though I propose nothing more by it, than that you may think of me
with less detestation. You have banished me from your presence: I
am a voluntary exile from my country, and from my friends: submit
to the chastisement, and would do anything to expiate my offence
against you and Miss Bidulph. There is but _one_ command which you
can possibly lay on me, to which I would not pay a perfect and
ready obedience; but that act, perhaps, is the _only_ one which
would make me appear worthy of your esteem.
The lady whom it has been my ill fate to render unhappy, and by
whom I am made unutterably so, will, ere long, come to a house at
Putney, which I have taken on purpose for her. I have placed in it
my housekeeper, a grave worthy woman, under whose care she will be
safe, and attended with that secresy and tenderness which her
condition requires.
I have written to her a faithful account of every thing relative
to my hoped-for alliance with your family, and the occasion of the
treaty's being broken off. As she must, by this means, know that
your ladyship is acquainted with her story, I have told her, that,
perhaps you might, from the interest you took in her misfortune,
be induced to see her in her retirement. Let me, therefore,
conjure you, madam, by that pious zeal which governs all your
actions, and by the love you bear that daughter so deservedly dear
to you, to take compassion on this young lady. She has no friends,
nor any acquaintance in this part of the kingdom; her situation
will require the comfort of society, and perhaps, the advice of
wisdom. It will be an act worthy of your humanity to shew some
countenance to her.
I think she will be in very good hands with the honest woman who
waits her coming; but if any thing should happen otherwise than
well, it would make me doubly wretched.
To one who has no resources of contentment in her own bosom,
solitude cannot be a friend; this I fear may be the lady's case;
and this makes me with the more earnestness urge my request to
you. Forgive me, madam, for the liberty I take with you; a
liberty, which, though I confess it needs an apology, yet is it at
the same time a proof of the confidence I have in you, which I
hope will not affront either your candour or your virtue.
If you will condescend to grant this request, I shall obtain the
two wishes at present most material to my peace; the one to secure
to the lady a compassionate friend, already inclined to espouse
her cause; the other, to put it in your power to be satisfied from
the lady's own mouth, of the truth of what I have asserted. I
trust to her generosity to deal openly on this occasion.
I wish you and Miss Bidulph every blessing that Heaven can bestow,
and am, with great respect,
Madam,
Your ladyship's
Most obedient humble Servant,
ORLANDO FAULKLAND.
P.S. The lady will go by the name of Mrs Jefferis: you will pardon
me for not having mentioned her _real name_. I never yet told it
even to Sir George; but I presume she will make no secret of it to
you, if you honour her with a visit.
Poor Orlando! unhappy Miss B! I could name a third person, that is not
_happy_ neither. What a pity it is, that so many good qualities, should
be blotted by imperfections! how tender is his compassion for this poor
girl! how ingenuous his conduct! but still he flies from her. I fear she
can never hope to recover him. There is but _one_ thing, he says, which
_he would not do; the only act, perhaps, by which he could make himself
appear worthy of my mother's esteem_. The meaning of this but too
plainly shews him determined against marrying Miss B. I don't know any
thing else which would reconcile my mother to him.
I make no doubt of her complying with Mr Faulkland's request in seeing
the lady; she is very compassionate, particularly to her own sex.
What a _strange resource_ indeed is this of Mr Faulkland's, to appeal to
the lady herself! What am I to judge from it, but that the unfortunate
victim, ignorant of the treachery that was practised against her by her
wicked aunt, and that her destroyer paid a _price_ for her dishonour,
exculpates him from the worst part of the guilt, and perhaps, poor easy
creature, blames her own weakness only for the error which a concealed
train of cunning and perfidy might have led her into?
But even supposing Miss B. were generous and candid enough (and great
indeed must be her candour and generosity) to justify this guilty man,
What would it avail? Did not my mother tell me she conceived a _sort of
horror at the bare idea of an union between Mr Faulkland and me_? This
arises from the strong impression made on her by the unlucky event which
blasted her own early love. Strong and early prejudices are almost
insurmountable.
My mother's piety, genuine and rational as it is, is notwithstanding a
little tinctured with superstition; it was the error of her education,
and her good sense has not been able to surmount it; so that I now the
universe would not induce her to change her resolution in regard to Mr
Faulkland. She thinks he _ought_ to marry miss B. and she will _ever_
think so. I wish he would; for I am sure he never can be mine. The bell
rings for breakfast; I must run down. My mother came up to dress just
now, and stepped into my room. I returned her the letter, and she asked
me, What I thought of Mr Faulkland's request? madam, you are a better
judge of the propriety of it than I am. I shall have no objection to
seeing the unhappy lady, said she, since it seems he has apprised her of
my knowlege of her affairs. I am glad he has the grace to shew even so
much compassion for her: perhaps it may be the beginning of repentance,
and time may work a thorough reformation in him, if God spares him his
life and his _senses_. You see which way my good mother's thoughts
tended. I did not, she added, intend to return to London again; but this
occasion, I think, calls upon me; and I believe I shall go for a while,
in order to see and comfort this poor young creature. She cannot yet be
near lying in; and I suppose she will not come to the house Mr Faulkland
speaks of, till she can no longer remain undiscovered at home; so that a
month or two hence will be full soon enough for me to think of going to
town.
I saw my mother rested her compliance with Mr Faulkland's request,
merely on one point; that of compassion to the girl. As for the other
motive, said she, the hearing him justified from the _Lady's own mouth_,
I am not such a novice in those matters, but that I know when a deluding
man has once got an ascendency over a young creature, he can coax her
into any thing. Too much truth I doubt there is in this observation of
my mother's.
But it is time to say something of lady Grimston. My Cecilia has never
seen her, though I believe she has often heard my mother speak of her.
They are nearly of an age, and much of the same cast of thinking; though
with this difference, that lady Grimston is extravagantly rigid in her
notions, and precise in her manner. She has been a widow for many years,
and lives upon a large jointure at Grimston-hall, with as much
regularity and solemnity, as you would see in a monastery. Her servants
are all antediluvians; I believe her coach horses are fifty years of
age, and the very house-dog is as grey as a badger. She herself, who in
her youth never _could_ have been handsome, renders herself still a more
unpleasing figure, by the oddity of her dress; you would take her for a
lady of Charles the first's court at least. She is always dressed out: I
believe she sleeps in her cloaths, for she comes down ruffled, and
towered, and flounced, and fardingal'd, even to breakfast. My mother has
a _very_ high opinion of her, and says, she _knows more of the world_
than any one of her acquaintance. It may be so; but it must be of the
old world; for lady Grimston has not been ten miles from her seat these
thirty years. 'Tis nine years since my mother and she met before, and
there was a world of compliments passed between them; though I am sure
they were sincerely glad to see each other, for they seem to be very
fond. They were companions in youth, that season wherein the most
durable friendships are contracted. I believe her really a very good
woman; she is pious and charitable, and does abundance of good things in
her neighbourhood; though I cannot say I think her amiable. There is an
austerity about her that keeps me in awe, notwithstanding that she is
extremely obliging to me, and told my mother, I _promised to make a fine
woman_. Think of such a compliment to one of almost nineteen. My mother
and she call one another by their christian names; and you would smile
to hear the two old ladies (begging their pardons,) _Lettying_ and
_Dollying_ one another. This accounts to me for lady Grimston's thinking
_me_ still a child; for I suppose she considers herself not much past
girl-hood, though, to do her justice, she has not a scrap of it in her
behaviour.
_August 10_
All our motions here are as regular as the clock. The family rise at
six; we are summoned to breakfast at eight; at ten a venerable
congregation are assembled to prayers, which an ancient clergyman, who
is curate of the parish, and her ladyship's chaplain, gives us daily.
