Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth

by Maria Edgeworth

  “So there’s an end of that matter,” said Lady Jane. “I saw how it would be long ago; but I was glad you saw nothing of it, lest you should not have let it come to a declaration. A refusal is always creditable; therefore, I own, I should have been mortified, if the season had passed without your having one proposal. But now you have nothing to be ashamed of — you’ve killed your man — and I hope and trust I shall live to see you kill another.”

  Caroline laughed, but said she was glad Lady Jane was not one of those who count refusals as so many proofs of a young lady’s merit; for her own part, she acknowledged she was inclined to think that they were sometimes proofs rather of coquetry and duplicity.

  Lady Jane hesitated, and said she did not see this — she could not agree to this.

  The conversation went on till her ladyship and Caroline came to a complete opposition of opinion on a principle, which, though it was only stated in general, and in the abstract, her ladyship defended with an urgency, and Caroline resisted with a steadiness, which are seldom shown about any merely speculative point, unless there is some secret apprehension of their being soon reduced to practice.

  Lady Jane asserted that “a woman should always let an attachment come to a declaration, before she permits a man to see her mind, even though determined upon a refusal.”

  Caroline thought this would be using the man ill.

  Lady Jane maintained that it would be using him much worse to refuse him before he asked.

  “But without refusing,” Caroline said that “a gentleman might be led to perceive when he was not likely to be accepted, and thus would be saved the pain and humiliation of a rejected proposal.”

  “It was not a young lady’s first business to think of that — her first duty was to do what was right and proper for herself,” Lady Jane said.

  “Certainly; but the very question is, what is right and proper?”

  “To give a distinct answer when a distinct question is asked, neither more nor less,” said Lady Jane. “Caroline, on these subjects you must trust to one who knows the world, to tell you the opinion of the world. A woman is safe, and cannot be blamed by friend or foe, if she adhere to the plain rule, ‘Stay till you are asked.’ Till a gentleman thinks proper, in form, to declare his attachment, nothing can be more indelicate than for a lady to see it.”

  “Or, in some cases, more disingenuous, more cruel, than to pretend to be blind to it.”

  “Cruel! — Cruel is a word of the last century, or the century before the last. Cruelty is never heard of now, my dear — gentlemen’s hearts don’t break in these our days; or suppose an odd heart should break, if the lady is treating it according to rule, she is not to blame. Why did not the proud tongue speak? Whatever happens, she is acquitted by the world.”

  “And by her own conscience? Surely not, if she deceive, and injure by deception.”

  Lady Jane warmly repeated that she knew the world — that at her time of life she ought to know the world — and that she was certain any line of conduct but that which she had pointed out would expose a woman to the charge of indelicacy, and perhaps of impertinence.

  These were heavy charges, Caroline felt; but she thought that, when not deserved, they could be borne better than self-reproaches for the want of candour and truth.

  Lady Jane observed, that, in the catalogue of female virtues, delicacy must have the foremost place.

  Caroline made a distinction between real delicacy and punctilio.

  Lady Jane was inclined to call it a distinction without a difference. She, however, more prudently said, that punctilio was necessary as the guard of female delicacy.

  Undoubtedly; but the greater virtue should not be sacrificed to the less. Truth and sincerity, Caroline thought, must be classed among the highest virtues of woman, as well as of man, and she hoped they were perfectly consistent with the utmost feminine modesty. She asked whether, after all, the plea of delicacy and punctilio was not sometimes used to conceal the real motives? Perhaps ladies, in pretending to be too delicate to see a gentleman’s sentiments, were often, in fact, gratifying their own vanity, and urging him to that declaration which was to complete the female triumph.

  Lady Jane grew angry: but, fearing lest Caroline should perceive that she had some particular object in view — doubtful whether Caroline knew, or did not know, her aim — and farther, having a secret hope, that, like other young ladies who support fine sentiments about love and generosity, in conversation, she might, when it came to the test, forget them, her ladyship urged her opinion no farther.

  Indeed, she candidly acknowledged, that much might be said on Caroline’s side of the question — and there the matter ended.

  CHAPTER XXXV.

  The object that Lady Jane had in view was to prevent Caroline from discouraging, by premature candour, a passion which she saw rising in the heart of a young nobleman.

  Lord William —— ,

  “Well pleased to ‘scape from flattery to wit,”

  had always preferred Lady Jane Granville’s company to the society of those who courted him more, or with less delicacy. Since Miss Caroline Percy’s arrival and appearance in town Lady Jane had, to do her justice, preserved with his lordship exactly the same even tenor of conduct; whatever her wishes might be, she had too much proper pride to compromise her own or her young friend’s dignity. Moreover, her ladyship had sense and knowledge of character sufficient to perceive that such a sacrifice, or the least appearance of a disposition to make it, would be not only degrading, but vain: it would, she knew, for ever disgust and ruin them in the opinion of a man, who had infinitely more penetration and feeling than those who flattered him were aware that he possessed.

