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TALES AND NOVELS,
VOLUME III (of X)
BELINDA.
By Maria Edgeworth.
IN TEN VOLUMES. WITH ENGRAVINGS ON STEEL.
1857.
CONTENTS.
I. Characters
II. Masks
III. Lady Delacour’s History
IV. The same continued
V. Birthday Dresses
VI. Ways and Means
VII. The Serpentine River
VIII. A Family Party
IX. Advice
X. The Mysterious Boudoir
XI. Difficulties
XII. The Macaw
XIII. Sortes Virgilianae
XIV. The Exhibition
XV. Jealousy
XVI. Domestic Happiness
XVII. Rights of Woman
XVIII. A Declaration
XIX. A Wedding
XX. Reconciliation
XXI. Helena
XXII. A Spectre
XXIII. The Chaplain
XXIV. Peu à peu
XXV. Love me, love my dog
XXVI. Virginia
XXVII. A Discovery
XXVIII. E O
XXIX. A Jew
XXX. News
XXXI. The Dènouement
BELINDA
CHAPTER I.
CHARACTERS.
Mrs. Stanhope, a well-bred woman, accomplished in that branch of
knowledge which is called the art of rising in the world, had, with but
a small fortune, contrived to live in the highest company. She prided
herself upon having established half a dozen nieces most happily, that
is to say, upon having married them to men of fortunes far superior to
their own. One niece still remained unmarried--Belinda Portman, of whom
she was determined to get rid with all convenient expedition. Belinda
was handsome, graceful, sprightly, and highly accomplished; her aunt had
endeavoured to teach her that a young lady’s chief business is to please
in society, that all her charms and accomplishments should be invariably
subservient to one grand object--the establishing herself in the world:
“For this, hands, lips, and eyes were put to school,
And each instructed feature had its rule.”
Mrs. Stanhope did not find Belinda such a docile pupil as her other
nieces, for she had been educated chiefly in the country; she had early
been inspired with a taste for domestic pleasures; she was fond of
reading, and disposed to conduct herself with prudence and integrity.
Her character, however, was yet to be developed by circumstances.
Mrs. Stanhope lived at Bath, where she had opportunities of showing
her niece off, as she thought, to advantage; but as her health began
to decline, she could not go out with her as much as she wished. After
manoeuvring with more than her usual art, she succeeded in fastening
Belinda upon the fashionable Lady Delacour for the season. Her ladyship
was so much pleased by Miss Portman’s accomplishments and vivacity, as
to invite her to spend the winter with her in London. Soon after her
arrival in town, Belinda received the following letter from her aunt
Stanhope.
“Crescent, Bath.
“After searching every place I could think of, Anne found your bracelet
in your dressing-table, amongst a heap of odd things, which you
left behind you to be thrown away: I have sent it to you by a young
gentleman, who came to Bath (unluckily) the very day you left me--Mr.
Clarence Hervey--an acquaintance, and great admirer of my Lady Delacour.
He is really an uncommonly pleasant young man, is highly connected,
and has a fine independent fortune. Besides, he is a man of wit and
gallantry, quite a connoisseur in female grace and beauty--just the
man to bring a new face into fashion: so, my dear Belinda, I make it a
point--look well when he is introduced to you, and remember, what I have
so often told you, that nobody _can_ look well without taking some pains
to please.
