Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth

by Maria Edgeworth

  “An excellent speech — to the purpose, sir,” said Lord Oldborough. “It had its effect on the house, I understand; and I thank your friend, Mr. Alfred Percy, for putting it into my hands when I had leisure to peruse it with attention.”

  Lord Oldborough thought for some moments, then looked over some official papers which he had ordered Mr. Temple to draw up.

  “Very well, sir — very well. A man of genius, I see, can become a man of business.”

  His lordship signed the papers, and, when that was finished, turned again to Mr. Temple.

  “Sir, some time ago a place was vacant, which, I know, you had reason to expect. It was given to Mr. Shaw, because it was better suited to him than to you. The manner in which you took your disappointment showed a confidence in my justice. Have you any objection, Mr. Temple, to the diplomatic line?”

  “I fear — or I should say, I hope — my lord, that I have not the habits of dissimulation, which, as I have always understood, are necessary to success in the diplomatic line.”

  “You have understood wrongly, sir,” replied Lord Oldborough. “I, who have seen something of courts, and know something of diplomacy, am of opinion that a man of sense, who knows what he is about, who says the thing that is, who will tell at once what he can do, and what he cannot, would succeed better as a negotiator in the present state of Europe, than could any diplomatist with all the simulation and dissimulation of Chesterfield, or with the tact of Mazarin.”

  “Indeed, my lord!” said Mr. Temple, looking up with an air of surprise that almost expressed, Then why did you choose Cunningham Falconer for an envoy?

  “Pray,” said Lord Oldborough, taking a long inspiration with a pinch of snuff, “pray with that despatch this morning from Mr. Cunningham Falconer were there any private letters?”

  “One for Commissioner Falconer, my lord.”

  “None from Count Altenberg to me?”

  “None, my lord.”

  The minister took a walk up and down the room, and then returning to Mr. Temple, said, “His majesty thinks proper, sir, to appoint you envoy in the place of Mr. Cunningham Falconer, who is recalled.”

  “I thank you, my lord — his majesty does me great honour,” cried Mr. Temple, with sudden gratitude: then, his countenance and tone instantly changing from joy to sorrow, he added, “His majesty does me great honour, my lord, but—”

  “But not great pleasure, it seems, sir,” said Lord Oldborough. “I thought, Mr. Temple, you had trusted to me the advancement of your fortune.”

  “My fortune! My lord, I am struck with surprise and gratitude by your lordship’s goodness in taking thought for the advancement of my fortune. But I have other feelings.”

  “And may I ask what is the nature of your other feelings, sir?”

  “My lord — excuse me — I cannot tell them to you.”

  “One word more, sir. Do you hesitate, from any motives of delicacy with respect to the present envoy?”

  “No, my lord, you look too high for my motive; and the higher I am sensible that I stand in your lordship’s opinion, the greater is my fear of falling. I beg you will excuse me: the offer that your lordship has had the goodness to make would be the height of my ambition; but when opposing motives draw the will in contrary directions—”

  “Sir, if you are going into the bottomless pit of metaphysics, excuse me,” said Lord Oldborough—”there I must leave you. I protest, sir, you are past my comprehension.”

  “And past my own,” cried Mr. Temple, “for,” with effort he uttered the words, “unfortunately I have formed an — I have become attached to—”

  “In short, sir, you are in love, I think,” said Lord Oldborough, coolly. “I think I told you so, sir, more than a month ago.”

  “I have said it! and said it to Lord Oldborough!” exclaimed Mr. Temple, looking as one uncertain whether he were dreaming or awake.

  “It is undoubtedly uncommon to select a minister of state for the confidant of a love affair,” said Lord Oldborough, with an air of some repressed humour.

  “I knew I should expose myself to your lordship’s derision,” exclaimed Mr. Temple.

  He was too much engrossed by his own feelings, as he pronounced these words, to observe in his lordship’s countenance an extraordinary emotion. It was visible but for one instant.

  With a look more placid, and a tone somewhat below his usual voice, Lord Oldborough said, “You have misjudged me much, Mr. Temple, if you have conceived that your feelings, that such feelings would be matter of derision to me. But since you have touched upon this subject, let me give you one hint — Ambition wears better than Love.”

  Lord Oldborough sat down to write, and added, “For one fortnight I can spare you, Mr. Temple — Mr. Shaw will undertake your part of the business of office. At the end of the ensuing fortnight, I trust you will let me have your answer.”

  Full of gratitude, Mr. Temple could express it only by a bow — and retired. The antechamber was now filling fast for the levee. One person after another stopped him; all had some pressing business, or some business which they thought of consequence, either to the nation or themselves.

  “Mr. Temple, I must trouble you to look over these heads of a bill.”

  “Mr. Temple! — My memorial — just give me your advice.”

  “Sir — I wrote a letter, three weeks ago, to Lord Oldborough, on the herring-fishery, to which I have not had the honour of an answer.”

  “Mr. Temple — the address from Nottingham — Where’s the reply?”

  “Mr. Temple, may I know whether his lordship means to see us gentlemen from the city about the loan?”

