SORTES VIRGILIANAE.
When Belinda got home, Lady Delacour was busy in the library looking
over a collection of French plays with the _ci-devant_ Count de N----;
a gentleman who possessed such singular talents for reading dramatic
compositions, that many people declared that they would rather hear him
read a play than see it performed at the theatre. Even those who were
not judges of his merit, and who had little taste for literature,
crowded to hear him, because it was the fashion. Lady Delacour engaged
him for a reading party at her house, and he was consulting with her
what play would be most amusing to his audience. “My dear Belinda! I am
glad you are come to give us your opinion,” said her ladyship; “no one
has a better taste: but first I should ask you what you have done at
your bird-fancier’s; I hope you have brought home some _horned cock_[5],
or some _monstrously_ beautiful creature for Marriott. If it has not a
voice like the macaw I shall be satisfied; but even if it be the bird
of paradise, I question whether Marriott will like it as well as its
screaming predecessor.”
“I am sure she will like what is coming for her,” said Belinda, “and
so will your ladyship; but do not let me interrupt you and monsieur le
Comte.” And as she spoke, she took up a volume of plays which lay upon
the table.
“Nanine, or La Prude, which shall we have?” said Lady Delacour: “or what
do you think of L’Ecossaise?”
“The scene of L’Ecossaise is laid in London,” said Belinda; “I should
think with an English audience it would therefore be popular.”
“Yes! so it will,” said Lady Delacour: “then let it be L’Ecossaise. M.
le Comte I am sure will do justice to the character of _Friport_ the
Englishman, ‘qui scait donner, mais qui ne scait pas vivre.’ My dear, I
forgot to tell you that Clarence Hervey has been here: it is a pity you
did not come a little sooner, you would have heard a charming scene of
the School for Scandal read by him. M. le Comte was quite delighted; but
Clarence was in a great hurry, he would only give us one scene, he was
going to Mr. Percival’s on business. I am sure what I told you the other
day is true: but, however, he has promised to come back to dine with
me--M. le Comte, you will dine with us, I hope?”
The count was extremely sorry that it was impossible--he was engaged.
Belinda suddenly recollected that it was time to dress for dinner; but
just as the count took his leave, and as she was going up stairs, a
footman met her, and told her that Mr. Hervey was in the drawing-room,
and wished to speak to her. Many conjectures were formed in Belinda’s
mind as she passed on to the drawing-room; but the moment that she
opened the door, she knew the nature of Mr. Hervey’s business, for she
saw the glass globe containing Helena Delacour’s gold fishes standing on
the table beside him. “I have been commissioned to present these to
you for Lady Delacour,” said Mr. Hervey, “and I have seldom received
a commission that has given me so much pleasure. I perceive that Miss
Portman is indeed a real friend to Lady Delacour--how happy she is to
have such a friend!”
After a pause Mr. Hervey went on speaking of Lady Delacour, and of his
earnest desire to see her as happy in domestic life as she _appeared_
to be in public. He frankly confessed, that when he was first acquainted
with her ladyship, he had looked upon her merely as a dissipated woman
of fashion, and he had considered only his own amusement in cultivating
her society: “But,” continued he, “of late I have formed a different
opinion of her character; and I think, from what I have observed, that
Miss Portman’s ideas on this subject agree with mine. I had laid a plan
for making her ladyship acquainted with Lady Anne Percival, who
appears to me one of the most amiable and one of the happiest of women.
Oakly-park is but a few miles from Harrowgate.--But I am disappointed in
this scheme; Lady Delacour has changed her mind, she says, and will not
go there. Lady Anne, however, has just told me, that, though it is July,
and though she loves the country, she will most willingly stay in town
a month longer, as she thinks that, with your assistance, there is some
probability of her effecting a reconciliation between Lady Delacour
and her husband’s relations, with some of whom Lady Anne is intimately
acquainted. To begin with my friend, Mrs. Margaret Delacour: the macaw
was most graciously received, and I flatter myself that I have prepared
Mrs. Delacour to think somewhat more favourably of her niece than she
was wont to do. All now depends upon Lady Delacour’s conduct towards
her daughter: if she continues to treat her with neglect, I shall be
convinced that I have been mistaken in her character.”
Belinda was much pleased by the openness and the unaffected good-nature
with which Clarence Hervey spoke, and she certainly was not sorry
to hear from his own lips a distinct explanation of his views and
sentiments. She assured him that no effort that she could make with
propriety should be wanting to effect the desirable reconciliation
between her ladyship and her family, as she perfectly agreed with him in
thinking that Lady Delacour’s character had been generally misunderstood
by the world.