“I see--or at least when I went out more than my health will at present
permit--I used to see multitudes of silly girls, seemingly all cut out
upon the same pattern, who frequented public places day after day,
and year after year, without any idea farther than that of diverting
themselves, or of obtaining transient admiration. How I have pitied and
despised the giddy creatures, whilst I have observed them playing off
their unmeaning airs, vying with one another in the most _obvious_,
and consequently the most ridiculous manner, so as to expose themselves
before the very men they would attract: chattering, tittering, and
flirting; full of the present moment, never reflecting upon the future;
quite satisfied if they got a partner at a ball, without ever thinking
of a partner for life! I have often asked myself, what is to become
of such girls when they grow old or ugly, or when the public eye grows
tired of them? If they have large fortunes, it is all very well; they
can afford to divert themselves for a season or two, without doubt; they
are sure to be sought after and followed, not by mere danglers, but by
men of suitable views and pretensions: but nothing to my mind can be
more miserable than the situation of a poor girl, who, after spending
not only the interest, but the solid capital of her small fortune in
dress, and frivolous extravagance, fails in her matrimonial expectations
(as many do merely from not beginning to speculate in time). She finds
herself at five or six-and-thirty a burden to her friends, destitute
of the means of rendering herself independent (for the girls I speak
of never think of _learning_ to play cards), _de trop_ in society,
yet obliged to hang upon all her acquaintance, who wish her in heaven,
because she is unqualified to make the _expected_ return for civilities,
having no home, I mean no establishment, no house, &c. fit for the
reception of company of a certain rank.--My dearest Belinda, may this
never be your case!--You have every possible advantage, my love: no
pains have been spared in your education, and (which is the essential
point) I have taken care that this should be known--so that you have
_the name_ of being perfectly accomplished. You will also have the name
of being very fashionable, if you go much into public, as doubtless you
will with Lady Delacour.--Your own good sense must make you aware, my
dear, that from her ladyship’s situation and knowledge of the world,
it will always be proper, upon all subjects of conversation, for her to
lead and you to follow: it would be very unfit for a young girl like
you to suffer yourself to stand in competition with Lady Delacour, whose
high pretensions to wit and beauty are _indisputable_. I need say
no more to you upon this subject, my dear. Even with your limited
experience, you must have observed how foolish young people offend
those who are the most necessary to their interests, by an imprudent
indulgence of their vanity.
“Lady Delacour has an incomparable taste in dress: consult her, my dear,
and do not, by an ill-judged economy, counteract my views--apropos, I
have no objection to your being presented at court. You will, of
course, have credit with all her ladyship’s tradespeople, if you manage
properly. To know how and when to lay out money is highly commendable,
for in some situations, people judge of what one can afford by what one
actually spends.--I know of no law which compels a young lady to tell
what her age or her fortune may be. You have no occasion for caution yet
on one of these points.
“I have covered my old carpet with a handsome green baize, and every
stranger who comes to see me, I observe, takes it for granted that I
have a rich carpet under it. Say every thing that is proper, in your
best manner, for me to Lady Delacour.
“Adieu, my dear Belinda,
“Yours, very sincerely,
“SELINA STANHOPE.”
It is sometimes fortunate, that the means which are taken to produce
certain effects upon the mind have a tendency directly opposite to
what is expected. Mrs. Stanhope’s perpetual anxiety about her niece’s
appearance, manners, and establishment, had completely worn out
Belinda’s patience; she had become more insensible to the praises of her
personal charms and accomplishments than young women of her age usually
are, because she had been so much flattered and _shown off_, as it is
called, by her match-making aunt.--Yet Belinda was fond of amusement,
and had imbibed some of Mrs. Stanhope’s prejudices in favour of rank
and fashion. Her taste for literature declined in proportion to her
intercourse with the fashionable world, as she did not in this society
perceive the least use in the knowledge that she had acquired. Her mind
had never been roused to much reflection; she had in general acted
but as a puppet in the hands of others. To her aunt Stanhope she had
hitherto paid unlimited, habitual, blind obedience; but she was more
undesigning, and more free from affectation and coquetry, than could
have been expected, after the course of documenting which she had gone
through. She was charmed with the idea of a visit to Lady Delacour,
whom she thought the most agreeable--no, that is too feeble an
expression--the most fascinating person she had ever beheld. Such was
the light in which her ladyship appeared, not only to Belinda, but to
all the world--that is to say, all the world of fashion, and she knew of
no other.--The newspapers were full of Lady Delacour’s parties, and Lady
Delacour’s dresses, and Lady Delacour’s _bon mots_: every thing that her
ladyship said was repeated as witty; every thing that her ladyship wore
was imitated as fashionable. Female wit sometimes depends on the
beauty of its possessor for its reputation; and the reign of beauty
is proverbially short, and fashion often capriciously deserts her
favourites, even before nature withers their charms. Lady Delacour
seemed to be a fortunate exception to these general rules: long after
she had lost the bloom of youth, she continued to be admired as a
fashionable _bel esprit_; and long after she had ceased to be a novelty
in society, her company was courted by all the gay, the witty, and the
gallant. To be seen in public with Lady Delacour, to be a visitor at her
house, were privileges of which numbers were vehemently ambitious; and
Belinda Portman was congratulated and envied by all her acquaintance,
for being admitted as an inmate. How could she avoid thinking herself
singularly fortunate?
