August 5.--A cloud of letters. A letter from Caroline, another from
mother; also one from each to my father.
The probability to which all the intelligence from my sister has pointed
of late turns out to be a fact. There is an engagement, or almost an
engagement, announced between my dear Caroline and M. de la Feste--to
Caroline's sublime happiness, and my mother's entire satisfaction; as
well as to that of the Marlets. They and my mother seem to know all
about the young man--which is more than I do, though a little extended
information about him, considering that I am Caroline's elder sister,
would not have been amiss. I half feel with my father, who is much
surprised, and, I am sure, not altogether satisfied, that he should not
have been consulted at all before matters reached such a definite stage,
though he is too amiable to say so openly. I don't quite say that a good
thing should have been hindered for the sake of our opinion, if it is a
good thing; but the announcement comes very suddenly. It must have been
foreseen by my mother for some time that this upshot was probable, and
Caroline might have told me more distinctly that M. de la Feste was her
lover, instead of alluding so mysteriously to him as only a friend of the
Marlets, and lately dropping his name altogether. My father, without
exactly objecting to him as a Frenchman, 'wishes he were of English or
some other reasonable nationality for one's son-in-law,' but I tell him
that the demarcations of races, kingdoms, and creeds, are wearing down
every day, that patriotism is a sort of vice, and that the character of
the individual is all we need think about in this case. I wonder if, in
the event of their marriage, he will continue to live at Versailles, or
if he will come to England.
August 7.--A supplemental letter from Caroline, answering, by
anticipation, some of the aforesaid queries. She tells me that
'Charles,' though he makes Versailles his present home, is by no means
bound by his profession to continue there; that he will live just where
she wishes, provided it be not too far from some centre of thought, art,
and civilization. My mother and herself both think that the marriage
should not take place till next year. He exhibits landscapes and canal
scenery every year, she says; so I suppose he is popular, and that his
income is sufficient to keep them in comfort. If not, I do not see why
my father could not settle something more on them than he had intended,
and diminish by a little what he had proposed for me, whilst it was
imagined that I should be the first to stand in need of such.
'Of engaging manner, attractive appearance, and virtuous character,' is
the reply I receive from her in answer to my request for a personal
description. That is vague enough, and I would rather have had one
definite fact of complexion, voice, deed, or opinion. But of course she
has no eye now for material qualities; she cannot see him as he is. She
sees him irradiated with glories such as never appertained and never will
appertain to any man, foreign, English, or Colonial. To think that
Caroline, two years my junior, and so childlike as to be five years my
junior in nature, should be engaged to be married before me. But that is
what happens in families more often than we are apt to remember.
August 16.--Interesting news to-day. Charles, she says, has pleaded that
their marriage may just as well be this year as next; and he seems to
have nearly converted my mother to the same way of thinking. I do not
myself see any reason for delay, beyond the standing one of my father
having as yet had no opportunity of forming an opinion upon the man, the
time, or anything. However, he takes his lot very quietly, and they are
coming home to talk the question over with us; Caroline having decided
not to make any positive arrangements for this change of state till she
has seen me. Subject to my own and my father's approval, she says, they
are inclined to settle the date of the wedding for November, three months
from the present time, that it shall take place here in the village, that
I, of course, shall be bridesmaid, and many other particulars. She draws
an artless picture of the probable effect upon the minds of the villagers
of this romantic performance in the chancel of our old church, in which
she is to be chief actor--the foreign gentleman dropping down like a god
from the skies, picking her up, and triumphantly carrying her off. Her
only grief will be separation from me, but this is to be assuaged by my
going and staying with her for long months at a time. This simple
prattle is very sweet to me, my dear sister, but I cannot help feeling
sad at the occasion of it. In the nature of things it is obvious that I
shall never be to you again what I hitherto have been: your guide,
counsellor, and most familiar friend.
M. de la Feste does certainly seem to be all that one could desire as
protector to a sensitive fragile child like Caroline, and for that I am
thankful. Still, I must remember that I see him as yet only through her
eyes. For her sake I am intensely anxious to meet him, and scrutinise
him through and through, and learn what the man is really made of who is
to have such a treasure in his keeping. The engagement has certainly
been formed a little precipitately; I quite agree with my father in that:
still, good and happy marriages have been made in a hurry before now, and
mother seems well satisfied.
August 20.--A terrible announcement came this morning; and we are in deep
trouble. I have been quite unable to steady my thoughts on anything to-
day till now--half-past eleven at night--and I only attempt writing these
notes because I am too restless to remain idle, and there is nothing but
waiting and waiting left for me to do. Mother has been taken dangerously
ill at Versailles: they were within a day or two of starting; but all
thought of leaving must now be postponed, for she cannot possibly be
moved in her present state. I don't like the sound of haemorrhage at all
in a woman of her full habit, and Caroline and the Marlets have not
exaggerated their accounts I am certain. On the receipt of the letter my
father instantly decided to go to her, and I have been occupied all day
in getting him off, for as he calculates on being absent several days,
there have been many matters for him to arrange before setting out--the
chief being to find some one who will do duty for him next Sunday--a
quest of no small difficulty at such short notice; but at last poor old
feeble Mr. Dugdale has agreed to attempt it, with Mr. Highman, the
Scripture reader, to assist him in the lessons.
I fain would have gone with my father to escape the irksome anxiety of
awaiting her; but somebody had to stay, and I could best be spared.
George has driven him to the station to meet the last train by which he
will catch the midnight boat, and reach Havre some time in the morning.
He hates the sea, and a night passage in particular. I hope he will get
there without mishap of any kind; but I feel anxious for him, stay-at-
home as he is, and unable to cope with any difficulty. Such an errand,
too; the journey will be sad enough at best. I almost think I ought to
have been the one to go to her.
August 21.--I nearly fell asleep of heaviness of spirit last night over
my writing. My father must have reached Paris by this time; and now here
comes a letter . . .
Later.--The letter was to express an earnest hope that my father had set
out. My poor mother is sinking, they fear. What will become of
Caroline? O, how I wish I could see mother; why could not both have
gone?
Later.--I get up from my chair, and walk from window to window, and then
come and write a line. I cannot even divine how poor Caroline's marriage
is to be carried out if mother dies. I pray that father may have got
there in time to talk to her and receive some directions from her about
Caroline and M. de la Feste--a man whom neither my father nor I have
seen. I, who might be useful in this emergency, am doomed to stay here,
waiting in suspense.
August 23.--A letter from my father containing the sad news that my
mother's spirit has flown. Poor little Caroline is heart-broken--she was
always more my mother's pet than I was. It is some comfort to know that
my father arrived in time to hear from her own lips her strongly
expressed wish that Caroline's marriage should be solemnized as soon as
possible. M. de la Feste seems to have been a great favourite of my dear
mother's; and I suppose it now becomes almost a sacred duty of my father
to accept him as a son-in-law without criticism.