  Lord William had excellent abilities, knowledge, and superior qualities of every sort, all depressed by excessive timidity, to such a degree as to be almost useless to himself and to others. Whenever he was, either for the business or pleasure of life, to meet or mix with numbers, the whole man was, as it were, snatched from himself. He was subject to that nightmare of the soul, who seats herself upon the human breast, oppresses the heart, palsies the will, and raises spectres of dismay, which the sufferer combats in vain — that cruel enchantress, who hurls her spell even upon childhood; and when she makes the youth her victim, pronounces, “Henceforward you shall never appear in your natural character: innocent, you shall look guilty; wise, you shall look silly; never shall you have the use of your natural faculties. That which you wish to say, you shall not say — that which you wish to do, you shall not do: you shall appear reserved when you are enthusiastic, insensible when your heart sinks into melting tenderness. In the presence of those you most wish to please, you shall be most awkward; and when approached by her you love, you shall become lifeless as a statue, under the irresistible spell of mauvaise honte.”

  Strange that France should give a name to that malady of the mind which she never knew, or of which she knows less than any other nation upon the surface of the civilized globe! Under the spell of mauvaise honte poor Lord William — laboured — fast bound — and bound the faster by all the efforts made for his relief by the matrons and young damsels who crowded round him continually. They were astonished that all their charms, and all the encouragement they held out, failed to free this young nobleman from his excessive timidity.

  “What a pity! it was his only fault, they were sure.”—”Ten thousand pities he could not be made to speak — they were certain he had a vast deal to say.”—”And he could be so agreeable, they were confident, if he would.”—”Most extraordinary that a man of his rank and fortune, whom every creature admired, should be so timid.”

  True; but the timid Lord William all the time esteemed himself more highly than these ladies who affected to admire him. Mixed with his apparent timidity there was a secret pride. Conscious of the difference between what he was, and what he appeared to be, he was at once mortified and provoked, and felt disdain and disgust for those who pretended to admire his outward man, or who paid to
his fortune that tribute which he thought due to his merit. With some few, some very few, by whom he was appreciated, his pride and his timidity were equally at ease, his reserve vanished in an astonishing manner, and the man came out of the marble. Of this small number in his confidence Lady Jane Granville was one. Even from his boyish years she had discerned his worth and value, and he now distinguished her by his grateful and constant regard. But Lady Jane Granville, though a woman of considerable talents, could not be a judge of the whole of his mind, or the extent of his powers: her talent was chiefly wit — her knowledge, knowledge of the world — her mind cultivated but slightly, and for embellishment — his deeply, extensively, and with large views. When he became acquainted with Miss Caroline Percy, he soon found that to her all this appeared, and by her was justly valued. His assiduity in cultivating his friend Lady Jane’s acquaintance increased; and his taste for the conversation at her house became so great, that he was always the first, and usually the last, at her parties. His morning visits were frequent and long; he knew, by instinct, the hours when the two ladies were disengaged, but not always so exactly the time when he ought to take leave. His ear never informed him when Lady Jane’s carriage came to the door, nor did he always hear the servant announce its being in readiness. Her ladyship might fidget as much as her politeness would permit without danger of its being observed. His lordship never was wakened to the sense of its being necessary to stir, till Miss Caroline Percy, by some strong indication, such as putting away her drawing, and the books, or by plainly saying, “We must go out now,” made it manifest to him that he must depart. For this Caroline was regularly reproved afterwards by Lady Jane — but she never found that it gave Lord William any offence; nor did she for some time observe that it caused him much uneasiness. He seemed to her to stay from mere habitual absence of mind, and unwillingness to remove from a retreat where he was safe and comfortable, to some place where he was liable to be annoyed by his fair persecutors. That he liked her company and conversation she did not affect to deny, nor could she doubt that he felt for her esteem and regard — he expressed both, and he was not a man to express more than he felt, or the truth of whose professions could be suspected; but she thought that his regard for her, and for Lady Jane, were both of the same nature. She thought him a friend, not a lover. This was not with Caroline a mere commonplace phrase. She believed this to be true; and at the time she believed it, she was right. But constantly in the society of an amiable, sensible, and beautiful young woman, with a man of feeling, taste, and understanding, whose heart is disengaged, the passage from friendship to love is found so easy and rapid, as to be scarcely perceptible. And to this, which generally happens in similar circumstances, Lord William was peculiarly liable. For though, from the crowds who courted his attention, it might seem that his liberty of choice was unlimited, yet, in fact, his power of choosing was contracted and reduced to the few “whom choice and passion both approve.” Among these few his fastidious judgment, and his apprehensions of domestic unhappiness, saw frequently, and sometimes too justly, objection to the family connexion of the young lady: some want of union in it — want of principle, or train of dissipation, which he dreaded, or some folly he disliked; so that among the numbers of his own rank who sought his alliance, it was not easy for him to satisfy himself, even as to connexion — still more difficult to satisfy him as to love, “the modern fair one’s jest,” or, what is worse, her affectation. His lordship was well aware that among the numbers of young ladies who were ready at a moment’s warning to marry him, not one of these would love him for his own sake. Now in common with Marmontel’s Alcibiades, and with most men of rank who have any superiority of character, Lord William had an anxious desire to be loved for his own sake; for though, in the opinion of most people of the world, and of some philosophers, the circumstances of rank and fortune form a part of personal merit; yet as these are not indissolubly associated with the individual, he rather preferred affection and esteem arising from merit, of which he could not be deprived by any revolution of fate or turn of fancy. If he were ever loved by Caroline Percy, it would be for his own sake; and of the constancy of her affection, if once obtained, the whole tenor of her character and conduct gave him the most secure pledge. Her education, manners, talents, and beauty, were all such as would honour and grace the highest rank of life. She had no fortune — but that was of no consequence to him — he was likely to have a princely income: he had no debts, he had at present all that satisfied his wishes, and that could enable him to live married, as well as single, in a manner that suited his station. His friends, eager to have him marry, and almost despairing of his complying, in this point, with their wishes, left him entirely at liberty in his choice. Reason and passion both determined on that choice, just about the time when English Clay proposed for Caroline, and when the conversation about declarations and refusals had passed between her and Lady Jane. That conversation, instead of changing or weakening the opinions Caroline then expressed, had confirmed her in her own sentiments, by drawing out more fully the strength of the reasons, and the honourable nature of the feelings, on which they were founded. Some slight circumstances, such as she could scarcely state in words, occurred about this time, which first gave her the idea, that Lord William —— felt for her more than esteem. The tender interest he showed one day when she had a slight indisposition — the extreme alarm he expressed one night when there occurred an embarrassment between their carriages at the door of the opera-house, by which Lady Jane’s vis-à-vis was nearly overturned — an alarm much greater than Caroline thought the occasion required — was succeeded by anger against his coachman, so much more violent and vehement than the error or offence justified, or than his lordship had ever before been seen to show; these things, which in a man of gallantry might mean nothing but to show his politeness, from Lord William seemed indicative of something more. Caroline began to see that the friend might become a lover, and now, for the first time, questioned her own heart. She thought highly of Lord William’s abilities and character — she saw, as she had once said to Lady Jane, “signs which convinced her that this volcano, covered with snow, and often enveloped in clouds, would at some time burst forth in torrents of fire.” Little indication as Lord William now showed to common observers of being or of becoming an orator, she perceived in him the soul of eloquence; and she foresaw, that on some great occasion, from some great motive, he would at once vanquish his timidity, and burst forth upon the senate. She felt convinced that whether eloquent or silent, speaking or acting, in public or private life, Lord William would in every circumstance of trial fill and sustain the character of an upright, honourable, enlightened English nobleman. Notwithstanding that she thought thus highly of him, Count Altenberg, in her opinion, far surpassed him in the qualities they both possessed, and excelled in many, in which Lord William was deficient — in manner especially; and manner goes a great way in love, even with people of the best understanding. Besides all the advantages of manner, Count Altenberg had far superior talents, or at least far superior habits of conversation — he was altogether as estimable and more agreeable than his rival. He also had had the advantage of finding Caroline’s mind disengaged — he had cultivated her society in the country, where he had had time and opportunity to develope his own character and hers — in one word, he had made the first impression on her heart; and such an impression, once made on a heart like hers, cannot be easily effaced. Though there seemed little chance of his returning to claim his place in her affections — though she had made the most laudable efforts to banish him from her recollection, yet