“Yes,” said Mr. Hervey, “her connexion with that Mrs. Freke hurt her
more in the eyes of the world than she was aware of. It is tacitly
understood by the public, that every lady goes bail for the character
of her female friends. If Lady Delacour had been so fortunate as to meet
with such a friend as Miss Portman in her early life, what a different
woman she would have been! She once said some such thing to me herself,
and she never appeared to me so amiable as at that moment.”
Mr. Hervey pronounced these last words in a manner more than usually
animated; and whilst he spoke, Belinda stooped to gather a sprig from a
myrtle, which stood on the hearth. She perceived that the myrtle, which
was planted in a large china vase, was propped up on one side with the
broken bits of Sir Philip Baddely’s little stick: she took them up, and
threw them out of the window. “Lady Delacour stuck those fragments there
this morning,” said Clarence smiling, “as trophies. She told me of Miss
Portman’s victory over the heart of Sir Philip Baddely; and Miss Portman
should certainly have allowed them to remain there, as indisputable
evidence in favour of the baronet’s taste and judgment.”
Clarence Hervey appeared under some embarrassment, and seemed to be
restrained by some secret cause from laying open his real feelings:
his manner varied continually. Belinda could not avoid seeing his
perplexity--she had recourse again to the gold fishes and to Helena:
upon these subjects they could both speak very fluently. Lady Delacour
made her appearance by the time that Clarence had finished repeating
the Abbé Nollet’s experiments, which he had heard from his friend Doctor
X----.
“Now, Miss Portman, the transmission of sound in water,” said
Clarence----
“Deep in philosophy, I protest!” said Lady Delacour, as she came in.
“What is this about the transmission of sound in water?--Ha! whence come
these pretty gold fishes?”
“These gold fishes,” said Belinda, “are come to console Marriott for the
loss of her macaw.”
“Thank you, my dear Belinda, for these mute comforters,” said her
ladyship; “the very best things you could have chosen.”
“I have not the merit of the choice,” said Belinda, “but I am heartily
glad that you approve of it.”
“Pretty creatures,” said Lady Delacour: “no fish were ever so pretty
since the days of the prince of the Black Islands in the Arabian Tales.
And am I obliged to you, Clarence, for these subjects?”
“No; I have only had the honour of bringing them to your ladyship
from----”
“From whom?--Amongst all my numerous acquaintance, have I one in the
world who cares a gold fish about me?--Stay, don’t tell me, let
me guess----Lady Newland?--No; you shake your heads. I guessed her
ladyship, merely because I know she wants to bribe me some way or other
to go to one of her stupid entertainments; she wants to pick out of
me taste enough to spend a fortune. But you say it was not Lady
Newland?--Mrs. Hunt then perhaps? for she has two daughters whom she
wants me to ask to my concerts. It was not Mrs. Hunt?--Well, then, it
was Mrs. Masterson; for she has a mind to go with me to Harrowgate,
where, by-the-bye, I shall not go; so I won’t cheat her out of her gold
fishes; it was Mrs. Masterson, hey?”
“No. But these little gold fishes came from a person who would be very
glad to go with you to Harrowgate!” said Clarence Hervey. “Or who would
be very glad to stay with you in town,” said Belinda: “from a person who
wants nothing from you but--your love.”
“Male or female?” said Lady Delacour.
“Female.”
“Female? I have not a female friend in the world but yourself, my dear
Belinda; nor do I know another female in the world, whose love I should
think about for half an instant. But pray tell me the name of this
unknown friend of mine, who wants nothing from me but love.”
“Excuse me,” said Belinda; “I cannot tell her name, unless you will
promise to see her.”
“You have really made me impatient to see her,” said Lady Delacour: “but
I am not able to go out, you know, yet; and with a new acquaintance, one
must go through the ceremony of a morning visit. Now, _en conscience_,
is it worth while?”
“Very well worth while,” cried Belinda and Clarence Hervey, eagerly.
“Ah, pardi! as M. le Comte exclaims continually, Ah, pardi! You are both
wonderfully interested in this business. It is some sister, niece,
or cousin of Lady Anne Percival’s; or--no, Belinda looks as if I were
wrong. Then, perhaps, it is Lady Anne herself?--Well, take me where you
please, my dear Belinda, and introduce me where you please: I depend on
your taste and judgment in all things; but I really am not yet able to
pay morning visits.”
“The ceremony of a morning visit is quite unnecessary here,” said
Belinda: “I will introduce the unknown friend to you to-morrow, if you
will let me invite her to your reading-party.”
“With pleasure. She is some charming émigrée of Clarence Hervey’s
acquaintance. But where did you meet with her this morning? You have
both of you conspired to puzzle me. Take it upon yourselves, then, if
this new acquaintance should not, as Ninon de l’Enclos used to say,
_quit cost_. If she be half as agreeable and _graceful_, Clarence, as
Madame la Comtesse de Pomenars, I should not think her acquaintance too
dearly purchased by a dozen morning visits.”
