An hundred minor miseries, which are not worth complaining of, yet are teazing enough, contribute to make me long to quite Eddisbury; besides my detestation of Darnly, and his set of friends; my mother collects such an assortment of twaddlers about her, that I am wearied to death — some of these good women ask me an account of “my battles”— “Lord, Mr. Edward, do tell us how it was, and so you go wounded? — Well, ’tis a mercy ’twas no worse;” and then the Misses declare “it must be a very terrible fight to be sure;” ad some, I fancy, very sincerely deplore that so many smart officers are killed, when there is such a scarcity of husbands; yet there is such pretty sights at camps in summer, and recruiting parties, and even militia do so enliven their towns in the winter, that the dear creatures cannot but acknowledge that “war time was something very animating in it.” Two or three gentle nymphs of this neighbourhood, who, while “Mr. Edward” was a younger brother, liked well enough to dance with him at the public meetings, because he belonged to the genteel set; not make much more decided attempts to be noticed by him, for “Mr. Edward” is heir to a title — but they may spare themselves their flattering solicitudes — and to do my mother justice, she takes every possible precaution to secure from any fatal partiality to her son, the hearts of Miss Grimes and Miss Pawson, two fair and sentimental damsels from a neighbouring provincial town, who are very much at Eddisbury, by telling them that is is absolutely necessary for Edward to marry a woman of large fortune. Miss Grimes reads novels, and is very much distressed at not having yet found in real life a hero who answers to “her ideas.” Miss Pawson has a stronger mind, and “cannot read love stories;” she likes the debates of the House, a smart political pamphlet, or a polemical quarrel between two learned divines, of which she understands not a word; but being tolerably certain of not meeting any body in the circle she lives in, who understands more, she ventures to speak upon these abstruse subjects, if she can procure an hearer, and is reckoned “a young woman of very great understanding.”
Such are the people with whom I am condemned to waste hours that ought to be dedicated to love and friendship — to Alexina and D’Alonville! Ah! my friend, when shall I be at liberty, without any breach of duty, to assure you personally of that affection with which I ever shall be,
Truly your’s,
EDWARD ELLESMERE?”
CHAPTER XVII.
Pomm’ in umil fortuna, od in superba;
Al dolce aere ferno, al sosco e grave;
Alla matura etate, od all’ aeerba.
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Pommi con fama oscura, o con illustre:
Sar|[oacute]| qual fui: vivr|[oacute]| com’ io visso
Continuando il’ mio fospic trilustre
PETRARCH.
IN consequence of Ellesmere’s approbation of his intentions, and of other circumstances that served to strength his resolution, D’Alonville proposed to Mrs. Denzil a plan, on her consent to which he declared the future happiness of his life depended. — This was, that Angelina should immediately be his; that without naming their marriage to Lord Aberdore, to whom it would probably be no additional recommendation that he was allied to a family to which he himself once acknowledged some relationship, he should accept the situation offered him, and endeavour, by the advantages that might accrue from it, to encrease his little income so as to support his wife, who, with her mother, her younger brothers and sisters, should take an house as near as could be conveniently found to the seat of Lord Aberdore’s, where his son, Lord Aurevalle, and the other branches of his family were to be entrusted to their tutors. This, as it was now understood, was not the house in Staffordshire, but another much larger, and upon the most capital estate possessed by the Aberdore family; and from a decayed town near it they took their title. — It was partly in Merionethshire, in a county eminently romantic and beautiful, but at such a distance from London, that the present Lady Aberdore disliked residing there for any length of time, and was not always prevailed upon to accompany Lord Aberdore in his annual visit, which he usually paid his Welsh estate at or soon after Christmas; and she had now prevailed on her Lord to give it up to his children, alleging that it was the most capacious and most healthy of his feats; but as in consequence of this new arrangement he would have no occasion for so large an house as that in Staffordshire, she hinted, in no very equivocal terms, how prudent it would be to let that, and to confine their country excursions to their annual visit to Rock-March, (the name of the seat in Wales) and to their occasional residence at Barton Grove, a villa he had purchased since his second marriage, in the neighbourhood of Hampton Court. — To these arrangements also Lord Aberdore agreed, with that ready submission which should mark the conduct of all peaceably-disposed husbands in regard to reasonable proposals from pretty and lively wives, twenty years younger than themselves. Had the family of which D’Alonville was to become a temporary member, remained in Staffordshire, there might have been many objections to the scheme for which he so earnestly pleased, that did not now arise; the family of Mrs. Denzil were known there, and she could not suppose that her return to a neighbourhood where she had before resided, or the motives for her return could long remain undiscovered. — This might have destroyed at once the flattering visions in which D’Alonville had indulged himself, and involve them all in discussions which she desired particularly to avoid; but languishing, as she did, to quit scenes in and near London, where she had undergone so many years of fruitless anxiety, and hopeless misery, she felt more satisfaction than she had long been sensible of, in the idea of hiding herself in a distant province of Wales, and trying, amidst its wild and romantic scenes, to find again a relish for those rude beauties of unadulterated nature, which used in happier days to flatter her imagination and soothe her heart.
