Mrs. Hungerford embraced her with tenderness, and then assuming a cheerful tone, “Your mother and sister wanted to persuade me,” said she, “that I should never find my way to you — but I insisted upon it that I could. Had I not the instinct of a true friend to guide me? — So now let me sit down and rest myself on this pretty seat — a very comfortable throne! — and that is saying much for a throne. So these are your territories?” continued she, looking round, and talking with an air of playfulness, to give Caroline time to recover herself.
“Why did you never invite me to your garden? — Perhaps, you think me a mere fire-side, arm-chair old woman, dead to all the beauties of nature; but I can assure you that I have, all my life, from principle, cultivated this taste, which I think peculiarly suited to women, salutary not only to their health, but to their happiness and their virtues — their domestic virtues, increasing the interest they take in their homes, heightening those feelings of associated pleasure which extend from persons to places, and which are at once a proof of the strength of early attachments and a security for their continuance to the latest period of life. Our friend, Count Altenberg, was observing to me the other day that we Englishwomen, among our other advantages, from our modes of life, from our spending so many months of the year in the country, have more opportunity of forming and indulging these tastes than is usual among foreign ladies in the same rank of life. Fortunately for us, we are not like Mr. Clay’s French countess, or duchess, who declared that she hated innocent pleasures.”
After mentioning French Clay, Mrs. Hungerford passed to a comparison between him and Count Altenberg. She had met Mr. Clay in town, and disliked him. “He is an Englishman only by birth, and a Frenchman only by affectation; Count Altenberg, on the contrary, a foreigner by birth, has all the tastes and principles that make him worthy to be an Englishman. I am convinced that, if he had liberty of choice, he would prefer residing in England to living in any country in the world. Indeed, he expressed that sentiment at parting from us yesterday.”
“He is gone then,” said Caroline.
“He is, my love.”
Caroline wished to ask where? and whether he was gone for ever? Yet she continued silent — and became extremely pale.
Mrs. Hungerford, without appearing to take any notice of her emotion, continued, and answered all the questions which she wished to ask.
“He is gone back to Germany to his own court — recalled, as he told me, by some imperious duty.”
Caroline revived.
“So far you see, my dear, we were right, as those usually are who judge from general principles. It was not, indeed, to be credited,” continued Mrs. Hungerford, “that a man of his character and understanding should act merely from caprice. What the nature of the duty may be, whether relating to his duty as a public or a private man, he did not explain — the latter, I fear: I apprehend some engagement, that will prevent his return to England. In this case he has done most honourably, at whatever risk or pain to himself, to avoid any attempt to engage your affections, my dear; and you have, in these trying circumstances, acted as becomes your sex and yourself.”
“I hope so,” said Caroline, timidly: “my mother and Rosamond endeavoured to re-assure me on one point — you have seen more since, and must therefore be better able to judge — Count Altenberg has none of that presumption of manner which puts a woman upon her guard against his inferences. But, in secret, do you think he ever suspected—”
“I cannot, my love, tell what passes in the secret recesses of man’s heart — much more difficult to penetrate than woman’s,” replied Mrs. Hungerford, smiling. “But let this satisfy you — by no word, hint, or look, could I ever guess that he had formed such a hope. Of your whole family he spoke in terms of the highest regard. Of you he dared not trust himself to say much; but the little he did venture to say was expressive of the highest respect and esteem: more he did not, and ought not, I am convinced, to have allowed himself.”
“I am satisfied — quite satisfied,” said Caroline, relieving her heart by a deep sigh; “and I thank you, my kind Mrs. Hungerford. You have put this subject at rest for ever in my mind. If Count Altenberg can love me with honour, he will; if he cannot, Heaven forbid I should wish it!”
From this time forward Caroline never spoke more upon the subject, never mentioned the name of Count Altenberg. She exerted all the strong command she possessed over herself to conquer the languor and indolence to which she had found herself disposed.
