We have spoken favorably of the Countess. She was for the most part a
considerate as well as a benevolent woman: we say for the most part,
because we must make some slight exception. And if our readers be angry
with us for not indulging them with perfect characters, we can only say
we are sorry for it, and will promise that as soon as we meet with a
faultless character we will give the history thereof to the world. In
the meantime we must take what we find, and make the best of it. The
Countess of Smatterton then was, as we have said, possessed of many
good qualities, but was not perfect. There was occasionally a want
of considerateness in her very benevolence; and most people indeed,
who do any good at all to their fellow-creatures, prefer doing it in
their own way. There is perhaps some benefit in this; for otherwise
the opulent and powerful would be too much importuned, and the number
of the dependent be most awfully increased. To proceed then: we have
observed that the Countess was not uniformly considerate. She could,
and for the most part did, bestow her favors with great grace and
urbanity of manner; but occasionally she was rather forgetful of the
proprieties; she did not always consider that what might be suitable in
one person or station might not be suitable in another. This feeling
was manifested in the interview with which her grace was pleased to
honor Miss Primrose, soon after the decease of her valuable friend and
relative, Dr Greendale.
The Countess very kindly invited the ladies to the castle. Her ladyship
received the widow and her niece in her own apartment. No one knew
so well as the Countess how to manage the language and address of
consolation. Mrs Greendale was charmed with the delicate and feeling
manner in which she was received; and her ladyship was happy that any
attention of hers could gratify and soothe the afflicted.
With an exquisite dexterity of address the Countess contrived to
introduce an allusion to the situation of Penelope Primrose; and as
neither the young lady nor her aunt was in full possession of the
circumstances in which Mr Primrose was at that time, they both had the
impression on their minds that there was no other immediate prospect
for his daughter than the exertion of her own talents and acquirements
to provide her with the means of support. The worthy rector had not as
yet been long enough in the grave to give Penelope an opportunity of
feeling the difference of Mrs Greendale’s manner towards her; but she
had penetration enough to foresee what must be her situation so long as
she remained under the same roof as her aunt. With the utmost readiness
did she therefore listen to the Countess, when speaking of the various
employments to which a young person situated as she was might turn her
attention.
“Lord Smatterton,” said the Countess, “has frequently mentioned the
subject to me, and he recommends a situation in a private family.
There are certainly some advantages and some disadvantages in such a
situation: very much depends upon the temper and disposition of almost
every individual in the family. It is possible that you may meet with
a family consisting of reasonable beings, but it is more than probable
that you may have to encounter arrogance or ignorance; these are not
excluded from any rank.”
This language seemed to Penelope as an intimation that a school
would be a more desirable sphere in which to make profitable use
of her acquisitions. It was not for her to oppose any objections
to the implied recommendations of so good and so great a friend as
her ladyship; but she felt considerable reluctance to that kind of
employment, which she fancied had been suggested. Her reply was
embarrassed but respectful, intimating that she was ready to adopt any
mode of employment which the Countess might be pleased to suggest. Her
ladyship gave a smile of approbation to the acquiescent disposition
which the young lady manifested, and added:
“If Miss Primrose could conquer a little feeling of timidity, which
might naturally enough be experienced by one so retired in her habits,
it would be possible for her, with her great vocal powers and musical
talent, not only to find means of maintenance, but to arrive at a
competent independence, by adopting the musical profession. Then she
would also enjoy the pleasure of good society. If such arrangement
be agreeable, I will most willingly charge myself with providing the
preparatory instruction under a distinguished professor. What does my
young friend think of such occupation?”
Had sincerity been the readiest road to the patronage and friendship
of the great, this question might have been very readily and easily
answered. But Penelope knew better than to suppose that any advantage
could arise from a direct opposition to the wishes of a patron.
Repugnant as she was to the proposal, she dared not to whisper the
least syllable of contradiction, on the ground of dislike, to the
profession; but after a blush of mortification, which the Countess
mistook for a symptom of diffidence, she replied:
“I fear that your ladyship is disposed to estimate rather too highly
the humble talents I may possess, and that I shall not answer the
expectations which so distinguished patronage might raise.”