Then the old horses are put to the old coach; and my lady, with her
guests, if they chuse it, take an airing; always going and returning by
the same road, and driving precisely to the same land-mark, and no
farther. At half an hour after twelve, in a hall large enough to
entertain a corporation, we sit down to dinner; my lady has a grace of a
quarter of an hour long, and we are waited on by four truly venerable
footmen, for she likes state. The afternoon we may dispose of as we
please; at least it is a liberty I am indulged in, and I generally spend
my time in the garden, or my own chamber, till I have notice given me of
supper's being on the table, where we are treated with the same
ceremonials as at dinner. At ten exactly, the instant the clock strikes
the first stroke, my lady rises with great solemnity, and wishes us a
good night.
_August 14_
You cannot expect, in such a house as this is, my dear, that I can be
furnished with materials to give you much variety. Indeed these four
last days have been so exactly the same in every particular, excepting
that the dishes at dinner and supper were changed, that I had resolved
to hang up my pen till I quitted Grimston-hall, or at least resign it to
Patty, and let her plod on and tell you how the wind blew such a day;
what sort of a mantua lady Grimston had on such a day (though by the way
it is always the same, always ash-coloured tissue); what the great dog
barked at, at such an hour, and what the old parrot said at such a time;
the house and the garden I have exhausted my descriptive faculties on
already, though, they are neither of them worth describing; and I was
beginning to despair of matter to furnish out a quarter of an hour's
entertainment, when the scene began to brighten a little this auspicious
day, by the arrival of a coach full of visitors. These were no other
than a venerable dean, who is the minister of our parish, his lady and
daughter, and a Mr Arnold, a gentleman who is a distant relation of lady
Grimston's. He has a house in this neighbourhood, and is just come to
an estate by the death of his elder brother.
This visit has given me hopes that I may now and then have a chance for
seeing a human face, besides the antiques of the family, and those which
are depicted on the arras. Though not to disparage the people, they were
all agreeable enough in their different ways. The old dean is good
humoured and polite; I mean the true politeness, that of the heart,
which dictates the most obliging things in so frank a manner, that they
have not the least appearance of flattery. Being very near sighted, he
put on a pair of spectacles to look at me, and turning to Mr Arnold,
with a vivacity that would have become five-and-twenty, he repeated
'With an air and a face,
'And a shape and a grace, &c.'
The young man smiled his assent, and my mother looked so delighted, that
the good-natured dean's compliment pleased _me_ for _her_ sake. Lady
Grimston, who is passionately fond of musick, has a very pretty organ in
one of her chambers; Mr Arnold was requested to give us a lesson on it,
which he very readily obliged us with. He plays ravishingly; the
creature made me envious, he touched it so admirably. I had taken a sort
of dislike to him when he first came in, I cannot tell you why or
wherefore; but this accomplishment has reconciled me so to him, that I
am half in love with him. I hope we shall see him often; he is really
excellent on this instrument, and you know how fond I am of musick.
_August 15_
This packet is already so large that I am sure it will frighten you. I
will therefore send it off before I increase it; especially as I am now
so much in the hum-drum way, that I ought, out of policy, to make a
break in my narrative, in order to encourage you to read it. Positively,
if things do not mend, and that considerably too,--Patty shall keep
the journal, for I find myself already disposed to sleep over it.
_August 20_
I have looked over what Patty has writ for the five last days; upon my
word she is a very good journalist, as well as amanuensis; and she has
given you, to the full, as good an account of matters and things as I
could.
My time passes rather more tolerably than I expected. The dean's family
seem to have broke the solitary _spell_ that hung over the house, and we
have company you see every day. Mr Arnold never fails. I always make him
play; he is very obliging, and, if he were not good natured, I should
tire him.
_August 22_
I have had a letter from Sir George; he mentions not Mr Faulkland; I too
am endeavouring to forget him. When my mother goes to London, I will try
to prevail on her to let me go down to Sidney-castle. I have no
inclination to go to town, and less to stay here. We are to have a
concert to-morrow, at Mr Arnold's house. My lively good old dean touches
the bass viol, his daughter sings prettily; I am to bear my part too; so
that we begin to grow a little sociable.
_August 30_
Are you not tired of my Grimston journal, my Cecilia? Day after day rolls
on, and the same dull repetition! Lady Grimston, the Dean, and Mr
Arnold, perpetually! there is no bearing this, you cry. Well, but here
is a new personage arrived to diversity the scene a little. Lady
Grimston's daughter, a sweet woman; but her mother does not seem fond of
her. It amazes me, for she is perfectly amiable, both in temper and
person; she is a widow of about eight and twenty. Lady Grimston appears
to treat her with a distance very unmaternal; and the poor young woman
seems so humbled, that I pity her. She is come but on a visit, and we
shall lose her in a week, for which I am very sorry, as I have taken a
fancy to her.
_September 1_
Poor Mrs Vere! that is the name of Lady Grimston's daughter. I can now
give you the cause of her mother's coldness to her; I had it from
herself; she told me her little history this evening in the garden, with
a frankness that charmed me.
How happy you are, dear Miss Bidulph, said she! you seem to be blessed
with one of the tenderest of parents. I am indeed, I answered; she is
one of the best of mothers, and the best of women. She sighed, and a
tear started into her eye; I too was happy once, said she, when my
indulgent father lived. I hope, madam, Lady Grimston is to you, what my
good mother is to me. She shook her head: No, Miss Bidulph, it must be
but too obvious to you that she is not. I should not have introduced the
subject, if the cold severity of her looks were not so apparent that
you must have taken notice of them. My mother is, undoubtedly, a very
good woman; and you may naturally suppose, that my conduct has been such
as to deserve her frowns; I will therefore tell you my melancholy,
though short story. It is now about twelve years since Mr Vere paid his
addresses to me. He was the eldest son of a gentleman of family and
fortune, who then lived in this country. I was about sixteen, and the
darling of my father; who was perhaps the more indulgent to me, as he
knew my mother's severity. Mr Vere was but two years older than myself,
and a childish courtship had gone on for some time between us, before it
was suspected by any body; and to say the truth, before I was well aware
of the consequences myself. It happened, that an elderly gentleman of a
great estate, just at that time saw and liked me, and directly made
proposals to my mother, as she was very well known to hold the reins of
government in her family.
This offer, I suppose, was advantageous; for she immediately consulted
my father upon it, or rather gave him to understand that she meant to
dispose of her daughter in marriage.
My father, who had no objection to the match, told her he was very well
satisfied, provided I liked the gentleman; but said, he hoped she would
not think of putting any force on my inclinations. My eldest sister had
been married some time before by my mother's sole authority, and quite
contrary to her own liking; the marriage had not turned out happily, and
my father was resolved not to have me sacrificed in the same way.
My mother told him, she was sorry he had such romantic notions, as to
think a girl of my age capable of having any ideas of preference for one
man more than another; that she took it for granted I had never presumed
to entertain a thought of any man as yet, and supposed her precepts had
not been so far thrown away upon me, as that I could let it enter into
my head that any thing but parental authority was to guide me in my
choice.
My father, from the gentleness of his nature, had been so accustomed to
acquiesce, that he made no other reply than to bid my mother use her
discretion. He came directly to me notwithstanding, and told me what had
passed. It was then, for the first time, that I discovered I loved Mr
Vere. I burst into tears, and clinging round my father's neck, begged of
him to save me from my mother's rigour. My gesture and words were too
passionate for him not to perceive that there was something more at my
heart than mere dislike of the old man. He charged me to deal
sincerely. I loved him too well, and was myself too frank to do
otherwise. In short, I confessed my inclination for Mr Vere, and his
affection for me.
Though my kind father chid me gently for admitting a lover without his
or my mother's approbation, yet at the same time he told me, he would
endeavour to dissuade her from prosecuting the other match; though he
could wish, he said, I would try to bring myself to accept of it;
adding, he was afraid my mother would be much incensed by a denial.
My mother was fond of grandeur; and would not like to have me marry any
one, who could not at once make me mistress of a fine house, and a fine
equipage; which I knew I must not expect to be the case with Mr Vere.
