Manners Volume I Part 3

Mrs. Galton was not as entirely unprepared for the communication as poor Augustus had been. She knew enough of Lady Eltondale's character to surmise, that her sudden re-appearance at Deane Hall could neither have been unpremeditated or without design; and, from some hints which Lady Eltondale had casually dropped in the course of conversation, her penetration had led her to form some tolerably accurate surmises on the subject. When, therefore, she entered the study, she was more grieved than surprised at the looks of painful emotion, with which Sir Henry received her. The poor old man, embarra.s.sed with his own thoughts, began with more circ.u.mlocution than explicitness, to relate the circ.u.mstances, and ended a most perplexed speech by abruptly informing Mrs. Galton of the proposal. "It is as I expected," calmly replied she. "Aye! aye!"

exclaimed the delighted Baronet, "I knew if any one would guess it you would.--I should never have thought of it myself." "But have you given your consent, Sir Henry?" "Given my consent--Good Lord! what do you mean! Well to be sure, all the world's run mad to-day, I think! Why, bless my heart! didn't you say it was what you expected?" "I could not expect; my dear sir, that you would give your consent to any proposal on which the future happiness of Selina's whole life depends, without deliberation, and a proper understanding and consideration of her feelings on the subject." "But, good Lord! I tell you again I _have_ given my consent." "Not irrevocably, I hope, Sir Henry; you know nothing of Mr. Elton's character, taste, or disposition; you know nothing.--"

"G.o.d forgive me for being in a pa.s.sion," interrupted Sir Henry, "but the perverseness of women is enough to provoke a saint, which, the Lord help me, I'm not.--But you know, Mrs. Galton," continued he, in a more moderate tone, "you know Frederick Elton is a connection of our own;--and as for our not being acquainted with him--don't you remember he came here from school one Easter holidays, and gave Selina the measles by the same token, poor child!" "Forgive me, Sir Henry," calmly replied Mrs. Galton, "but I do not think that is knowing him well enough to decide on his t.i.tle to Selina's esteem; and, believe me, that dear girl will never be happy unless she marries a man she not only esteems but loves." "Well, and didn't Lady Eltondale tell me Selina would certainly love Frederick Elton? She says he is twice as handsome as Augustus Mordaunt; which, good Lord! is unnecessary, for Augustus, poor boy, is as fine a young man as ever I saw in my life." "Aye, poor Augustus!" sorrowfully exclaimed Mrs. Galton, "he would indeed have been happy with Selina, and G.o.d knows, he is the character that of all others would best have suited her." "Augustus Mordaunt, Mrs. Galton! Well to be sure! Good Lord! who would have thought of that! However, poor boy, though I don't give him Selina, I'll take care to give him something else--he shall never be dependent on that old uncle of his."

Mrs. Galton saw it was in vain to contend at that moment with the Baronet, who was fully convinced that his promise was irrevocable, and that after all it was the best thing he could do, for Bell had told him so. All that Mrs. Galton could procure was a promise no less positive, that he would not give Selina the most distant hint of the project, by which she hoped not only to prolong her present days of peace, but also faintly flattered herself, that something might occur to prevent their union, between then and the time of Mr. Elton's return from abroad.

In the mean time Augustus prosecuted his useless ride--

"Il va monter en cheval pour bannir son ennui, Le chagrin monte en croupe et galoppe apres lui."

Finding solitary reflection rather increased than cured his malady, he at last determined to open his heart, to his reverend friend, Mr.

Temple; and, alighting at the parsonage, sent his servant back to the hall, to say he should not return to dinner--an intimation which considerably increased the gloom which pervaded the countenance of each individual of the trio, that was seated in silence round the dinner-table. Sir Henry and Mrs. Galton were each occupied by their own reflections; and Selina felt depressed, not only by the unusual absence of Augustus, but also from the effects of that vacuum, which the departure of guests, however few in number, always makes in a country house. After dinner she strolled listlessly from one room to another; took up and laid down, alternately, all the books that lay on the library table; sauntered to the harpsichord, and played parts of several anthems, without finishing any, and stopping every five minutes, in the vain belief that she heard the trampling of Mordaunt's horse. At last, at an hour long before her usual bed-time, she retired to her room, wondering what could keep him so late, and thinking she had never spent so long, so tiresome an evening; whilst she involuntarily contrasted it with the hours winged on swiftest pinions, which the fascinations of Lady Eltondale's manners had so delightfully beguiled the night before.

