means--a position--acareer."
"Which your own talent and goodness shall win you. You were made to begreat; you _shall_ be great."
"I wonder now, if you spoke honestly out of your heart, what recipe youwould give me for acquiring this same greatness; but I know it--betterthan you know it yourself. Would it be efficacious? Would it work?Yes--poverty, misery, bankruptcy. Oh, life is not what you think it,Lina!"
"But you are what I think you."
"I am not."
"You are better, then?"
"Far worse."
"No; far better. I know you are good."
"How do you know it?"
"You look so, and I feel you _are_ so."
"Where do you feel it?"
"In my heart."
"Ah! You judge me with your heart, Lina: you should judge me with yourhead."
"I do; and then I am quite proud of you. Robert, you cannot tell all mythoughts about you."
Mr. Moore's dark face mustered colour; his lips smiled, and yet werecompressed; his eyes laughed, and yet he resolutely knit his brow.
"Think meanly of me, Lina," said he. "Men, in general, are a sort ofscum, very different to anything of which you have an idea. I make nopretension to be better than my fellows."
"If you did, I should not esteem you so much. It is because you aremodest that I have such confidence in your merit."
"Are you flattering me?" he demanded, turning sharply upon her, andsearching her face with an eye of acute penetration.
"No," she said softly, laughing at his sudden quickness. She seemed tothink it unnecessary to proffer any eager disavowal of the charge.
"You don't care whether I think you flatter me or not?"
"No."
"You are so secure of your own intentions?"
"I suppose so."
"What are they, Caroline?"
"Only to ease my mind by expressing for once part of what I think, andthen to make you better satisfied with yourself."
"By assuring me that my kinswoman is my sincere friend?"
"Just so. I am your sincere friend, Robert."
"And I am--what chance and change shall make me, Lina."
"Not my enemy, however?"
The answer was cut short by Sarah and her mistress entering the kitchentogether in some commotion. They had been improving the time which Mr.Moore and Miss Helstone had spent in dialogue by a short dispute on thesubject of "cafe au lait," which Sarah said was the queerest mess sheever saw, and a waste of God's good gifts, as it was "the nature ofcoffee to be boiled in water," and which mademoiselle affirmed to be "unbreuvage royal," a thousand times too good for the mean person whoobjected to it.
The former occupants of the kitchen now withdrew into the parlour.Before Hortense followed them thither, Caroline had only time again toquestion, "Not my enemy, Robert?" And Moore, Quaker-like, had repliedwith another query, "Could I be?" And then, seating himself at thetable, had settled Caroline at his side.
Caroline scarcely heard mademoiselle's explosion of wrath when sherejoined them; the long declamation about the "conduite indigne de cettemechante creature" sounded in her ear as confusedly as the agitatedrattling of the china. Robert laughed a little at it, in very subduedsort, and then, politely and calmly entreating his sister to betranquil, assured her that if it would yield her any satisfaction, sheshould have her choice of an attendant amongst all the girls in hismill. Only he feared they would scarcely suit her, as they were most ofthem, he was informed, completely ignorant of household work; and pertand self-willed as Sarah was, she was, perhaps, no worse than themajority of the women of her class.
Mademoiselle admitted the truth of this conjecture: according to her,"ces paysannes anglaises etaient tout insupportables." What would shenot give for some "bonne cuisiniere anversoise," with the high cap,short petticoat, and decent sabots proper to her class--somethingbetter, indeed, than an insolent coquette in a flounced gown, andabsolutely without cap! (For Sarah, it appears, did not partake theopinion of St. Paul that "it is a shame for a woman to go with her headuncovered;" but, holding rather a contrary doctrine, resolutely refusedto imprison in linen or muslin the plentiful tresses of her yellow hair,which it was her wont to fasten up smartly with a comb behind, and onSundays to wear curled in front.)
"Shall I try and get you an Antwerp girl?" asked Mr. Moore, who, sternin public, was on the whole very kind in private.
"Merci du cadeau!" was the answer. "An Antwerp girl would not stay hereten days, sneered at as she would be by all the young coquines in yourfactory;" then softening, "You are very good, dear brother--excuse mypetulance--but truly my domestic trials are severe, yet they areprobably my destiny; for I recollect that our revered mother experiencedsimilar sufferings, though she had the choice of all the best servantsin Antwerp. Domestics are in all countries a spoiled and unruly set."
Mr. Moore had also certain reminiscences about the trials of his reveredmother. A good mother she had been to him, and he honoured her memory;but he recollected that she kept a hot kitchen of it in Antwerp, just ashis faithful sister did here in England.
