Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth

by Maria Edgeworth

  He exclaimed with admiration, upon hearing the account of Harry Sandford’s fortitude, “That’s right! — that’s right! — I am glad Harry did not tell that cruel Squire Chace which way the hare was gone. I like Harry for bearing to be beaten, rather than speak a word when he did not choose it. I love Harry, don’t you?” said he, appealing to Mad. de Rosier.

  “Yes, I like him very much,” said Mad. de Rosier: “but not for the reason that you have just given.”

  “No!” said Herbert, starting up: “why, ma’am, don’t you like Harry for saving the poor hare? don’t you admire him for bearing all the hard blows, and for saying, when the man asked him afterward why he didn’t tell which way the hare was gone, ‘Because I don’t choose to betray the unfortunate?’”

  “Oh! don’t you love him for that?” said Favoretta, rising from her seat; “I think Herbert himself would have given just such an answer, only not in such good words. I wonder, Mad. de Rosier, you don’t like that answer!”

  “I have never said that I did not like that answer,” said Mad. de Rosier, as soon as she was permitted to speak.

  “Then you do like it? then you do like Harry?” exclaimed Herbert and Favoretta, both at once.

  “Yes, I like that answer, Herbert; I like your friend Harry for saying that he did not choose to betray the unfortunate. You did not do him justice or yourself, when you said just now that you liked Harry because he bore to be beaten rather than speak a word when he did not choose it.”

  Herbert looked puzzled.

  “I mean,” continued Mad. de Rosier, “that, before I can determine whether I like and admire any body for persisting in doing or in not doing any thing, I must hear their reasons for their resolution. ‘I don’t choose it,’ is no reason; I must hear their reasons for choosing or not choosing it before I can judge.”

  “And I have told you the reason Harry gave for not choosing to speak when he was asked, and you said it was a good one; and you like him for his courage, don’t you?” said Herbert.

  “Yes,” said Mad. de Rosier; “those who are resolute, when they have good reasons for their resolution, I admire; those who persist merely because they choose it, and who cannot, or will not, tell why they choose it, I despise.”

  “Oh, so do I!” said Favoretta: “you know, brother, whenever you say you don’t choose it, I am always angry, and ask you why.”

  “And if you were not always angry,” said Mad. de Rosier, “perhaps sometimes your brother would tell you why.”

  “Yes, that I should,” said Herbert; “I always have a good reason to give Favoretta, though I don’t always choose to give it.”

  “Then,” said Mad. de Rosier, “you cannot always expect your sister to admire the justice of your decisions.”

  “No,” replied Herbert; “but when I don’t give her a reason, ’tis generally because it is not worth while. There can be no great wisdom, you know, in resolutions about trifles: such as, whether she should be my horse or I her horse, or whether I should water my radishes before breakfast or after.”

  “Certainly, you are right: there can be no great wisdom in resolutions about such trifles, therefore wise people never are obstinate about trifles.”

  “Do you know,” cried Herbert, after a pause, “they used, before you came, to say that I was obstinate; but with you I have never been so, because you know how to manage me; you manage me a great deal more cunningly than Grace used to do.”

  “I would not manage you more cunningly than Grace used to do, if I could,” replied Mad. de Rosier; “for then I should manage you worse than she did. It is no pleasure to me to govern you; I had much rather that you should use your reason to govern yourself.”

  Herbert pulled down his waistcoat, and, drawing up his head, looked with conscious dignity at Favoretta.

  “You know,” continued Mad. de Rosier, “that there are two ways of governing people — by reason and by force. Those who have no reason, or who do not use it, must be governed by force.”

  “I am not one of those,” said Herbert; “for I hate force.”

  “But you must also love reason,” said Mad. de Rosier, “if you would not be one of those.”

  “Well, so I do, when I hear it from you,” replied Herbert, bluntly; “for you give me reasons that I can understand, when you ask me to do or not to do any thing: I wish people would always do so.”

  “But, Herbert,” said Mad. de Rosier, “you must sometimes be contented to do as you are desired, even when I do not think it proper to give you my reasons; — you will, hereafter, find that I have good ones.”