CHAPTER VIII.

----Men Can counsel and give comfort to that grief, Which they themselves not feel.

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.

Augustus met with his usual kind reception at the parsonage; nor was it long before he found the opportunity he wished of consulting his earliest and most revered friend; for Mrs. Temple quickly perceived, that something hung heavy on the bosom of this young man, whom she loved almost as a son, and therefore soon retired from the dinner-table, leaving the two gentlemen _tete a tete_, believing that he would find as much comfort as she ever did, from conversing freely with him who was "her guide, her head;" for, like our first parents, they lived, "he for G.o.d only, she for G.o.d in him."

No sooner did Augustus find himself alone with Mr. Temple, than his oppressed heart found a ready vent, and he poured into the sympathetic ear of his reverend auditor a full detail of all his feelings. He had first discovered how ardently he loved Selina, at the moment he had learned she was destined for another; and he described, with all the eloquence of pa.s.sion, the agony, the despair he now experienced. Mr.

Temple had not yet forgotten what it was to love; and, "though time had thinn'd his flowing hair," his feelings had not yet become torpid under its benumbing influence. He could listen with patience, and even pity, to the wild effusions of his favourite's grief, while he waited calmly till the first burst of pa.s.sion should subside, and leave room for the exercise of sober reason.--"Come, come, my dear Augustus," said he, at last, "your case is neither a singular nor a desperate one: there are very few young men of your age, that do not fancy themselves as deeply in love as you do now, and, of the number, not one in five hundred marry the object of their first choice: indeed it is often very fortunate for them they do not."--"But Selina Seymour! where is such another woman to be found?" exclaimed Augustus: and then, with all a lover's vehemence, did he expatiate on her "matchless charms." "I grant you," replied Mr.

Temple, "she is a very delightful girl; and, as far as we can judge, is likely to make a most estimable woman. But you know her disposition is naturally volatile in the extreme, and much of her future character will depend on her future guides. Well, well, we will not dispute on the degree of her merits," continued Mr. Temple, seeing Mordaunt ready to take up the gauntlet in her defence;--"hear me only with calmness, and I will promise to confine my observations as much as I can to yourself.

You know, my dear boy, you are yet very young, and very inexperienced.

It is true you have been three years at Oxford. But of the world you may literally be said to know nothing. Selina is now certainly the most charming woman you have yet seen; but how can you be sure she will always hold her pre-eminence in your estimation? Aye, my dear fellow, you need not tell me;--I know you are at this moment perfectly convinced of your own inviolable constancy, and so forth. But let me tell you, you do not yourself know yet what would, and what would not, const.i.tute your happiness in a wedded life. The girl, whose vivacity and animation we delight in at seventeen, may turn out a frivolous and even contemptible character at seven and twenty. And can you picture to yourself a greater calamity, than being obliged to drag on the lengthened chain of existence with a companion, to whose fate yours is linked for ever, without one tone of feeling in unison with yours; to whom your pleasures and your griefs are alike unknown, or, if known, never comprehended; and where every misery is aggravated by a certainty that your fate is irremediable--when

'Life nothing blighter or darker can bring;'

when

'Joy has no balm, and affliction no sting?'