Thus, therefore, he let thesubject drop, and when the coffee-service was removed, proceeded toconsole Hortense by fetching her music-book and guitar; and havingarranged the ribbon of the instrument round her neck with a quietfraternal kindness he knew to be all-powerful in soothing her mostruffled moods, he asked her to give him some of their mother's favouritesongs.
Nothing refines like affection. Family jarring vulgarizes; family unionelevates. Hortense, pleased with her brother, and grateful to him,looked, as she touched her guitar, almost graceful, almost handsome; hereveryday fretful look was gone for a moment, and was replaced by a"sourire plein de bonte." She sang the songs he asked for, with feeling;they reminded her of a parent to whom she had been truly attached; theyreminded her of her young days. She observed, too, that Carolinelistened with naive interest; this augmented her good-humour; and theexclamation at the close of the song, "I wish I could sing and play likeHortense!" achieved the business, and rendered her charming for theevening.
It is true a little lecture to Caroline followed, on the vanity of_wishing_ and the duty of _trying_. "As Rome," it was suggested, "hadnot been built in a day, so neither had Mademoiselle Gerard Moore'seducation been completed in a week, or by merely _wishing_ to be clever.It was effort that had accomplished that great work. She was everremarkable for her perseverance, for her industry. Her masters hadremarked that it was as delightful as it was uncommon to find so muchtalent united with so much solidity, and so on." Once on the theme ofher own merits, mademoiselle was fluent.
Cradled at last in blissful self-complacency, she took her knitting, andsat down tranquil. Drawn curtains, a clear fire, a softly-shining lamp,gave now to the little parlour its best, its evening charm. It isprobable that the three there present felt this charm. They all lookedhappy.
"What shall we do now, Caroline?" asked Mr. Moore, returning to his seatbeside his cousin.
"What shall we do, Robert?" repeated she playfully. "You decide."
"Not play at chess?"
"No."
"Nor draughts, nor backgammon?"
"No, no; we both hate silent games that only keep one's hands employed,don't we?"
"I believe we do. Then shall we talk scandal?"
"About whom? Are we sufficiently interested in anybody to take apleasure in pulling their character to pieces?"
"A question that comes to the point. For my part, unamiable as itsounds, I must say no."
"And I too. But it is strange, though we want no third--fourth, I mean(she hastily and with contrition glanced at Hortense), living personamong us--so selfish we are in our happiness--though we don't want tothink of the present existing world, it would be pleasant to go back tothe past, to hear people that have slept for generations in graves thatare perhaps no longer graves now, but gardens and fields, speak to usand tell us their thoughts, and impart their ideas."
"Who shall be the speaker? What language shall he utter? French?"
"Your French forefathers don't speak so sweetly, nor so solemnly, nor soimpressively as your English ancestors, Robert. To-night you shall beentirely English. You shall read an English book."
"An old English book?"
"Yes, an old English book--one that you like; and I will choose a partof it that is toned quite in harmony with something in you. It shallwaken your nature, fill your mind with music; it shall pass like askilful hand over your heart, and make its strings sound. Your heart isa lyre, Robert; but the lot of your life has not been a minstrel tosweep it, and it is often silent. Let glorious William come near andtouch it. You will see how he will draw the English power and melody outof its chords."
"I must read Shakespeare?"
"You must have his spirit before you; you must hear his voice with yourmind's ear; you must take some of his soul into yours."
"With a view to making me better? Is it to operate like a sermon?"
"It is to stir you, to give you new sensations. It is to make you feelyour life strongly--not only your virtues, but your vicious, perversepoints."
"Dieu! que dit-elle?" cried Hortense, who hitherto had been countingstitches in her knitting, and had not much attended to what was said,but whose ear these two strong words caught with a tweak.
"Never mind her, sister; let her talk. Now just let her say anything shepleases to-night. She likes to come down hard upon your brothersometimes. It amuses me, so let her alone."
Caroline, who, mounted on a chair, had been rummaging the bookcase,returned with a book.
"Here's Shakespeare," she said, "and there's 'Coriolanus.' Now, read,and discover by the feelings the reading will give you at once how lowand how high you are."
"Come, then, sit near me, and correct when I mispronounce."
"I am to be the teacher then, and you my pupil?"
"Ainsi, soit-il!"
"And Shakespeare is our science, since we are going to study?"
"It appears so."
"And you are not going to be French, and sceptical, and sneering? Youare not going to think it a sign of wisdom to refuse to admire?"
"I don't know."
"If you do, Robert, I'll take Shakespeare away; and I'll shrivel upwithin myself, and put on my bonnet and go home."
"Sit down. Here I begin."