The Countess was not altogether pleased with this shadow of an
objection; for it seemed to call in question her own discernment. She
therefore replied with some quickness:
“I beg your pardon, Miss Primrose: I have usually been considered
as something of a judge in these matters; and, if I do not greatly
mistake, you are peculiarly qualified for the profession; and, if you
would condescend to adopt my recommendation, I will be answerable for
its success.”
The Countess, with all her kindness and considerateness, had not the
slightest idea that there could be in a young person, situated as
Penelope, any feeling of pride or thought of degradation. But pride was
in being before titles were invented; and even republics, which, in
the arrogance of equality, may repel from their political vocabulary
all distinctions of fellow citizens, cannot eradicate pride from the
human heart. In a civilized country there is not perhaps an individual
to be found who is incapable of the sensation of degradation. Miss
Primrose thought it degrading to become a public singer; she felt that
it would be publishing to the world that she was not independent. The
world cares little about such matters. Right or wrong, however, this
feeling took possession of the young lady’s mind; and as pride does not
enter the mind by means of reasoning, it will not be expelled by any
process of ratiocination. For all this, however, the worthy Countess
could make no allowance; and it appeared to her that if a young person
were under the necessity of serving her superiors in rank for the sake
of maintenance, it signified very little what mode of servitude were
applied to.
There was also another consideration which weighed not a little with
the Countess, in almost insisting upon Miss Primrose’s adopting the
musical profession. Her ladyship was a distinguished patroness, and a
most excellent judge of musical talent; and there was a rival patroness
who had never yet been able to produce, under her auspices, anything at
all equal to Penelope Primrose. The mortification or defeat of a rival
is a matter of great moment to minds of every description. Whenever
there is the weakness of rivalry there must be of necessity also the
vanity of triumph, and to that occasionally much will be sacrificed.
Mrs Greendale, who was present at this discussion, sided most cordially
with the Countess; but had the proposal come from any other quarter,
in all human probability it would have been resented as an indignity.
Penelope was also well aware that it was absolutely necessary that
she should leave the asylum in which so many of her few days had
been spent, and she therefore, with as good a grace as her feelings
permitted, gave assent to the proposal which the Countess had made. And
thereby her generous patroness was softened.
The discussion of this question occupied no inconsiderable portion of
time, though we have not thought it necessary to repeat at length the
very common-place dialogue which passed on the subject. Our readers
must have very languid imaginations if they cannot supply the omission
for themselves. Suffice it to say, that the arguments used by the
Countess of Smatterton were much stronger than the objections which
arose in the mind of Penelope Primrose; and the consideration of these
arguments, backed by the reflection that she had no other immediately
available resource, determined the dependent one to acquiesce in that
which her soul abhorred. It was all very true, as the amiable Countess
observed, that an occupation which introduced the person so employed
to the notice and into the saloons of the nobility, could not be
essentially degrading; it was also very true that there could be no
moral objection to a profession which had been ornamented by some of
the purest and most virtuous characters. All this was very true; but
notwithstanding this and much more than this which was urged by the
Countess, still Penelope did not like it. There is no accounting for
tastes.
Some young ladies there are who think that, if they should be situated
as Penelope was, they would not suffer any inducement to lead them
to a compliance with such a proposal. They imagine that no earthly
consideration whatever should compel them to that which they abhorred
or disapproved. They cannot think that Penelope deserved the title of
heroine, if she could thus easily surrender her judgment and bend her
will to the dictation of a patroness. But let these young ladies be
informed, that in this compliance lay no small portion of the heroism
of Penelope’s character. She gained a victory over herself; she did not
gratify a pert self-will at the expense of propriety and decorum, and
she had no inclination to play the part of a Quixote.
It is an easy thing for a young man to set himself up as independent.