"It is very true that you think now, because Selina's pursuits have hitherto been similar to yours, that her character must likewise be in sympathy with yours. But, though I grant that it appears so now, I deny that it is in any way so formed as to be safely depended on. She is very young and very docile; and, believe me, her disposition, chameleon-like, will, most probably, take the shade of whomsoever she a.s.sociates with:--'_Dimmi con chi vai, e vi diso quel che fai_[6].' You say, if you were her husband you would be her guide; and that similitude of character, now faintly traced, would be confirmed for ever. But without dwelling on the argument, that your own is yet scarcely formed, let me remind you, that Selina is even still more ignorant of the world than yourself. Let me ask you, even in this moment of unrestrained pa.s.sion, would you consent to accept that dear innocent girl's hand, without a certainty that with it you received her heart? And how could you be certain of her affection, till time and experience, by maturing her judgment, had confirmed her feelings? How, Augustus, would you support the conviction, nay the bare suspicion, that when, as your wife, you first introduced her to that world from which she has. .h.i.therto lived so totally secluded, she should meet with another, whom she even thought she could have preferred to you; and, while you continued to gaze on her with the eye of tenderest love, you found your heart's warm offering received with the cold petrifying glance of indifference? You shudder at the very thought. Think, then, how the arrow that wounded you would be doubly sharpened, if the slanderous tooth of envy galled your fair fame, by accusing you of having secured to yourself Sir Henry Seymour's property by marrying his heiress, before the poor girl was old enough to judge for herself. What, then, my dear boy," said Mr. Temple, grasping his hand with a fervour almost paternal, whilst his eyes swam in tears, "What, then, Augustus, is the result of these observations, more painful to me to make than to you to hear? You acknowledge you would not even wish to marry Selina under these existing circ.u.mstances. What then is your misery? Look at it boldly in the face; and, trust me, few are the antic.i.p.ated evils of life, which, by being steadily gazed at, do not dwindle into insignificance. Lord Eltondale has proposed his son to be Miss Seymour's husband; and the match is sufficiently desirable, in a worldly point of view, to obtain Sir Henry Seymour's consent. But Selina, you say, knows nothing of it yet, and has never seen Mr. Elton.

What then does it all come to? Why, when she does see him, if she does not like him, do you think her father would force her to marry him? and if she should like him, would you accept her hand, even if it were offered to you?"

[Footnote 6: Tell me with whom she goes, and I'll tell you what she does.]

Mr. Temple had not so long continued his discourse without frequent interruptions from Augustus, who could not at first easily be persuaded to a.s.sent to a.s.sertions, which tended to destroy the fairy dream of bliss that floated in his imagination. By degrees, however, as his judgment cooled, he acceded to the plain but severe truths which Mr.

Temple uttered; while the deference and regard, which his pupil had always felt for the excellent old man, served still more effectually to obtain the conviction he aimed at, than even the logical strength of his reasoning.

By degrees, Mordaunt not only confessed the truth of his remarks, but submitted to the wise plan of conduct, which Mr. Temple laid down for him.

He proposed that Augustus should immediately leave the hall, and return to the prosecution of his studies at Oxford, leaving to time not only the development of Selina's character, but also the proof of to what extent he was actually attached to her.

Their conversation was prolonged to a late hour; and when Mordaunt returned home, the family had all retired to rest, and the door was opened by a servant, who, at the same time, shaded with his hand the glimmering candle, which but partially illuminated the darkly wain-scotted hall. Augustus felt a chill creep through his veins as he quickly traversed it; and walking mechanically into the empty drawing-room, stopped a few minutes in melancholy silence. The music Selina had been playing was carelessly strewed over the harpsichord; the sermon book, in which Mrs. Galton had been reading, was laid open on the table; and Sir Henry's knotted cane had fallen down beside the chair, in which he usually took his evening nap. A sort of involuntary reflection pa.s.sed through the mind of Augustus, that he might never again meet those three beloved individuals in that room, which had hitherto been to him the scene of his happiest hours; and shrinking from the melancholy train of ideas which this reflection gave birth to, he hastily retired to his room, though not to rest. Many a time, during that wakeful night, did the same reflection cross his mind; and many a time, in his future life, did it recur to his recollection with a poignant force. So often does it happen that melancholy fancies, occasioned in the mind by the temporary pressure of sorrow, are recalled to the memory by subsequent events, and, dignified by the accidental confirmation of casual circ.u.mstances, receive the name of _prophetic warnings_.

CHAPTER IX.

_Sneer._--True; but I think you manage ill: for there certainly appears no reason why Mr. Walter should be so communicative.

_Puff._--For, egad now, that is one of the most ungrateful observations I ever heard;--for the less inducement he has to tell all this, the more I think you ought to be obliged to him; for I am sure you'd know nothing of the matter without it.

_Dangle._--That's very true, upon my word.

THE CRITIC.