  “I have found that already in a great many things,” said Herbert; “especially about the caterpillar.”

  “What about the caterpillar?” said Favoretta.

  “Don’t you remember,” said Herbert, “the day that I was going to tread upon what I thought was a little bit of black stick, and she desired me not to do it, and I did not, and afterwards I found out that it was a caterpillar; — ever since that day I have been more ready, you know,” continued he, turning to Mad. de Rosier, “to believe that you might be in the right, and to do as you bid me — you don’t think me obstinate, do you?”

  “No,” said Mad. de Rosier.

  “No! no! — do you hear that, Favoretta?” cried Herbert joyfully: “Grace used to say I was as obstinate as a mule, and she used to call me an ass, too: but even poor asses are not obstinate when they are well treated. Where is the ass, in the Cabinet of Quadrupeds, Favoretta, which we were looking at the other day? Oh, let me read the account to you, Mad. de Rosier. It is towards the middle of the book, Favoretta; let me look, I can find it in a minute. It is not long — may I read it to you?”

  Mad. de Rosier consented, and Herbert read as follows:—”Much has been said of the stupid and stubborn disposition of the ass, but we are greatly inclined to suspect that the aspersion is ill-founded: whatever bad qualities of this kind he may sometimes possess, they do not appear to be the consequences of any natural defect in his constitution or temper, but arise from the manner used in training him, and the bad treatment he receives. We are the rather led to this assertion, from having lately seen one which experiences a very different kind of treatment from his master than is the fate of the generality of asses. The humane owner of this individual is an old man, whose employment is the selling of vegetables, which he conveys from door to door on the back of his ass. He is constantly baiting the poor creature with handfuls of hay, pieces of bread, or greens, which he procures in his progress. It is with pleasure we relate, for we have often curiously observed the old man’s demeanour towards his ass, that he seldom carries any instrument of incitement with him, nor did we ever see him lift his hand to drive it on.

  “Upon our observing to him that he seemed to be very kind to his ass, and inquiring whether he were apt to be stubborn, how long he had had him, &c., he replied, ‘Ah, master, it is no use to be cruel, and as for stubbornness, I cannot complain, for he is ready to do any thing, and will go any where; I bred him myself, and have had him these two years: he is sometimes skittish and playful, and once ran away from me: you will hardly believe it, but there were more than fifty people after him to stop him, and they were not able to effect it, yet he turned back of himself, and never stopped till he run his head kindly into my breast.’

  “The countenance of this individual is open, lively, and cheerful; his pace nimble and regular; and the only inducement used to make him increase his speed is that of calling him by name, which he readily obeys.”

  “I am not an ass,” said Herbert, laughing, as he finished this sentence, “but I think Mad. de Rosier is very like the good old man, and I always obey whenever she speaks to me. By the by,” continued Herbert, who now seemed eager to recollect something by which he could show his readiness to obey—”by the by, Grace told me that my mother desired I should go to her, and have my hair combed every day; now I don’t like it, but I will do it, because mamma desires it, and I will go this instant; will you
come and see how still I can stand? I will show you that I am not obstinate.”

  Mad. de Rosier followed the little hero, to witness his triumph over himself. Grace happened to be with her mistress who was dressing.

  “Mamma, I am come to do as you bid me,” cried Herbert, walking stoutly into the room: “Grace, here’s the comb;” and he turned to her the tangled locks at the back of his head. She pulled unmercifully, but he stood without moving a muscle of his countenance.

  Mrs. Harcourt, who saw in her looking-glass what was passing, turned round, and said, “Gently, gently, Grace; indeed, Grace, you do pull that poor boy’s hair as if you thought that his head had no feeling; I am sure, if you were to pull my hair in that manner, I could not bear it so well.”

  “Your hair! — Oh, dear ma’am, that’s quite another thing — but Master Herbert’s is always in such a tangle, there’s no such thing as managing it.” Again Mrs. Grace gave a desperate pull: Herbert bore it, looked up at Mad. de Rosier, and said, “Now, that was resolution, not obstinacy, you know.”