His father had several children, and was very frugal in his temper:
besides, as he was but of the middle age, and of a very healthy
constitution, his son's prospect of possessing the estate was, to all
human appearance, at a very great distance.
These discouragements, however, did not hinder me from indulging my
wishes. My father's tenderness was the foundation on which I built my
hopes. I told Mr Vere the designs of one parent, and the kind
condescension of the other. Emboldened by this information, he ventured
to disclose his love to my father, begging his interest with my mother
in his favour. He had a great kindness for the youth, and was so fond of
me, that he would readily have consented to my happiness, if the fear of
disobliging my mother had not checked him. He represented to her in the
mildest manner, the utter dislike I had expressed of the proposed match,
and conjured her not to insist on it. My mother, unused to be
controuled, was filled with resentment both against him and me; she
said, he encouraged me in my disobedience; and that, if he did not unite
his authority to hers, in order to compel me to marry the gentleman she
approved of, it would make a total breach between them.
My good father, who loved my mother exceedingly, was alarmed at this
menace. Unwilling to come to extremities either with her or me, he was
at a loss how to act. His paternal love at length prevailed, and he
determined, at all events, to save me from the violence which he knew
would be put upon my heart.
My mother had never condescended to talk to me on the subject: she
thought my immediate obedience ought to have followed the bare knowlege
of her will. She forbad me her sight, and charged me never to appear
before her, till I came with a determination to obey her.
However severe this prohibition was, I yielded to it with the less
reluctance, as my father's tender love made me amends for my mother's
harshness. Perhaps, had she vouchsafed to reason a little with me,
tempering her arguments with a motherly kindness, she would have found
me as flexible as she could wish; but the course she took had a very
contrary effect. I thought myself persecuted, and that it was for the
honour of my love to persevere. On the other hand, my father's secret
indulgence encouraged me in the sentiments I entertained, and I now
determined, not only to refuse my old lover, but to have my young one.
My mother had given me a stated time in which I was to come to a
resolution, and if I did not, at the expiration of it, acquiesce, I was
to be pronounced a reprobate, and to be no more considered as her child.
In this emergency I had recourse to my father. I told him there was
nothing which I was not ready to suffer, rather than marry the man I
hated: my greatest affliction was the uneasiness I saw him endure on my
account; for my mother reproached him daily with my obstinacy.
My father said, he thought the alternative offered by my mother, was to
be avoided but in one way, and that was, by marrying Mr Vere; For, added
he, when she finds you resolute in your refusal of her choice, not even
my paternal authority will be able to screen you from her severity, and
your life will be made miserable, without your father's being able to
relieve you. On the other hand, when you are out of her house, she
cannot distress you, nor prevent me from doing you the justice which I
owe my child. Nay, possibly in time, I may be able to work out a
reconciliation between you; but she must not know that I was consenting
to this marriage, lest an irreconcileable quarrel should ensue. I fell
at my father's feet, and embraced his knees, for this tender and
unexpected proof of his affection.
Mr Vere's father was no stranger to his son's attachment, and we were
very sure he would readily come into the proposal which my father
intended to make.
The two parents had a meeting secretly, where all the terms of portion
and settlement were speedily and privately adjusted. Mr Vere the father,
who had been long intimate in our family, knew very well the necessity
there was for keeping the secret. After this, my lover and I were to be
married privately, without the knowlege, seemingly, of any one in either
family, excepting one of the Miss Veres, who was to be present; and
when the time of my probation was expired, my father was to let my
mother into the knowlege of this affair, as a thing he had just
discovered; and to pacify her anger as well he could.
Every thing was conducted in the manner proposed. I was married with the
utmost privacy, and continued in my father's house till the day arrived,
when I was to give my definitive answer.
Unfortunately for me, my mother chose to receive it from my own mouth,
and called me into her presence. I appeared before her trembling and
terrified: I had not seen her for a fortnight, and I was in dread, lest
the discovery I had to make, should banish me her sight perhaps for
ever, unless my father might influence her in time to forgive me. She
asked me, with a stern brow, What I had resolved on? I had not courage
to make her an answer, but burst into tears. She repeated her question;
and I could only reply, Madam, it is not in my _power_ to obey you. She
did not comprehend the meaning of my words, but imputing them to
obstinacy, commanded me to leave the room, and not to see her face till
I came to a proper sense of my duty; at the same time ordering me into
my chamber, where I was to be locked up.
I flew to my father, and conjured him to let my mother know the truth at
once, that I might be no longer subject to such harsh treatment; for I
knew the being sent home to my husband would be the consequence of her
being told that I had one.
My poor father was almost afraid to undertake the task, though he had
been the chief promoter of my marriage, and his authority ought to have
given sanction to it. He ventured however to let her know, that I had
confessed to him what my fears of her immediate resentment would not
suffer me to discover whilst I was in her presence; and what my aversion
to the man she proposed to me, and the rigours I had been threatened
with, if I refused him, had driven me to. The rage my mother flew into,
was little short of phrenzy, and my father made haste to send me out of
the house.
Mr Vere's whole family received me with great tenderness; but I was
sorry at leaving my father, whose visits to me were made but seldom, and
even those by stealth.
My situation, though I was united to the man I loved, and caressed by
all his family, was far from being happy. My mother's inflexible temper
was not to be wrought upon, notwithstanding my father did his utmost to
prevail on her to see and to forgive me; and she carried her resentment
so far, that she told my father, unless he cut me off entirely in his
will, she was determined to separate herself totally from him. This was
an extremity he by no means expected she would have gone to.
In a fit of sickness, which had seized him a few years before, he had
left me ten thousand pounds; five of this he had secretly transferred to
Mr Vere on the day of my marriage, and had promised him to bequeath me
five more at his death.
In consequence of this disposition, he purposed making a new will, so
that he the less scrupled giving my mother up the old one, with a
promise of making another agreeable to her request.
My mother's jointure was already settled on her; my eldest sister had
received her portion; so that there was little bequeathed by this
testament, but my fortune, and a few other small legacies.
My mother tore the will with indignation, and not satisfied with my
father's promise, insisted on his putting it into execution immediately.
In short, his easy temper yielded to her importunities, and he had a
will drawn up by her instructions, in which I was cut off with one
shilling, and my intended fortune bequeathed to my eldest sister. My
mother was made residuary legatee to every thing that should remain,
after paying all the bequests. This would have amounted to a
considerable sum, if the half of my portion, which was already paid
without her knowlege, had not made such a diminution in the personal
estate, that after paying my sister the whole of what was specified in
the will, there was scarce any thing likely to remain.
Had my mother known this secret, she would not perhaps have been so
ready to have made my father devise all my intended fortune to my
sister. My father, who was aware of this, durst not however inform her
at that juncture, how much she hurt herself, by forcing him to such
measures. She insisted upon his leaving the whole of what he designed
for me to my eldest sister; as well as to convince him, she said, that
she had no self-interested views, as to be an example to other
rebellious children.
My father had no remedy on these occasions, but a patient acquiescence:
the will was made, and my mother herself would keep it.
My father took an opportunity the same day to inform me what he had
done, but assured me, he would immediately make another will, agreeable
to his first intentions, and leave it in the hands of a faithful friend.
This was his design; but alas he lived not to execute it. He was seized
that night with a paralytic disorder, which at once deprived him of the
use of his limbs and his speech. They who were about him believed he
retained his senses, but he was not capable of making himself understood
even by signs. Alarmed with this dismal account of my beloved father's
situation, I flew to the house without considering my mother's
displeasure; but I was not permitted to see him. I filled the house with
my cries, but to no purpose; I had not the satisfaction of receiving
even a farewell look from him, which was all he was capable of bestowing
on me.
He languished for several days in this melancholy condition, and then,
in spite of the aid of physic, expired.
The loss of this dear father so entirely took up my thoughts, that I
never reflected on the loss of the remaining part of my fortune; but it
was not so with my father-in-law. There had been a settlement made on me
in consequence of the fortune promised; though not equal to what it
demanded, yet superior to the half which was paid. He relied on my
father's word for the remainder, and had no doubt of its being secured
to him, knowing his circumstances, as well as his strict integrity, and
that my sister had actually received the same fortune which I was
promised.