  “Sir — Pray, sir! — My new invention for rifling cannon — Ordnance department! — Sir, I did apply — War-office, too, sir! — It’s very hard I can’t get an answer — bandied about! — Sir, I can’t think myself well used — Government shall hear more.”

  “One word, Mr. Temple, if you please, about tithes. I’ve an idea—”

  “Temple, don’t forget the Littleford turnpike bill.”

  “Mr. Temple, who is to second the motion on Indian affairs?”

  “Temple, my good friend, did you speak to Lord Oldborough about my little affair for Tom?”

  “Mr. Temple, a word in your ear — the member for the borough, you know, is dead; letters must be written directly to the corporation.”

  “Temple, my dear friend, before you go, give me a frank.”

  At last Mr. Temple got away from memorialists, petitioners, grievances, men of business, idle men, newsmen, and dear friends, then hastened to Alfred to unburden his mind — and to rest his exhausted spirits.

  CHAPTER XXXII.

  The moment that Mr. Temple reached his friend’s chambers, he threw himself into a chair.

  “What repose — what leisure — what retirement is here!” cried he. “A man can think and feel a moment for himself.”

  “Not well, I fear, in the midst of the crackling of these parchments,” said Alfred, folding up the deeds at which he had been at work. “However, I have now done my business for this day, and I am your man for what you please — if you are not engaged by some of your great people, we cannot do better than dine together.”

  “With all my heart,” said Mr. Temple.

  “And where shall we dine?” said Alfred.

  “Any where you please. But I have a great deal to say to you, Alfred — don’t think of dining yet.”

  “At the old work!” cried Alfred.

  “‘You think of convincing, while I think of dining.’”

  But, as he spoke, Alfred observed his friend’s agitated countenance, and immediately becoming serious, he drew a chair beside Mr. Temple, and said, “I believe, Temple, you have something to say that you are anxious about. You know that if there is any thing I can do, head, hand, and heart are at your service.”

  “Of that I am quite sure, else I should not come here to open my heart to you,” replied Mr. Temple. Then he related all that had just p
assed between Lord Oldborough and himself, and ended by asking Alfred, whether he thought there was any chance of success for his love?

  “You have not told me who the lady is,” said Alfred.

  “Have not I? — but, surely, you can guess.”

  “I have guessed — but I wish to be mistaken — Lady Frances Arlington?”

  “Quite mistaken. Guess again — and nearer home.”

  “Nearer home! — One of my sisters! — Not Caroline, I hope?”

  “No.”

  “Then it must be as I once hoped. But why did you never mention it to me before?”

  Mr. Temple declared that he had thought there was so little chance of his ever being in circumstances in which he could marry, especially a woman who had not some fortune of her own, that he had scarcely ventured to avow, even to himself, his attachment.

  “I thought my love would wear itself out,” added he. “Indeed I did not know how serious a business it was, till this sudden proposal was made to me of leaving England: then I felt that I should drag, at every step, a lengthening chain. In plain prose, I cannot leave England without knowing my fate. But don’t let me make a fool of myself, Alfred. No man of sense will do more than hazard a refusal: that every man ought to do, or he sacrifices the dignity of the woman he loves to his own false pride. I know that in these days gentlemen-suitors are usually expert in sounding the relations of the lady they wish to address. To inquire whether the lady is engaged or not is, I think, prudent and honourable: but beyond this, I consider it to be treacherous and base to endeavour, by any indirect means, to engage relations to say what a lover should learn only from the lady herself. Therefore, my dear friend, all I ask is whether you have reason to believe that your sister Rosamond’s heart is pre-engaged; or if you think that there is such a certainty of my being rejected, as ought, in common prudence, to prevent my hazarding the mortification of a refusal?”

  Alfred assured his friend, that, to the best of his belief, Rosamond’s heart was disengaged. “And,” continued he, “as a witness is or ought to be prepared to tell his cause of belief, I will give you mine. Some time since I was commissioned by a gentleman, who wished to address her, to make the previous inquiry, and the answer was, quite disengaged. Now as she did not accept of this gentleman, there is reason to conclude that he did not engage her affections—”

  “Was he rich or poor, may I ask?” interrupted Mr. Temple.

  “That is a leading question,” said Alfred.

  “I do not want you to tell me who the gentleman was — I know that would not be a fair question, and I trust I should be as far from asking, as you from answering it. But there are so many rich as well as so many poor men in the world, that in answering to the inquiry rich or poor, what city or court man do you name? I want only to draw a general inference as to your sister’s taste for wealth.”

  “Her taste is assuredly not exclusively for wealth; for her last admirer was a gentleman of very large fortune.”

  “I am happy, at least, in that respect, in not resembling him,” said Mr. Temple. “Now for my other question — what chance for myself?”

  “Of that, my good friend, you must judge for yourself. By your own rule all you have a right to hear is, that I, Rosamond’s brother, have no reason for believing that she has such a repugnance to you as would make a refusal certain. And that you may not too much admire my discretion, I must add, that if I had a mind to tell you more, I could not. All I know is, that Rosamond, as well as the rest of my family, in their letters spoke of you with general approbation, but I do not believe the idea of considering you as her lover ever entered into her head or theirs.”