Too well convinced, however, that for her happiness was no where to be found, she would not have indulged herself in the visionary pursuit of even such tran ent transient gratification as the more mild and sublime landscapes of another part of Britain could offer her, nor would the advantage her health might gain by change of air and place, or any other consideration that related to herself only, have had the smallest influence on her resolution; but in giving her beloved child to D’Alonville, she saw a prospect of happiness for that child, which she thought no affluence of rank could give her with a man to whom she was less attached. Mrs. Denzil had learned by sad experience, that in a marriage made by parents on mercenary considerations only, their scheme of felicity may often be wholly defeated, and that then, only the bitterness of disappointed ambition remains; but that in a union where love alone determines, every trapping of fortune may be wanting, and yet, that the purest felicity may be found that in this state of being can be tasted on earth.
This conviction; D’Alonville’s merit, which every hour appeared more evident; and Angelina’s unalterable affection for him; the certainty there was that his little property would afford her the necessaries of life, and he persuasion Mrs. Denzil was in, that those who with the most officious vehemence declaimed against such an alliance, could offer no objection which unprejudiced reason would listen to, determined her to agree to their immediate marriage, and to remain in London with her daughter for some weeks afterwards, while D’Alonville should accompany his pupils to Rock-March, and look around it for such an habitation as would conveniently receive Mrs. Denzil and her family, together with De Touranges, his wife, mother, and child; for she heartily concurred with him in his generous resolution not to abandon these unfortunate friends. Language cannot do justice to the transports with which D’Alonville, who had been too tremblingly anxious to speak to Mrs. Denzil, received the answer she gave to the letter he had written detailing this scheme. — He flew down to Wandsworth, where she yet remained (though in another lodging,) and with the timid acquiescence of Angelina, every preliminary was that evening settled.
In two days afterwards, Mrs. Denzil
and her family removed to London; the preparations, as to clothes, were soon made, for the simplest only were necessary; but there arose difficulties as to procuring a licence, (for Angelina was a minor, and had a father living in a foreign country,) which almost distracted D’Alonville, who had been informed by Miss Milsington that he would be expected at Rock-March in a very short time; his situation there, however, he determined to abandon, if its highest advantages were for a moment placed in opposition to his immediate marriage with Angelina; but fortunately some political engagements detained Lord Aberdore in London much longer than he expected, and prevented his attending his children into Wales, (a compliment he thought he could not decently dispense with), much longer than he was aware of.
While D’Alonville was intoxicated with the delightful hope of being in a few days the husband of the woman he adored, and was ready to absolve his fate for all his former misfortunes, so far as they had affected only himself; Miss Milsington, not at all suspecting his real situation, was pleasing herself, in spite of her pride and her reason, with the flattering idea of having secured his gratitude — perhaps mingled with a more tender sentiment; for who, suggested her vanity, who could be obliged to Jemima Milsington, and not feel the sweetness of involuntary affection insensibly associating itself with the recollection of her goodness? Who could contemplate her mind without loving her person? From the first moment she had seen D’Alonville, she had been charmed with his person; and a dreadful vacancy having lately happened in her heart, by the defection of a titled dangler whom her excessive vanity had made her believe intended to marry her, she had some how or other suffered the image of the handsome young foreigner who had been introduced to her at Eddisbury, to usurp this enviable place, yet was hardly conscious she had done so, till she found she had talked as well as thought so much of D’Alonville, that Lady Aberdore at last told her of it— “My dear Milsington,” said she, as they were sitting alone in her dressing room, “you really bore one about that Frenchman — do you know, child that if you were eighteen, I should recommend it to your good mother to look carefully after you.”
“Gracious! Lady Aberdore,” answered the lady, blushing, albeit unused to the blushing mood— “Gracious, what have I said?”
“Oh, nothing,” replied the other, carelessly, “that is very unusual with women who are not extremely young, who of course are somewhat of veterans, and may talk of male beauty, I suppose, without so much impropriety; but for heaven’s sake, my dear creature, restrain yourself a little before the lady Viponts! consider that lady Tryphena is in her thirteenth year, and this Chevalier of your’s is to be her tutor in French, and so forth, and really to hear so much of his beauty, and his charms, and his gallantry, may make a girl that age fancy him a hero, and fall in love with him.”
Extremely nettled at this speech, Miss Milsington was preparing a very tart answer, when Lord Aberdore suddenly entered the room, to speak to his wife before he went to the levee. “Do you know, my Lord,” said she, laughing, “I have been preaching prudence to Jemima, and bidding her not praise so immoderately this French tutor you have engaged for Rock-March, at least before any younger persons, for they may not be aware, you know, that it is our cousin’s lively way, and may fancy, that a man praised by so good a judge must be something more than mortal — Pray tell me, my lord, for I have never seen him, is he such a very charming creature?”