It is a difficult task to restore what may be called the tone of the mind, to recover the power of being acted upon by common and every day motives, after sensibility has been unusually excited. Where the affections have been deeply and long engaged, this is a task which the most severe philosophy cannot accomplish without the aid of time — and of that superior power which it would be irreverent here to name.
By using no concealment with her friends, by permitting no self-delusion, by having the courage to confess the first symptom of partiality of which she was conscious, Caroline put it out of her own power to nourish a preference into a passion which must ultimately have made herself and her friends unhappy. Besides the advantages which she derived from her literary tastes, and her habits of varying her occupations, she at this time found great resources in her warm and affectionate attachment to her own family.
She had never yet arrived at that state of egoisme, which marks the height of passion, when all interests and affections sink and vanish before one exclusive and tyrant sentiment.
CHAPTER XXX.
When Count Altenberg went to London to obtain his passports, he went to pay his parting respects to Lord Oldborough, whose talents and uncommon character had made an indelible impression on his mind.
When he asked whether his lordship had any commands that he could execute at his own court, he was surprised by receiving at once a commission of a difficult and delicate nature. Lord Oldborough, whose penetration had seen into Count Altenberg’s character, and who knew how and when to trust, though he was supposed to be the most reserved of men, confided to the Count his dissatisfaction with the proceedings of Cunningham Falconer; his suspicions that the envoy was playing double, and endeavouring to ingratiate himself abroad and at home with a party inimical to his lordship’s interests.
“Diplomatists are all, more or less, insincere,” said Lord Oldborough. “But to have chosen an envoy who joins ingratitude to duplicity would reflect no credit upon the minister by whom he was appointed. Were I speaking to a common person, I should not admit the possibility of my having committed such an error. But Count Altenberg will judge by the whole and not by a part. He knows that every man in power is sometimes the slave of circumstances. This Cunningham Falconer — all these Falconers were forced upon me — how, it is of little consequence to you to hear. It is sufficient for me to assure you, Count, that it was not my judgment that erred. Now the necessity has ceased. By other means my purpose has been accomplished. The Falconers are useless to me. But I will not abandon those whom I have undertaken to protect, till I have proof of their perfidy.”
Lord Oldborough then explained the points on which he desired to inform himself before he should decide with regard to Cunningham. Count Altenberg undertook to procure for his lordship the means of ascertaining the fidelity of his envoy; and Lord Oldborough then turned the conversation on general politics. He soon perceived that the Count was not as much interested in these subjects as formerly. At parting, Lord Oldborough smiled, and said, “You have been, since I saw you last, Count Altenberg, too much in the company of a philosopher, who prefers the happiness of a country gentleman’s life to the glory of a statesman’s career. But height will soon recall high thoughts. Ambition is not dead, only dormant within you. It will, I hope and trust, make you in time the minister and pride of your country. In this hope I bid you farewell.”
Commissioner Falconer having been told, by one of the people in the antechamber, that Count Altenberg had arrived, and was now with th
e minister, waited anxiously to see him, caught him in his way out, and eagerly pressed an invitation from Mrs. Falconer to dine or spend the evening with them — but the Count had now his passports, and pleaded the absolute necessity for his immediately setting out on his return to his own country. The commissioner, from a word or two that he hazarded upon the subject, had the vexation to perceive that his hopes of engaging Count Altenberg to assist the views of his son Cunningham were vain, and he regretted that he had wasted so much civility upon a foreigner who would make him no return.
Miss Georgiana Falconer’s mortification at the Count’s leaving England was much alleviated by finding that he had not been detained by the charms of Miss Caroline Percy, and she was almost consoled for losing the prize herself, by seeing that it had not been won by her rival. Mrs. Falconer, too, though she had long abandoned all hopes of the Count as a son-in-law, yet rejoiced to be spared the humiliation of writing to congratulate Mr. and Mrs. Percy upon the marriage and splendid establishment of their daughter.
“After all, how ill they have managed!” said Mrs. Falconer; “the game was in their own hands. Certainly Mrs. Percy must be the worst mother in the world, and the daughter, with all her sense, a perfect simpleton, or they might have made up the match when they had the Count to themselves at Hungerford Castle.”
