Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth

by Maria Edgeworth

  Some painful reflections or recollections seemed to absorb the Count for a few moments.

  “Foi d’honnête homme et de philosophe,” French Clay declared, that, for his own part, he cared not who ruled or how, who was conqueror, or what was conquered, provided champagne and burgundy were left to him by the conqueror.

  Rosamond thought it was a pity Mr. Clay was not married to the lady who said she did not care what revolutions happened, as long as she had her roast chicken, and her little game at cards.

  “Happen what will,” continued French Clay, “I have two hundred thousand pounds, well counted — as to the rest, it is quite indifferent to me, whether England be called England or France; for,” concluded he, walking off to the committee of dress, “after all I have heard, I recur to my first question, what is country — or, as people term it, their native land?”

  The following lines came full into Caroline’s recollection as French Clay spoke:

  “Breathes there the man with soul so dead,

  Who never to himself has said,

  This is my own, my native land?

  Whose heart has ne’er within him burn’d,

  As home his footsteps he hath turn’d,

  From wandering on a foreign strand?

  If such there he, go, mark him well;

  High though his titles, proud his fame,

  Boundless his wealth, as wish can claim,

  Despite these titles, power and pelf,

  The wretch, concentred all in self,

  Living shall forfeit fair renown,

  And doubly dying shall go down

  To the vile dust from whence he sprung.

  Unwept, unhonour’d, and unsung.”

  Caroline asked Count Altenberg, who seemed well acquainted with English literature, if he had ever read Scott’s Lay of the Last Minstrel?

  The Count smiled, and replied,

  “‘Breathes there the man with soul so dead,

  Who never to himself has said’

  any of those beautiful lines?”

  Caroline, surprised that the Count knew so well what had passed in her mind, blushed.

  At this moment Mrs. Falconer returned, and throwing a reconnoitring glance round the room to see how the company had disposed of themselves, was well pleased to observe French Clay leaning on the back of Georgiana’s chair, and giving her his opinion about some artificial flowers. The ladies had been consulting upon the manner in which the characters in “Love in a Village,” — or, “The Lord of the Manor,” should be dressed, and Miss Arabella Falconer had not yet completely determined which piece or which dress she preferred. She was glad that the Percys had been kept from this committee, because, as they were not to be asked to the entertainment, it was a subject she could not discuss before them. Whenever they had approached the table, the young ladies had talked only of fashions in general; and now, as Mrs. Percy and Caroline, followed by Count Altenberg, joined them, Mrs. Falconer put aside a volume of plays, containing “The Lord of the Manor,” &c.; and, taking up another book, said something about the immortal bard to English Clay, who happened to be near her. He replied, “I have every edition of Shakspeare that ever was printed or published, and every thing that ever was written about him, good, bad, or indifferent, at Clay-hall. I made this a principle, and I think every Englishman should do the same. Your Mr. Voltaire,” added this polite Englishman, turning to Count Altenberg, “made a fine example of himself by dashing at our Shakspeare?”

  “Undoubtedly, Voltaire showed he did not understand Shakspeare, and therefore did not do him justice,” replied Count Altenberg. “Even Voltaire had some tinge of national prejudice, as well as other men. It was reserved for women to set us, in this instance, as in many others, an example at once of superior candour and superior talent.”

  English Clay pulled up his boots, and, with a look of cool contempt, said, “I see you are a lady’s man, monsieur.”

  Count Altenberg replied, that if a lady’s man means an admirer of the fair sex, he was proud to feel that he deserved that compliment; and with much warmth he pronounced such a panegyric upon that sex, without whom “le commencement de la vie est sans secours, le milieu sans plaisir, et la fin sans consolation,” that even Lady Anne Arlington raised her head from the hand on which it reclined, and every female eye turned upon him with approbation.

