Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth

by Maria Edgeworth

  “Ah que de vertus vous me faites haïr;”

  and, repelled by virtue in this ungracious form, he flew to more attractive vice. Finding that he could not have any comfort or solace in the society of his wife, he sought consolation in the company of a mistress. Lady Glistonbury had, in the mean time, her consolation in being a pattern-wife; and in hearing that at card-tables it was universally said, that Lord Glistonbury was the worst of husbands, and that her ladyship was extremely to be pitied. In process of time, Lord Glistonbury was driven to his home again by the united torments of a virago mistress and the gout. It was at this period that he formed the notion of being at once a political leader and a Mecaenas; and it was at this period that he became acquainted with both his daughters, and determined that his Julia should never resemble the Lady Sarah. He saw his own genius in Julia; and he resolved, as he said, to give her fair play, and to make her one of the wonders of the age. After some months’ counteraction and altercation, Lord Glistonbury, with a high hand, took his daughter from under the control of Miss Strictland; and, in spite of all the representations, prophecies, and denunciations of her mother, consigned Julia to the care of a governess after his own heart — a Miss Bateman; or, as he called her, The Rosamunda. From the moment this lady was introduced into the family there was an irreconcileable breach between the husband and wife. Lady Glistonbury was perfectly in the right in her dread of such a governess as Miss Bateman for her daughter. Her ladyship was only partially and accidentally right: right in point of fact, but wrong in the general principle; for she objected to Miss Bateman, as being of the class of literary women; to her real faults, her inordinate love of admiration, and romantic imprudence, Lady Glistonbury did not object, because she did not at first know them; and when she did, she considered them but as necessary consequences of the cultivation and enlargement of Miss Bateman’s understanding. “No wonder!” her ladyship would say; “I knew it must be so; I knew it could not be otherwise. All those clever women, as they are called, are the same. This comes of literature and literary ladies.”

  Thus moralizing in private with Miss Strictland and her own small party, Lady Glistonbury appeared silent and passive before her husband and his adherents. After prophesying how it all must end in the ruin of her daughter Julia, she declared that she would never speak on this subject again: she showed herself ready, with maternal resignation, and in silent obduracy, to witness the completion of the sacrifice of her devoted child.

  Lord Glistonbury was quite satisfied with having silenced opposition. His new governess, established in her office, and with full and unlimited powers, went on triumphant and careless of her charge; she thought of little but displaying her own talents in company. The castle was consequently filled with crowds of amateurs; novels and plays were the order of the day; and a theatre was fitted up, all in open defiance of poor Lady Glistonbury. The daughter commenced her new course of education by being taught to laugh at her mother’s prejudices. Such was the state of affairs when Vivian commenced his observations; and all this secret history he learnt by scraps, and hints, and inuendoes, from very particular friends of both parties — friends who were not troubled with any of Mr. Russell’s scruples or discretion.

  Vivian’s attention was now fixed upon Lady Julia; he observed with satisfaction, that, notwithstanding her governess’s example and excitement, Lady Julia did not show any exorbitant desire for general admiration; and that her manners were free from coquetry and affectation: she seemed rather to disdain the flattery, and to avoid both the homage and the company of men who were her inferiors in mental qualifications; she addressed her conversation principally to Vivian and his friend Russell; with them, indeed, she conversed a great deal, with much eagerness and enthusiasm, expressing all her opinions without disguise, and showing on most occasions more imagination than reason, and more feeling than judgment. Vivian perceived that it was soon suspected by many of their observers, and especially by Lady Glistonbury and the Lady Sarah, that Julia had a design upon his heart; but he plainly discerned that she had no design whatever to captivate him; and that though she gave him so large a share of her company, it was without thinking of him as a lover: he saw that she conversed with him and Mr. Russell, preferably to others, because they spoke on subjects which interested her more; and because they drew out her brother, of whom she was very fond. Her being capable, at so early an age, to appreciate Russell’s character and talents; her preferring his solid sense and his plain sincerity to the brilliancy, the fashion, and even the gallantry of all the men whom her father had now collected round her, appeared to Vivian the most unequivocal proof of the superiority of her understanding and of the goodness of her disposition. On various occasions, he marked with delight the deference she paid to his friend’s opinion, and the readiness with which she listened to reason from him — albeit unused and averse from reason in general. Impatient as she was of control, and confident, both in her own powers and in her instinctive moral sense (about which, by-the-bye, she talked a great deal of eloquent nonsense), yet a word or a look from Mr. Russell would reclaim her in her highest flights. Soon after Vivian commenced his observations upon this interesting subject, he saw an instance of what Russell had told him of the ease with which Lady Julia might be guided by a man of sense and strength of mind.

