“Exceeding fair she was not, and yet fair,
In that she never studied to be fairer
Than nature made her.”
CHAPMAN.
In pursuance of the arrangement proposed the preceding evening, Mr.
Martindale and his guest, immediately after an early breakfast,
went out in search of Richard Smith’s cottage. They had some little
difficulty to find the place; for, though the old man had lived
several years at Brigland, he was of such retired habits that he was
comparatively unknown in the parish: some persons knew him by sight
who did not know his name, and others had heard his name, who were
unacquainted with his person.
The cottage in which he lived seemed to have been selected for its
very retired situation. It stood in a narrow lane, which, before the
building of the great house, had served as a thoroughfare from Brigland
Common to the meadows, which, since the erection of the Abbey, had been
included in the park. The cottage, though apparently so secluded and
almost embowered in wood, was by no means a gloomy abode; for through
a natural vista in the wood before it there was an extensive view of
highly-cultivated scenery, which showed between the over-arching trees
like a beautiful painting in a rustic frame. The light which shone
through this opening, drew the eyes of Markham and his companion to
notice the beauty of the landscape.
There is a peculiar and almost indescribable effect produced on the
mind by the sight of well-known scenery taken from a new point, or
viewed with some variety or novelty of accompaniment. The feeling
thus excited, has not all its interest from novelty alone, nor is
it indebted for its interest to association. In viewing this scene,
Mr. Martindale enjoyed this pleasure: he had lived for many years in
Brigland, and had long been in possession of this estate, but here was
a beauty he had never seen before.
While they were both admiring the scene before them, Horatio Markham
fancied that he could hear a distant sound of music, and stood for a
moment in a listening attitude. Presently the sound caught the ear of
Mr. Martindale; and the two companions looked at each other in mute
astonishment, when the faint tinkling of the unknown instrument was
accompanied with the human voice in notes of indescribable sweetness.
The voice was near enough to be distinctly audible; and Markham, who
had a more acute sense of hearing, and a more extensive knowledge of
music than his friend Mr. Martindale, soon perceived that neither the
words nor the melody were English. It was presently obvious that the
music was in the cottage of old Richard Smith. The two listeners waited
till the voice was silent, and then, without the ceremony of tapping at
the door, entered the poor man’s humble dwelling.
The interior of the cottage was perfectly neat and clean, as might
have been anticipated from the style and appearance of the old man;
but there was in it more than neatness--there were symptoms that its
present tenants had seen better days. There were several articles of
furniture and embellishment which cottagers have neither means nor
inclination to purchase. Symptoms indeed of better days are to be
continually met with in many humble, even in many miserable dwellings;
but such symptoms consist generally of those articles which cannot find
purchasers, or which are in daily use, or of indispensable utility, or
which have an imaginary value far beyond their real value. And the poor
people are sometimes proud of these mementos of their high descent.
They can perhaps show, in an old black frame, and drawn on durable
vellum, their family-arms:--they may have large unwieldy portraits of
ancestors who were distinguished somehow or other in former days, but
they know not when, and have perhaps forgotten their very names:--they
still retain pieces of fine needlework, which make it manifest that
some female ancestor had received a boarding-school education; and many
a poor old couple eat their daily scanty meal on the remains of the
fine porcelain which some of their progenitors used and exhibited only
on days of high festivity.
But the articles in Richard Smith’s cottage were of a different
character, and of much more recent date than such as those alluded
to above. There hung upon the walls some landscapes, which indeed a
person in poverty might have drawn, but which no poor man would keep or
would embellish with handsome modern frames. There were also several
engravings, which had not been published more than sixteen or seventeen
years. Instead of the usual cottage clock with clumsily painted figures
and elm-case, there stood on a bracket a neat time-piece, with the name
of a celebrated Parisian maker. Upon a set of hanging-shelves there lay
several volumes of fancifully and apparently foreign bound books. These
were for the most part Italian, but a few were French.
While Mr. Martindale was talking to the old man, Horatio Markham,
according to a very common, but not very decorous practice of young
men who affect literature, was amusing himself with taking down and
opening one after another of the books; and seeing the character of
them, and that in their selection they gave proof of a correct and
polished taste, he could not but look more attentively at the old man’s
niece, with an endeavour to trace in her countenance an expression
of a style above that of a simple rustic. The human countenance
is susceptible of great variety of expression, and owes much to
surrounding circumstances: the very same set of features which in
one garb and place would savour of rusticity, would bear a different
interpretation in another garb and with other adjuncts. In like manner,
the imagination of the spectator does much in giving an interpretation
to features, and ascertaining physiognomical indications. So when
Horatio Markham saw the young woman in the witness-box giving, with
downcast look and trembling accents, her testimony as to the injury
sustained by a poor old man, he could see nothing more, for he thought
nothing more was to be seen, than a modest, simple, and tolerably
pretty face, having no remarkable or peculiar expression. But when he
saw the same person, with the same features and the same expression
of retiring modesty, surrounded with the productions of art, and
apparently the only person in the cottage to whom those productions
could be interesting, and by whom those books should be read and
enjoyed, he soon fancied that he observed indications of a superior
mind and a cultivated understanding. Nay, so far did his imagination
influence him, that the impulse which he first felt to address some
inquiries to the old man’s niece concerning the books and drawings was
absolutely repelled by a feeling of awe. He now began to paint to his
imagination a person of superior rank, and to be astonished that he had
not before observed that her whole style and expression was far above
her professed situation.