  “Oh! what a lover he will make, if ever he is in love,” cried Lady Frances Arlington, who never scrupled saying any thing that came into her head. “I beg pardon, I believe I have said something very shocking. Georgiana, my dear, I protest I was not thinking of — But what a disturbance I have made amongst all your faces, ladies — and gentlemen,” repeated her ladyship, looking archly at the Count, whose face at this moment glowed manifestly; “and all because gentlemen and ladies don’t mind their grammar and their tenses. Now don’t you recollect — I call upon Mrs. Falconer, who really has some presence of — countenance — I call upon Mrs. Falconer to witness that I said ‘if;’ and, pray comprehend me, M. le Comte, else I must appear excessively rude, I did not mean to say any thing of the present or the past, but only of the future.”

  The Count, recovering his presence of mind, and presence of countenance, turned to a little Cupid on the mantel-piece; and, playfully doing homage before it, repeated,

  “Qui que tu sois voici ton maître,

  Il l’est, le fut — ou le doit être.”

  “Oh! charming — oh! for a translation!” cried Mrs. Falconer, glad to turn the attention from Georgiana:—”Lady Frances — ladies some of you, Miss Percy, here’s my pencil.”

  Here they were interrupted by Mr. Percy’s return from Lord Oldborough’s.

  The commissioner followed Mr. Percy into the room, and asked, and was answered, a variety of questions about despatches from town; trying, but, in vain, to find out what had been going forward. At last he ended with a look of absence, and a declaration that he was quite happy to hear that Lord Oldborough had so completely got rid of his gout.

  “Completely,” said Mr. Percy; “and he desires me to tell you, that it will be necessary for him to return to town in a few days.”

  “In a few days!” cried the commissioner.

  “In a few days!” repeated several voices, in different tones.

  “In a few days! — Gracious Heaven! and what will become of ‘the Lord of the Manor!’” cried Miss Falconer.

  “Gently, my Arabella! never raise your voice so high — you, who are a musician,” said Mrs. Falconer, “and so sweet a voice as you have — in general. Besides,” added she, drawing her apart, “you forget that you should not speak of ‘the Lord of the Manor’ before the Percys, as they are not to be asked.”

  “To be sure. Pray keep your temper, Bell, if you can, for a minute,” whispered Miss Georgiana; “you see they have rung for the carriage.”

  Mrs. Falconer began to entreat Mrs. Percy would not be in a hurry to run away; but to her great joy the carriage came to the door.

  At parting with Count Altenberg, Mr. Percy said that he regretted that they were so soon to lose his company in this part of the world. “We, who live so much retired, shall feel the loss particularly.”

  The Count, evidently agitated, only said, in a low voice, “We are not parting yet — we shall meet again — I hope — do you ever go to London?”

  “Never.”

  “At all events, we must meet again,” said the Count.

  The ladies had all collected at the open windows, to see the departure of the Percys; but Miss Georgiana Falconer could learn nothing from the manner in which the Count handed Caroline into the carriage. It did not appear even that he spoke to her.

  On his return, the Miss Falconers, and the Lady Arlingtons, were of course talking of those who had just left the house. There was at first but one voice in praise of Caroline’s beauty and talents, elegance, and simplicity of manner. Mrs. Falconer set the example; Lady Frances Arlington and Miss Georgiana Falconer extolled her in the highest terms — o
ne to provoke, the other not to appear provoked.

  “La!” said Lady Frances, “how we may mistake even the people we know best — Georgiana, can you conceive it? I never should have guessed, if you had not told me, that Miss Caroline Percy was such a favourite of yours. Do you know now, so little penetration have I, I should have thought that you rather disliked her?”

  “You are quite right, my dear Lady Frances,” cried Mrs. Falconer; “I give you credit for your penetration: entre nous, Miss Caroline Percy is no favourite of Georgiana.”

  Georgiana actually opened her eyes with astonishment, and thought her mother did not know what she was saying, and that she certainly did not perceive that Count Altenberg was in the room.

  “Count Altenberg, is this the book you are looking for?” said the young lady, pronouncing Count Altenberg’s name very distinctly, to put her mother on her guard.

