“I have made none, sir — but, if you urge me, I can only say, that, if he has all these good qualities, it is to be regretted that he does not look and speak a little more like a gentleman.”
“A gentleman! — he is as much a gentleman as any of your formal prigs — not the exact Cambridge cut, may be — Curse your English education! ’twas none of my advice — I suppose you mean to take after your mother in the notion, that nothing can be good or genteel but what’s English.”
“Far from it, sir; I assure you I am as warm a friend to Ireland as your heart could wish. You will have no reason, in that respect, at least, nor, I hope, in any other, to curse my English education — and, if my gratitude and affection can avail, you shall never regret the kindness and liberality with which you have, I fear, distressed yourself to afford me the means of becoming all that a British nobleman ought to be.”
“Gad! you distress me now,” said Lord Clonbrony, “and I didn’t expect it, or I wouldn’t make a fool of myself this way,” added he, ashamed of his emotion, and whiffling it off. “You have an Irish heart, that I see, which no education can spoil. But you must like Terry — I’ll give you time, as he said to me, when first he taught me to like usquebaugh — Good morning to you.”
Whilst Lady Clonbrony, in consequence of her residence in London, had become more of a fine lady, Lord Clonbrony, since he left Ireland, had become less of a gentleman. Lady Clonbrony, born an Englishwoman, disclaiming and disencumbering herself of all the Irish in town, had, by giving splendid entertainments, at an enormous expense, made her way into a certain set of fashionable company. But Lord Clonbrony, who was somebody in Ireland, who was a great person in Dublin, found himself nobody in England, a mere cipher in London. Looked down upon by the fine people with whom his lady associated, and heartily weary of them, he retreated from them altogether, and sought entertainment and self-complacency in society beneath him, indeed, both in rank and education, but in which he had the satisfaction of feeling himself the first person in company. Of these associates, the first in talents, and in jovial profligacy, was Sir Terence O’Fay — a man of low extraction, who had been knighted by an Irish lord-lieutenant in some convivial frolic. No one could tell a good story, or sing a good song, better than Sir Terence; he exaggerated his native brogue, and his natural propensity to blunder, caring little whether the company laughed at him or with him, provided they laughed—”Live and laugh — laugh and live,” was his motto; and certainly he lived on laughing, as well as many better men can contrive to live on a thousand a-year.
Lord Clonbrony brought Sir Terence home with him next day, to introduce him to Lord Colambre; and it happened that, on this occasion, Terence appeared to peculiar disadvantage, because, like many other people, “Il gâtoit l’esprit qu’il avoit, en voulant avoir celui qu’il n’avoit pas.”
Having been apprised that Lord Colambre was a fine scholar, fresh from Cambridge, and being conscious of his own deficiencies of literature, instead of trusting to his natural talents, he summoned to his aid, with no small effort, all the scraps of learning he had acquired in early days, and even brought before the company all the gods and goddesses with whom he had formed an acquaintance at school. Though embarrassed by this unusual encumbrance of learning, he endeavoured to make all subservient to his immediate design, of paying his court to Lady Clonbrony, by forwarding the object she had most anxiously in view — the match between her son and Miss Broadhurst.
“And so, Miss Nugent,” said he, not daring, with all his assurance, to address himself directly to Lady Clonbrony, “and so, Miss Nugent, you are going to have great doings, I’m told, and a wonderful grand gala. There’s nothing in the wide world equal to being in a good handsome crowd. No later now than the last ball at the Castle, that was before I left Dublin, Miss Nugent, the apartments, owing to the popularity of my lady lieutenant, was so throng — so throng — that I remember very well, in the doorway, a lady — and a very genteel woman she was, too — though a stranger to me, saying to me, ‘Sir, your finger’s in my ear.’—’I know it, madam,” says I; ‘but I can’t take it out till the crowd give me elbow-room.’
“But it’s the gala I’m thinking of now — I hear you are to have the golden Venus, my Lady Clonbrony, won’t you?”
“Sir!”
This freezing monosyllable notwithstanding, Sir Terence pursued his course fluently. “The golden Venus! — sure, Miss Nugent, you that are so quick, can’t but know I would apostrophize Miss Broadhurst that is — but that won’t be long so, I hope. My Lord Colambre, have you seen much yet of that young lady?”