As he was replacing on the shelf one of the books into which he had
been looking, a hard substance fell to the ground, and he stooped
immediately to pick it up; but the young woman was before him, and
Markham saw, or thought he saw, that the article which she had thus
hastily picked up, was neither more nor less than an ivory crucifix.
The object itself he would not have noticed, but he was very much
struck with the eagerness with which it was taken up and concealed.
Apologising for his awkwardness, and accepting an acknowledgment of
his apology, he turned from the books to look more minutely at the
pictures. The drawings were, without exception, scenes in Italy,
evidently executed by a practised hand, and bearing a date which
rendered it highly improbable that they should have been the production
of the old man’s niece.
The conversation which passed between Mr. Martindale and Richard
Smith was indeed heard, but not heeded by Horatio Markham. It had a
reference chiefly to the nature of the injury for which the old man had
recently sought legal redress; and the account which Mr. Martindale
received concerning the conduct of his honourable relative, was not
by any means calculated to soothe the already irritated mind of the
old gentleman. Turning the discourse from these unpleasant matters, he
suddenly asked:
“Did not I hear music just before I came in? Does this young woman play
or sing?”
This question excited the attention of Markham, who cast his eyes
round the apartment, but all in vain, to find what musical instrument
it was which he had heard while he was standing near the cottage. To
the question thus asked no answer was given, but the young woman held
down her head and blushed; exhibiting, as Markham thought, much more
confusion than such an inquiry in such circumstances seemed to demand.
Mr. Martindale did not repeat the question, but proceeded to say:
“Well, my good man, I have brought with me the young advocate who
pleaded your cause so effectually. I hope he will be as successful in
every cause that he undertakes, and that he will never undertake any
less honourable to himself.”
“The law is a dangerous profession, sir; but we must not measure a
man’s integrity by the brief which he holds. The barrister professes
himself an advocate, not a judge; and if he refuses a brief because
he thinks the cause a bad one, he acts with prejudice, seeing only
one side of the question. Besides, sir, there are few causes which
may bear altogether the name of bad. Sometimes a cause may be bad
in law, but good in morals; sometimes an action at law may be good
so far as the moral feeling is concerned, and bad as to the letter
of some statute; and it is possible that some persons may consider
any litigation whatever as being inconsistent with the strict letter
of Christianity. We must also make great allowances for diversity
of temper and disposition: what may appear just to one man appears
perhaps too rigidly strict to another. I think, sir, that the
barrister’s profession is unduly calumniated. If, indeed, a client
comes to an advocate and says, ‘I wish to take an unfair advantage of
my neighbour, and I will pay you to assist me,’ then the barrister
would act improperly to sell his conscience to his client; but every
litigant sees, or fancies he sees, something of right in his cause, and
the barrister merely gives him legal assistance. The law is a dangerous
profession indeed, because it may lead to a confusion of right and
wrong; but while it endangers a man’s integrity, it also gives him
abundant and honourable opportunity of displaying an upright mind and
good principle. You will excuse an old man,” said he, turning towards
Markham; “garrulity is the privilege of age; but I have had experience
of the world. I see but little of it now; the time has been that I have
seen more.”
Horatio Markham, though but five-and-twenty years of age--though he
had gained two causes in the Court of King’s Bench--though he had been
successful in his first brief in his native town--though he had at
other towns on the circuit held an extraordinary number of briefs for
a first journey--though he held those briefs by means of a reputation
going before him that he was a man of good talents--though he had more
than once received a marked compliment from his seniors both at the
bar and on the bench--and though he was of humble origin, and was
rationally expecting to rise in a profession which would place him in
a higher station than his parents or early acquaintance, yet, with
all this, he was not a coxcomb. Moralists and divines may speak as
contemptuously as they will of negative virtues; but in defiance of
their wisdom, we will contend that, humanly speaking, there was great
merit in Horatio, that he did not feel himself unduly elated by all his
honors. He attentively listened to the common-place harangue of old
Richard Smith, and replied to it with the respect due to old age.
“You are very candid to the profession, sir; few will concede so much:
but it would be difficult to find any profession or employment which
is not subject to the reproaches of those who are not engaged in it.
Indeed, I have known that even individuals in the profession have also
spoken disrespectfully of its moral character and tendency.”