“I looked to nothing, Lady Aberdore,” answered he coldly, “but his capacity of instructing my family in certain branches of their education: that I apprehend he possesses from Miss Milsington’s report, and in my opinion all other enquiry is improper and superfluous.”
The noble peer then turned to Miss Milsington, who has requested him to let his coach set her down at St. James’s, when he went thither, and asking if she was ready, they went away together. — The lady, swelling with resentment, which it was, however, necessary she should stifle; for the conveniences of Lady Aberdore’s houses and carriages were not to be given up, though the occasional advantages they afforded her were purchased by mean submission to the insulting caprices of her young, beautiful, and fortunate relation. The truth was, Lady Aberdore, though she found Miss Milsington useful as a companion, who would accompany her to public places when no other person would go with her, and fit with her, or read to her when she was whimsical or sick, yet did not love, and was glad to mortify her: this arose partly from having been bid, when a girl, to look up to her cousin as capable of instructing her in music and other acquirements; partly from her envy at those acquirements of which she possessed no share herself, and partly from natural malignity. This last instance of invidious remark, though it was not made without reason, sunk into the mind of Miss Milsington, and was not easily forgotten. But as she was to be of the party, who know towards the end of January were to go down to settle the new arrangements at Rock-March, she determined to be more guarded in speaking of D’Alonville; to resolve on thinking of him less, was not so much in her power.
The magnificence that reigned in the family she was now with, was far from bestowing happiness, or even content on the members of it. Lord Aberdore was one of those ambitious men who, without talents, aspire to the first places of power and patronage; and who, scrupling not to acquire that power by any means, are as meanly humble to their superiors, as insolent and overbearing towards whoever they consider as their inferiors. His character was a common one, and had little to distinguish it from numberless others in public life. In domestic life he was now governed by his wife, to whom he was said to have shewn too much attachment, long before there was a probability of his having it in his power to raise her to the rank she now enjoyed. He considered his children no otherwise, than as beings who were to perpetuate or aggrandize his family; but that the boys might be qualified to shine in political life, and the girls accomplished enough to aspire to the most illustrious alliances, he spared nothing that could contribute to complete their education, and was persuaded to believe, that this could be carried on better in the arrangement made at Rock-March, than it could be in London. Cold and stately towards his children, they had little pleasure in his company; and the young men were not sorry to enjoy that degree of liberty at a distance, on which his presence always seemed a restraint — while ladies Tryphena and Louisa, who had been taught by the old servants about them to detest their mother-in-law, were very glad to have a sort of an establishment of their own at a distance from her; though they were old enough to understand the motives that made Lady Aberdore desire their absence, and failed not to say they did, to every one they were allowed to see; some of whom repeated their remarks, which served only to determine her to hasten their departure; though as her lord intended to accompany them, she was compelled to sacrifice three weeks or a month of time which she thought it would have been much pleasanter to have passed in London.
While the enjoyments of wealth and affluence were thus embittered by the passions of jealousy and malignity, the humble lodging of Mrs. Denzil afforded a scene of at least transient happiness; and she had a heart that could delight in the felicity of others: yet to a mother, the giving away for ever a beloved child, is a period of excessive anxiety; it was particularly so to her, who had consented to the marriage of Angelina contrary to the general opinion of those few friends, who thought it worth while to give any opinion at all on the disposal of a young woman without fortune. — Experience of the futility of those plans and projects that parents usually form for the happiness of their children without consulting them; experience of the vanity of mere riches, “which make themselves wings and fly away” — and experience of the mercenary and fluctuating temper of a world, that bows the knee only to success, and that would worship idiotism or deformity, if it were raised on the wheel of fortune; had taught her to adopt for the remainder of her life, (of which much more than half had been passed as the miserable victim of the selfish policy of others,) the opinion of Voltaire, when he says,
Nous ne vivons que deux momens
Qu’il en foit un, pour le bonheur.
The longer she was acquainted with D’Alonville the more time she had given herself to study his temper and disposition, the more firmly she believed, that the day which made Angelina his, ought to be for her a day of joy. — To D’Alonville it seemed as if destiny, determined to teach him every extreme of misery and felicity, had now raised him to happiness beyond the lot of humanity. — He had the unexpected satisfaction of remaining almost a fortnight with his wife, before the final summons arrived which called him from her, to the duties he had undertaken in the family of Lord Aberdore.
But he left her with the delicious certainty that they should soon meet again to part no more — and he carried with him the delightful reflection, that it was for her he was engaging in an employment which, however contrary to his former habits of life, the idea of its contributing to her comfort would render not only easy but pleasant.
“There be some sports are painful, but their labour
“Delight in sets them off — Some kinds of baseness
Complete Poetical Works of Charlotte Smith Page 198