“No, sir.”
“Then I hope you won’t be long so. I hear great talk now of the Venus of Medici, and the Venus of this and that, with the Florence Venus, and the sable Venus, and that other Venus, that’s washing of her hair, and a hundred other Venuses, some good, some bad. But, be that as it will, my lord, trust a fool — ye may, when he tells you truth — the golden Venus is the only one on earth that can stand, or that will stand, through all ages and temperatures; for gold rules the court, gold rules the camp, and men below, and heaven above.”
“Heaven above! — Take care, Terry! Do you know what you are saying?” interrupted Lord Clonbrony.
“Do I? — Don’t I?” replied Terry. “Deny, if you please, my lord, that it was for a golden pippin that the three goddesses fit — and that the Hippomenes was about golden apples — and did not Hercules rob a garden for golden apples? — and did not the pious Æneas himself take a golden branch with him to make himself welcome to his father in hell?” said Sir Terence, winking at Lord Colambre.
“Why, Terry, you know more about books than I should have suspected,” said Lord Clonbrony.
“Nor you would not have suspected me to have such a great acquaintance among the goddesses neither, would you, my lord? But, apropos, before we quit, of what material, think ye, was that same Venus’s famous girdle, now, that made roses and lilies so quickly appear? Why, what was it but a girdle of sterling gold, I’ll engage? — for gold is the only true thing for a young man to look after in a wife.”
Sir Terence paused, but no applause ensued.
“Let them talk of Cupids and darts, and the mother of the Loves and Graces — Minerva may sing odes and dythambrics, or whatsoever her wisdomship pleases. Let her sing, or let her say, she’ll never get a husband, in this world or the other, without she had a good thumping fortin, and then she’d go off like wildfire.”
“No, no, Terry, there you’re out: Minerva has too bad a character for learning to be a favourite with gentlemen,” said Lord Clonbrony.
“Tut — Don’t tell me! — I’d get her off before you could say Jack Robinson, and thank you too, if she had 50,000l. down, or 1,000l. a-year in land. Would you have a man so d —— d nice as to balk, when house and land is agoing — a going — a going! — because of the incumbrance of a little learning? But, after all, I never heard that Miss Broadhurst was any thing of a learned lady.”
“Miss Broadhurst!” said Miss Nugent: “how did you get round to Miss Broadhurst?”
“Oh! by the way of Tipperary,” said Lord Colambre.
“I beg your pardon, my lord, it was apropos to good fortune, which, I hope, will not be out of your way, even if you went by Tipperary. She has, besides 100,000l. in the funds, a clear landed property of 10,000l. per annum. Well! some people talk of morality, and some of religion, bat give me a little snug PROPERTY. — But, my lord, I’ve a little business to transact this morning, and must not be idling and indulging myself here.” So, bowing to the ladies, he departed.
“Really, I am glad that man is gone,” said Lady Clonbrony. “What a relief to one’s ears! I am sure I wonder, my lord, how you can bear to carry that strange creature always about with you — so vulgar as he is.”
“He diverts me,” said Lord Clonbrony; “while many of your correct-mannered fine ladies or gentlemen put me to sleep. What signifies what accent people speak in, that have nothing to say, hey
, Colambre?”
Lord Colambre, from respect to his father, did not express his opinion; but his aversion to Sir Terence O’Fay was stronger even than his mother’s, though Lady Clonbrony’s detestation of him was much increased by perceiving that his coarse hints about Miss Broadhurst had operated against her favourite scheme.
The next morning, at breakfast, Lord Clonbrony talked of bringing Sir Terence with him that night to her gala — she absolutely grew pale with horror.
“Good Heavens! — Lady Langdale, Mrs. Dareville, Lady Pococke, Lady Chatterton, Lady D —— , Lady G —— , His Grace of V —— ; what would they think of him! And Miss Broadhurst, to see him going about with my Lord Clonbrony!” — It could not be. No — her ladyship made the most solemn and desperate protestation, that she would sooner give up her gala altogether — tie up the knocker — say she was sick — rather be sick, or be dead, than be obliged to have such a creature as Sir Terence O’Fay at her gala.