  The tragedy of “The Fair Penitent,” Calista by Miss Bateman, was represented with vast applause to a brilliant audience at the Glistonbury theatre. The same play was to be reacted a week afterwards to a fresh audience — it was proposed that Vivian should play Lothario, and that Lady Julia should play Calista: Miss Bateman saw no objection to this proposal: Lord Glistonbury might, perhaps, have had the parental prudence to object to his daughter’s appearing in public at her age, in such a character, before a mixed audience: but, unfortunately, Lady Glistonbury bursting from her silence at this critical moment, said so much, and in such a prosing and puritanical manner, not only against her daughter’s acting in this play, and in these circumstances, but against all stage plays, playwrights, actors, and actresses whatsoever, denouncing and anathematizing them all indiscriminately; that immediately Lord Glistonbury laughed — Miss Bateman took fire — and it became a trial of power between the contending parties. Lady Julia, who had but lately escaped from the irksomeness of her mother’s injudicious and minute control, dreaded, above all things, to be again subjected to her and Miss Strictland; therefore, without considering the real propriety or impropriety of the point in question, without examining whether Miss Bateman was right or wrong in the licence she had granted, Lady Julia supported her opinion warmly; and, with all her eloquence, at once asserted her own liberty, and defended the cause of the theatre in general. She had heard Mr. Russell once speak of the utility of a well-regulated public stage; of the influence of good theatric representations in forming the taste and rousing the soul to virtue: he had shown her Marmontel’s celebrated letter to Rousseau on this subject; consequently, she thought she knew what his opinion must be on the present occasion: therefore she spoke with more than her usual confidence and enthusiasm. Her eloquence and her abilities transported her father and most of her auditors, Vivian among the rest, with astonishment and admiration: she enjoyed, at this moment, what the French call un grand succès; but, in the midst of the buzz of applause, Vivian observed that her eye turned anxiously upon Russell, who stood silent, and with a disapproving countenance.

  “I am sure your friend, Mr. Russell, is displeased at this instant — and with me. — I must know why. — Let us ask him. — Do bring him here.”

  Immediately she disengaged herself from all her admirers, and, making room for Mr. Russell beside her, waited, as she said, to hear from him ses vérités. Russell would have declined speaking, but her ladyship appealed earnestly and urgently for his opinion, saying, “Who will speak the truth to me if you will not? On whose judgment can I rely if not on yours? — You direct my brother’s mind to every thing that is wise and good; direct mine: I am as desirous to do ri
ght as he can be: and you will find me — self-willed and volatile, as I know you think me — you will find me a docile pupil. Then tell me frankly — did I, just now, speak too much or too warmly? I thought I was speaking your sentiments, and that I must be right. But perhaps it was not right for a woman, or so young a woman as I am, to support even just opinions so resolutely. And yet is it a crime to be young? — And is the honour of maintaining truth to be monopolized by age? — No, surely; for Mr. Russell himself has not that claim to stand forth, as he so often does, in its defence. If you think that I ought not to act Calista; if you think that I had better not appear on the stage at all, only say so! — All I ask is your opinion; the advantage of your judgment. And you see, Mr. Vivian, how difficult it is to obtain it! — But his friend, probably, never felt this difficulty!”

  With a degree of sober composure, which almost provoked Vivian, Mr. Russell answered this animated lady. And with a sincerity which, though politely shown, Vivian thought severe and almost cruel, Russell acknowledged that her ladyship had anticipated some, but not all of his objections. He represented that she had failed in becoming respect to her mother, in thus publicly attacking and opposing her opinions, even supposing them to be ill-founded; and declared that, as to the case in discussion, he was entirely of Lady Glistonbury’s opinion, that it would be unfit and injurious to a young lady to exhibit herself, even on a private stage, in the character in which it had been proposed that Lady Julia should appear.