“I told you long ago, but you would never believe, Mrs. Falconer,” cried the commissioner, “that Count Altenberg’s ruling passion was ambition, and that he was not the least likely to fall in love, as you ladies call it. The old Prince of —— is going fast, and Count Altenberg’s father has sent for him, that he may be on the spot to secure his favour with the hereditary prince — I am sure I hope Count Altenberg will not be minister; for from the few words he said to me just now when I met him, he will not enter into my views with regard to Cunningham.”
“No, those political visions of yours, commissioner, seldom end in any thing but disappointment,” said Mrs. Falconer. “I always said it would be so.”
Then followed a scene of recrimination, such as was the usual consequence of the failure of any of the plans of this intriguing pair.
“And, Mrs. Falconer,” concluded the commissioner, “I augur as ill of your present scheme for Georgiana as I did of the last. You will find that all your dinners and concerts will be just as much thrown away upon the two Clays as your balls and plays were upon Count Altenberg. And this is the way, ma’am, you go on plunging me deeper and deeper in debt,” said the commissioner, walking about the room much disturbed, “If any thing was to go wrong with Lord Oldborough, what would become of us!”
“My dear, that is a very unseasonable apprehension; for Lord Oldborough, as I hear on all sides, is firmer in power now than he ever was — of that, you know, you were but yesterday giving me assurance and proof. His favour, you know, is so high, that all who were leagued against him in that combination he detected, were, in consequence of his lordship’s letter, instantly dismissed from office: his colleagues are now of his choosing — the cabinet, I understand, completely his own friends. What more security can you desire?”
“You don’t understand me, Mrs. Falconer: I am not thinking of the security of Lord Oldborough’s power — of that, after all I have seen, I can have no doubt; but I am not so sure of—”
“The continuance of my own favour,” he was going to say, but it was painful to him to utter the words, and he had a superstitious dread, common to courtiers, of speaking of their decline of favour, Besides, he knew that reproaches for want of address in managing Lord Oldborough’s humour would immediately follow from Mrs. Falconer, if he gave any hint of this kind; and on his address the commissioner piqued himself, not without reason. Abruptly changing his tone, and taking that air of authority which every now and then he thought fit to assume, he said, “Mrs. Falconer, there’s one thing I won’t allow — I won’t allow Georgiana and you to make a fool of young Petcalf.”
“By no means, my love; but if he makes a fool of himself, you know?”
“Mrs. Falconer, you recollect the transaction about the draught.”
“For Zara’s dress?”
“Yes, ma’am. The condition you made then in my name with Georgiana I hold her to, and I expect that she be prepared to be Mrs. Petcalf within the year.”
“I told her so, my dear, and she acquiesces — she submits — she is ready to obey — if nothing better offers.”
“If — Ay, there it is! — All the time I know you are looking to the Clays; and if they fail, somebody else will start up, whom you will think a better match than Petcalf, and all these people are to be fêted, and so you will go on, wasting my money and your own time. Petcalf will run restive at last, you will lose him, and I shall have Georgiana left upon my hands after all.”
“No danger, my dear. My principle is the most satisfactory and secure imaginable. To have a number of tickets in the wheel — then, if one comes up a blank, still you have a chance of a prize in the next. Only have patience, Mr. Falconer.”
“Patience! my dear: how can a man have patience, when he has seen the same thing going on for years? And I have said the same thing to you over and over a hundred times, Mrs. Falconer.”
“A hundred times at least, I grant, and that, perhaps, is enough to try my patience you’ll allow, and yet, you see how reasonable I am. I have only to repeat what is incontrovertible, that when a girl has been brought up, and has lived in a certain line, you must push her in that line, for she will not do in any other. You must be sensible that no mere country gentleman would ever think of Georgiana — we must push her in the line for which she is fit — the fashionable line.”
“Push! Bless my soul, ma’am! you have been pushing one or other of those girls ever since they were in their teens, but your pushing signifies nothing. The men, don’t you see, back as fast as the women advance?”