“Have it your own way, my dear, as you have every thing else,” cried Lord Clonbrony, taking up his hat, and preparing to decamp; “but, take notice, if you won’t receive him, you need not expect me. So a good morning to you, my Lady Clonbrony. You may find a worse friend in need yet, than that same Sir Terence O’Fay.”
“I trust I shall never be in need, my lord,” replied her ladyship. “It would be strange indeed if I were, with the fortune I brought.”
“Oh, that fortune of hers!” cried Lord Clonbrony, stopping both his ears as he ran out of his room: “shall I never hear the end of that fortune, when I’ve seen the end of it long ago?”
During this matrimonial dialogue, Miss Nugent and Lord Colambre never once looked at each other. She was very diligently trying the changes that could be made in the positions of a china-mouse, a cat, a dog, a cup, and a brahmin, on the mantel-piece; Lord Colambre as diligently reading the newspaper.
“Now, my dear Colambre,” said Lady Clonbrony, “put down the paper, and listen to me. Let me entreat you not to neglect Miss Broadhurst to-night, as I know that the family come here chiefly on your account.”
“My dear mother, I never can neglect any one of your guests; but I shall be careful not to show any particular attention to Miss Broadhurst, for I never will pretend what I do not feel.”
“But, my dear Colambre, Miss Broadhurst is every thing you could wish, except being a beauty.”
“Perhaps, madam,” said Lord Colambre, fixing his eyes on Miss Nugent, “you think that I can see no farther than a handsome face?”
The unconscious Grace Nugent now made a warm eulogium of Miss Broadhurst’s sense, and wit, and independence of character.
“I did not know that Miss Broadhurst was a friend of yours, Miss Nugent?”
“She is, I assure you, a friend of mine; and, as a proof, I will not praise her at this moment. I will go farther still — I will promise that I never will praise her to you till you begin to praise her to me.”
Lord Colambre smiled, and now listened as if he wished that she should go on speaking, even of Miss Broadhurst.
“That’s my sweet Grace!” cried Lady Clonbrony. “Oh! she knows how to manage these men — not one of them can resist her!”
Lord Colambre, for his part, did not deny the truth of this assertion.
“Grace,” added Lady Clonbrony, “make him promise to do as we would have him.”
“No — promises are dangerous things to ask or to give,” said Grace. “Men and naughty children never make promises, especially promises to be good, without longing to break them the next minute.”
“Well, at least, child, persuade him, I charge you, to make my gala go off well. That’s the first thing we ought to think of now. Ring the bell! — And all heads and hands I put in requisition for the gala.”
CHAPTER III.
The opening of her gala, the display of her splendid reception rooms, the Turkish tent, the Alhambra, the pagoda, formed a proud moment to Lady Clonbrony. Much did she enjoy, and much too naturally, notwithstanding all her efforts to be stiff and stately, much too naturally did she show her enjoyment of the surprise excited in some and affected by others on their first entrance.
One young, very young lady expressed her astonishment so audibly as to attract the notice of all the bystanders. Lady Clonbrony, delighted, seized both her hands, shook them, and laughed heartily; then, as the young lady with her party passed on, her ladyship recovered herself, drew up her head, and said to the company near her, “Poor thing! I hope I covered her little naïveté properly. How NEW she must be!”
Then with well practised dignity, and half subdued self-complacency of aspect, her ladyship went gliding about — most importantly busy, introducing my lady this to the sphynx candelabra, and my lady that to the Trebisond trellice; placing some delightfully for the perspective of the Alhambra; establishing others quite to her satisfaction on seraglio ottomans; and honouring others with a seat under the Statira canopy. Receiving and answering compliments from successive crowds of select friends, imagining herself the mirror of fashion, and the admiration of the whole world, Lady Clonbrony was, for her hour, as happy certainly as ever woman was in similar circumstances.
Her son looked at her, and wished that this happiness could last. Naturally inclined to sympathy, Lord Colambre reproached himself for not feeling as gay at this instant as the occasion required. But the festive scene, the blazing lights, the “universal hubbub,” failed to raise his spirits. As a dead weight upon them hung the remembrance of Mordicai’s denunciations; and, through the midst of this eastern magnificence, this unbounded profusion, he thought he saw future domestic misery and ruin to those he loved best in the world.
