_April 2, 1703_
My dear and ever-beloved Cecilia is now on her way to Harwich. How
insipid will this task of recording all the little incidents of the day
now appear to me, when you, my sister, friend of my heart, are no longer
near me? how many tedious months will it be before I again embrace you?
how many days of impatience must I suffer before I can even hear from
you, or communicate to you the actions, the words, the thoughts of your
Sidney?--But let me not grow plaintive, the stile my friend hates--I
should be ungrateful (if I indulged it) to the best of mothers, who, to
gratify and amuse me on this first occasion of sorrow which I ever
experienced, has been induced to quit her beloved retirement, and come
on purpose to London, to rouze up my spirits, and, as she expresses
herself, to keep me from the sin of murmuring.
Avaunt then complainings! Let me rest assured that my Cecilia is happy
in her pursuits, and let me resolve on making myself so in mind.
_April 3_
We have had a letter from my brother George; he is landed, and we expect
him hourly in town. As our house is large enough, I hope he will consent
to take up his quarters with us while we stay in London. My mother
intends to request it of him: she says it will be for the _reputation_
of a gay young man to live in a _sober_ family. I know not how Sir
George may relish the proposal, as our hours are not likely to
correspond with those which I suppose he has been used to since he has
been absent from us. But perhaps he may not refuse the compliment; Sir
George is not averse to oeconomy.--How kind, how indulgent, is this
worthy Parent of mine! she will not suffer me to stay at home with her,
nay scarce allows me time for my journal. 'Sidney I won't have you stay
within; I won't have you write; I won't have you think--I will make a
rake of you; you shall go to the play to-night, and I am almost tempted
to go with you myself, though I have not been at one since your father's
death.'--These were her kind expressions to me just now.--I am indeed
indebted to her tenderness, when she relaxes so much of her usual
strictness, as even to _think_ of such a thing.
_April 5_
My brother returned to us this day, thank God! in perfect health. Never
was there such an alteration seen in a man; he is grown fat, and looks
quite robust. He dropped in upon us just as we sat down to dinner: what
a clutter has his arrival made! my mother was _so_ rejoyced, and _so_
thankful, and _so_ full of praises, and asked _so_ many questions, that
George could hardly find words enough to answer the over-flowings of her
kind inquisitiveness, which lasted all dinner-time.
When the cloth was removed, my mother proposed his taking up his abode
with us: you see, said she, your sister and I have got here into a large
house; there is full room enough in it for you and your servants; and as
I think in such a town as this it will be a reputable place for you to
live in, I shall be glad of your company; provided you do not encroach
upon my rules by unreasonable hours, or receiving visits from such as I
may not approve of for the acquaintance of your sister. I was afraid Sir
George would disrelish the terms, as perhaps some of his acquaintance
(though far from faulty ones) might fall within my mother's predicament:
but I was mistaken, he accepted of the invitation, after making some
slight apologies about the inconvenience of having so many servants:
this however was soon got over.
To say the truth, I am very glad that my brother has consented to be our
guest, as I hope by his means our circle of acquaintance will be a good
deal enlarged. There is no pleasure in society, without a proper mixture
of well-bred sensible people of both sexes, and I have hitherto been
chiefly confined to those of my own.
I asked Sir George jocosely, what he had brought me home? He answered,
perhaps a good husband.--My mother catched up the word--What do you
mean, Son? I mean, madam, that there is come over with me a gentleman,
with whom I became acquainted in Germany, who, of all the men I ever
knew, I should wish to have for a brother. If Sidney should fortunately
be born under the influence of _uncommonly_ good stars, it may happen to
be brought about. I can tell you (applying himself to me) he is
prepossessed in your favour already; I have shewn him some of your
letters, and he thinks you a good sensible girl. I told him you were
very well in your person, and that you have had an excellent education.
I hope so, said my mother, looking pleased; and what have you to tell us
of this wonderful man that so much surpasses every body? Why, madam for
_your_ part of his character, he is the best _behaved_ young man I ever
saw. I never knew any body equal to him for sobriety, nor so intirely
free from all the other vices of youth: as I lived in the same house
with him for some months, I had frequent opportunities of making my
observations. I have known him to _avoid_ many irregularities, but never
saw him guilty of _one_.