"One minute, if you please, brother," interrupted mademoiselle. "Whenthe gentleman of a family reads, the ladies should alwayssew.--Caroline, dear child, take your embroidery. You may get threesprigs done to-night."
Caroline looked dismayed. "I can't see by lamp-light; my eyes are tired,and I can't do two things well at once. If I sew, I cannot listen; if Ilisten, I cannot sew."
"Fi, donc! Quel enfantillage!" began Hortense. Mr. Moore, as usual,suavely interposed.
"Permit her to neglect the embroidery for this evening. I wish her wholeattention to be fixed on my accent; and to ensure this, she must followthe reading with her eyes--she must look at the book."
He placed it between them, reposed his arm on the back of Caroline'schair, and thus began to read.
The very first scene in "Coriolanus" came with smart relish to hisintellectual palate, and still as he read he warmed. He delivered thehaughty speech of Caius Marcius to the starving citizens with unction;he did not say he thought his irrational pride right, but he seemed tofeel it so. Caroline looked up at him with a singular smile.
"There's a vicious point hit already," she said. "You sympathize withthat proud patrician who does not sympathize with his famishedfellow-men, and insults them. There, go on." He proceeded. The warlikeportions did not rouse him much; he said all that was out of date, orshould be; the spirit displayed was barbarous; yet the encountersingle-handed between Marcius and Tullus Aufidius he delighted in. As headvanced, he forgot to criticise; it was evident he appreciated thepower, the truth of each portion; and, stepping out of the narrow lineof private prejudices, began to revel in the large picture of humannature, to feel the reality stamped upon the characters who werespeaking from that page before him.
He did not read the comic scenes well; and Caroline, taking the book outof his hand, read these parts for him. From her he seemed to enjoy them,and indeed she gave them with a spirit no one could have expected ofher, with a pithy expression with which she seemed gifted on the spot,and for that brief moment only. It may be remarked, in passing, that thegeneral character of her conversation that evening, whether serious orsprightly, grave or gay, was as of something untaught, unstudied,intuitive, fitful--when once gone, no more to be reproduced as it hadbeen than the glancing ray of the meteor, than the tints of the dew-gem,than the colour or form of the sunset cloud, than the fleeting andglittering ripple varying the flow of a rivulet.
Coriolanus in glory, Coriolanus in disaster, Coriolanus banished,followed like giant shades one after the other. Before the vision of thebanished man Moore's spirit seemed to pause. He stood on the hearth ofAufidius's hall, facing the image of greatness fallen, but greater thanever in that low estate. He saw "the grim appearance," the dark face"bearing command in it," "the noble vessel with its
tackle torn." Withthe revenge of Caius Marcius, Moore perfectly sympathized; he was notscandalized by it; and again Caroline whispered, "There I see anotherglimpse of brotherhood in error."
The march on Rome, the mother's supplication, the long resistance, thefinal yielding of bad passions to good, which ever must be the case in anature worthy the epithet of noble, the rage of Aufidius at what heconsidered his ally's weakness, the death of Coriolanus, the finalsorrow of his great enemy--all scenes made of condensed truth andstrength--came on in succession and carried with them in their deep,fast flow the heart and mind of reader and listener.
"Now, have you felt Shakespeare?" asked Caroline, some ten minutes afterher cousin had closed the book.
"I think so."
"And have you felt anything in Coriolanus like you?"
"Perhaps I have."
"Was he not faulty as well as great?"
Moore nodded.
"And what was his fault? What made him hated by the citizens? Whatcaused him to be banished by his countrymen?"
"What do you think it was?"
"I ask again--
'Whether was it pride, Which out of daily fortune ever taints The happy man? whether defect of judgment, To fail in the disposing of those chances Which he was lord of? or whether nature, Not to be other than one thing, not moving From the casque to the cushion, but commanding peace Even with the same austerity and garb As he controlled the war?'"
"Well, answer yourself, Sphinx."
"It was a spice of all; and you must not be proud to your workpeople;you must not neglect chances of soothing them; and you must not be of aninflexible nature, uttering a request as austerely as if it were acommand."
"That is the moral you tack to the play. What puts such notions intoyour head?"
"A wish for your good, a care for your safety, dear Robert, and a fear,caused by many things which I have heard lately, that you will come toharm."
"Who tells you these things?"
"I hear my uncle talk about you. He praises your hard spirit, yourdetermined cast of mind, your scorn of low enemies, your resolution not'to truckle to the mob,' as he says."
"And would you have me truckle to them?"
"No, not for the world. I never wish you to lower yourself; but somehowI cannot help thinking it unjust to include all poor working-peopleunder the general and insulting name of 'the mob,' and continually tothink of them and treat them haughtily."