The only object present on which his eye rested with pleasure was Grace Nugent. Beautiful — in elegant and dignified simplicity — thoughtless of herself — yet with a look of thought, and with an air of melancholy, which accorded exactly with his own feelings, and which he believed to arise from the same reflections that had passed in his own mind.
“Miss Broadhurst, Colambre! all the Broadhursts!” said his mother, wakening him as she passed by to receive them as they entered. Miss Broadhurst appeared, plainly dressed — plainly even to singularity — without any diamonds or ornament.
“Brought Philippa to you, my dear Lady Clonbrony, this figure, rather than not bring her at all,” said puffing Mrs. Broadhurst, “and had all the difficulty in the world to get her out at all, and now I’ve promised she shall stay but half an hour. Sore throat — terrible cold she took in the morning. I’ll swear for her, she’d not have come for any one but you.”
The young lady did not seem inclined to swear, or even to say this for herself; she stood wonderfully unconcerned and passive, with an expression of humour lurking in her eyes, and about the corners of her mouth; whilst Lady Clonbrony was “shocked,” and “gratified,” and “concerned,” and “flattered;” and whilst every body was hoping, and fearing, and busying themselves about her, “Miss Broadhurst, you’d better sit here!”—”Oh, for heaven’s sake! Miss Broadhurst, not there!” “Miss Broadhurst, if you’ll take my opinion,” and “Miss Broadhurst, if I may advise — .”
“Grace Nugent!” cried Lady Clonbrony. “Miss Broadhurst always listens to you. Do, my dear, persuade Miss Broadhurst to take care of herself, and let us take her to the inner little pagoda, where she can be so warm and so retired — the very thing for an invalid — Colambre! pioneer the way for us, for the crowd’s immense.”
Lady Anne and Lady Catherine H —— , Lady Langdale’s daughters, were at this time leaning on Miss Nugent’s arm, and moved along with this party to the inner pagoda. There were to be cards in one room, music in another, dancing in a third, and in this little room there were prints and chess-boards, &c.
“Here you will be quite to yourselves,” said Lady Clonbrony; “let me establish you comfortably in this, which I call my sanctuary — my snuggery — Colambre, that little table! — Miss Broadhurst, you play chess? — Colambre, you’ll play with M
iss Broadhurst—”
“I thank your ladyship,” said Miss Broadhurst, “but I know nothing of chess but the moves: Lady Catherine, you will play, and I will look on.”
Miss Broadhurst drew her seat to the fire; Lady Catherine sat down to play with Lord Colambre: Lady Clonbrony withdrew, again recommending Miss Broadhurst to Grace Nugent’s care. After some commonplace conversation, Lady Anne H —— , looking at the company in the adjoining apartment, asked her sister how old Miss Somebody was who passed by. This led to reflections upon the comparative age and youthful appearance of several of their acquaintance, and upon the care with which mothers concealed the age of their daughters. Glances passed between Lady Catherine and Lady Anne.
“For my part,” said Miss Broadhurst, “my mother would labour that point of secrecy in vain for me; for I am willing to tell my age, even if my face did not tell it for me, to all whom it may concern — I am passed three-and-twenty — shall be four-and-twenty the fifth of next July.”
“Three-and-twenty! — Bless me! — I thought you were not twenty!” cried Lady Anne.
“Four-and-twenty next July! — impossible!” cried Lady Catherine.
“Very possible,” said Miss Broadhurst, quite unconcerned.
“Now, Lord Colambre, would you believe it? Can you believe it?” asked Lady Catherine.
“Yes, he can,” said Miss Broadhurst. “Don’t you see that he believes it as firmly as you and I do? Why should you force his lordship to pay a compliment contrary to his better judgment, or extort a smile from him under false pretences? I am sure he sees that you, and I trust he perceives that I, do not think the worse of him for this.”
Lord Colambre smiled now without any false pretence; and, relieved at once from all apprehension of her joining in his mother’s views, or of her expecting particular attention from him, he became at ease with Miss Broadhurst, showed a desire to converse with her, and listened eagerly to what she said. He recollected that Miss Nugent had told him, that this young lady had no common character; and, neglecting his move at chess, he looked up at Miss Nugent, as much as to say, “Draw her out, pray.”
Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth Page 539