An admirable character indeed said my mother. So thought I too; but I
wanted to know a little more of him. Now Sidney for your share in the
description; I must tell you he is most exquisitely handsome, and
extremely sensible.
Good sense to be sure is requisite, said my mother, but as for beauty it
is but a fading flower at best, and in a man not at all necessary--A man
is not the worse for it, however, cried my brother--No--my mother
answered, provided it does not make him vain, and too fond of the
admiration of giddy girls--That I will be sworn is not the case of my
friend, answered Sir George, I believe no body with such a person as his
(if there _can_ be such another) would be so little vain of it; nay, I
have heard him declare, that even in a woman he would give the
preference to sense and virtue.
Good young man! cried my mother, I should like to be acquainted with
him. (So should I, whispered I to my own heart).
Well brother, said I, you have drawn a good picture; but to make it
complete, you must throw in generosity, valour, sweetness of temper, and
a great deal of money--Fie my dear (said my good _literal_ parent) a
_great deal_ is not necessary; a very moderate fortune with _such_ a man
is sufficient.
The good qualities you require in the finishing of my piece, answered my
brother, he possesses in an eminent degree--will that satisfy you? As
for his fortune--_there_ perhaps a difficulty may step in--What estate
madam (to my mother) do you think my sister's fortune may intitle her
to?
Dear brother, I cried, pray do not speak in that _bargaining_ way.
My mother answered him very gravely, Your father you know left her but
four thousand pounds; it is in my power to add a _little_ to it, if she
marries to please me. Great matters we have no right to expect; but a
_very_ good girl, as my daughter is, I think, deserves something more
than a bare equivalent. The equality, said my brother, (with a demure
look) I fear is out of all proportion here, for the gentleman I speak of
has but--six thousand pounds a year.
He burst out a laughing; it was not good-natured, and I was vexed at his
joke. My poor mother dropped her countenance; I looked silly, as if I
had been disappointed, but I said nothing.
Then he is above our reach, Sidney, answered my mother.
I made no reply--Have a good heart Sid, cried my brother; if my
nonpareil likes you, when he sees you, (I felt myself hurt, and grow
red) and without a compliment sister (seeing me look mortified) I think
he will, fortune will be no objection. I have already told him the
utmost extent of your expectations; he would hardly let me mention the
subject; he has a mind for _my_ sister, and if he finds her personal
accomplishments answer a brother's (perhaps partial) description, it
will be your own fault if you have not the prettiest fellow in England
for your husband.
My mother reassumed her pleased countenance. Where is he? let us see
him? I forced a smile, though I did not feel myself quite satisfied--We
parted on the road, my brother answered; he is gone to Bath, for a few
weeks; he has sent his servants and his baggage to town before him, and
has commissioned me to take a house for him in St. James's Square, or
some of the adjacent streets; so that we shall have him in our
neighbourhood.
My mother enquired on what account he went to Bath. Sir George said, he
complained of a weakness in one of his wrists, which was the consequence
of a fever that had seized him on his journey, in their return to
England. It seems he had finished his travels, on which he had been
absent near five years, when my brother and he met in Germany. The
liking he took to Sir George protracted his stay, and he resolved not to
quit him while his health obliged him to continue abroad; they took a
trip to Paris together, and returned home by Holland.
The name of this piece of perfection is Faulkland, Orlando Faulkland.
What a pretty name Orlando is! My mother says it is romantic, and
wonders how _sober_ people can give their children such names.
Now am I dying with curiosity to see this man. A few weeks at Bath--what
business he had to go to Bath till he had first settled his household at
London? His wrist might have grown well without the pump. I am afraid he
is gone to Bath only to shew himself, and that he will be snapped up
before he comes to town. I wish Sir George had kept the account of him
to himself, till he returned to London again.
_April 7_
We have settled Sir George's oeconomy within doors: my mother has been
very busy all day in fixing trunks, portmanteaus, and boxes, in their
proper places; and in appropriating the rooms for his men, which she has
taken care shall be as remote from those of our servants as the house
will admit. She says, she knows our own domestics to be orderly and
regular, but she cannot answer for what other people's may be.