"You are a little democrat, Caroline. If your uncle knew, what would hesay?"
"I rarely talk to my uncle, as you know, and never about such things. Hethinks everything but sewing and cooking above women's comprehension,and out of their line."
"And do you fancy you comprehend the subjects on which you advise me?"
"As far as they concern you, I comprehend them. I know it would bebetter for you to be loved by your workpeople than to be hated by them,and I am sure that kindness is more likely to win their regard thanpride. If you were proud and cold to me and Hortense, should we loveyou? When you are cold to me, as you _are_ sometimes, can I venture tobe affectionate in return?"
"Now, Lina, I've had my lesson both in languages and ethics, with atouch on politics; it is your turn. Hortense tells me you were muchtaken by a little piece of poetry you learned the other day, a piece bypoor Andre Chenier--'La Jeune Captive.' Do you remember it still?"
"I think so."
"Repeat it, then. Take your time and mind your accent; especially let ushave no English _u_'s."
Caroline, beginning in a low, rather tremulous voice, but gainingcourage as she proceeded, repeated the sweet verses of Chenier. The lastthree stanzas she rehearsed well.
"Mon beau voyage encore est si loin de sa fin! Je pars, et des ormeaux qui bordent le chemin J'ai passe le premiers a peine. Au banquet de la vie a peine commence, Un instant seulement mes levres ont presse La coupe en mes mains encore pleine.
"Je ne suis qu'au printemps--je veux voir la moisson; Et comme le soleil, de saison en saison, Je veux achever mon annee, Brillante sur ma tige, et l'honneur du jardin Je n'ai vu luire encore que les feux du matin, Je veux achever ma journee!"
Moore listened at first with his eyes cast down, but soon he furtivelyraised them. Leaning back in his chair he could watch Caroline withouther perceiving where his gaze was fixed. Her cheek had a colour, hereyes a light, her countenance an expression this evening which wouldhave made even plain features striking; but there was not the grievousdefect of plainness to pardon in her case. The sunshine was not shed onrough barrenness; it fell on soft bloom. Each lineament was turned withgrace; the whole aspect was pleasing. At the present moment--animated,interested, touched--she might be called beautiful. Such a face wascalculated to awaken not only the calm sentiment of esteem, the distantone of admiration, but some feeling more tender, genial,intimate--friendship, perhaps, affection, interest. When she hadfinished, she turned to Moore, and met his eye.
"Is that pretty well repeated?" she inquired, smiling like any happy,docile child.
"I really don't know."
"Why don't you know? Have you not listened?"
"Yes--and looked. You are fond of poetry, Lina?"
"When I meet with _real_ poetry, I cannot rest till I have learned it byheart, and so made it partly mine."
Mr. Moore now sat silent for several minutes. It struck nine o'clock.Sarah entered, and said that Mr. Helstone's servant was come for MissCaroline.
"Then the evening is gone already," she observed, "and it will be long,I suppose, before I pass another here."
Hortense had been for some time nodding over her knitting; fallen into adoze now, she made no response to the remark.
"You would have no objection to come here oftener of an evening?"inquired Robert, as he took her folded mantle from the side-table, whereit still lay, and carefully wrapped it round her.
"I like to come here; but I have no desire to be intrusive. I am nothinting to be asked; you must understand that."
"Oh! I understand thee, child. You sometimes lecture me for wishing tobe rich, Lina; but if I _were_ rich, you should live here always--at anyrate, you should live with me wherever my habitation might be."
"That would be pleasant; and if you were poor--ever so poor--it wouldstill be pleasant. Good-night, Robert."
"I promised to walk with you up to the rectory."
"I know you did; but I thought you had forgotten, and I hardly knew howto remind you, though I wished to do it. But would you like to go? It isa cold night, and as Fanny is come, there is no necessity----"
"Here is your muff; don't wake Hortense--come."
The half mile to the rectory was soon traversed. They parted in thegarden without kiss, scarcely with a pressure of hands; yet Robert senthis cousin in excited and joyously troubled. He had been singularly kindto her that day--not in phrase, compliment, profession, but in manner,in look, and in soft and friendly tones.
For himself, he came home grave, almost morose. As he stood leaning onhis own yard-gate, musing in the watery moonlight all alone, the hushed,dark mill before him, the hill-environed hollow round, he exclaimed,abruptly,--
"This won't do! There's weakness--there's downright ruin in all this.However," he added, dropping his voice, "the frenzy is quite temporary.I know it very well; I have had it before. It will be gone to-morrow."
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