Augustus rose next morning at the first dawn of light; and, anxious to avoid seeing Selina, whilst agitated by the unhappy feelings that had now taken possession of his mind, left the hall before any of the family were up, and in a short note, excused the abruptness of his departure, by informing Sir Henry, that he had the evening before received at the village a letter, to inform him that his Oxford friends had set out on their long promised excursion to the lakes.

Selina, though totally unconscious of the real cause of his absence, felt it with unusual acuteness, which Mrs. Galton remarked with regret, and for some time vainly endeavoured to turn her thoughts into their usual channel. At length they were in some degree diverted by the arrival of a letter from Lady Eltondale to Sir Henry, enclosing one from Frederick Elton to his father; for Sir Henry's n.o.ble sister was fully aware, that it was adviseable to remind him, from time to time, of the existence of this young man, that such reminiscence might refresh his memory as to his promise respecting him.

Mr. Elton had been three years abroad, during which time he had kept up a constant though not very confidential correspondence with his father; for, dreading Lady Eltondale's satire, and knowing she was in the habit of reading all his letters, he pictured to himself her smile of contempt, or shrug of pity, at what she would term his romance, with a repugnance he could not summon resolution to encounter: so that, though his colloquial intercourse with his father was that of the most perfect confidence, his written communications might have been posted on a gateway, without the smallest detriment to his prospects in life. But, as he thus felt himself debarred of the happiness of expressing, without reserve, to his first and best friend, all his feelings and wishes, he endeavoured to console himself for this deprivation, by a most undisguised correspondence with a Mr. Sedley, with whom he had formed a friendship during their academical course in the university of Cambridge, where they had both been honourably distinguished.

About twelve months before Lady Eltondale's visit to Deane Hall, Mr.

Sedley had received the first of the following letters, and seven months after its arrival the two latter, though of different dates, reached him on the same day: of course they did not meet the eye of the viscountess, so that she remained ignorant of their contents; but even had she known them entirely, no consideration for Frederick's _happiness_ would for an instant have caused her to waver in her plan for promoting his _prosperity_, as on the fulfilment of her long meditated scheme for this purpose depended the possibility of her future continuance in the London world.

MR. ELTON, TO CHARLES SEDLEY, ESQ.

Catania, January 9. ----

If you have received the various letters I have written to you, my dear Sedley, since I left England, you are perfectly _au fait_ of all my rambles; and of my perils, and "hair-breadth 'scapes" by sea and by land, beginning with a shipwreck on the island of Rhodes, and ending with the dangers I encountered in paying my compliments to the Dey of Algiers: if not I must refer you to my note book, as a twice told tale is still more tedious to the relater than to the hearer. You must not be incredulous, if said ma.n.u.script should contain many wonderful adventures; but I have met with something more rare, more "pa.s.sing strange," than all the marvels it describes: a woman I _can_ love! nay, that, for my very soul, I could not help loving if I would; and, to say truth, at present I do not wish to make the experiment.

You see, Sedley, you were in the main no bad prophet. When we were together, I forswore all womankind in the way of matrimony, because I was disgusted with the manoeuvres of t.i.tle-hunting mamas, and the _agaceries_ of their varnished daughters, who have little distinction but name, and nothing to guide a selection in the ma.s.s of resemblance--nothing to mark their ident.i.ty--except a scruple, more or less, of folly or coquetry! Now don't plume yourself too much on your penetration; you were not altogether right, it was not the Gallic "_Erycina ridens, quam Jocus circ.u.mvolat et Cupido_[7],"

who captivated me.--Man seeks in man his fellow, but in woman his contrary; and I am too volatile to be touched by a creature as thoughtless as myself. I should not say as _thoughtless_, but as _gay_; for their heads are continually filled with schemes to excite admiration, or ensure conquest: besides, the Parisian belle is only the more spirited original, of which our own girl of fashion is the elegant but insipid translation. Having told you those I do _not_ like, it is time to give you a faint, a very faint, idea of her I _do_ admire.--But let me go on regularly, and tell you first how I happened to meet with her.

[Footnote 7: Laughing Venus, encircled by Love and Joy.]

At Palermo there is a very numerous, if not good society, made up of shreds and patches of the staple manufacture of all nations, but princ.i.p.ally of the English produce. You know, it is my practice to profit, when abroad, by that of whatever country I may happen to be in, as our own is to be had better and at a cheaper rate at home.

