And all your wit--your most distinguished art,
But makes us grieve you want an honest heart!
BROWN.
Lady Eltondale was arrived at the meridian of life, and no longer
boasted the charms of youth, "_Elle ne fut pas plus jolie; mais elle fut
toujours belle_:" and perhaps the finished polish of her manners, and
matured elegance of her person, were now scarcely less attractive than
the loveliness of her earlier days had been: for beautiful she once was;
"Grace was in all her steps--Heav'n in her eye,
In all her gestures dignity:"
and, if "love" could have been added, she would have been, almost,
faultless.--But a cold, selfish disposition blasted the fair promise;
it was, "a frost, a chilling frost," that withered every bud of virtue!
And yet she was not absolutely wicked; she could not be accused of
having a _bad_ heart; it might rather be said she had no heart at
all.--And with every other requisite to form perfection in a female
character, this one defect neutralized all the bounteous gifts of
nature--her very talents, like those of Prometheus, were perverted, and
preyed on her own soul; whilst the aching void, left by the total
absence of all the nameless charities of life, she had vainly
endeavoured to fill up by a restless, endless passion for scheming,
either for herself or others.--She would, perhaps, have shuddered at the
thought of designedly laying a plan to undermine the happiness of
another; yet such were the sophistical powers of her mind, that she
seldom failed in sincerely persuading herself, that whatever plan she
proposed to execute, was, in reality, the most desirable that could be
adopted,--and, with this conviction, she had scarcely ever been known
to relinquish a project she had once formed, and seldom failed, either
by art or perseverance, to obtain her end.
Her history was a very common one--Her father died while she was young,
leaving her mother and herself a comfortable, though not a splendid
provision, as all the landed property descended to her brother, Sir
Henry Seymour, who was many years older than she was.
The dowager lady Seymour, a weak woman, but indulgent parent, was easily
prevailed on by her lovely daughter, to choose London for her place of
residence; and when Sir Henry married, their visits to Deane Hall, which
had never been frequent entirely ceased. Miss Seymour meantime took
every advantage of the opportunities her new line of life afforded. She
cultivated with assiduity and success every brilliant accomplishment,
and was admired even more than her own vanity, and her mother's blind
partiality, had taught her to expect. Her pretensions rose in proportion
to her success; and at one time she fancied nothing less than a ducal
coronet could render the chains of matrimony supportable. At last,
however, after a thousand schemes and speculations, in a moment of
pique, she accepted the title of viscountess, which was all Lord
Eltondale had to offer, except a splendid temporary establishment; as
nearly all his property was entailed on his son by a former marriage.
Indeed, so dissimilar were their tastes, characters, and pursuits, that
their union was a seven days' wonder; and would not, perhaps, ever have
taken place, had not Miss Seymour, in the prosecution of a far different
plan, at first unguardedly encouraged, or rather provoked, Lord
Eltondale's addresses; and he, "good easy man," _had not time_ to
develope the cause of the flattering selection.
Lord Eltondale was one of those unoffending, undistinguished mortals,
who would most probably have returned to his original clay unnoticed and
unwept, had not fortune, in one of her most sportive moods, hung a
coronet on his brow, and thus dragged the Cymon into observation. He
possessed neither talents nor acquirements, and held "the harmless
tenour of his way" in equal mean betwixt vice and virtue.
By nature he was a gourmand, and by fashion a farmer; for, strange to
say, amongst the other changes this century has produced, not the least
remarkable is the insatiable ambition of our peers to rival--not their
ancestors--but their coachmen and ploughmen. But, even in the only
science Lord Eltondale affected to understand, his learning was only
superficial: he delighted in going through the whole farming vocabulary;
could talk for hours of threshing machines, and drilling machines, and
Scotch ploughs, and bush harrows; particularly if he was so fortunate
as to meet with an auditor, whose learning on those subjects did not
transcend his own. He was also an inimitable judge of the peculiar merit
of sheep and oxen, when they were transformed into beef and mutton: but
of real useful agriculture, that art which is one of England's proudest
boasts, he only knew enough to entitle him to imitate a clown in
appearance, and to constitute him an honorary member of different
farming societies; which, besides procuring him sundry good dinners,
particularly suited the supineness of his disposition, by giving him an
excuse, "_De ne rien faire, en toujours faisant des riens_[5]."
[Footnote 5: To do nothing in always doing nothings.]
Such was the partner the lovely Miss Seymour chose for life; and as the
death of her mother, and that of the only child she ever had, occurred
before the expiration of the second year of her marriage, she was left
without any tie to attach her to a domestic life; while her own
conscious superiority to her lord deprived her of any support from him,
which might have guided her, as she swam on the highest wave of fashion.