  Whilst Russell spoke, Vivian was charmed with the manner in which Lady Julia listened: he thought her countenance enchantingly beautiful, alternately softened as it was by the expression of genuine humility, and radiant with candour and gratitude. She made no reply, but immediately went to her mother; and, in the most engaging manner acknowledged that she had been wrong, and declared that she was convinced it would be improper for her to act the character she had proposed. With that cold haughtiness of mien, the most repulsive to a warm and generous mind, the mother turned to her daughter, and said that, for her part, she had no faith in sudden conversions, and starts of good conduct made little impression upon her; that, as far as she was herself concerned, she forgave, as in charity it became her, all the undutiful insolence with which she had been treated; that, as to the rest, she was glad to find, for Lady Julia’s own sake, that she had given up her strange, and, as she must say, scandalous intentions. “However,” added Lady Glistonbury, “I am not so sanguine as to consider this as any thing but a respite from ruin; I am not so credulous as to believe in sudden reformations; nor, despicable as you and my lord do me the honour to think my understanding — am I to be made the dupe of a little deceitful fondling!”

  Julia withdrew her arms, which she had thrown round her mother; and Miss Strictland, after breaking her netting silk with a jerk of indignation, observed, that, for her part, she wondered young ladies should go to consult their brother’s tutor, instead of more suitable, and, perhaps, as competent advisers. Lady Julia, now indignant, turned away, and was withdrawing from before the triumvirate, when Lady Sarah, who had sat looking, even more stiff and constrained than usual, suddenly broke from her stony state, and, springing forward, exclaimed, “Stay, Julia! — Stay, my dear sister! — Oh, Miss Strictland! do my sister justice! — When Julia is so candid, so eager to do right, intercede for her with my mother!”

  “First, may I presume to ask,” said Miss Strictland, drawing herself up with starch malice; “first, may I presume to ask, whether Mr. Vivian, upon this occasion, declined to act Lothario?”

  “Miss Strictland, you do not do my sister justice!” cried Lady Sarah: “Miss Strictland, you are wrong — very wrong!”

  Miss Strictland, for a moment struck dumb with astonishment, opening her eyes as far as they could open, stared at Lady Sarah, and, after a pause, exclaimed, “Lady Sarah! I protest I never saw any thing that surprised me so much in my whole life! —— Wrong! — very wrong! — I? —— My Lady Glistonbury, I trust your ladyship — —”

  Lady Glistonbury, at this instant, showed, by a little involuntary shake of her head, that she was inwardly perturbed: Lady Sarah, throwing herself upon her knees before her mother, exclaimed, “Oh, madam! — mother! forgive me if I failed in respect to Miss Strictland! —— But, my sister! my sister —— !”

  “Rise, Sarah, rise!” said Lady Glistonbury; “that is not a fit attitude! — And you are wrong, very wrong, to fail in respect to Miss Strictland, my second self, Sarah. Lady Julia Lidhurst, it is you who are the cause of this — the only failure of duty your sister ever was guilty of towards me in the whole course of her life — I beg of you to withdraw, and leave me my daughter Sarah.”

  “At least, I have found a sister, and when I most wanted it,” said Lady Julia. “I always suspected you loved me, but I never knew how much till this moment,” added she, turning to embrace her sister; but Lady Sarah had now resumed her stony appearance, and, standing motionless, received her sister’s embrace without sign of life or feeling.

  “Lady Julia Lidhurst,” said Miss Strictland, “you humble yourself in vain: I think your mother, my Lady Glistonbury, requested of you to leave your sister, Lady Sarah, to us, and to her duty.”

  “Duty!” repeated Lady Julia, her eyes flashing indignation: “Is this what you call duty? — Never will I humble myself before you again — I will leave you — I do leave you — now and for ever — DUTY!”

  She withdrew: — and thus was lost one of the fairest occasions of confirming a young and candid mind in prudent and excellent dispositions. After humbling herself in vain before a mother, this poor young lady was now to withstand a father’s reproaches; and, after the inexorable Miss Strictland, she was to encounter the exasperated Miss Bateman. Whether the Gorgon terrors of one governess, or the fury passions of the other, were most formidable, it was difficult to decide. Miss Bateman had written an epilogue for Lady Julia to recite in the character of Calista; and, with the combined irritability of authoress and governess, she was enraged at the idea of her pupil’s declining to repeat these favourite lines. Lord Glistonbury cared not for the lines; but, considering his own authority to be impeached by his daughter’s resistance, he treated his Julia as a traitor to his cause, and a rebel to his party.