  “Here is your little obedient and patient boy,” said Mad. de Rosier, leading Herbert to his mother, “who deserves to be rewarded with a kiss from you.”

  “That he shall have,” said Mrs. Harcourt; “but why does Grace pull your hair so hard? and are not you almost able to comb your own hair?”

  “Able! that I am. Oh, mother, I wish I might do it for myself.”

  “And has Mad. de Rosier any objection to it?” said Mrs. Harcourt.

  “None in the least,” said Mad. de Rosier; “on the contrary, I wish that he should do every thing that he can do for himself; but he told me that it was your desire that he should apply to Mrs. Grace, and I was pleased to see his ready obedience to your wishes: you may be very certain that, even in the slightest trifles, as well as in matters of consequence, it is our wish, as much as it is our duty, to do exactly as you desire.”

  “My dear madame,” said Mrs. Harcourt, laying her hand upon Mad. de Rosier’s, with an expression of real kindness, mixed with her habitual politeness, “I am sensible of your goodness, but you know that in the slightest trifles, as well as in matters of consequence, I leave every thing implicitly to your better judgment: as to this business between Herbert and Grace, I don’t understand it.”

  “Mother—” said Herbert.

  “Madam,” said Grace, pushing forward, but not very well knowing what she intended to say, “if you recollect, you desired me to comb Master Herbert’s hair, ma’am, and I told Master Herbert so, ma’am, that’s all.”

  “I do not recollect any thing about it, indeed, Grace.”

  “Oh dear, ma’am! don’t you recollect the last day there was company, and Master Herbert came to the top of the stairs, and you was looking at the organ’s lamp, I said, ‘Dear! Master Herbert’s hair’s as rough as a porcupine’s;’ and you said directly, ma’am, if you recollect, ‘I wish you would make that boy’s hair fit to be seen;’ those was your very words, ma’am, and I thought you meant always, ma’am.”

  “You mistook me, Grace,” said Mrs. Harcourt, smiling at her maid’s eager volubility: “in future, you understand, that Herbert is to be entire master of his own hair.”

  “Thank you, mother,” said Herbert.

  “Nay, my dear Herbert, thank Mad. de Rosier: I only speak in her name. You understand, I am sure, Grace, now,” said Mrs. Harcourt, calling to her maid, who seemed to be in haste to quit the room—”you, I hope, understand, Grace, that Mad. de Rosier and I are always of one mind about the children; therefore you need never be puzzled by contradictory orders — hers are to be obeyed.”

  Mrs. Harcourt was so much pleased when she looked at Herbert, as she concluded this sentence, to see an expression of great affection and gratitude, that she stooped instantly to kiss him.

  “Another kiss! two kisses to-day from my mother, and one of her own accord!” exclaimed Herbert joyfully, running out of the room to tell the news to Favoretta.

  “That boy has a heart,” said Mrs. Harcourt, with some emotion; “you have found it out for me, Mad. de Rosier, and I thank you.”

  Mad. de Rosier seized the propitious moment to present a card of invitation, which Herbert, with much labour, had printed with his little printing-press.

  “What have we here?” said Mrs. Harcourt, and she read aloud —

  ‘Mr. Herbert Harcourt’s love to his dear mother, and, if she be not engaged this evening, he should be exceedingly glad of her company, to meet Isabella, Matilda, Favoretta, and Mad. de Rosier, who have promised to sup with him upon his own radishes to-night. They are all very impatient for your answer.’”

  “My answer they shall have in an instant,” said Mrs. Harcourt:—”why, Mad. de Rosier, this is the boy who could neither read nor spell six months ago. Will you be my messenger?” added she, putting a card into Mad. de Rosier’s hand, which she had written with rapidity: —

  “Mrs. Harcourt’s love to her dear little Herbert; if she had a hundred other invitations, she would accept of his.”

  “Bless me!” said Mrs. Grace, when she found the feathers, which she had placed with so much skill in her mistress’s hair, lying upon the table half an hour afterward—”why, I thought my mistress was going out!”

