Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth

by Maria Edgeworth

  “Nothing but gratitude!” repeated Mrs. Ormond, with a degree of amazement in her countenance, which made every body present smile: “I am sure I thought she was dying for love of you.”

  “My dear Belinda,” whispered Lady Delacour, “if I might judge of the colour of this cheek, which has been for some moments permanent crimson, I should guess that you were beginning to find out of what use the sun is to the dial.”

  “You will not let me hear what Mr. Hervey is saying,” replied Belinda; “I am very curious.”

  “Curiosity is a stronger passion than love, as I told him just now,” said Lady Delacour.

  In spite of all his explanations, Mrs. Ormond could not be made to comprehend Virginia’s feelings. She continually repeated, “But it is impossible for Virginia, or for any body, to be in love with a picture.”

  “It is not said that she is in love with a picture,” replied Mrs. Delacour, “though even for that I could find you a precedent.”

  “My Lady Delacour,” said Mrs. Ormond, “will you explain to us how that picture came into your possession, and how it came here, and, in short, all that is to be known about it?”

  “Ay, explain! explain! my dear Lady Delacour,” cried Mrs. Delacour: “I am afraid I am grown almost as curious as my Lady Boucher. Explain! explain!”

  “Most willingly,” said Lady Delacour. “To Marriott’s ruling passion for birds you are all of you indebted for this discovery. Some time ago, whilst we were at Twickenham, as Marriott was waiting at a stationer’s, to bid her last adieus to a bullfinch, a gentleman came into the shop where she and Bobby (as she calls this bird) were coquetting, and the gentleman was struck even more than Marriott with the bullfinch. He went almost distracted on hearing a particular tune, which this bird sang. I suspected, from the symptoms, that the gentleman must be, or must have been, in love with the bullfinch’s mistress. Now the bullfinch was traced home to the ci-devant Virginia St. Pierre, the present Miss Hartley. I had my reasons for being curious about her loves and lovers, and as soon as I learned the story from Marriott, I determined, if possible, to find out who this stranger, with the strange passion for bullfinches, might be. I questioned and cross-questioned all those people at the stationer’s who were present when he fell into ecstasies; and, from the shopman, who had been bribed to secrecy, I learned that our gentleman returned to the stationer’s the day after he met Marriott, and watched till he obtained a sight of Virginia, as she came to her window. Now it was believed by the girl of this shop, who had lived for some time with Mrs. Ormond — Forgive me, Mr. Hervey, for what I am going to say — forgive me, Mrs. Ormond — scandal, like death, is common to all — It was believed that Virginia was Mr. Hervey’s mistress. My stranger no sooner learned this than he swore that he would think of her no more; and after bestowing a variety of seamen’s’ execrations upon the villain who had seduced this heavenly creature, he departed from Twickenham, and was no more seen or heard of. My inquiries after him were indefatigable, but for some time unsuccessful: and so they might have continued, and we might have been all making one another unhappy at this moment, if it had not been for Mr. Vincent’s great dog Juba — Miss Annabella Luttridge’s billet-doux — Sir Philip Baddely’s insolence — my Lord Delacour’s belief in a quack balsam — and Captain Sunderland’s humanity.”

  “Captain Sunderland! who is Captain Sunderland? we never heard of him before,” cried Mrs. Ormond.

  “You shall hear of him just as I did, if you please,” said Lady Delacour, “and if Belinda will submit to hear me tell the same story twice.”

  Here her ladyship repeated the history of the battle of the dogs; and of Sir Philip Baddely’s knocking down Juba, the man, for struggling in defence of Juba, the dog.