A short time after her arrival at Lady Delacour’s, Belinda began to
see through the thin veil with which politeness covers domestic
misery.--Abroad, and at home, Lady Delacour was two different persons.
Abroad she appeared all life, spirit, and good humour--at home,
listless, fretful, and melancholy; she seemed like a spoiled actress off
the stage, over-stimulated by applause, and exhausted by the exertions
of supporting a fictitious character.--When her house was filled with
well-dressed crowds, when it blazed with lights, and resounded with
music and dancing, Lady Delacour, in the character of Mistress of the
Revels, shone the soul and spirit of pleasure and frolic: but the
moment the company retired, when the music ceased, and the lights were
extinguishing, the spell was dissolved.
She would sometimes walk up and down the empty magnificent saloon,
absorbed in thoughts seemingly of the most painful nature.
For some days after Belinda’s arrival in town she heard nothing of Lord
Delacour; his lady never mentioned his name, except once accidentally,
as she was showing Miss Portman the house, she said, “Don’t open that
door--those are only Lord Delacour’s apartments.”--The first time
Belinda ever saw his lordship, he was dead drunk in the arms of two
footmen, who were carrying him up stairs to his bedchamber: his lady,
who was just returned from Ranelagh, passed by him on the landing-place
with a look of sovereign contempt.
“What is the matter?--Who is this?” said Belinda.
“Only the body of my Lord Delacour,” said her ladyship: “his bearers
have brought it up the wrong staircase. Take it down again, my good
friends: let his lordship go his _own way_. Don’t look so shocked and
amazed, Belinda--don’t look so _new_, child: this funeral of my lord’s
intellects is to me a nightly, or,” added her ladyship, looking at
her watch and yawning, “I believe I should say a _daily_ ceremony--six
o’clock, I protest!”
The next morning, as her ladyship and Miss Portman were sitting at the
breakfast-table, after a very late breakfast, Lord Delacour entered the
room.
“Lord Delacour, sober, my dear,”--said her ladyship to Miss Portman, by
way of introducing him. Prejudiced by her ladyship, Belinda was inclined
to think that Lord Delacour sober would not be more agreeable or more
rational than Lord Delacour drunk. “How old do you take my lord to
be?” whispered her ladyship, as she saw Belinda’s eye fixed upon the
trembling hand which carried his teacup to his lips: “I’ll lay you a
wager,” continued she aloud--“I’ll lay your birth-night dress, gold
fringe, and laurel wreaths into the bargain, that you don’t guess
right.”
“I hope you don’t think of going to this birth-night, lady Delacour?”
said his lordship.
“I’ll give you six guesses, and I’ll bet you don’t come within sixteen
years,” pursued her ladyship, still looking at Belinda.
“You cannot have the new carriage you have bespoken,” said his lordship.
“Will you do me the honour to attend to me, Lady Delacour?”
“Then you won’t venture to guess, Belinda,” said her ladyship (without
honouring her lord with the smallest portion of her attention)--“Well,
I believe you are right--for certainly you would guess him to be
six-and-sixty, instead of six-and-thirty; but then he can drink more
than any two-legged animal in his majesty’s dominions, and you know that
is an advantage which is well worth twenty or thirty years of a man’s
life--especially to persons who have no other chance of distinguishing
themselves.”