Sir Henry Seymour experienced at least as much surprise as pleasure, at
such an unexpected visit from his sister and the viscount; but he did
not suspect the object of it, till her ladyship herself explained it to
him the following morning. Indeed the only motive that could have been
strong enough, to induce her to return, even for a few hours, to a place
she so much abhorred, was that which now had brought her; namely, an
anxious desire to promote a marriage between Selina Seymour and her
step-son, Mr. Elton. Lady Eltondale was well aware, that her
extravagance, and her lord's indolence, had already swallowed up any
ready money they had originally possessed, and that whenever the
property came into the hands of Frederick Elton, little, if any thing,
would be left for her support, except what she should receive from his
generosity; and therefore she had determined to secure for him one of
the richest and loveliest brides England could offer, believing, that by
so doing she should not only increase his power of being generous, but
also establish her claims on his everlasting gratitude. It is true she
was not certain, that such a step would ensure the happiness, or even
meet the approbation of Frederick. On that point, strange as it may
appear, Lady Eltondale had bestowed but little consideration,
(self-interest being always paramount in her mind), as this plan would
be certainly beneficial to herself, she determined to consider it
equally advantageous to him. In fine, she had been the first to suggest
it; she had long meditated on it, and at last resolved upon it: having
thus made up her own mind, the difficulties which might occur in the
prosecution of her scheme, if any should arise, would but make her more
solicitous for its accomplishment.
At first Lady Eltondale found some little difficulty in persuading Sir
Henry to accede to her proposal; not that he for a moment recollected
the cruelty of engaging irrevocably his daughter's hand, before he even
enquired into the state of her affections; or that he reflected on the
danger of confiding a character so volatile as was Selina's to the
guardianship of a young man they were both totally unacquainted with.
Sir Henry only hesitated, from an unwillingness to part from her
himself; for he was one of those fatally partial parents, who, prizing
too highly their daughters' society, often sacrifice their happiness to
that selfish consideration. But to every objection he could urge Lady
Eltondale had some specious answer ready: she reminded him, that Mr.
Elton was then abroad, and that his return might possibly be delayed
for some time; dwelt upon the excellence of his character; and finally,
more by perseverance than argument, succeeded in obtaining Sir Henry's
promise, that he would consent to their marriage taking place, as soon
as Frederick returned from the continent. Lady Eltondale well understood
that magic, which is the empire a strong mind exercises over a weaker;
and had so well worked on all the springs of poor Sir Henry's, that he
gave the required promise as explicitly as she demanded it; for she was
well aware, that if once she prevailed on him to give such a promise,
not even his deference to Mrs. Galton's opinion would induce him to
break it. But as of the tendency of that opinion Lady Eltondale had a
sort of presentiment, she wished to save herself the trouble of
combating it; and therefore prevailed on her brother not to mention it
during the short remainder of her stay at the Hall, on the pretence of
sparing her "dear Selina's feelings;" and as he was for many reasons
not unwilling to dismiss the subject from his thoughts, he agreed to the
required silence.
The evening of that day, which sealed Selina's destiny, passed over
without any particular circumstance to mark its progress, save only that
Lady Eltondale was even, if possible, more attractive than ever. She
eminently possessed that "complaisance, which adopts the ideas of others
as its own; and all that politeness, in fine, which perhaps is not
virtue itself, yet is sometimes its captivating resemblance, which gives
laws to self-love, and enables pride to pass every instant by the side
of pride, without offending." This art she was in the daily habit of
exercising towards all her associates; but to delude or flatter Mrs.
Galton, Lady Eltondale always felt, was a task of no small difficulty.
Her penetration and her modesty were both too great to be easily evaded;
and her character was composed of such delicate tints, blended
insensibly into so admirable a whole, that to bring forward only one
part seemed to destroy that unity, which constituted its perfection.
Besides, Mrs. Galton was so true, so simple, in all she said, and
thought, and did, that she seemed sanctified by her own purity: and
though the artful viscountess could not feel all the beauty of such a
mind, its very greatness, unadorned as it was, impressed her with an awe
so unusual, that the stranger feeling degenerated into repugnance and
distrust. Yet even to her her manner on the eventful night was
complaisant in the extreme--to Sir Henry it was affectionate, to Selina
indulgent; and to Mordaunt a veil of tempered coquetry gave a dazzling
attraction to all her words, looks, and actions. In her intercourse with
him, she chose to avail herself of all the privileges she could derive
from her seniority; while the fascinations of her wit, the elegance of
her manner, and the real beauty of her person, gave her a dangerous
power over an unpractised heart, which the artless charms of
inexperienced youth dared not have used, and could scarcely have
possessed. Little aware were the innocent members of the circle she was
delighting, that her increased animation and her improved charms arose
from the glow of conscious pride, as she triumphantly reflected on the
success of her scheme; a scheme which, nevertheless, she had sufficient
penetration to discover, would blight the fairest prospects of those she
appeared most sedulous to please; and which might destroy for ever the
happiness of a scene, that, till the moment of her intrusion, had
bloomed another Paradise.