  “Now the gentleman who assisted my Lord Delacour in bringing the disabled negro across the square to our house, was Captain Sunderland. My lord summoned Marriott to produce Lady Boucher’s infallible balsam, that it might be tried upon Juba’s sprained ankle. Whilst my lord was intent upon the balsam, Marriott was intent upon Captain Sunderland. She recollected that she had met him somewhere before, and the moment he spoke, she knew him to be the gentleman who had fallen into ecstasies in the shop at Twickenham, about the bullfinch. Marriott hastened to me with the news; I hastened to my lord, made him introduce Captain Sunderland to me, and I never rested till he had told me all that I wanted to know. Some years ago, just before he went to sea, he paid a visit to his mother, who then lodged with a widow Smith, in the New Forest. Whilst he was there, he heard of the young beauty who lived in the Forest, with a grandmother, who was not a little particular; and who would not permit any body to see her.

  “My captain’s curiosity was excited; one day, unseen by the duenna, he obtained a distinct view of Virginia, watering her roses and tending her bees. Struck with her uncommon beauty, he approached carefully to the thicket in which the cottage was enclosed, and found a lair, where he concealed himself, day after day, and contemplated at leisure the budding charms of the fair wood-nymph. In short, he became so enamoured, that he was determined to gain admittance at the cottage, and declare his passion: but to his honour be it told, that when the history of the poor girl’s mother, and the situation and fears of the old lady, who was her only friend, were known to him, in consideration of the extreme youth of the ward, and the extreme age of her guardian, he determined to defer his addresses till his return from the West Indies, whither he was shortly to sail, and where he had hopes of making a fortune, that might put him in a situation to render the object of his affections independent. He left a bullfinch with Mrs. Smith, who gave it to Virginia, without telling to whom it had belonged, lest her grandmother might be displeased.

  “I really thought that all this showed too nice a moral sense for a young dashing lieutenant in the navy, and I was persuaded that my gentleman was only keeping his mistress’s secret like a man of honour. With this belief, I regretted that Clarence Hervey should throw himself away upon a girl who was unworthy of him.”

  “I hope,” interrupted Clarence, “you are perfectly convinced of your mistake.”

  “Perfectly! perfectly! — I am convinced that Virginia is only half mad. But let me go on with my story. I was determined to discover whether she had any remains of affection for this captain. It was in vain he assured me that she had never seen him. I prevailed upon him to let me go on my own way. I inquired whether he had ever had his picture drawn. Yes, he had for his mother, just when he first went out to sea. It had been left at the widow Smith’s. I begged him to procure it for me. He told me it was impossible. I told him I trampled on impossibilities. In short, he got the picture for me, as you see. ‘Now,’ thought I, ‘if he speaks the truth, Virginia will see this picture without emotion, and it will only seem to be a present for Clarence. But if she had ever seen him before, or had any secret to conceal, she will betray herself on the sudden appearance of this picture.’ Things have turned out contrary to all my expectations, and yet better. —— — And now, Clarence, I must beg you will prevail on Miss Hartley to appear; I can go on no farther without her.”

  Lady Delacour took Virginia by the hand, the moment she entered the room.

  “Will you trust yourself with me, Miss Hartley?” said she. “I have made you faint once to-day by the sight of a picture; will you promise me not to faint again, when I produce the original?”

  “The original!” said Virginia. “I will trust myself with you, for I am sure you cannot mean to laugh at me, though, perhaps, I deserve to be laughed at.”

  Lady Delacour threw open the door of another apartment. Mr. Hartley appeared, and with him Captain Sunderland.

  “My dear daughter,” said Mr. Hartley, “give me leave to introduce to you a friend, to whom I owe more obligations than to any man living, except to Mr. Hervey. This gentleman was stationed some years ago at Jamaica, and in a rebellion of the negroes on my plantation he saved my life. Fortune has accidentally thrown my benefactor in my way. To show my sense of my oblig
ations is out of my power.”

  Virginia’s surprise was extreme; her vivid dreams, the fond wishes of her waking fancy, were at once accomplished. For the first moment she gazed as on an animated picture, and all the ideas of love and romance associated with this image rushed upon her mind.