The world with all its various occupations is before him. He may engage
in as many freaks as suit his fancy; he may dwell and live where
and how he pleases; but the case is widely different with a young
woman delicately brought up, respectably connected, and desirous of
retaining a respectable condition and the countenance of her friends.
She is truly dependent, and must oftentimes sacrifice her judgment and
feelings to avoid more serious and important sacrifices.
Penelope used to talk about dependence while under the roof of her
benevolent and kind-hearted relative, now no more. But she felt it not
then, as she felt it when her uncle had departed from life. Then it was
merely a name, now it became a reality.
When the Countess had prevailed upon Penelope to give her assent to
the proposal of publicly displaying her musical talents, her ladyship
was in exceeding good humour; and when a lady of high rank is in
good humour, her condescension, her affability, her wit, her wisdom,
and whatever she pleases to assume or affect of the agreeable and
praiseworthy, are infinitely above all language of commendation to such
a person as Mrs Greendale. The widow therefore was quite charmed with
the exquisitely lady-like manners of the Countess, astonished at her
great good sense; and, had the Countess requested it, Mrs Greendale
herself would have become a public singer.
While this negociation was going on at the castle at Smatterton,
another discussion concerning Penelope was passing at the rectory at
Neverden.
“Well, papa,” said Miss Darnley, “I took particular notice of Penelope
Primrose yesterday, and purposely mentioned the name of Lord Spoonbill,
to see whether it would produce any emotion, and I did not observe
anything that led me to suppose what you suspect.”
“Very likely, my child, you could not discern it. That was not a
time for the expression of any such feelings. Her thoughts were then
otherwise engaged. But I can say that, from what I have observed, I
have no reason whatever to doubt that her affections are not as they
were with respect to your brother. You know that Robert wrote to her
by the same conveyance which brought us a letter, and although I gave
every opportunity and hint I could to that purpose, Miss Primrose did
not mention having heard.”
“But, my dear papa,” replied Miss Darnley, still unwilling to think
unfavourably of so valued a friend as Penelope, “might not her
thoughts be otherwise engaged at the time, when you visited her; for
you recollect that your call was much sooner after Dr Greendale’s death
than our’s was.”
Mr Darnley smiled with a look of incredulity, and said, “You are very
charitable in your judgment, my dear, but I think in this instance you
extend your candour rather too far. I did not only observe symptoms
of alienation, but had, I tell you, almost a proof of the fact. I
went so far as to allude to her engagement and to offer our house as
an asylum; and her reply was, that she would be at the direction of
Lady Smatterton. Whether she be vain and conceited enough to aspire to
Lord Spoonbill’s hand, I will not pretend to say, but I am abundantly
convinced that she does not regard your brother with the same affection
that she did some time ago; and there certainly have been symptoms to
that effect in the course of her correspondence, or Robert would never
have used such language, or made such enquiries as he has in his last
letter. And I think it would be but an act of kindness, or even of
justice, to let your brother know what are our suspicions.”
Now Mary Darnley, who was rather inclined to be blue-stockingish,
and had of course, a mighty admiration for wisdom, and learning, and
science, thought it not unlikely that if Penelope had changed her mind,
and transferred her affections to another, that other was more likely
to be Mr Kipperson than Lord Spoonbill. For, she reasoned, it was not
probable that a young woman so brought up as Penelope had been, should
be at all pleased with a character so profligate as Lord Spoonbill
was generally supposed to be. Then Mr Kipperson, though he was double
Penelope’s age, yet was a very agreeable man, and far superior to the
common run of farmers; and he was a man of very extensive information
and of great reading. The reasoning then went on very consequentially
to prove, that as Penelope loved reading, and as Mr Kipperson loved
reading, therefore Penelope must love Mr Kipperson. This perhaps was
not the best kind of reasoning in the world, yet it might do in default
of a better to support a theory.