  Mrs. Falconer continued precisely in the same tone. “Georgiana does justice, I am sure, to Miss Percy’s merit and charms; but the truth is, she does not like her, and Georgiana has too much frankness to conceal it; and now come here, and I will tell you the reason.” In a half whisper, but perfectly intelligible to every one in the room, Mrs. Falconer went on—”Georgiana’s favourite brother, Buckhurst — did you never hear it? In days of yore, there was an attachment — Buckhurst, you know, is very ardent in his attachments — desperately in love he was — and no wonder. But at that time he was nobody — he was unprovided for, and the young lady had a good fortune then — her father would have him go to the bar — against the commissioner’s wishes. You know a young man will do any thing if he is in love, and is encouraged — I don’t know how the thing went on, or off, but Buckhurst found himself disappointed at last, and was so miserable about it! ready to break his heart! you would have pitied him! Georgiana was so sorry for him, that she never could forgive the young lady — though I really don’t imagine, after all, she was to blame. But sisters will feel for their brothers.”

  Georgiana, charmed to find this amiable mode of accounting for her dislike to Caroline, instantly pursued her mother’s hint, and frankly declared that she never could conceal either her likings or dislikings — that Miss Caroline Percy might have all the merit upon earth, and she did not doubt but she had; yet she never could forgive her for jilting Buckhurst — no, never! never! It might be unjust, but she owned that it was a prepossession she could not conquer.

  “Why, indeed, my dear young lady, I hardly know how to blame you,” cried Lady Trant; “for certainly a jilt is not a very amiable character.”

  “Oh! my dear Lady Trant, don’t use such a word — Georgiana! — Why will you be so warm, so very unguarded, where that darling brother is concerned? You really — Oh! my dear Lady Trant, this must not go farther — and positively the word jilt must never be used again; for I’m confident it is quite inapplicable.”

  “I’d not swear for that,” cried Lady Trant; “for, now I recollect, at Lady Angelica Headingham’s, what was it we heard, my dear Lady Kew, about her coquetting with that Mr. Barclay, who is now going to be married to Lady Mary Pembroke, you know?”

  “Oh! yes, I did hear something, I recollect — but, at the time, I never minded, because I did not know, then, who that Miss Caroline Percy was — true, true, I recollect it now. And all, you know, we heard about her and Sir James Harcourt — was there not something there? By all accounts, it is plain she is not the simple country beauty she looks — practised! — practised! you see.”

  Miss Georgiana Falconer’s only fear was, that Count Altenberg might not hear Lady Kew, who had lowered her voice to the note of mystery. Mrs. Falconer, who had accomplished her own judicious purpose, of accounting for Georgiana’s dislike of Miss Caroline Percy, was now afraid that her dear friends would overdo the business; she made many efforts to stop them, but once upon the scent of scandal, it was no easy matter to change the pursuit.

  “You seem to have found something that has caught your attention delightfully, Count Altenberg,” said Mrs. Falconer; “how I envy any one who is completely in a book — what is it?”

  “Johnson’s preface to Shakspeare.”

  Miss Georgiana Falconer was vexed, for she recollected that Miss Caroline Percy had just been speaking of it with admiration.

  Mrs. Falconer wondered how it could have happened that she had never read it.

  Lady Kew persevered in her story. “Sir James Harcourt, I know, who is the most polite creature in the whole world, and who never speaks an ill word of any body, I assure you, said of Miss Caroline Percy in my hearing — what I shall not repeat. Only this much I must tell you, Mrs. Falconer — Mrs. Falconer! — She won’t listen because the young lady is a relation of her own — and we are very rude; but truth is truth, notwithstanding, you know. Well, well, she may talk of Miss Percy’s beauty and abilities — very clever she is, I don’t dispute; but this I may say, that Mrs. Falconer must never praise her to me for simplicity of character.”

  “Why, no,” said Miss Georgiana; “one is apt to suppose that a person who has lived all her life in the country must, of course, have great simplicity. But there is a simplicity of character, and a simplicity of manner, and they don’t always go together. Caroline Percy’s manner is fascinating, because, you know, it is what one does not meet with every day in town — that was what struck my poor brother — that and her great talents, which can make her whatever she pleases to be: but I am greatly afraid she is not quite the ingenuous person she looks.”