  But when the realities by which he was surrounded dispelled the illusion, she suddenly withdrew her eyes, and blushed deeply, with such timid and graceful modesty as charmed every body present.

  Captain Sunderland pressed forward; but was stopped by Lady Delacour.

  “Avaunt, thou real lover!” cried she: “none but the shadow of a man can hope to approach the visionary maid. In vain has Marraton forced his way through the bushes and briars, in vain has he braved the apparition of the lion; there is yet a phantom barrier apparently impassable between him and his Yaratilda, for he is in the world of shadows. Now, mark me, Marraton: hurry not this delicate spirit, or perchance you frighten and lose her for ever; but have patience, and gradually and gracefully she will venture into your world of realities — only give her time.”

  “Time! O yes, give me time,” cried Virginia, shrinking back.

  “My dear Miss Hartley,” continued Lady Delacour, “in plain prose, to prevent all difficulties and embarrassments, I must inform you, that Captain Sunderland will not insist upon prompt payment of your father’s debt of gratitude: he has but one quarter of an hour to spend with us — he is actually under sailing orders; so that you will have time to compose your mind before his return. Clarence, I advise you to accompany Captain Sunderland on this cruise; don’t you, Belinda?

  “And now, my good friends,” continued Lady Delacour, “shall I finish the novel for you?”

  “If your ladyship pleases; nobody can do it better,” said Clarence Hervey.

  “But I hope you will remember, dear Lady Delacour,” said Belinda, “that there is nothing in which novelists are so apt to err as in hurrying things toward the conclusion: in not allowing time enough for that change of feeling, which change of situation cannot instantly produce.”

  “That’s right, my dear Belinda; true to your principles to the last gasp. Fear nothing — you shall have time enough to become accustomed to Clarence. Would you choose that I should draw out the story to five volumes more? With your advice and assistance, I can with the greatest ease, my dear. A declaration of love, you know, is only the beginning of things; there may be blushes, and sighs, and doubts, and fears, and misunderstandings, and jealousies without end or common sense, to fill up the necessary space, and to gain the necessary time; but if I might conclude the business in two lines, I should say,

  ‘Ye gods, annihilate both space and time,

  And make four lovers happy.’”

  “Oh, that would be cutting matters too short,” said Mrs. Margaret Delacour. “I am of the old school; and though I could dispense with the description of Miss Harriot Byron’s worked chairs and fine china, yet I own I like to hear something of the preparation for a marriage, as well as of the mere wedding. I like to hear how people become happy in a rational manner, better than to be told in the huddled style of an old fairy tale — and so they were all married, and they lived very happily all the rest of their days.”

  “We are not in much danger of hearing such an account of modern marriages,” said Lady Delacour. “But how shall I please you all? — Some people cry, ‘Tell me every thing;’ others say, that,

  ‘Le secret d’ennuyer est celui de tout dire.’”

  “Something must be left to the imagination. Positively I will not describe wedding-dresses, or a procession to church. I have no objection to saying that the happy couples were united by the worthy Mr. Moreton; that Mr. Percival gave Belinda away; and that immediately after the ceremony, he took the whole party down with him to Oakly-park. Will this do? — Or, we may conclude, if you like it better, with a characteristic letter of congratulation from Mrs. Stanhope to her dearest niece, Belinda, acknowledging that she was wrong to quarrel with her for refusing Sir Philip Baddely, and giving her infinite credit for that admirable management of Clarence Hervey, which she hopes will continue through life.”

  “Well, I have no objection to ending with a letter,” said Mrs. Delacour; “for last speeches are always tiresome.”