Mr Vere had four daughters, and it was on this fortune he chiefly
depended to provide for them.
The news of my being cut off with a shilling exceedingly surprized and
exasperated him. Unluckily I had not mentioned to him, nor even to my
husband, the will which my father had been obliged to make. The
assurances he gave me, of immediately making another in my favour,
prevented me; as I thought it would only be a very severe proof of my
mother's enmity to the family, which I could have wished to conceal from
them; especially as I did not imagine it would have affected me
afterwards. Mr Vere the elder was from home when my father died, and his
business detained him for more than a month after his funeral was over.
My husband, on this occasion, shewed the tender and disinterested love
he bore me; he affected to make as light as possible of this unexpected
disappointment, but at the same time expressed his uneasiness, lest his
father should carry matters to an extremity with my mother, from whom we
knew we were to expect nothing by mild methods.
It was now thought adviseable, that I should write to my mother, to
condole with her on my father's death; again to intreat her forgiveness
of my fault, and, as some mitigation of it, to acknowlege that it was
not only with my father's privity, but even with his consent and
approbation, that I had married.
I wrote this letter in a strain of the utmost humility, without
mentioning a word of my fortune; _that_ I thought it would be time
enough for me to do, if I could prevail on my mother to see me, and
would at all events come better from my husband or his father, than from
me. But I gained nothing by this, only some unkind reflections on my
father's memory, and a message, that since he thought proper to marry
his daughter in a manner so highly disagreeable to her mother, he should
have taken care of providing for her; as he could not expect a parent,
so disobliged as she had been, would take any notice of me.
My mother had been left sole executrix to my father's forced will; and
she took care to put my sister, and the other legatees, into possession
of what was bequeathed to them in a very short time after his decease.
She found there was an unexpected deficiency in his personal fortune,
insomuch that there was barely enough to pay his debts; and that her
being left the residue, after the specified legacies were paid, amounted
to nothing. On the contrary, had my father's just intentions taken
place, in leaving me five thousand pounds, she would have come in for
the other five; but the whole ten thousand now went to my sister.
She was not long however at a loss to know how this came to pass. Mr
Vere determined to assert his own, and his son's right; and being
exceedingly provoked at my mother's behaviour, wrote to her immediately
on his return home; and having informed her of the settlement made on
me, on account of the fortune already paid, and what was farther agreed
on to be paid by my father, told her, he expected that this promise
should be punctually fulfilled. He said, he knew she had it in her power
to do this; and since it was by her contrivance I had been robbed of my
just right, if honour, and the duty of a parent, would not induce her to
make me proper amends, she must excuse him, if he made use of such means
as the laws allowed him, in order to compel her.
Such a letter, to a woman of my mother's temper, met with such a
reception as might be expected. She tore it before his messenger's face;
and desired him to tell his master, that as what he had already obtained
was by fraud, so he was at liberty to make use of force to recover the
remainder; but with her consent, he never should have a single
shilling.
This exasperating reply, made my father-in-law directly commence a suit
against her, in which the other legatees were made parties. The distress
I felt on this occasion is scarce to be imagined; the breach was now so
widened between my mother and my husband's family, that there remained
not the least hope of its ever being closed. Mr Vere unwillingly joined
with his father in pursuit of these measures. He would for my sake much
rather have yielded up his expectations, than supported them at the
expence of my quiet; but his father's will, and justice to the rest of
his family, compelled him to proceed, and deprived me of any pretence
for interposing.
The law-suit was carrying on with great acrimony on both sides, when an
event happened, that made me then, and has indeed ever since, look with
indifference on every thing in this life; it was the death of my
husband. He was snatched from me by a violent fever, before he reached
his twentieth year.
I will not pretend to describe my sufferings to you on this sad
occasion; they were aggravated by my being near the time of lying-in.
Whatever affliction Mr Vere felt for the death of his only son, it did
not make him forgetful of what he owed his daughters; and he was
resolved to carry on the law-suit with the utmost vigour.
You may suppose the house wherein I had lost a beloved husband appeared
a dismal place to me, especially in my present situation. I thought too,
my father's looks began to grow colder to me than they used to be; and I
begged I might have his permission to remove for a while. He did not
oppose it, and I went, at the pressing intreaties of your favourite, the
good old dean, to his house; where he and his lady behaved to me with
more than parental tenderness. My health was in so declining a way, that
this worthy man (as I have since learned) made several applications to
my mother to see me, but without success. At length the hour of my
delivery arrived, and I was brought to-bed of a dead female child. The
estate, in case of Mr Vere's dying without issue, devolved on his
sisters; and I was in hopes that this circumstance, so favourable to the
young ladies, would have induced their father to have been less rigorous
in persisting in his claim. But in this I was deceived; he loved money,
and was besides full of resentment against my mother. I thought however
of an expedient, which I flattered myself might work upon him; and by
good fortune it succeeded.
Mr Vere, though I had left his house, visited me constantly, and kept up
a shew of tenderness, which I am sure he had not in his heart. I told
him one day, whilst I was still confined to my bed, that as I had now
lost both my husband and my child, a very moderate income would be
sufficient for me; and that as I valued my mother's peace of mind,
beyond any selfish consideration, I was very willing to give up half my
jointure, provided he would drop his suit. Mr Vere seemed surprized at
the proposal: he said, he wondered I could be so blind to my own
interest, and that all he was doing was purely for my sake. I thanked
him for his pretended friendship, but assured him, he could serve me no
way so effectually, as by coming into the measure I proposed. Mr Vere
said, I talked like a child; but he would consider of it. The following
day he called on me again, and told me, that to make me easy, he was
willing to come into my proposal; that he would have the proper
instruments drawn, by which I would relinquish half my jointure; and he
in consequence to give up all claim on my father's estate.
I was much better pleased, at this losing agreement, than if I had
acquired a large accession of fortune.
Mr Vere soon got the proper deeds ready, and they were executed in form.
I now relapsed into an illness, from which I was supposed to have been
quite recovered, and my life was thought in great danger. I have since
been told, that Mr Vere repented his agreement at that juncture, and
told some of his friends, that if he had not been so hasty, he should
have had a chance for my jointure and my fortune too.
I begged of the dean to go to my mother, and use his last efforts on
her, to prevail with her to see me and forgive me before I died; at the
same time, I sent her the release I had procured from Mr Vere, which I
knew was the most acceptable present I could make her. The dean urged
the danger I was in, without its seeming to make much impression on her.
I am willing to believe, that she thought the dean exaggerated in his
account of my illness. He owned to me himself, that he was shocked to
find her so obdurate. At length, he took the paper out of his pocket,
and presenting it to her, I am sorry, madam, said he, I cannot prevail
with you to act like a parent or a christian; your daughter I fear will
not survive her present malady; but she will have the comfort to
consider, that she has left nothing unattempted to obtain that
forgiveness, which you so cruelly deny her. I hope, lady Grimston, your
last hours may be as peaceful, as hers I trust will be from this
reflection. There, madam--she has by that instrument left you
disengaged from a troublesome and vexatious law-suit, that would, if
pursued, infallibly turn out to your disadvantage; it was all she
_could_ do, and what few children, used like her, _would_ have done.
My mother, a great deal alarmed at the dean's manner of speaking, now
examined the contents of the paper. She seemed affected, and called him
back, as he was just leaving the room. She told him, she was not lost to
the feelings of nature; and that if he thought her presence would
contribute to ease my mind of the remorse it must needs labour under,
she was not against seeing me.
The good man, glad to find her in this yielding disposition, told her
she could not too soon execute her intention; and pressed her to come to
his house directly. She suffered him to put her into his coach, and he
carried her home with him. The interview, on my side, was attended with
tears of joy, tenderness, and contrition. My mother did not depart from
her usual austerity; she gave me but her hand to kiss, and pronounced
her forgiveness and her blessing in so languid a manner, as greatly
damped the fervor of my joy.
