Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth

by Maria Edgeworth

  “I do not know when that will be,” replied Mad. de Coulanges, in a sick voice: “I was never so ill in my life — and so the physician says. But I am revived by seeing Lady Littleton — she is, and ever has been, all goodness and politeness to us. I am ashamed that she should see us in such a miserable place. Emilie, give me my other night-riband, and the wretched little looking-glass.”

  Mad. de Coulanges sat up and arranged her head-dress. At this moment, Lady Littleton took Emilie aside, and put into her hand a letter from France!—”I would not speak of it suddenly to your mother, my dear,” said she; “but you will find the proper time. I hope it contains good news — at present I will have patience. You shall see me again soon; and you must, at all events, let me take you from this miserable place. Mrs. Somers has been punished enough. — Adieu! — I long to know the news from France.”

  The news from France was such as made the looking-glass drop from the hand of Mad. de Coulanges. It was a letter from the son of her old steward, to tell her that his father was dead — that he was now in possession of all the family fortune, which he was impatient to restore to the wife and daughter of his former master and friend.

  “Heaven be praised!” exclaimed Mad. de Coulanges, in an ecstasy of joy—”Heaven be praised! we shall once more see dear Paris, and the Hotel de Coulanges!”

  “Heaven be praised!” cried Emilie, “I shall never more see M. de Brisac. My mother, I am sure, will no longer wish me to marry him.”

  “No, in truth,” said the countess, “it would now be a most unequal match, and one to which he is by no means entitled. How fortunate it is that I had not given him my promise! — After all, your aversion to him, child, was quite providential. Now you may form the most splendid alliance that your heart can desire.”

  “My heart,” said Emilie, sighing, “desires no splendid alliance. But had you not better lie down, dear mamma? — You will certainly catch cold — and remember, your mind must be kept quiet.”

  It was impossible to keep her mind quiet; she ran on from one subject to another with extravagant volubility; and Emilie was afraid that she would, the next day, be quite exhausted; but, on the contrary, after talking above half the night, she fell into a sound sleep; and when she wakened, after having slept fourteen hours, she declared that she would no longer be kept a prisoner in bed. The renovating effects of joy and the influence of the imagination were never more strongly displayed. “Le malheur passé n’est bon qu’à être oublié,” was la comtesse’s favourite maxim — and to do her justice, she was as ready to forget past quarrels as past misfortunes. She readily complied with Emilie’s request that she would, as soon as she was able to go out, accompany her to Lady Littleton’s, that they might meet and be reconciled to Mrs. Somers.

  “She has the most tormenting temper imaginable,” said the countess; “and I would not live with her for the universe — Mais d’ailleurs c’est la meilleure femme du monde.”

  If, instead of being the best woman in the world, Mrs. Somers had been the worst, and if, instead of being a benefactress, she had been an enemy, it would have been all the same thing to the countess; for, in this moment, she was, as usual, like a child, a friend to every creature of every kind.

  Her volubility was interrupted by the arrival of Lady Littleton, who came to carry Mad. de Coulanges and Emilie to her house, where, as her ladyship said, Mrs. Somers was impatiently waiting for them. Lady Littleton had prevented her from coming to this poor lodging-house, because she knew that the being seen there would mortify the pride of some of the house of Coulanges.

  Mrs. Somers was indeed waiting for them with inexpressible impatience. The moment she heard their voices in the hall at Lady Littleton’s, she ran down stairs to meet them; and as she embraced Emilie she could not refrain from bursting into tears.

  “Tears of joy, these must be,” cried Mad. de Coulanges: “we are all happy now — perfectly happy — Are not we? — Embrace me, Mrs. Somers — Emilie shall not have all your heart — I have some gratitude as well as my daughter; and I should have none if I did not love you — especially at this moment.”

  Mad. de Coulanges was, by this time, at the head of the stairs; a servant opened the drawing-room door; but something was amiss with the strings of her sandals — she would stay to adjust them — and said to Emilie, “Allez, allez — entrez.”

  Emilie obeyed. An instant afterwards Mad. de Coulanges thought she heard a sudden cry, either of joy or grief, from Emilie — she hurried into the drawing-room.

  “Bon Dieu! c’est notre homme de l’Abbaye!” cried she, starting back at the sight of a gentleman who had been kneeling at Emilie’s feet, and who arose as she entered.

  “My son!” said Mrs. Somers, eagerly presenting him to Mad. de Coulanges—”my son! whom it is in your power to make the happiest or the most miserable of men!”

  “In my power! — in Emilie’s, you mean, I suppose,” said the countess, smiling. “She is so good a girl that I cannot make her miserable; and as for you, Mrs. Somers, the honour of your alliance — and our obligations — But then I shall be miserable myself if she does not go back with me to the Hotel de Coulanges — Ah! Ciel! — And then poor M. de Brisac, he will be miserable, unless, to comfort him, I marry him myself.” — Half laughing, half crying, Mad. de Coulanges scarcely knew what she said or did.