  “Yes,” said her ladyship; “it is so difficult, as the Critic says, to get lovers off upon their knees. Now I think of it, let me place you all in proper attitudes for stage effect. What signifies being happy, unless we appear so? — Captain Sunderland — kneeling with Virginia, if you please, sir, at her father’s feet: you in the act of giving them your blessing, Mr. Hartley. Mrs. Ormond clasps her hands with joy — nothing can be better than that, madam — I give you infinite credit for the attitude. Clarence, you have a right to Belinda’s hand, and may kiss it too: nay, Miss Portman, it is the rule of the stage. Now, where’s my Lord Delacour? he should be embracing me, to show that we are reconciled. Ha! here he comes — Enter Lord Delacour, with little Helena in his hand — very well! a good start of surprise, my love — stand still, pray; you cannot be better than you are: Helena, my love, do not let go your father’s hand. There! quite pretty and natural! Now, Lady Delacour, to show that she is reformed, comes forward to address the audience with a moral — a moral! Yes,

  “Our tale contains a moral; and, no doubt,

  You all have wit enough to find it out.’”

  (Written in 1800. Published in 1801.)

  THE END

  THE MODERN GRISELDA

  The Modern Griselda was published in 1804 by Joseph Johnson and was based on the folklore character Griselda that appeared in tales by Chaucer, Petrarch, Boccaccio, Perrault and many other authors over the course of the past seven centuries. Griselda was a woman renowned for her patience, subservience and obedience in relation to her husband’s wishes. Boccaccio used a French source to write his tale and this version was then translated into Latin by Petrarch and then Chaucer adapted the tale into English. The Boccaccio version involves a young, poverty-stricken woman who is chosen for marriage by a Marquis and then tested by him through a series of vicious demands and cruel behaviour; this includes pretending he has murdered their children and feigning that he will divorce her with the intention of marrying a young girl. Griselda remains devoted to her husband and the tale concludes with her learning her children are still alive. Petrarch and Chaucer retell this story offering differing approaches to Boccaccio’s depiction of the central characters. The Italian writer creates a cynical portrait of Gualtieri, while Chaucer spins an ironic tale and Petrarch attempts to create a moral story.

  Edgeworth’s The Modern Griselda is, at times, a humorous inversion of Griselda as the ever submissive wife. She rewrites the tale to create a different power dynamic between husband and wife, whilst highlighting the danger of attempting to apply a sound moral lesson to early versions of the story. There is clearly a class as well as gender issue in relation to the power dynamics which renders the abuse of Gualtieri even more grotesque. However in The Modern Griselda the wife adopts the opposite attitude to her husband from the traditional story and chooses to do exactly the reverse of that which she is instructed to do. Edgeworth re-imagines a series of amusing examples of Griselda attempting to exert her power and influence by not only refusing to comply with her husband’s demands, but actively opposing them. Edgeworth shows this to be an ineffective means of either attaining power or maintaining a marriage as she underlines the need for balance in a relationship and how this should be achieved.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER I.

  CHAPTER II.

  CHAPTER III.

  CHAPTER IV.

  CHAPTER V.

  CHAPTER VI.

  CHAPTER VII.

  CHAPTER VIII.

  CHAPTER IX.

  CHAPTER X.

  CHAPTER XI.

  CHAPTER XII.

  CHAPTER XIII.

  CHAPTER XIV.

  CHAPTER XV.

  CHAPTER XVI.

  CHA
PTER XVII.

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  CHAPTER XIX.

  Image from Chaucer’s ‘The Clerk’s Tale’ featuring Griselda

  THE MODERN GRISELDA.

  A TALE.

  ”And since in man right reason bears the sway,

  Let that frail thing, weak woman, have her way.”

  POPE.

  CHAPTER I.

  ”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.”

  “Is not this ode set to music, my dear Griselda?” said the happy bridegroom to his bride.

  “Yes, surely, my dear: did you never hear it?”

  “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?”

  “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.

  “Charming! Thank you, my love,” said the bridegroom, who had listened with enthusiastic devotion.—”Will you let me hear it once more?”

  The complaisant bride repeated the strain.

  “Thank you, my dear love,” repeated her husband. This time he omitted the word “charming” — she missed it, and, pouting prettily, said,

  “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.”