“If some people had distinguished themselves a little less in the
world,” retorted his lordship, “it would have been as well!”
“As well!--how flat!”
“Flatly then I have to inform you, Lady Delacour, that I will neither
be contradicted nor laughed at--you understand me,--it would be as well,
flat or not flat, my Lady Delacour, if your ladyship would attend more
to your own conduct, and less to others!”
“To _that_ of others--his lordship means, if he means any thing.
Apropos, Belinda, did not you tell me Clarence Hervey is coming to
town?--You have never seen him.--Well, I’ll describe him to you by
negatives. He is _not_ a man who ever says any thing flat--he is _not_
a man who must be wound up with half a dozen bottles of champaign before
he can _go_--he is _not_ a man who, when he does go, goes wrong, and
won’t be set right--he is _not_ a man, whose whole consequence, if he
were married, would depend on his wife--he is _not_ a man, who, if he
were married, would be so desperately afraid of being governed by his
wife, that he would turn gambler, jockey, or sot, merely to show that he
could govern himself.”
“Go on, Lady Delacour,” said his lordship, who had been in vain
attempting to balance a spoon on the edge of his teacup during the whole
of this speech, which was delivered with the most animated desire to
provoke--“Go on, Lady Delacour--all I desire is, that you should go on;
Clarence Hervey will be much obliged to you, and I am sure so shall I.
Go on, my Lady Delacour--go on, and you’ll oblige me.”
“I never will oblige you, my lord, that you may depend upon,” cried her
ladyship, with a look of indignant contempt.
His lordship whistled, rang for his horses, and looked at his nails with
a smile. Belinda, shocked and in a great confusion, rose to leave the
room, dreading the gross continuance of this matrimonial dialogue.
“Mr. Hervey, my lady,” said a footman, opening the door; and he was
scarcely announced, when her ladyship went forward to receive him with
an air of easy familiarity.--“Where have you buried yourself, Hervey,
this age past?” cried she, shaking hands with him: “there’s absolutely
no living in this most stupid of all worlds without you.--Mr.
Hervey--Miss Portman--but don’t look as if you were half asleep,
man--What are you dreaming of, Clarence? Why looks your grace so heavily
to-day?”
“Oh! I have passed a miserable night,” replied Clarence, throwing
himself into an actor’s attitude, and speaking in a fine tone of stage
declamation.
“What was your dream, my lord? I pray you, tell me,”
said her ladyship in a similar tone.--Clarence went on--
“O Lord, methought what pain it was to dance!
What dreadful noise of fiddles in my ears!
What sights of ugly _belles_ within my eyes!
----Then came wandering by,
A shadow like a devil, with red hair,
‘Dizen’d with flowers; and she bawl’d out aloud,
Clarence is come; false, fleeting, perjured Clarence!”
“O, Mrs. Luttridge to the life!” cried Lady Delacour: “I know where you
have been now, and I pity you--but sit down,” said she, making room for
him between Belinda and herself upon the sofa, “sit down here, and tell
me what could take you to that odious Mrs. Luttridge’s.”
Mr. Hervey threw himself on the sofa; Lord Delacour whistled as before,
and left the room without uttering a syllable.
“But my dream has made me forget myself strangely,” said Mr. Hervey,
turning to Belinda, and producing her bracelet: “Mrs. Stanhope promised
me that if I delivered it safely, I should be rewarded with the honour
of putting it on the owner’s fair arm.” A conversation now took place on
the nature of ladies’ promises--on fashionable bracelets--on the size
of the arm of the Venus de Medici--on Lady Delacour’s and Miss
Portman’s--on the thick legs of ancient statues--and on the various
defects and absurdities of Mrs. Luttridge and her wig. On all these
topics Mr. Hervey displayed much wit, gallantry, and satire, with so
happy an effect, that Belinda, when he took leave, was precisely of her
aunt’s opinion, that he was a most uncommonly pleasant young man.