  It was some time before she was sufficiently composed to understand clearly what was said to her by any person in the room, though she asked, half a dozen times, at least, from every one present, an explanation of all that had happened.

  Lady Littleton was the only person who could give an explanation. She had contrived this meeting, and even Mrs. Somers had not foreseen the event — she never suspected that her own son was the very person to whom Emilie was attached, and that it was for Emilie’s sake her son had hitherto refused to comply with her earnest desire that he should marry and settle in the world. He had no hopes that she would consent to his marrying a French girl without fortune, because she formerly quarrelled with him for refusing to marry a rich lady of quality, who happened to be, at that time, high in her favour. Upon the summons home that he received from her, he was alarmed by the apprehension that she had some new alliance in view for him, and he resolved, before he saw his mother, to trust his secret to Lady Littleton, who had always been a mediatrix and peace-maker. He declined telling the name of the object of his affections; but, from his description, and from many concomitant dates and circumstances, Lady Littleton was led to suspect that it might be Emilie de Coulanges. She consequently contrived an interview, which she knew must be decisive.

  Mad. de Coulanges, whose imagination was now at Paris, felt rather disappointed at the idea of her daughter’s marrying an Englishman, who was neither a count, a marquis, nor even a baron; but Lady Littleton at length obtained that consent which she knew would be necessary to render Emilie happy, even in following the dictates of her heart, or her reason.

  Some conversation passed between Lady Littleton and Mrs. Somers about a dormant title in the Somers’ family, which might be revived. This made a wonderful impression on the countess. She yielded, as she did every thing else, with a good grace.

  History does not say, whether she did or did not console M. de Brisac: we are only informed that, immediately after her daughter’s marriage, she returned to Paris, and gave a splendid ball at her Hotel de Coulanges. We are further assured that Mrs. Somers never quarrelled with Emilie from the day of her marriage till the day of her death — but that is incredible.

  1803.

  FRANK: A SEQUEL OF EARLY LESSONS

  CONTENTS

  PART I.

  PART II.

  PART III.

  PART IV.

  PART I.

  There was a little boy, whose name was Frank. He had a father and mother, who were very kind to him, and he loved them; he liked to talk to them, and he liked to walk with them, and he liked to be with them. He liked to do what they asked him to do; and he took care no
t to do what they desired him not to do. When his father or mother said to him, “Frank, shut the door,” he ran, directly, and shut the door. When they said to him, “Frank, do not touch that knife,” he took his hands away from the knife, and did not touch it. He was an obedient little boy.

  One evening, when his father and mother were drinking tea, he was sitting under the tea-table; and he took hold of one of the legs of the table, and he tried to pull it towards himself, but he could not move it. He took hold of another leg of the table, and he found that he could not move it; but at last he took hold of one, which he found that he could move, very easily; for this leg turned upon a hinge, and was not fixed like the other legs. As he was drawing this leg of the table towards him, his mother said to him, “Frank, what are you doing?”

  And he answered, “Mamma, I am playing with the leg of the table.”

  And his mother said, “What do you mean by saying that you are playing with the leg of the table?”

  And Frank said, “I mean that I am pulling it towards me, mamma.”

  And his mother said, “Let it alone, my dear.”

  And Frank took his hands away from the leg of the table, and he let it alone; and he came from under the table; and he got up, and stood beside his mother; and he said, “Mamma, I come away from the leg of the table, that I may not think of touching it any more j” and his father and mother smiled.

  And Frank said, “But, mother, will you tell me why you bid me let it alone?”.

  “Yes, I will, my dear,” said his mother; and she then moved some of the tea-cups and saucers to another table; and Frank’s father put the tea-urn upon another table; and then Frank’s mother said to him, “Now, my dear Frank, go and push the leg of the table, as yon did before.”

  And Frank pushed the leg of the table; and when he had pushed it a little way, he stopped, and looked up at his mother, and said, “I see part of the top of the table moving down towards my head, mamma; and if I push this leg any farther back, I am afraid that part of the table will fall down upon my head, and hurt me.”

  “I will hold up this part of the table, which is called the leaf,” said his mother; “and I will not let it fall down upon your head. Pull the leg of the table back, as far as you can.” And Frank did as his mother desired him; and when he had pulled it back as far as he could, his mother bid him come from under the table; and he did so; and she said, “Stand beside me, and look what happens when I let go this leaf of the table, which I am now holding.’

  ‘And Frank said, “I know what will happen, I believe, mamma: it will fall; for now, that I have pulled back the leg, there is nothing to hold it up but your hand.”