  “En songeant qu’il faut qu’on l’oublie

  On s’en souvient;”

  and now she found, that not only all others compared with him were indifferent to her, but that any, whom she was forced to put in comparison and competition with Count Altenberg, immediately sunk in her opinion.

  Thus distinctly knowing her own mind, Caroline was however still in doubt as to Lord William
’s, and afraid of mistaking the nature of his sentiments. She well remembered Lady Jane’s cautions; and though she was fully resolved to spare by her candour the suspense and pain which coquetry might create and prolong, yet it was necessary to be certain that she read aright, and therefore to wait for something more decisive, by which to interpret his meaning. Lady Jane wisely forbore all observations on the subject, and never said or looked a word that could recall the memory of her former debate. With the most scrupulous, almost haughty delicacy, and the most consummate prudence, she left things to take their course, secure of what the end would be.

  One night Lady Jane and Caroline were at a party. When they arrived, they descried Lord William, in the midst of a group of the fair and fashionable, looking as if he was suffering martyrdom. His eye caught Caroline as she passed, and his colour changed. The lady next him put up her glass, to look for the cause of that change — but the glass was put down again, and no apprehensions excited. By degrees, Lord William worked his way towards Caroline — no, not towards Caroline, but to Lady Jane Granville. The company near her were talking of a proposal, which a gentleman had lately made for a celebrated beauty — his suit had been rejected. Some said that the lady must have seen that he was attached to her, and that she had been to blame in allowing him so long to pay her attentions, if she were determined to refuse him at last; others defended the lady, saying that the gentleman had never made a distinct declaration, and that therefore the lady was quite correct in not appearing to know that his intentions meant any thing more than was avowed. Lord William listened, perfectly silent, and with an appearance of some anxiety. Lady Jane Granville supported warmly the same side of the question which she had taken in a similar conversation with Caroline.

  Miss Percy was appealed to for her opinion, “Would it not be strange, indeed, if a lady were to reject a gentleman before she was asked?”