“Then,” replied the old man, “they ought to leave it. A profession
cannot be indispensable that is essentially immoral. But, sir, I have
to thank you for the manner in which you conducted my cause. It was
well done of you that you spoke so temperately of the defendant, or
that you rather let facts speak for themselves. I have no spiteful
feeling against the gentleman, and for my own part could easily have
borne with what I received from him; but I have a serious charge here,”
pointing to his niece; “that poor child looks up to me for protection,
and I must not suffer any one to approach her disrespectfully. I love
her as if she were my own. She has, indeed, no other protector. I must
be almost fastidious and jealous in the care that I take of her: a life
dearer to me than my own depends upon her happiness.”
As the old man was speaking, his face was suffused with a glow of
strong feeling; the young woman’s lip quivered, her eye glistened, and
she left the room where they were sitting. As she opened the door by
which she made her retreat, Markham, whose curiosity had been strongly
excited by all the appearances in the cottage, caught a glimpse of
a second or inner apartment, apparently fitted up with very great
neatness. Of its extent he could form no idea, but its ornaments were
of the same nature as those in the room in which he was sitting. Old
Mr. Martindale now felt his curiosity roused; he said:
“I am quite curious to know the history of this young woman. Is she
really your niece?”
“She is really my niece,” said the old man, “so far as that her mother
was my sister’s child.”
“Are these drawings done by your niece too? You seem to have given her
a very good education.”
“These drawings,” replied the old man, “are not hers; and as for her
education, such as it is, she received it before she was placed under
my care.”
“Are her father and mother living?” continued Mr. Martindale; “but
I suppose not, by her being placed, as you say, under your sole
protection.”
This last part of the sentence was uttered at an interval after the
first; for no immediate answer was returned to the interrogation
concerning her father and mother. Indeed, the poor man did not seem
very willing to enter into any very particular explanation upon the
subject; and Mr. Martindale himself, though he had expressed a
curiosity to know the history of the young woman, was not so very
curious as to persevere in putting a multitude of questions.
There are some persons whose curiosity gains strength by opposition,
and others who will not condescend to be at the expense of any great
number of questions. Mr. Martindale was of this latter class. Indeed,
had he received ever so much intelligence, it would have been of little
use, for he would soon have forgotten it. There was another person
present whose curiosity had been much more strongly excited. Horatio
Markham felt himself fully convinced that the young woman was not a
daughter of a cottager: he could, as he fancied, see clearly enough,
by her manner and expression, that she was of much superior rank. It
was very ridiculous for a young barrister, who had scarcely seen any
society at all, who had been born and brought up in a country town, and
of a humble family, or, more properly speaking, of no family at all,
and who had spent most of his time in study;--it was very ridiculous
for him to affect to decide what manners designated or manifested
superior breeding. It is a species of vanity, however, in which Markham
is by no means singular.
Mr. Martindale having given the old man an assurance of his protection,
and having now no more questions to ask, rose and took his leave,
accompanied by his young friend.
“That was a pretty young woman at the cottage, Mr. Barrister; but you
must not fall in love with her. It will never do for professional men
to make love-matches. Love in a cottage is very pretty, very poetical,
very well to talk about.”
Markham protested that he had not the slightest notion of falling in
love with a person who was a total stranger to him; but seriously, he
could not but acknowledge that there was something very superior in the
look and manner of the young woman, and that it might not have been
impossible for him to have received an impression, had he met with a
similar person in a suitable rank in life. He felt himself not well
pleased that Mr. Martindale should have thought it within the verge
of possibility that a gentleman of the bar should condescend so low
as to fall in love with a young woman, the niece of a poor cottager.
He forgot, however, that during the time he was in the cottage, he
had his eyes very much fixed upon the old man’s niece; he forgot
how very completely his attention had been absorbed; and while he
was speculating as to the causes which operated in bringing so much
elegance and gracefulness into so humble an abode, Mr. Martindale
thought him occupied in admiring the young woman’s pretty face. There
was certainly a tolerable share of that species of beauty called
prettiness in the composition of her features; but as she rather
exceeded the middle stature, and wore a general look of thoughtfulness,
the word pretty was not comprehensive enough for a description of
her person. When she appeared in the court as a witness, her fine
glossy black ringlets were totally concealed, and her dark eyes were
so bent towards the ground that their life and expression were not
visible. Markham had observed her but little; thinking probably that
his behaviour could not be more becoming than when it was totally and
directly opposed to that of the defendant’s counsel. He was, therefore,
not a little surprised when he saw so much beauty and gracefulness in
one whom he had taken for a mere country girl; and his curiosity was
still more raised when he observed the nature of the decorations of
the poor man’s cottage. The charm which struck him most of all was,
the total absence of all affectation or artifice both in the old man
and in his niece. Richard Smith, indeed, used language superior in
ordinary correctness to that of the usual inhabitants of cottages,
but did not give himself airs, as some poor men who fancy themselves
conjurers, because they happen to be a little better informed than
their neighbours; and the young woman appeared quite as free from any
species of affectation, either of manner or of dress.