She staid with me not more than a quarter of an hour, and having talked
of indifferent things, without once so much as mentioning what I had
done, she took a cold and formal leave.
This interview, as little cordial as my mother's behaviour was to me,
had so good an effect on me, that I began perceptibly to mend from that
hour. She sent indeed constantly to enquire how I did; but avoided
coming, lest, as she said, she should meet with Mr Vere, whom she could
never forgive. As soon as I was in a condition to go abroad, I went to
pay my duty to her. She received me with civility, but no tenderness;
nor has she ever from that time made me the least recompence for what I
have lost; her permitting me to see her, she thinks sufficient amends.
I did not chuse to return to Mr Vere's house, as I had only a polite,
not a kind invitation. One of his daughters, she who had been present at
my marriage, and who always had shewn most affection towards me, was
about this time married to a gentleman, whose estate lay in another
country. When the bride went home, she pressed me to go with her so
warmly, that I could not refuse her; and during the time I staid with
her, I received so many marks of tenderness from her, that I resolved to
settle in her neighbourhood; and have now a little house near her, where
I have resided constantly ever since. I come once or twice a year to pay
a visit to my mother, but my reception, as you may see, is always cold,
and I seldom stay more than a few days.
Old Mr Vere is dead; and his daughters, who were coheiresses to his
estate, are all married, so that the family is intirely dispersed; but
notwithstanding this, and the number of years that have passed over
since my marriage, my mother cannot yet endure the name of the family:
and always, as you may have observed, calls me by my maiden name.
I was much affected at the story of the amiable Mrs Vere. The sweet
melancholy, which predominates in her countenance, shews that the
spirits, when broken in the bud of youth, are hardly to be recovered.
What a tyrant this lady Grimston is! I did not admire her before, but I
now absolutely dislike her. What a wife and a mother has she been to a
husband and a daughter, who might have constituted the happiness of a
woman of a different temper! And yet she passes for a wonderful good
woman, and a pattern of all those virtues of a religion, which meekness
and forgiveness characterise. She is mistaken, if she thinks that
austerity is necessary to christianity. The most that my charity allows
me to believe of such people is, that they impose on _themselves_, at a
time when the most discerning perhaps think that they are endeavouring
to impose on others.
What an angel is my good mother, when compared to this her friend, whom
her humility makes her look upon as her superior in virtue! I am very
angry with Sir George, who in his resentment, said to me once, that she
was like lady Grimston. I then knew but little of that lady's character,
or I should have reproved him for it.
I conjured Mrs Vere to make her visit longer than she had at first
intended. She told me, she would most gladly do it; but that it was a
liberty she did not dare to take, unless her mother asked her to prolong
it; which, she said, she possibly might do, in complaisance to me.
_September 4_
My mother I find has made lady Grimston her confidant in relation to my
affairs; the dear woman never keeps her mind to herself on any subject.
Lady Grimston highly applauds her conduct in that business; and bestowed
a few civil words on me for my filial duty, intermixed with an
ungrateful comparison of her own daughter's behaviour. And she condoled
with herself, by saying, that _good parents_ had not always _good
children_. She told my mother, that she wished to see the child (meaning
me) happily disposed of; for that, notwithstanding the prudence of my
behaviour, the world would be apt to cast reflections on me, on account
of the abruptness with which the match was broken off, without the true
reasons being known: and my illness, she said, might be imputed to the
disappointment; which might incline people to suspect the rejection had
been on Mr Faulkland's side. What a provoking hint was this my dear! it
has really alarmed my mother, who depends much on the judgment of her
friend, and has at the same time so nice a regard to the honour of her
family. I wish that formal old woman would mind her own business.
_September 6_
My mother and lady Grimston have had abundance of private confabulation
these two days, from which Mrs Vere and I are excluded. I wish there may
not be some mischief a brewing. One thing, however, has given me
pleasure; lady Grimston has invited her daughter to stay at
Grimston-hall as long as my mother and I continue here.
Mrs Vere tells me, she suspects the subject of their conferences; but
she is perverse, and will not tell me what she thinks, for fear, as she
says, she should have guessed wrong, and her surmises would only teaze
me.
_September 10_
A packet sent me from London--A letter from Sir George--one from my
Cecilia--and so soon too! Welcome, welcome, thou faithful messenger,
from the faithfullest of hearts!
Thou dear anticipating little prophetess! What put it into thy head to
call Mr Arnold a new conquest, upon my but barely mentioning him to you?
I was just going to tell you all; and behold your own whimsical
imagination has suggested the most material part to you already. You
desire me to be sincere: was that necessary, my sister, from _you_ to
_me_? You say, you are _sure Mr Arnold is, or will be my lover_, and
insist on my being more particular in my description of him. What a
strange girl you are! again I ask you, What put this into your head?
What busy little spirit of intelligence flew to you with the news before
I knew it myself? For as to the fact, it is but too certain.
This has been the subject of my mother's and lady Grimston's private
conferences; and Mrs Vere (sly thing as she is) guessed it. It seems Mr
Arnold disclosed his passion to lady Grimston, in order to ask her
advice about it. She loves mightily to be consulted; and ill-starred as
I am, did me the honour to recommend me strongly to him; and she has
prepossessed my mother too in favour of this new man. I wish the
meddling old dame had been dumb. Now shall I go through another fiery
tryal! Heaven help me, if lady Grimston were to be my judge! But my
mother is all goodness.
Well, but you want a description of this man. I will give it to you,
though I have scarce patience to write about him. Indeed, Cecilia, I am
vexed; I foresee a great deal of trouble from that quarter.--But come, I
will try what I can say.
The man is about thirty, genteel, and handsome enough; at least he is
reckoned so, and I believe I should think him so, if I were not angry
with him. He is very like your brother Henry; and you know he is an
allowed handsome man. He seems to have plain good sense, and is good
humoured I believe: I do not know of what colour his eyes are, for I
never looked much at him. Lady Grimston says he is a _scholar_ (a thing
she pretends to value highly), and a mighty sober, pious, worthy
gentleman. He is of a very good family; and has an estate of about
fifteen hundred pounds a year, upon which there is a jointure of three
hundred pounds a year, paid to his brother's widow. Part of the estate
is in Kent, and part in this county of Essex, where he has a
mansion-house, a well-enough looking old-fashioned place, something in
the Grimston-hall stile, at about a mile distance from this; where he
passes most of his time.
I have told you already, he plays divinely on several instruments; this
is the only circumstance about him that pleases me.
He has not yet made his addresses to me in form; yet we all know that he
intends it, from his uncommon assiduity towards me; but he has a sort of
reserve about him, and loves to do every thing in his own way.
Bless me!--here he is--his chariot has just driven into the court; and
Mrs Vere peeps in upon me, and with a most vexatious archness, bids me
come down to the parlour; but I will not, unless my mother desires me. I
will go into the garden, to be for a while out of the way.
_September 11_
Yesterday evening was productive of nothing but looks and compliments,
and bows, and so forth; except two or three delightful pieces of musick,
which he executed incomparably. But, this morning, my Cecilia, Oh! this
morning! the man spoke out, told me in down-right plain English, that he
loved me! How insipid is such a declaration, when it comes from one,
who is indifferent to us! I do not know how it was, but instead of being
abashed, I could have smiled in his face when he declared himself; but
you may be sure I did not, that would not have been pretty.
I was sitting in the little drawing-room, reading, when he came in. To
be sure he was sent to me by the ancient ladies, otherwise he would not
have intruded; for the man is not ill-bred. The book happened to be
Horace; upon his entering the room, I laid it by; he asked me politely
enough, what were my studies. When I named the author, he took the book
up, and opening the leaves, started, and looked me full in the face; I
coloured. My charming Miss Bidulph, said he, do you prefer this to the
agreeable entertainment of finishing this beautiful rose here, that
seems to blush at your neglect of it? He spoke this, pointing to a
little piece of embroidery that lay in a frame before me. I was nettled
at the question, it was too assuming. Sir, I hope I was as innocently,
and as usefully employed; and I assure you I give a greater portion of
my time to my needle, than to my book.