  “But now the sooner it enters the better,” cried Mr. Temple. “Will you — can you — Have not you business to do for Lord Oldborough at Clermont-park?”

  “Yes — and I am glad of it, as it gives me an opportunity of indulging myself in going with you, my dear Temple. I am ready to set out at any moment.”

  “God bless you! The sooner the better, then. This night in the mail, if you please. I’ll run and take our places,” said he, snatching up his hat.

  “Better send,” cried Alfred stopping him: “my man can run and take places in a coach as well as you. Do you stay with me. We will go to the coffee-house, dine, and be ready to set off.”

  Mr. Temple acceded.

  “In the mean time,” said Alfred, “you have relations and connexions of your own who should be consulted.”

  Mr. Temple said he was sure that all his relations and connexions would highly approve of an alliance with the Percy family. “But, in fact,” added he, “that is all they will care about the matter. My relations, though high and mighty people, have never been of any service to me: they are too grand, and too happy, to mind whether a younger son of a younger son sinks or swims; whether I live in single wretchedness or double blessedness. Not one relation has nature given, who cares for me half as much as the friend I have made for myself.”

  Sincerely as Alfred was interested for his success, yet he did not let this friendship interfere with the justice due to his sister, of leaving her sole arbitress of a question which most concerned her happiness.

  During the last stage of their journey, they were lucky enough to have the coach to themselves, and Mr. Temple made himself amends for the restraint under which he had laboured during the preceding part of the journey, whilst he had been oppressed by the presence of men, whose talk was of the lower concerns of life. After he had descanted for some time on the perfections of his mistress, he ended with expressing his surprise that his friend, who had often of late rallied him upon his being in love, had not guessed sooner who was the object of his passion.

  Alfred said that the idea of Rosamond had occurred to him, because his friend’s absence of mind might be dated from the time of his last visit to Clermont-park; “but,” said Alfred, “as Lady Frances Arlington was there, and as I had formerly fancied that her ladyship’s wish to captivate or dazzle you, had not been quite without effect, I was still in doubt, and thought even your praises of Rosamond’s disposition and temper, compared with her ladyship’s, might only be ruse de guerre, or ruse d’amour.”

  “There was no ruse in the case,” said Mr. Temple; “I confess that when I first emerged from my obscurity into all the light and life of the world of fashion, my eyes were dazzled, and before I recovered the use of them sufficiently to compare the splendid objects by which I found myself surrounded, I was wonderfully struck with the appearance of Lady Frances Arlington, and did not measure, as I ought, the immense difference between Lord Oldborough’s secretary, and the niece of the Duke of Greenwich. Lady Frances, from mere gaieté de coeur likes to break hearts; and she continually wishes to add one, however insignificant, to the number of her conquests. I, a simple man of literature, unskilled in the wicked ways of the fair, was charmed by her ladyship’s innocent naïveté and frank gaiety, and all that was

  ‘Strangely wild, or madly gay,

  I call’d it only pretty Fanny’s way.’

  “Fortunately, just as I was in imminent danger of exchanging true sighs for false smiles, I became acquainted with your sister Rosamond. In the country, and under circumstances more favourable for the development of character than any which might occur for months or years in a town-life, where all the men and women are merely actors, I had leisure to see and mark the difference and the resemblance between Lady Frances Arlington’s character, and that of your sister. They resembled each other in natural quickness of intellect and of feeling; in wit, sprightliness, and enthusiasm, they were also to a certain degree alike. I was amused by Lady Frances Arlington’s lively nonsense, till I heard your sister’s lively sense. Her ladyship hazards saying every thing that occurs to her, and often makes happy hits; but your sister’s style of wit is far superior, and far more agreeable, because it has the grace, elegance, and, above all, the infinite variety which literary allusion supplies. I found myself pleased, not only with what she said, but with the tra
ins of ideas, that, by a single word, she often suggested. Conversing with her, my mind was kept always active, without ever being over-exerted or fatigued. I can look back, and trace the whole progress of my attachment. I began in this way, by finding her conversation most delightful — but soon discovered that she was not only more entertaining and more cultivated, but far more amiable than my idol, Lady Frances, because she had never been an idol, and did not expect to be adored. Then she was more interesting, because more capable of being interested. Lady Frances requires much sympathy, but gives little; and for that enthusiasm of temper which had, at first, charmed me in her ladyship, I began to lose my taste, when I observed that it was always excited by trifles, and by trifles that concerned herself more than any one else. I used to think her — what every body calls her, a perfectly natural character; and so, perhaps, she is: but not the better for that — since she is what, I am afraid, we all are naturally — selfish. Her ladyship, if I may use the expression, is enthusiastically selfish. Your sister — enthusiastically generous. Lady Frances’s manners are caressing, yet I doubt whether she feels affection for any one living, except just at the moment when they are ministering to her fancies. It was Miss Percy’s warm affection for her sister Caroline which first touched my heart. I saw each in her own family. The contrast was striking — in short, by the joint effect of contrast and resemblance, my love for one lady decreased as fast as it increased for the other; and I had just wit and judgment enough to escape from snares that could not have held me long, to chains that have power to hold me for ever.”