  Then his mother took away her hand, and the leaf of the table fell; and Frank put his hand upon his head, and said, “O, mamma, that would have hurt me very much; if it had fallen upon my head. I am glad I was not under the table when the leaf fell. And now I believe I know the reason, mamma, why you asked me not to meddle with that leg of the table; because the leaf (is not that the name you told me?) — the leaf would have fallen upon my head, and would have hurt me. Was not that the reason, mamma?”

  “That was one reason; but I had some other reasons. Try if you can find out what they were, Frank,” said his mother.

  And Frank looked at the table for a little while, and then answered, “I don’t know any other reasons, mamma;” but, as he was saying these words, he saw his mother turn her head towards the table upon which she had put the cups and saucers.

  “O, now, mamma,” said Frank, “I know what you mean. If those cups and saucers had been upon this leaf of the table, they would have slid down when it fell, and they would have been broken. And the urn too, mamma, would have come tumbling down; and perhaps the top of the urn would have come off; and then all the hot water would have come running out, and would have wet the room, and would have scalded me, if I had been under it. I am very glad, mamma, that I did as you bid me.”

  One day, Frank’s mother took him out to walk with her in the fields; and he saw flowers of different colors — blue, red, yellow and purple; and he asked his mother whether he might gather some of these flowers.

  She answered, “Yes, my dear, you may gather as many of these flowers as you please.”

  Then Frank ran, and gathered several flowers; and in one corner of this field, upon a bank, he saw some blue-bells; and he liked blue-bells, and he ran and gathered them; and, in the next field, he saw a great number of purple flowers, which, he thought, looked very pretty; and he got over the stile, and went into the next field, and went close up to the purple flowers; they had yellow in the middle of them, and they grew upon a plant which had a great number of green leaves.

  As Frank was pulling some of the purple flowers, he shook the green leaves; and he saw amongst them several little green balls, which looked like very small apples. Frank wished to taste them; and he was just going to pull one from the stalk, when he recollected that his mother had not given him leave to have them; and he ran back to his mother, and said, “Mamma, may I have some of those nice little apples?” and he pointed to the plants on which the purple flowers grew. His mother answered, “I do not see any apples, my dear.”

  “You will see them, mamma, if you will come a little closer to them,” said Frank; and he took his mother by the hand, and led her to the plants, and showed her the little green balls, which he thought were apples.

  “My dear little boy,” said his mother, these are not apples; these things are not good to be eaten; they are poisonous; they would have made you sick, if you had eaten them.”

  “I am glad,” said Frank, “that I did not taste them. But may I have one of them for a ball?”’

  “No, my dear,” said his mother; “do not meddle with any of them.”

  Frank walked on, in the path, beside his mother, and he did not meddle with any of the little green balls. And he saw at a little distance from him a boy, who was digging; and when he came near to this boy, Frank saw that he was digging up some of the plants that bore the pretty purple flowers; and Frank said, “Mamma, why does this boy dig up these things? Is he going to throw them away?”

  And Frank’s mother said, “Look, and you will see what part of them he keeps, and what part of them he throws away.”

  And Frank looked, and he saw that the boy pulled off the brown and white round roots of the plant, and he put those roots into a basket. The green part of the plant, and the purple flowers, and the green balls, which Frank mistook for apples, he saw that the boy threw away.

  And Frank said to his mother, “What are those roots in the basket?”

  His mother said, “Look at them, and try if you can find out. You have eaten roots like them; you often see roots like these a dinner.”

  ‘I do not remember,” said Frank, “ever having seen such dirty things as these at dinner.”

  “They are washed and boiled before you see them at dinner, and then they look white,” said his mother.

  Frank looked again at the roots which were in the basket; and he said, “Mamma, I think that they are potatoes.”

  “Yes, my dear, they are potatoes,” said his mother; and then Frank and his mother went on a little farther, and they came to a large, shady tree; and Frank’s mother sat down upon a bank under the shade of this tree, to cool and rest herself; for she was hot and tired. Frank was not tired, therefore he did not sit down; but he amused himself with trying to reach some of the branches of the tree which hung over his head.

  He jumped up as high as he could, to catch them; but he found that several, which he thought he could reach, he could not touch, even when he stretched out his hand and arm, and stood on tiptoe. —

  At last he saw a bough which hung lower than the other boughs, and he jumped up and caught hold of it; and he held it down, that he might look at the leaves of the tree.

  “Mamma,” said he, “these leaves are not like the leaves of the tree which is near the hall door, at home. You told me the name of that tree; that tree is
called a beech.

  “What is the name of this tree?”

  “This tree is called a horse-chestnut-tree.”

  “Mamma,” said Frank, “here are little balls upon this tree; they are something like those I saw upon the potatoes. I won’t meddle with them; they have prickles upon them.”

  And Frank’s mother said, “You may gather some of these little balls, my dear; these are not of the same sort as those you saw on the potato-plants. These are not poisonous; these are called horse-chestnuts: the prickles are not very sharp; you may break them off.”