You are so lovely, madam, that nothing you can do needs an apology. An
apology, I'll assure you! did not this look, my dear, as if the man
thought I ought to beg his pardon for understanding Latin? For this
accidental, and I think (to a woman) trivial accomplishment, I am
indebted, you know, to Sir George; who took so much pains with me, the
two or three summers he was indisposed at Sidney Castle.
He then proceeded to tell me how much he admired, how much he loved me!
and that having been encouraged by lady Grimston's assuring him that I
was disengaged (observe that), he presumed to tell me so. Oh! thought I,
perhaps thou are thyself a Grimstonian, and do not think it necessary
that the heart should be consulted. I answered him mighty civilly, and
mighty little to the purpose. Sir, I thank you for your favourable
sentiments--Lady Grimston does me a great deal of honour--I think myself
happy in her good opinion--But he was not to be so put off, he pressed
me to give him hopes, as he called it. Alas! I have no hopes to give
him. He said, he would not presume to mention his love to my mother,
though Lady Grimston pressed him to it (it was like her), till he had
first declared himself to me. This was not indelicate; my heart thanked
him for it, though I only returned him a bow. We were seasonably (to me
at least) interrupted here, by the arrival of my friend the dean. He had
come to see lady Grimston, just as Mr Arnold had entered into
conversation with me; the old gentleman had a mind to walk in the
garden; the little drawing-room, where we were, opened into it, by a
glass door; so that lady Grimston and my mother were obliged to bring
him that way. Though I was glad that the conversation was broke off, yet
I could have wished that I had first had an opportunity of throwing a
little cold water on Mr Arnold's _hopes_, lest he should have put too
favourable an interpretation on the reception I gave him, and mention
the thing to my mother, before I had time to speak to her.
I was in some confusion at their entering the room. Mr Arnold had at
that time laid hold of one of my hands, and I had but just time to
withdraw it, when the door flew open to give entrance to the two ladies
and the good man: the latter lifting up both his hands, as if conscious
of having done something wrong, with a good-humoured freedom, asked
pardon; but with a look that seemed to indicate, he thought the apology
necessary both to Mr Arnold and me. This disconcerted me more; my mother
smiled, and lady Grimston drew up her long neck, and winked at the dean.
I took up my hat, that lay in a window, without well-knowing what I did,
and said, I would wait on them into the garden. Mr Arnold followed my
example; but looked at me, I do not know how--impertinently--as if he
thought I did not dislike him. I took one turn with them, and then
slipped away, under pretence of going in to dress. I ran directly into
Mrs Vere's room, and told her what had passed between Mr Arnold and me.
She laughed, and said, she could have told me long ago it would have
come to that. I knew Mr Arnold admired you, said she, the first time I
saw you in his company; he is no contemptible conquest I can tell you.
He assured my mother, that you were the only woman he ever saw in his
life that had made an impression on him; and I am inclined to believe
him, for he is not a man of an amorous complexion; nor did I ever hear
of his making his addresses to any one, though he might have his choice
of the best fortunes, and the best families in the country; for the
ladies, I must inform you, admire him exceedingly; and when you are
known to be his choice, you will be the envy of all the young women in
the country. I sighed, (I don't know why) and said, I desired not to
create envy on that account. Mrs Vere said, why really Miss Bidulph, if
your heart is at liberty, I know of no man more worthy of it than Mr
Arnold; but perhaps (looking with a kind earnestness on me) that may not
be your case. I told her, my heart was not engaged (as it really is not;
for indeed, Cecilia, I do not think of Mr Faulkland); but that I did
not find in myself any great inclination towards Mr Arnold. Oh! my dear,
said she, if you find no disinclination, it is enough. I married for
love, yet I was far from being happy. The vexation that I occasioned in
my own and my husband's family, was a counter-ballance to the
satisfaction of possessing the man I loved. Mr Arnold, besides being
very amiable in his person, has good sense, and good temper; and if you
marry him with nothing more than indifference, gratitude will soon
produce love in such a breast as yours. Were there anything like
aversion in your heart, then indeed it would be criminal in you to
accept of him.
Mrs Vere delivered her sentiments with such a calm sweetness, such a
disinterested sincerity, that what she said made an impression on me. We
are apt, contrary as it may seem to reason, to be more wrought upon by
the opinion and advice of young people like ourselves, than by that of
persons, whose experience certainly gives them a better right to form
judgments: but we have a sort of a natural repugnance to the being
dictated to, even by those who have an authority to do it; and as age
gives a superiority, every thing that comes from it carries a sort of
air of prescribing, which we are wonderfully inclined to reject.
Had lady Grimston said this to me, it would have put me upon my guard,
as suspecting a design on my liberty of choice. Even my good mother
might have been listened to on this subject not without uneasiness;
though my duty to her would not suffer me to give her a moment's pain,
unless I was sure that my eternal as well as temporal happiness was at
stake. I told Mrs Vere that I had no aversion to Mr Arnold; on the
contrary that if I had a sister, I should wish her married to him. Now,
my Cecilia, the mischief of it is, there _can_ be no reasonable
objection made to him: he is a very tolerable man; but I knew a man once
that I liked better--but fye fye upon him! I am sure I ought not to like
him, and therefore I will not. I am positive, if I were let alone, I
should be as happy as ever.
I told you I got a letter from my brother; he says in it, he has had one
from Mr Faulkland, who is now in your part of the world. He tells Sir
George, that 'if my lady Bidulph will be so good as to see Miss B. and
converse with her, he is not without hopes that she may so far exculpate
him, as to induce my lady to repeal his sentence of banishment.' Sir
George adds his own wishes for this, but says (to give you _his_ words)
he fears the wench will not be honest enough to do Faulkland
justice--Justice! what can my brother mean by this? How ungenerous
these men are, even the best of them, in love matters! He knows the poor
girl doats on her destroyer, and might perhaps take shame to _herself_,
rather than throw as much blame on him as he deserves. I think this is
all the justice that can be expected from her; and how poor an
extenuation would this make of his guilt! It would only add to the merit
of _her_ sufferings, without lessening his fault.
To what purpose then would it be? I know my mother's sentiments already
on that head. I would not shew Sir George's letter to her, he had said
so many ridiculous things about lady Grimston in it, which I know would
have offended her highly; otherwise, on account of Mr Faulkland's
paragraph, I should have been glad she had seen it.
_September 12_
Ah! my sister! my friend! What shall I do? Oh! that officious lady
Grimston--What ill star drove me to her house? Nothing would serve her
but she must know what Mr Arnold said to me in the drawing-room
conference; and how I had behaved. She made her enquiry before my mother
and the dean, after I had left them in the garden. What could the man
do? He had no reason to conceal what passed, and frankly owned he had
made me an offer of his heart. Well, and how did Miss receive it, asked
lady Grimston? With that modesty and polite sweetness that she does
every thing, answered Mr Arnold. He could say no less, you know.
He thence took occasion to apply particularly to my mother, apologizing
at the same time for his not having done it before. What the
self-sufficient creature added, I know not; for my mother, from whom I
had this account, did not repeat all he said; but it seems it was enough
to make her imagine I had not heard him reluctantly, and accordingly she
gave him her permission to win me and wear me.
I could cry for very vexation, to be made such a puppet of. This
eclaircissement I dreaded before I had time to explain myself to my
mother. That best of women, still anticipating what I had to say,
congratulated me on my extraordinary prudence, in not letting a childish
misplaced attachment keep such a hold on my heart, as to make me blind
to the merits of a more deserving object.