Clarence Hervey might have been more than a pleasant young man, if he
had not been smitten with the desire of being thought superior in every
thing, and of being the most admired person in all companies. He had
been early flattered with the idea that he was a man of genius; and
he imagined that, as such, he was entitled to be imprudent, wild, and
eccentric. He affected singularity, in order to establish his claims
to genius. He had considerable literary talents, by which he was
distinguished at Oxford; but he was so dreadfully afraid of passing
for a pedant, that when he came into the company of the idle and the
ignorant, he pretended to disdain every species of knowledge. His
chameleon character seemed to vary in different lights, and according to
the different situations in which he happened to be placed. He could
be all things to all men--and to all women. He was supposed to be a
favourite with the fair sex; and of all his various excellencies and
defects, there was none on which he valued himself so much as on his
gallantry. He was not profligate; he had a strong sense of honour,
and quick feelings of humanity; but he was so easily led, or rather so
easily excited by his companions, and his companions were now of such
a sort, that it was probable he would soon become vicious. As to his
connexion with Lady Delacour, he would have started with horror at the
idea of disturbing the peace of a family; but in her family, he said,
there was no peace to disturb; he was vain of having it seen by the
world that he was distinguished by a lady of her wit and fashion, and
he did not think it incumbent on him to be more scrupulous or more
attentive to appearances than her ladyship. By Lord Delacour’s jealousy
he was sometimes provoked, sometimes amused, and sometimes flattered.
He was constantly of all her ladyship’s parties in public and private;
consequently he saw Belinda almost every day, and every day he saw her
with increasing admiration of her beauty, and with increasing dread of
being taken in to marry a niece of “the _catch-match-maker_,” the name
by which Mrs. Stanhope was known amongst the men of his acquaintance.
Young ladies who have the misfortune to be _conducted_ by these artful
dames, are always supposed to be partners in all the speculations,
though their names may not appear in the firm. If he had not been
prejudiced by the character of her aunt, Mr. Hervey would have thought
Belinda an undesigning, unaffected girl; but now he suspected her of
artifice in every word, look, and motion; and even when he felt himself
most charmed by her powers of pleasing, he was most inclined to despise
her, for what he thought such premature proficiency in scientific
coquetry. He had not sufficient resolution to keep beyond the sphere
of her attraction; but, frequently, when he found himself within it, he
cursed his folly, and drew back with sudden terror. His manner towards
her was so variable and inconsistent, that she knew not how to interpret
its language. Sometimes she fancied, that with all the eloquence of eyes
he said, “_I adore you_, Belinda;” at other times she imagined that
his guarded silence meant to warn her that he was so entangled by Lady
Delacour, that he could not extricate himself from her snares. Whenever
this last idea struck her, it excited, in the most edifying manner, her
indignation against coquetry in general, and against her ladyship’s
in particular: she became wonderfully clear-sighted to all the
improprieties of her ladyship’s conduct. Belinda’s newly acquired moral
sense was so much shocked, that she actually wrote a full statement of
her observations and her scruples to her aunt Stanhope; concluding by
a request, that she might not remain under the protection of a lady, of
whose character she could not approve, and whose intimacy might perhaps
be injurious to her reputation, if not to her principles.
Mrs. Stanhope answered Belinda’s letter in a very guarded style; she
rebuked her niece severely for her imprudence in mentioning _names_ in
such a manner, in a letter sent by the common post; assured her that her
reputation was in no danger; that she hoped no niece of hers would set
up for a prude--a character more suspected by men of the world than
even that of a coquette; that the person alluded to was a perfectly fit
chaperon for any young lady to appear with in public, as long as she
was visited by the first people in town; that as to any thing in the
_private_ conduct of that person, and as to any _private brouillieries_
between her and her lord, Belinda should observe on these dangerous
topics a profound silence, both in her letters and her conversation;
that as long as the lady continued under the protection of her husband,
the world might whisper, but would not speak out; that as to Belinda’s
own principles, she would be utterly inexcusable if, after the education
she had received, they could be hurt by any bad examples; that she could
not be too cautious in her management of a man of ----‘s character;
that she could have no _serious_ cause for jealousy in the quarter she
apprehended, as marriage there could not be the object; and there was
such a difference of age, that no permanent influence could probably be
obtained by the lady; that the most certain method for Miss Portman to
expose herself to the ridicule of one of the parties, and to the total
neglect of the other, would be to betray anxiety or jealousy; that, in
short, if she were fool enough to lose her own heart, there would be
little chance of her being wise enough to win that of------, who was
evidently a man of gallantry rather than of sentiment, and who was known
to play his cards well, and to have good luck whenever _hearts_ were
trumps.