  But Lady Julia was resolute in declining to play Calista; and Vivian admired the spirit and steadiness of her resistance to the solicitations and the flattery with which she was assailed by the numerous hangers-on of the family, and by the amateurs assembled at Glistonbury. Russell, who knew the warmth of her temper, however, dreaded that she should pass the bounds of propriety in the contest with her father and her governess; and he almost repented having given any advice upon the subject. The contest happily terminated in Lord Glistonbury’s having a violent fit of the gout, which, as the newspapers informed the public, “ended for the season the Christmas hospitalities and theatrical festivities at Glistonbury Castle!”

  Whilst his lordship suffered this fit of torture, his daughter Julia attended him with so much patience and affection, that he forgave her for not being willing to be Calista; and, upon his recovery, he announced to Miss Bateman that it was his will and pleasure that his daughter Julia should do as she liked on this point, but that he desired it to be understood that this was no concession to Lady Glistonbury’s prejudices, but an act of his own pure grace.

  To celebrate his recovery, his lordship determined to give a ball; and Miss Bateman persuaded him to make it a fancy ball. In this family, unfortunately, every occurrence, even every proposal of amusement, became a subject of dispute and a source of misery. Lady Glistonbury, as soon as her lord announced his intention of giving this fancy ball, declined taking the direction of an entertainment which approached, she said, too near to the nature of a masquerade to meet her ideas of propriety. Lord Glistonbury laughed, and tried the powers of ridicule and wit:

  “But on th’impassive ice the lightnings play’d.”

  The lady’s cool obstinacy was fully a match for her lord’s pe
tulance: to all he could urge, she repeated, “that such entertainments did not meet her ideas of propriety.” Her ladyship, Lady Sarah, and Miss Strictland, consequently declared it to be their resolution, “to appear in their own proper characters, and their own proper dresses, and no others.”

  These three rigid seceders excepted, all the world at Glistonbury Castle, and within its sphere of attraction, were occupied with preparations for this ball. Miss Bateman was quite in her element, flattered and flattering, consulting and consulted, in the midst of novels, plays, and poetry, prints, and pictures, searching for appropriate characters and dresses. This preceptress seemed to think and to expect that others should deem her office of governess merely a subordinate part of her business: she considered her having accepted of the superintendence of the education of Lady Julia Lidhurst as a prodigious condescension on her part, and a derogation from her rank and pretensions in the literary and fashionable world; a peculiar and sentimental favour to Lord Glistonbury, of which his lordship was bound in honour to show his sense, by treating her as a member of his family, not only with distinguished politeness, but by deferring to her opinion in all things, so as to prove to her satisfaction that she was considered only as a friend, and not at all as a governess. Thus she was raised as much above that station in the family in which she could be useful, as governesses in other houses have been sometimes depressed below their proper rank. Upon this, as upon all occasions, Miss Bateman was the first person to be thought of — her character and her dress were the primary points to be determined; and they were points of no easy decision, she having proposed for herself no less than five characters — the fair Rosamond, Joan of Arc, Cleopatra, Sigismunda, and Circe. After minute consideration of the dresses, which, at a fancy ball, were to constitute these characters, fair Rosamond was rejected, “because the old English dress muffled up the person too much; Joan of Arc would find her armour inconvenient for dancing; Cleopatra’s diadem and royal purple would certainly be truly becoming, but then her regal length of train was as inadmissible in a dancing-dress as Joan of Arc’s armour.” Between Sigismunda and Circe, Miss Bateman’s choice long vibrated. The Spanish and the Grecian costume had each its claims on her favour: for she was assured they both became her remarkably. Vivian was admitted to the consultation: he was informed that there must be both a Circe and a Sigismunda; and that Lady Julia was to take whichever of the two characters Miss Bateman declined. Pending the deliberation, Lady Julia whispered to Vivian, “For mercy’s sake! contrive that I may not be doomed to be Circe; for Circe is no better than Calista.”