I begin to recover my spirits: my brother's arrival has given new life
to the family; my mother thinks, that in _his_ company, with a lady or
two, there will be no impropriety in suffering me to go, at least, half
a dozen times into public during the season, even without the sanction
of her presence--How kind, how considerate is this dear mother! I find
this was one (amongst others) of her principal reasons for wishing Sir
George to be with us, as it will save her from the necessity of going to
public diversions, which otherwise she would have done, rather than have
me debarred the pleasure of partaking of them, through the want of a
proper protector. Every day lays me under fresh obligations to her.
_April 20_
My brother has had another letter from Mr Faulkland. He has been but a
fortnight at Bath, and already has found benefit from the use of the
pump; I wish his wrist was quite well; I never was so impatient to see
any body--But, Sidney, have a care--this heart has never yet been
touch'd: this man is represented as a dangerous object. What an an
ill-fated Girl should I be, if I should fall in love with him, and he
should happen not to like me? Should _happen_, what a vain expression
was that? I would not for the world any one should see it but my
Cecilia.--Well, if he should not like me, what then? why, I will not
like him. I have a heart, not very susceptible of what we young women
call love; and in all likelihood I shall be as indifferent to him, as he
may be to me--Indeed I think I ought to resolve on not liking him; for
notwithstanding those fine out-lines of a character, which my brother
gave of him in the presence of my mother, I have since drawn out of Sir
George, who is always talking of him, some farther particulars, which do
not please me so well; for I think he is made up of contrarieties.
Nature, says Sir George, never formed a temper so gentle, so humane, so
benevolent as his; yet, when provoked, no tempest is more furious. You
would imagine him so humble, that he thinks every one superior to
himself; yet through this disguise have I discovered, at certain times,
a pride which makes him look down on all mankind. With a disposition
formed to relish, and a heart attached to the domestic pleasures of
life, he is of so enterprising a temper, that dangers and difficulties
rather encourage than dishearten him in the pursuit of a favourite
point. His ideas of love, honour, generosity, and gratitude, are so
refined, that no hero in romance ever went beyond him; of this I was
convinced from many little incidents which occurred in the course of my
acquaintance with him. The modesty and affability of his deportment
makes every body fancy, when he is in company with them, that he is
delighted with their conversation; nay, he often affects to be improved
and informed; yet there is a sly turn to ridicule in him, which, though
without the least tincture of ill-nature, makes him see and represent
things in a light, the very opposite of that in which you fansied he saw
them. With the nicest discernment, where he permits his judgment alone
to determine, let passion interfere, and a child can impose on him.
Though as I have already told you he is very handsome, he affects to
despise beauty in his own sex; yet is it easy to perceive, by the nice
care he takes in his dress (though the farthest in the world from a
fop), that he does not altogether disregard it in his own person.
Are not these faults? yes, surely they are; yet Sir George protests he
has none; or at least says, if these be such, they are so overbalanced
by his good qualities, that unless it be _you_ sister (flattering
creature! though that is seldom his failing) I don't know the woman that
deserves him. I did not thank him for the compliment he paid me, at the
expense of the rest of our poor sex.
_May 5_
A month is past since my brother arrived, and Mr Faulkland does not yet
talk of coming to town--If Sir George had drawn half such a flattering
picture of me to him, as he has done of him to me, his curiosity would
have brought him here sooner.--My mother has mentioned him several
times, and asked when he is to be in town? My brother has taken a very
handsome house for him in the Square. We are all in expectation of this
blazing star's making its appearance in London. If he stays much longer,
my patience will be so tired, that I shall not give a pinch of snuff to
see him.
_May 19_
Six weeks, and no news of Mr Faulkland's coming! I'll positively give
him but another week; I begin to think myself affronted by his stay.