Belinda’s fears of Lady Delacour, as a dangerous rival, were much
quieted by the artful insinuations of Mrs. Stanhope, with respect to her
age, &c.; and in proportion as her fears subsided, she blamed herself
for having written too harshly of her ladyship’s conduct. The idea that
whilst she appeared as Lady Delacour’s friend she ought not to propagate
any stories to her disadvantage, operated powerfully upon Belinda’s
mind, and she reproached herself for having told even her aunt what she
had seen in private. She thought that she had been guilty of treachery,
and she wrote again immediately to Mrs. Stanhope, to conjure her to burn
her last letter; to forget, if possible, its contents; and to believe
that not a syllable of a similar nature should ever more be heard from
her: she was just concluding with the words--“I hope my dear aunt will
consider all this as an error of my judgment, and not of my heart,”
when Lady Delacour burst into the room, exclaiming, in a tone of gaiety,
“Tragedy or comedy, Belinda? The masquerade dresses are come. But how’s
this?” added she, looking full in Belinda’s face--“tears in the eyes!
blushes in the cheeks! tremors in the joints! and letters shuffling
away! But, you novice of novices, how awkwardly shuffled!--A niece of
Mrs. Stanhope’s, and so unpractised a shuffler!--And is it credible she
should tremble in this ridiculous way about a love-letter or two?”
“No love-letters, indeed, Lady Delacour,” said Belinda, holding the
paper fast, as her ladyship, half in play, half in earnest, attempted to
snatch it from her.
“No love-letters! then it must be treason; and see it I must, by all
that’s good, or by all that’s bad--I see the name of Delacour!”--and
her ladyship absolutely seized the letters by force, in spite of all
Belinda’s struggles and entreaties.
“I beg, I request, I conjure you not to read it!” cried Miss Portman,
clasping her hands. “Read mine, read mine, if you _must_, but don’t read
my aunt Stanhope’s--Oh! I beg, I entreat, I conjure you!” and she threw
herself upon her knees.
“You beg! you entreat! you conjure! Why, this is like the Duchess de
Brinvilliers, who wrote on her paper of poisons, ‘Whoever finds this, I
entreat, I conjure them, in the name of more saints than I can remember,
not to open the paper any farther.’--What a simpleton, to know so little
of the nature of curiosity!”
As she spoke, Lady Delacour opened Mrs. Stanhope’s letter, read it from
beginning to end, folded it up coolly when she had finished it, and
simply said, “The _person alluded to_ is almost as bad as her name at
full length: does Mrs. Stanhope think no one can make out an inuendo
in a libel, or fill up a blank, but an attorney-general?” pointing to a
blank in Mrs. Stanhope’s letter, left for the name of Clarence Hervey.
Belinda was in too much confusion either to speak or think.
“You were right to swear they were not love-letters,” pursued her
ladyship, laying down the papers. “I protest I snatched them by way of
frolic--I beg pardon. All I can do now is not to read the rest.”
“Nay--I beg--I wish--I insist upon your reading mine,” said Belinda.
When Lady Delacour had read it, her countenance suddenly changed--“Worth
a hundred of your aunt’s, I declare,” said she, patting Belinda’s cheek.
“What a treasure to meet with any thing like a _new_ heart!--all hearts,
now-a-days, are second-hand, at best.”
Lady Delacour spoke with a tone of feeling which Belinda had never heard
from her before, and which at this moment touched her so much, that she
took her ladyship’s hand and kissed it.