The truth of the matter is, that Miss Mary Darnley herself was a
little disposed to admire Mr Kipperson, in virtue of his literary and
scientific character; and the truth also is, that Mr Kipperson had
really manifested symptoms of admiration towards Penelope Primrose;
and last, but not least, is the truth, that Miss Mary Darnley was
somewhat inclined to be jealous of the attention which the literary and
scientific Mr Kipperson had recently paid to Miss Primrose.
This theory of Miss Mary Darnley seemed the most plausible, and it
was therefore adopted by her mother and sisters, and by them it was
unanimously concluded that Penelope was not unfavourable to the suit of
Mr Kipperson; and then they thought that the young lady had behaved,
or was behaving very ill to their brother; and then they thought that
their brother might do much better for himself; and then they thought
that Mr Kipperson was at least fifty, though till then it had been the
common opinion that he was but forty; and then they thought that no
dependence could be placed on any one; and then they made many wise
remarks on the unexpectedness of human events, not considering that the
experience of millions, and the events of centuries, have conspired to
shew that events take any other direction than that which is expected.
Ann Darnley was sorry for it, Martha laughed at it, and Mary was angry
with it.
As for Mr Darnley himself, he was not much moved; but he could not
admit of the idea that he was wrong in his conjecture that Miss
Primrose was partial to Lord Spoonbill, therefore he could not see
the force of the reasoning which went to prove, that the transfer of
Penelope’s affections was not from Robert Darnley to Lord Spoonbill,
but to Mr Kipperson.
“Beside,” said Mr Darnley, “is it likely that a young woman of such
high notions as Miss Primrose should think of accepting an offer from
Mr Kipperson, who, though he is a man of property and of literary
taste, is still but a farmer, or agriculturist. It is far more likely
that the vanity of the young lady should fix her hopes on Lord
Spoonbill, especially if his lordship has paid her, as is not unlikely,
very marked attentions.”
Although in the family at the rectory of Neverden there was diversity
of opinion as to the person on whom Miss Primrose had placed her
affections, there was at least unanimity in the feeling and expression
of disapprobation. And, in pursuance of this feeling, there was a
diminution, and indeed nearly a cessation of intercourse between the
parties. Many days passed away, and no message and no visitor from
Neverden arrived at Smatterton.
This was deeply and painfully felt by Penelope, and the more so as it
was absolutely impossible for her to ask an explanation. Indeed, she
concluded that no explanation was wanting; the fact that no letter
had been received for so long time, and the circumstance of the
coldness and change in the manners of the young ladies at Neverden,
were sufficient manifestations to Penelope that, for some cause or
other, there was a change in the mind of Robert Darnley towards her.
Then in addition to these things was the reflection, that she had
allowed herself to be persuaded contrary to her own judgment to adopt
the profession of music as a public singer, or at least as a hired
performer. Thus, in a very short time, she was plunged from the height
of hope to the depth of despair. A little while ago she had been
taught to entertain expectations of her father’s return to England in
a state of independence; she had also reason to hope that, the lapse
of a few months, there might come from a distant land one for whom she
did entertain a high esteem, and who should become her guardian, and
guide, and companion through life. A little while ago also, she had
in the society and sympathy of her worthy and benevolent uncle, Dr
Greendale, a refuge from the storms of life, and some consolation to
enable her to bear up aright under the pressure of life’s evils, its
doubts and its fears. All these hopes were now vanished and dispersed,
and she left to the mercy of a rude world. Her best benefactor was
in his grave, and those very agreeable and pleasant companions in
whom he confided as in relatives, and more than sisters, they also
had deserted her. It required a great effort of mind to bear up under
these calamities. Her mind however had been habituated to exertion,
and it had gained strength from the efforts which it had formerly
made; but still her constitution was not stoical; she had strong and
deep feelings. It was with some considerable effort that she did not
yield so far to the pressure of present circumstances as to lose all
elasticity of mind and to relinquish all love of life. And pity itself
need not seek and cannot find an object more worthy of its tears than
one living, who has lost all relish for life, and ceased to enjoy its
brightness or to dread its darkness.