Dear madam, said I, sure Mr Arnold did not say that I had encouraged his
addresses. Encouraged, my dear! why sure the hearing, from a young lady
of your education, is encouragement enough to a man of sense.--I heard
him with complaisance, madam, because I thought _that_ due to him; that
it was my wish to remain single, at least for some time. My mother
looked surprized. 'Sidney, this is not what I expected from you; I
flattered myself you thought no longer of Mr Faulkland.'
She contracted her brow a little. Madam, I do not; indeed I think no
more of him; but may I not be permitted to continue as I am?
Had you never had any engagement with Mr Faulkland, answered my mother,
I should be far from urging you on this occasion; but, circumstanced as
you now, are, I think your honour is concerned.
Lady Grimston has put your affair in such a light to me, as I never
considered it in before. How mortifying must the reflection be, my dear,
to think that it may be said Mr Faulkland perhaps flew off, from some
disadvantageous circumstance he discovered in regard to you. The world
wants not envious malicious tongues enough to give it this turn. Your
unlucky illness, and your brother's ill-timed assiduity in going so
often to him when he was at Richmond, looks as if we had been
endeavouring to recall him. Every body knows the marriage was almost
concluded; and Lady Grimston, though she thinks our reasons for breaking
it off were extremely cogent, yet as she knows the world well, thinks it
has not virtue enough to believe those to be the true reasons, and that
it will be much more apt to put an invidious construction on the affair,
that may be very detrimental to you in your future prospects. These
considerations alone ought to determine you; but there is one still of
greater moment, which I hope, from the goodness of your heart, will have
still greater weight with you. That unfortunate young lady, who _ought_
to be the wife of Mr Faulkland, if you were once put beyond the reach
even of his most distant hope, would stand the better chance for having
justice done to her; at least it would leave him void of that pretence
which he at first pleaded, and which probably he will continue to do,
while you remain single. Think seriously of the matter, my love. I shall
only add, that Mr Arnold is every way an unexceptionable match, and that
your acceptance of him will be extremely agreeable to me; as, on the
contrary, your refusal will give an uneasiness to your indulgent mother,
which she never yet experienced from you.
She left me with these cruel words, cruel in their kindness--Oh! she
knows I am flexible by nature, and to _her_ will, yielding as air. What
can I do? My heart is not in a disposition to love--Yet again and again
I repeat it, Mr Faulkland has no interest there. What he once had he has
lost; but I cannot compel it to like, and unlike, and like anew at
pleasure. Fain would I bring myself chearfully to conform to my mother's
will, for I have no will of my own. I never knew what it was to have
one, and never shall, I believe; for I am sure I will not contend with a
husband.
I have told Mrs Vere what my mother said to me; she is intirely of her
mind; every body is combined against me; I am treated like a baby, that
knows not what is fit for it to chuse or to reject.
_September 15_
I have been searching my heart, my dear Cecilia, to try if there
remained a lurking particle of my former flame unextinguished; a flame I
call it, as we are allowed the metaphor, but it never rose to _that_; it
was but a single ray, a gentle glow that just warmed my breast without
scorching: what it might have arisen to I will not say; but I have the
satisfaction to find, that the short-lived fire is quite extinct, and
the mansion is even chilled with cold.
This was a very necessary scrutiny, before I would even entertain a
thought of Mr Arnold; and believe me, had I found it otherwise than I
say, I would rather have hazarded my mother's displeasure by owning the
truth to her, than injure any man, by giving him my hand with an
estranged heart.
I will acknowlege to you, my sister, that it was not without a struggle
I reduced my mind to this frame. My heart (foolish thing) industrious to
perplex itself, would fain have suggested some palliating circumstances
in Mr Faulkland's favour; but I forbid it to interpose. Trifler, said I,
let your guardian, your proper guide, judge and determine for you in
this important cause, whereupon so much of your future peace depends. It
sighed, but had the virtue to submit; and I arraigned Faulkland before a
little tribunal in my breast, where I would suffer reason only to
preside. The little felon, love, knocked at the door once or twice, but
justice kept him out; and after a long (and I think a fair) trial, he
was at length cast; and in order to strengthen my resolves, and justify
my mother's, as well as my own conduct, these are the arguments which I
have deduced from the evidences against him.
If Mr Faulkland feared the frailty of his virtue, why did he not fly
when he was first alarmed with the knowlege of the lady's passion for
him? If not for his own sake, yet at least for her's. If he could not
return her love, was he not cruel in suffering her to feed a hopeless
flame? But since his evil fate urged him on, and the unhappy girl lost
her honour, was he not bound to repair it? He had never seen me at that
time, was under no personal engagements to me, and might easily have
acquitted himself to my brother, from so justifiable a motive.
What if I had married him, ignorant of this secret, and it had
afterwards come to my ears, how miserable would it have made me, to
think that I had stood between an unfortunate young creature and her
happiness? For had Mr Faulkland never heard of me, had he not been
prejudiced in my favour, this young woman's beauty and innocence (which
he acknowleges) might have then engaged his honest vows; the wicked aunt
would not have been tempted to betray her trust, nor he (shocking
thought! whenever it recurs) to buy that favour he might have obtained
on virtuous terms. His prior engagements to my brother was the final
plea that undid them both! Had he not been furnished with this excuse,
her hopes might have supported her virtue; or, if ignorant of this, she
fell, what pretence could he offer, after the injury _was_ done, for not
fulfilling an obligation of so much importance? I could not have
suffered by not obtaining a man I never saw; Miss B. is undone by losing
him: Yet his word to Sir George, the breach of which could have been
attended with no ill consequence, was to be preferred to an act of
justice. This is that false honour upon which the men pique themselves
so much. An innocent child stigmatized; an amiable woman abandoned to
shame and grief! I thank Heaven I made not myself accessary to this.
_Had_ I married Mr Faulkland, _knowing_ his fault, I could not say so,
nor have blamed any thing but my own imprudence, if _I_ in my turn found
myself deserted. Who knows but he might (after having bound me in
chains), return to his neglected mistress; and _that_ love, which, when
it would have been meritorious in him, he disrelished, he might have
pursued with eagerness when interdicted. This might have been the case.
I believe you may remember an instance of it among our own acquaintance.
Mr Saunders, who refused a young lady for his bride, from an absolute
dislike of her person, took uncommon pains to debauch her when she
became the wife of his friend. Had Mr Faulkland so behaved, what a
wretch it would have made me! You know I have not a grain of jealousy in
my composition, yet I am sure a neglect of this kind would make me very
miserable.
You have not forgot, I believe, that about two years ago there was a
match proposed to my mother by the bishop of B. between me and his
nephew. The young man was heir to a good fortune, was reckoned handsome
and accomplished, and I think he really was so: I was intirely free from
prepossessions in favour of any one, and had no objection to him, but
that I knew he had a most lamentably-vulnerable heart, for he had been
in love with two or three women of my acquaintance. My mother mentioned
him to me upon the good old prelate's recommendation, and I gave her
this as my reason for disliking the offer, which she approved of so
intirely, that the thing went no farther. Indeed I think that woman is a
fool, who risques her contentment with one of a light disposition.
Marriage will not change men's natures; and it is not every one who has
virtue or prudence enough to be reclaimed. Upon the whole, I am
satisfied with my lot; and am sure I could hear with pleasure, that Mr
Faulkland was married to that Miss B. I wish I knew the other letters
that compose her name.
_September 16_
My mother asked me to-day, Had I considered of what she had been saying
to me? I told her I had, and only begged a little more time. She kissed
me, with tears in her eyes. To be sure, my dear, as much as you can
reasonably desire. I know my Sidney is above trifling. Mrs Vere was
present when my mother left the room. Oh! Miss Bidulph, said she, who
would refuse to gratify such a parent as that? Had _my_ mother
condescended to treat me so, I am sure she could have wrought on me to
do any thing she liked, even though it had been repugnant to my
inclination. Dear madam, I replied, how sweetly you inforce my
duty--Yes, I will obey that kindest best of mothers. I believe I spoke
this, tho' without intending it, in a tone that implied something like
making a merit of this concession; for Mrs Vere immediately answered,
There's a good child! that, to oblige its mamma, will accept of a very
handsome young gentleman, with a good estate, and one that many a girl
in England would give her eyes for. I felt the rebuke; but turning it
off with a smile, said, but you forget, my dear, that I am not dying for
him.