  Grace’s surprise deprived her even of the power of exclamation, when she learned that her mistress stayed at home to sup with Master Herbert upon radishes. At night she listened with malignant curiosity, as she sat at work in her mistress’s dressing-room, to the frequent bursts of laughter, and to the happy little voices of the festive company who were at supper in an adjoining apartment.

  “This will never do!” thought Grace; but presently the laughter ceased, and listening attentively, she heard the voice of one of the young ladies reading. “Oh ho!” thought Grace, “if it comes to reading, Master Herbert will soon be asleep.” — But though it had come to reading, Herbert was, at this instant, broad awake.

  At supper, when the radishes were distributed, Favoretta was very impatient to taste them; the first which she tasted was hot, she said, and she did not quite like it.

  “Hot!” cried Herbert, who criticized her language, in return for her criticism upon his radishes, “I don’t think you can call a radish hot — it is cold, I think: I know what is meant by tasting sweet, or sour, or bitter.”

  “Well,” interrupted Favoretta, “what is the name for the taste of this radish which bites my tongue?”

  “Pungent,” said Isabella, and she eagerly produced a quotation in support of her epithet —

  “‘And pungent radish biting infant’s tongue.’”

  “I know for once,” said Matilda, smiling, “where you met with that line, I believe: is it not in Shenstone’s Schoolmistress, in the description of the old woman’s neat little garden?”

  “Oh! I should like to hear about that old woman’s neat little garden,” cried Herbert.

  “And so should I,” said Mrs. Harcourt and Mad. de Rosier. Isabella quickly produced the book after supper, and read the poem.

  Herbert and Favoretta liked the old woman and her garden, and they were much interested for the little boy, who was whipped for having been gazing at the pictures on the horn-book, instead of learning his lesson; but, to Isabella’s great mortification, they did not understand above half of what she read — the old English expressions puzzled them.

  “You would not be surprised at this, my dear Isabella,” said Mad. de Rosier, “if you had made as many experiments upon children as I have. It is quite a new language to them; and what you have just been reading is scarcely intelligible to me, though you compliment me so much upon my knowledge of the English language.” Mad. de Rosier took the book, and pointed to several words which she had not understood — such as “eftsoons,” “Dan Phoebus,” and “ne and y,” which had made many lines incomprehensible.

  Herbert, when he heard Mad. de Rosier confess her ignorance, began to take courage, and came forward with his confessions.

  “Gingerbread y
rare,” he thought, was some particular kind of gingerbread; and “Apples with cabbage net y covered o’er” presented no delightful image to his mind, because, as he said, he did not know what the word netycovered could mean.

  These mistakes occasioned some laughter; but as Herbert perceived that he was no longer thought stupid, he took all the laughter with good humour, and he determined to follow, in future, Mad. de Rosier’s example, in pointing out the words which were puzzling.

  Grace was astonished, at the conclusion of the evening, to find Master Herbert in such high spirits. The next day she heard sounds of woe, sounds agreeable to her wishes — Favoretta crying upon the stairs. It had been a rainy morning: Favoretta and Herbert had been disappointed in not being able to walk out; and after having been amused the preceding evening, they were less disposed to bear disappointment, and less inclined to employ themselves than usual. Favoretta had finished her little basket, and her mother had promised that it should appear at the dessert; but it wanted some hours of dinner-time; and between the making and the performance of a promise, how long the time appears to an impatient child! how many events happen which may change the mind of the promiser!

  Mad. de Rosier had lent Favoretta and Herbert, for their amusement, the first number of “The Cabinet of Quadrupeds,” in which there are beautiful prints; but, unfortunately, some dispute arose between the children. Favoretta thought her brother looked too long at the hunchbacked camel; he accused her of turning over leaves before she had half seen the prints; but she listened not to his just reproaches, for she had caught a glimpse of the royal tiger springing upon Mr. Munro, and she could no longer restrain her impatience. Each party began to pull at the book; and the camel and the royal tiger were both in imminent danger of being torn in pieces, when Mad. de Rosier interfered, parted the combatants, and sent them into separate rooms, as it was her custom to do, whenever they could not agree together.