Impressed with this idea, I procured some introductions to the princ.i.p.al n.o.bility of this enchanting place, where, I understood, there was a delightful native society, and the gentlemanly amus.e.m.e.nts of drinking and gambling (the only ones to be found at Palermo and Messina) were nearly superseded by those afforded by music, dancing, and literary conversation. I have not been disappointed; and if you should ever come to Sicily, I advise you to take up your abode here, and I will introduce you to all my acquaintance, with _one_ exception. About four months ago, I found myself, one evening, at the Marchese Di Rosalba's, listening to some exquisite music: I was as melancholy as a poet in love, for "I am never merry when I hear sweet music;" when my eyes happened to rest on a lady, whose image will never leave my mind.

From the looks of the gentleman who accompanied her, I soon discovered that the fair creature, who rested on his arm, was his daughter. In his face was a strangely mingled expression of habitual care, and present pleasure; his forehead was furrowed in a thousand wrinkles, and the feverish glare of his eye spoke a mind ill at ease: but when he turned to his daughter, to point out to her notice, in the tacit language of the eye, any beautiful pa.s.sage in the music, he looked like a saint raised from his penance by a vision of celestial nature. Her countenance formed the most perfect contrast to his; it was the abode of peace, which seemed to repose in her eye; her whole outline of face and form was so perfect, that a sculptor might have taken her as a model for the statue that Pygmalion worshipped; and, like him, I longed to see the beauteous image waken to incipient thought--I was not long ungratified--its apparent absence was only the effect of the music, which, to use her own expression "_fait tout rever et ne rien penser_." When she joined in conversation her ever varying countenance resembled a mirror, which transmits to our eye every pa.s.sing image, (though the polished surface is itself unmasked by any), and, like it, owing its animation to the strong reflecting power gained from within. I could not decide then, and I cannot tell you even now, whether I most admire the angelic placidity of her countenance when silent, or its luminous brilliancy, when her ideas and feelings are called forth in interesting conversation. At such moments the brightness of her soul is reflected in her eyes, and the lambent flame, which then plays in them, seems, like the summer's lightning, to open a Heaven to our view.

You will easily suppose I lost no time in introducing myself to her notice: she received my attentions in the most unembarra.s.sed manner--not courting--not repulsing them, but seeming to consider them as justly due to her s.e.x, and her rank in society. These attentions I have not ceased to pay at every possible opportunity since that delightful evening, and my admiration grows stronger every day. I find her conversation truly charming; and I devoutly believe it would be so were she externally the reverse of what she is; for, in speaking, "she makes one forget every thing--even her own beauty." She has not found out, that her extensive knowledge is any thing to be ashamed of. But, poor thing! a short residence in England would teach her that! She neither conceals nor displays her acquirements. The stream of thought, in _her_ mind, flows, not like the little mountain torrent, swelled by accidental rains, exceeding every bound, and defacing the fair soil it should adorn; but, like the fertilizing river,

"Though deep yet clear, though gentle yet not dull, Strong without rage, without o'erflowing full."

In the beginning of our acquaintance we conversed in Italian, but as I was not very fluent, she politely adopted the French language as the circulating medium of our commerce, and I was half sorry for it; for besides the beauty of Italian in her mouth, her good-natured smile, when I eked out my scanty stock with a word or two of Latin, pleased me better than all the rest, it was so encouragingly kind, so _untutored_!

I soon found out she had a quick sense of the ridiculous, but only because sharp-sighted people cannot go through the world with their eyes shut. She forbears, from the benevolence of her heart, to use the powers of ridicule her penetration furnishes her with; and I admire her the more for having at command an a.r.s.enal of wit, with so many polished weapons unused. We are always attached to the generous enemy, who can strike, but spares!

I have been so delighted with the employment of defining to myself, for the first time, my ideas of the object of my admiration, that (pardon me, my dear Sedley) I quite forgot they were to be read by another; and, perhaps, should have gone on till to-morrow, had not my servant, coming to inquire if my letters were ready to be conveyed to the ship which is to carry them to England, roused me from my soliloquy, (if you will permit me to extend this expression to writing).