_May 23_
Now, now, my Cecilia, I can gratify your curiosity at full: he is come
at last; Mr Faulkland, I mean; Orlando is come! we had a message from
him this morning, to enquire after all our healths; he was just arrived
at his house in the Square: Sir George flew to him directly, and said he
would bring him without ceremony to take a family dinner. My mother bid
him do so; and she held a quarter of an hour's conference with her cook.
She is always elegant and exact at her table; but we were more than
ordinarily so to-day. My brother brought Mr Faulkland a little before
dinner-time, and presented him to my mother and me, with that kind of
freedom that almost look'd as if he were already one of the family.
We had both been prepossessed highly in favour of his figure, a
circumstance that seldom is of advantage to persons on their first
appearance: but here it had not that effect: Sir George did not overrate
the personal accomplishments of his friend. Now you'll expect I should
describe him to you, perhaps, and paint this romantic hero in the
glowing colours of romantic exageration. But I'll disappoint you--and
tell you, that he is neither like an Adonis nor an Apollo--that he has
no hyacinthine curls flowing down his back; no eyes like suns, whose
brightness and majesty strike the beholders dumb; nor, in short, no rays
of divinity about him; yet he is the handsomest mortal man that I ever
saw.--I will not say that his voice is harmony itself, and that all the
loves and graces (for why should not there be male as well as female
graces?) attend on his motions; that Minerva presides over his lips, and
every feature has its attendant Cupid--But I will acknowlege that his
voice in speaking is inexpressibly pleasing (you know how I admire an
agreeable voice); that his air and motions are easy, genteel, and
graceful; his conversation sensible and polite, and without the least
tincture of affection, that thing, which of all others, would to _me_
destroy the charms of an angel.--In short, without hyperbole, that he
is, what every one must allow, a perfectly handsome and accomplished
young man.
I never saw my mother appear so pleased with any one. The polite freedom
of his address, the attention and deference he seemed to pay to her
sentiments (and the dear good woman talked more to him, I think, than
ever I heard her do to any one on so short an acquaintance), delighted
her beyond expression. I bore no great part in the conversation, but was
not, however, quite overlooked by Mr Faulkland. He referred to me in
discourse now and then, and seemed pleased with me; at least I fancy'd
so. My brother endeavoured to draw me out, as he said afterwards. The
intention was kind, but poor Sir George is not delicate enough in those
matters; I should have done better if he had let me alone. I thought of
the conversations we had so often had about Mr Faulkland, and could not
help considering myself like a piece of goods that was to be shewn to
the best advantage to the purchaser. This reflection threw a sort of
constraint over my behaviour, that (fool as I was) I had not courage
enough to shake off, and I did not acquit myself at all to my own mind.
I had, notwithstanding, the good fortune to please my mother infinitely.
She told me, after our visitor was gone, that my behaviour had been
_strictly_ proper; and blamed Sir George for his wanting to engage me
too often in conversation. You may assure yourself, son, she said, that
a man of Mr Faulkland's understanding will not like a young lady the
worse for her silence. She spoke enough to shew that it was not for want
of knowing what to say that she held her tongue. The man who does not
reckon a modest reserve amongst the chief recommendations of a woman,
should be no husband for Sidney. I am sure, when I married Sir Robert,
he had never heard me speak twenty sentences. Sir George agreed with her
as to the propriety of her observation, in regard to a modest reserve;
but said, people now a-days did not carry their ideas of it quite so far
as they did when his father's courtship began with her; and added, that
a young lady might _speak_ with as much modesty as she could hold her
tongue.
I did not interfere in the debate, only said, I was very glad to have
my mother's approbation of my conduct. This put an end to the argument,
and my mother launched out into high encomiums on Mr Faulkland. She
said, upon her _truth_, he was the finest young man she ever saw, in
every respect. So modest, so well bred, so very entertaining, and so
unassuming, with all his fine accomplishments: She was quite astonished,
and owned she almost despaired of finding a young gentleman, of the
present mode of education, so _very_ unexceptionable in his behaviour.
If his morals answered to his outward deportment--there she stopped; or
rather Sir George interrupted her. I hope you'll believe madam, that my
knowlege of mankind is not so circumscribed, but that I can distinguish
between a real and an assumed character; and I will venture to assert,
that, in the whole circle of my acquaintance, I do not know _one_ so
unobjectionable, even in your strict sense of the word _morals_, as Mr
Faulkland.