_September 20_
How will you plume yourself on your sagacity, Cecilia, when you read
this account of my love, which you so wisely foretold? I can tell you I
am trying to like Mr Arnold as fast as I can; I make him sing and play
for this purpose from morning till night, for he is here every day and
all day. Lady Grimston holds her head a quarter of a yard higher than
she did before; and looks, as who should say, it was _I_ that brought
this about. The dean is as frolick as May-day upon it; for he is very
fond of Mr Arnold; but tells him he will not forgive him for robbing him
of his second wife; for such, he says, he intended me. I think his
daughter (a pretty girl of about seventeen) looks a little grave of
late. I hope she does not like Mr Arnold herself. I wish my mother would
take it into her head that she was in love with him, and that Mr Arnold
had promised to marry her; then should I a second time crown me with a
willow garland. But there is no fear of this, or rather no hope.
Lady Grimston has given my mother _such_ a character of Mr Arnold, that
if you will take her word for it, there is not a man like him in the
world; and my mother firmly believes every syllable she says. She told
me to day she would write to Sir George, to give him an account of the
matter, and desire his advice. This is a compliment she would not omit
paying, for any consideration, tho' I know my brother's judgment has now
lost all credit with her; and that, let his opinion be what it will, she
is firmly resolved on her new plan. Knowing as you do my mother's
firmness, when once she is possessed with a thing, you will not wonder
that I did not make attempts to alter her mind, which I knew would be
fruitless. She likes Mr Arnold prodigiously; she piques herself on her
skill in physiognomy, and says, if she is deceived in this gentleman,
she will never again rely on that science. Lady Grimston is so fond of
him, that I wonder she did not marry him herself.
_September 23_
We have received two letters from Sir George; one in answer to my
mother's letter, the other to me. I will give them both to you: the
following is a copy of that to my mother.
Madam,
I thank you for the honour you do me in asking my advice, in
regard to the proposal of marriage you have received for my
sister; but I am entirely disqualified from giving you any, as I
am an absolute stranger both to the person and character of the
gentleman you mention; and know no more of him, than that I have
heard there _is_ such a person, who has some estate in the county
where you now you are.
As you are absolute mistress of your daughter's will, as well as
of her person, I shall not presume to interfere in this nice
point. If the marriage is not _already_ agreed upon (which may be
the case, notwithstanding the compliment you do me the favour to
pay me), I think it would be generous in you to see Miss B. and
hear what she has to say, before you proceed farther; but in this,
as in every thing else, your own discretion must guide you.
I am,
Madam,
Your affectionate son,
and most obedient servant,
GEORGE BIDULPH.
_London,
Sept. 22._
My mother was exceedingly displeased with this letter. She said Sir
George had a haughtiness in him that was very offensive to her. I have
acquitted myself in applying to him, and shall give myself no farther
trouble about him or his opinion. As for Miss B. I think she can hardly
be under a necessity of coming to town as yet, and that affair may keep
cold, for I have but little curiosity to hear what the poor Soul may be
prompted to say, as I am sure I shall be time enough to afford her any
assistance she may stand in need of. This was the whole of her
observation. My brother's letter to me is as follows:
Dear Sidney,
I received with concern (though I own not with surprize) an
account from my mother, of a new treaty of marriage that is on
foot between you and a Mr Arnold, of whom I know nothing. Instead
of congratulating you upon this occasion, I cannot help condoling
with you; for I have a better opinion of your heart than to
suppose it can have so soon renounced poor Faulkland. I do not
reproach you for your acquiescence in giving him up: I _know_ you
could not do otherwise; but why in the name of precipitancy are
you to be hurried into wedlock already? You went into the country
to recover your health, I thought; prithee, how comes this new
husband into your way? I know, child, it is not of your seeking,
and do from my heart pity you.
I would by no means have you guilty of a breach of duty to our
mother; but for Heaven's sake, why don't you try your influence
over her, to have this sudden scheme of matrimony suspended, till
she sees and talks to this girl that Faulkland refers her to? If
the wench owns that he was not to blame so much as she herself
was, and relinquishes all pretensions to him, don't you think she
(my mother I mean) would in that case remain bound in honour to
yield you to his prior claim?
Indeed, Sidney, I must blame you for this part of your conduct; it
looks like a strange insensibility in you.
I know you will urge your perfect submission to your mother's
will; and I know too, that _will_ is as absolute as that of an
Eastern monarch. I therefore repeat it, I do not mean to reproach
you with your compliance, but I am vexed to the heart, and must
give it vent.
I see plainly that old piece of formality, lady Grimston's
infernal shrivelled paw in all this. For my mother of herself, I
am sure, would not have thought of disposing of you, without your
liking, so soon after an affair that had created you so much
uneasiness, unless it had been suggested to her by somebody.
Prithee tell me what sort of man this Arnold really is, for I do
not depend on the partial representations I have had of him.
I wish Miss B. were come to town, but she is not yet arrived. I
enquired for her of Faulkland's housekeeper, by the name of
Jefferis. The woman is at the house at Putney waiting to receive
her, but does not know how soon she will come. Would she had been
buried before Faulkland saw her!
I shall expect a letter from you soon. How comes it that you never
mentioned Mr Arnold to me in any that you have writ? But I excuse
you, and am
Your affectionate brother,
G.B.
_London, Sept. 22._
You see this is Sir George himself, my dear, a mixture of petulancy and
indelicacy. There is one thing in him, however, commendable; his steady
adherence to his friend's interests. You find how impossible for me it
is to shew such a letter to my mother: by his strange unguarded manner
of writing, which he does not consider, he defeats his own purposes; for
if any use could be made of that part of his letter relative to Miss B.
I could not shew my mother part, without letting her see the whole: but
that is not to be done; and I can only thank my good fortune that I
received this, and the last letter from him, without her knowlege.
I will now give you my answer to this letter, which I wrote, by the
return of the post.
Dear Brother,
I thank you for your condolements, but can assure you my heart is
not in such a situation as to require any. I own I had all the
esteem for Mr Faulkland, which I thought his merit deserved. Duty
to my good mother, and an undeniable blemish in his character,
first wrought a change in my sentiments towards him: my own peace
of mind now requires me to improve that change into indifference.
You do me justice in supposing that I should never think of
seeking a husband; and you have formed as right a judgment in
regard to lady Grimston's being the promoter of this union. As for
Mr Arnold, though perhaps (had I never known your friend) he might
not have been the man of my choice, yet have I no dislike to him.
I believe him to be a very worthy gentleman; and that my mother
has not been partial in her representations. I am sure, at least,
she has said nothing of him but what she has seen, or been told,
and has good reason to believe.
I wish, dear brother, you had writ with more caution, that I might
have laid before my mother what you said in relation to Miss B. It
may have its weight with me, though I cannot answer for its having
any with her. Do you forget her having told me, that she conceived
a sort of horror at the thoughts of my marrying Mr Faulkland? She
cannot but be sensible, that Miss B. is not without her share of
blame in that affair, which has so perplexed us all. But you know
too that does not exculpate Mr Faulkland. The young lady's
relinquishing her hopes (for a claim I think she does not make),
would only the more excite my mother's compassion, and interest
her in her favour. To sum up the whole in one word, my mother is
resolved, and you yourself acknowlege that her will is absolute.
She has used the most irresistible argument to obtain my consent,
_viz._ that it would make _her_ happy. Spare then, my dear
brother, unkind reflections on any part of my behaviour; for I am
determined to pursue, through life, that rule of conduct, which I
have hitherto invariably adhered to; I mean that of preferring to
my own the happiness of those who are most dear to me.