“Coarse! — Too coarse an observation for you, commissioner!” said Mrs. Falconer, with admirable temper; “but when men are angry they will say more than they think.”
“Ma’am, I don’t say half as much as I think — ever.”
“Indeed! — That is a candid confession, for which I owe you credit, at all events.”
“It’s a foolish game — it’s a foolish game — it’s a losing game,” continued the commissioner; “and you will play it till we are ruined.”
“Not a losing game if it be played with temper and spirit. Many throw up the game like cowards, when, if they had but had courage to double the bet, they would have made their fortune.”
“Pshaw! Pshaw!” said the commissioner: “Can you double your girls’ beauty? can you double their fortune?”
“Fashion stands in the place both of beauty and fortune, Mr. Falconer; and fashion, my girls, I hope you will allow, enjoy.”
“Enjoy! What signifies that? Fashion, you told me, was to win Count Altenberg — has it won him? Are we one bit the better for the expense we were at in all those entertainments?”
“All that, or most of it — at least the popularity-ball — must be set down to Lord Oldborough’s account; and that is your affair, commissioner.”
“And the play, and the play-house, and the dresses! Was Zara’s dress my affair? Did I not tell you, you were wasting your time upon that man?”
“No waste, nothing has been wasted, my dear commissioner; believe me, even in point of economy we could not have laid out money better; for at a trifling expense we have obtained for Georgiana the credit of having refused Count Altenberg. Lady Kew and Lady Trant have spread the report. You know it is not my business to speak — and now the Count is gone, who can contradict it with any propriety? — The thing is universally believed. Every body is talking of it, and the consequence is, Georgiana is more in fashion now than ever she was. There’s a proposal I had for her this morning,” said Mrs. Falconer, throwing a letter carelessly before the commissioner.
“A proposal! That is something worth attending to,” said the commissioner, putting on his spectacles.
“No, nothing worth our attention,” said Mrs. Falconer, “only eighteen hundred a year, which, you know, Georgiana could not possibly live upon.”
“Better than nothing, surely,” said the commissioner; “let me see.”
“Not better than Petcalf, not within a thousand a year so good, putting Asia Minor out of the question. So, you know, I could not hesitate an instant.”
“But I hope your answer was very civil. People are not aware what dangerous enemies they make on these occasions,” said Mr. Falconer: “I hope your answer was very polite.”
“Oh! the pink of courtesy,” said Mrs. Falconer. “I lamented that my daughter’s fortune was so small as to put it out of her power, &c., and I added a great deal about merit, and the honour done our family, and so on. But I wonder the man had the assurance to propose for Georgiana, when he had nothing better to say for himself.”
“Petcalf, to be sure, if the general dies, is a thousand a year better. I believe you are right there,” said Mr. Falconer; and with an air of calculating consideration, he took up a pen.
“But what are you about, commissioner? going to write on that letter, as if it were waste paper!” said Mrs. Falconer, starting up, and taking it hastily from him: “I must have it for Lady Trant, Lady Kew, and some more of our intimate friends, that they may be able to say they have seen the proposal; for mothers and daughters too, in these days, are so apt to boast, that it is quite necessary to have some written document to produce, and there’s no going beyond that.”
“Certainly — quite necessary. And what written document,” said the commissioner, smiling, “have you to produce in the case of Count Altenberg?”
“Oh! that is another affair,” said Mrs. Falconer, smiling in her turn. “One must not in all cases have recourse to the same expedients. Besides, if we produce our proofs on one occasion, we shall depend upon having our word taken on trust another time; and it would be too much to make a practice of showing gentlemen’s letters: it is not what I should always do — certainly not with regard to a man of Count Altenberg’s rank and pretensions, who merits to be treated with somewhat more consideration, surely, than a man who hazards such a proposal as this. I merely produced it to show you that Georgiana is in no absolute distress for admirers. And now, my dear, I must trouble you — those public singers are terribly expensive; yet at a concert we must have them, and one cannot have them without coming up to their price — I must trouble you to sign this draft, for our concert last week.”
Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth Page 142