Well, said my mother, I have the pleasure to observe to you (and I think
I am seldom mistaken in my judgment), that Mr Faulkland is at least as
well pleased with Sidney as we are with him--What say you daughter? Ay,
what _say_ you sister? cry'd Sir George--I think madam, that Mr
Faulkland is an accomplished gentleman, and--'and that you could be
content to look no farther, if matters are brought to bear; eh, Sidney?'
(I need not tell you whose speech this was)--Brother, that is going a
little too far, for the first time of my seeing him. A great _deal_ too
far, my mother said; let us first know Mr Faulkland's mind from himself,
before we say a word more of the matter.
Sir George told us, that Mr Faulkland, at going away, had requested he
would sup with him at his own house, as he said he had a few visits of
form to pay, and should be at home early in the evening.
_May 24_
My mother and I were in bed before my brother came in last night, though
he keeps very good hours in general. When we met this morning at
breakfast, I saw by Sir George's face that he was brimful of
something--Faulkland don't like you, Sidney, said he, abruptly--How can
you or I help that, brother? cry'd I, colouring; tho', to tell you the
truth, I did not believe him; for I knew, if it _had_ been so, he would
not have come out with it so bluntly. But my mother, who always takes
every word she hears literally, took him up very short; 'If he does not,
Sir, it is not polite in you to tell your sister so; I hope Sidney may
be _liked_ by as good a man as Mr Faulkland,' and up she tossed her dear
honest head. Sir George burst out a laughing. My mother looked angry;
she was afraid her sagacity would be call'd in question, after what she
had pronounced the evening before. I looked silly, but pretended to
smile. Sir George was clown enough to laugh on; at last (to my mother)
'But my dear madam, can you believe me serious in what I said? have you
so good an opinion of my veracity, or so ill a one of my breeding, as to
suppose I would shock my sister by such a rude declaration, if I meant
any thing by it but a joke?' Indeed, Sidney, (looking half smiling to
me) I would not be as much in love with our sovereign lady the queen, as
poor Faulkland is with you, for my whole estate.
This put me a great deal more out of countenance than what he had said
at first. Nay, brother, now you are too extravagant the other way--My
mother looked surprized, but recovered her good humour presently--Dear
George, there is no knowing when you are in earnest and when not: but,
as Sidney says, now you are rather too extravagant. You might say so to
Faulkland, answered my brother, if you were to hear him; I could get
nothing from him the whole night but your praises. I thought, said my
pleased mother, he had not _disliked_ the girl--Now you see, son, her
_silence_ did her no harm; and she smiled tenderly at me. Come, said Sir
George, things are mighty well on all sides. Faulkland has begged of me,
that I would use my interest with you, mother (whom he thinks one of the
best of women), that he may be permitted in form to make his addresses
to Miss Bidulph. _My_ interest he knows he has, and I hope, madam, it
will have your approbation--He desired me to explain minutely to you
every circumstance of his fortune: what his estate is I have told you;
and his family is of known distinction. He begged I would not _mention_
Sidney's fortune; and said, that if, upon a farther acquaintance, he
should have the happiness to be acceptable to my sister, he should
insist upon leaving the appointment of her settlement to lady Bidulph
and myself. I told him I would lay this proposal before you, and could
for his present comfort inform him, that, as I believed my sister had no
prepossessions in favour of any one else, I was sure, if he met with
your concurrence, her's would follow of course.
A very discreet answer, said my mother; just such a one as I would have
dictated to you, if I had been at your elbow. I believe we may venture
to suppose, that Mrs Sidney _has_ no prepossessions; and as this is as
handsome an offer as can possibly be made, I have no objections (if you
have none, my dear) to admit Mr Faulkland upon the terms he proposes.
What answer ought I to have made, Cecilia? Why, to be sure, just the one
I _did_ make--I have _no_ prepossessions, madam, looking down and
blushing, till it actually pained me, for I was really startled. My
Cecilia knows I am not a prude.