  Count Altenberg changed colour, and was putting down his book suddenly, when Mrs. Falconer caught it, and stopping him, asked how far he had read.

  Whilst he was turning over the leaves, Lady Trant went on, in her turn—”With all her practice, or her simplicity, whichever it may be — far be it from me to decide which — I fancy she has met with her match, and has been disappointed in her turn.”

  “Really!” cried Georgiana, eagerly: “How! What! When! — Are you certain?”

  “Last summer — Oh! I have it from those who know the gentleman well. Only an affair of the heart that did not end happily: but I am told she was very much in love. The family would not hear of it — the mother, especially, was averse: so the young gentleman ended by marrying — exceedingly well — and the young lady by wearing the willow, you know, a decent time.”

  “Oh! why did you never tell me this before?” said Miss Georgiana.

  “I protest I never thought of it, till Lady Kew brought it to my recollection, by talking of Lady Angelica Headingham, and Sir James Harcourt, and all that.”

  “But who was the gentleman?”

  “That’s a secret,” replied Lady Trant.

  “A secret! — A secret! — What is it? What is it?” cried Lady Frances Arlington, pressing into the midst of the party; for she was the most curious person imaginable.

  Then heads joined, and Lady Trant whispered, and Lady Frances exclaimed aloud, “Hungerford? — Colonel Hungerford!”

  “Fie! fie! Lady Frances,” cried Georgiana — and “Fie! fie! you are a pretty person to keep a secret,” cried Lady Trant: “I vow I’ll never trust your ladyship with a secret again — when you publish it in this way.”

  “I vow you will,” said Lady Frances. “Why, you all know, in your hearts, you wish to publish it — else why tell it — especially to me? But all this time I am not thinking in the least about the matter, nor was I when I said Hungerford — I was and am thinking of my own affairs. What did I do with the letter I received this morning? I had it here — no, I hadn’t it — yes, I had — Anne! — Anne! — Lady Anne! the duchess’s letter: I gave it to you; what did you do with it?”

  “La! it is somewhere, I suppose,” said Lady Anne, raising her head, and giving a vague look round the room.

  Lady Frances made every one search their work-boxes, writing-boxes, and reticules; then went from table to table, opening and shutting all the drawers.

  “Frances! — If you would not fly about so! What can it signify?”
expostulated Lady Anne. But in vain; her sister went on, moving every thing and every body in the room, displacing all the cushions of all the chairs in her progress, and, at last, approached Lady Anne’s sofa, with intent to invade her repose.

  “Ah! Frances!” cried Lady Anne, in a deprecating tone, with a gesture of supplication and anguish in her eyes, “do let me rest!”

  “Never, till I have the letter.”

  With the energy of anger and despair Lady Anne made an effort to reach the bell-cord — but it missed — the cord swung — Petcalf ran to catch it, and stumbled over a stool — English Clay stood still and laughed — French Clay exclaimed, “Ah! mon Dieu! Cupidon!”

  Count Altenberg saved Cupid from falling, and rang the bell.

  “Sir,” said Lady Anne to the footman, “I had a letter — some time this morning, in my hand.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “I want it.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Pray, sir, tell somebody to tell Pritchard, to tell Flora, to go up stairs to my dressing-room, sir, to look every where for’t; and let it be brought to my sister, Lady Frances, if you please, sir.”

  “No, no, sir, don’t do any thing about the matter, if you please — I will go myself,” said Lady Frances.

  Away the lady ran up stairs, and down again, with the letter in her hand.

  “Yes! exactly as I thought,” cried she; “my aunt does say, that Mrs. Hungerford is to be down to-day — I thought so.”

  “Very likely,” said Lady Anne; “I never thought about it.”

  “But, Anne, you must think about it, for my aunt desires we should go and see her directly.”

  “I can’t go,” said Lady Anne—”I’ve a cold — your going will do.”

  “Mrs. Falconer, my dear Mrs. Falconer, will you go with me to-morrow to Hungerford Castle?” cried Lady Frances, eagerly.

  “Impossible! my dear Lady Frances, unfortunately quite impossible. The Hungerfords and we have no connexion — there was an old family quarrel—”