Here the conversation was interrupted by a thundering knock at the door.
“Whose carriage is it?” said Lady Delacour. “Oh! Lady Newland’s
ostentatious livery; and here is her ladyship getting out of her
carriage as awkwardly as if she had never been in one before.
Overdressed, like a true city dame! Pray, Clarence, look at her,
entangled in her bale of gold muslin, and conscious of her bulse of
diamonds!--‘Worth, if I’m worth a farthing, five hundred thousand pounds
bank currency!’ she says or seems to say, whenever she comes into a
room. Now let us see her entrée--”
“But, my dear,” cried Lady Delacour, starting at the sight of Belinda,
who was still in her morning dress, “absolutely below par!--Make your
escape to Marriott, I conjure you, by all your fears of the contempt
of a lady, who will at the first look estimate you, _au juste_, to a
farthing a yard.”
As she left the room, Belinda heard Clarence Hervey repeat to Lady
Delacour--
“Give me a look, give me a face,
That makes simplicity a grace;
Robes loosely flowing, hair as free--”
he paused--but Belinda recollected the remainder of the stanza--
“Such sweet neglect more taketh me
Than all th’adulteries of art,
That strike mine eyes, but not mine heart.”
It was observed, that Miss Portman dressed herself this day with the
most perfect simplicity.
Lady Delacour’s curiosity was raised by the description which Belinda
and Clarence Hervey had given of the new acquaintance who sent her the
gold fishes, and who wanted nothing from her but her love.
Miss Portman told her that the _unknown_ would probably come half an
hour earlier to the reading-party than any of the rest of the company.
Her ladyship was alone in the library, when Lady Anne Percival brought
Helena, in consequence of a note from Belinda.
Miss Portman ran down stairs to the hall to receive her: the little girl
took her hand in silence. “Your mother was much pleased with the pretty
gold fishes,” said Belinda, “and she will be still more pleased, when
she knows that they came from you:--she does not know _that_ yet.”
“I hope she is better to-day? I will not make the least noise,”
whispered Helena, as she went up stairs on tiptoe.
“You need not be afraid to make a noise--you need not walk on tiptoe,
nor shut the doors softly; for Lady Delacour seems to like all noises
except the screaming of the macaw. This way, my dear.”
“Oh, I forgot--it is so long since!--Is mamma up and dressed?”
“Yes. She has had concerts and balls since her illness. You will hear a
play read to-night,” said Belinda, “by that French gentleman whom Lady
Anne Percival mentioned to me yesterday.”
“But there is a great deal of company, then, with mamma?”
“Nobody is with her now: so come into the library with me,” said
Belinda. “Lady Delacour, here is the young lady who sent you the gold
fishes.”
“Helena!” cried Lady Delacour.
“You must, I am sure, acknowledge that Mr. Hervey was in the right, when
he said that the lady was a striking resemblance of your ladyship.”
“Mr. Hervey knows how to flatter. I never had that ingenuous
countenance, even in my best days: but certainly the hair of her head
is like mine--and her hands and arms. But why do you tremble, Helena? Is
there any thing so very terrible in the looks of your mother?”
“No, only------”
“Only what, my dear?”
“Only--I was afraid--you might not like me.”
“Who has filled your little foolish head with these vain fears? Come,
simpleton, kiss me, and tell me how comes it that you are not at
Oakly-hall, or--What’s the name of the place?--Oakly-park?”
“Lady Anne Percival would not take me out of town, she said, whilst you
were ill; because she thought that you might wish--I mean she thought
that I should like to see you--if you pleased.”
“Lady Anne is very good--very obliging--very considerate.”
“She is _very_ good-natured,” said Helena.
“You love this Lady Anne Percival, I perceive.”
“Oh, yes, that I do. She has been so kind to me! I love her as if she
were----”
“As if she _were_--What? finish your sentence.”
“My mother,” said Helena, in a low voice, and she blushed.
“You love her as well as if she were your mother,” repeated Lady
Delacour: “that is intelligible: speak intelligibly whatever you say,
and never leave a sentence unfinished.”
“No, ma’am.”
“Nothing can be more ill-bred, nor more absurd; for it shows that you
have the wish without the power to conceal your sentiments. Pray, my
dear,” continued Lady Delacour, “go to Oakly-park immediately--all
farther ceremony towards me may be spared.”
“Ceremony, mamma!” said the little girl, and the tears came into her
eyes. Belinda sighed; and for some moments there was a dead silence.
“I mean only to say, Miss Portman,” resumed Lady Delacour, “that I hate
ceremony: but I know that there are people in the world who love it, who
think all virtue, and all affection, depend on ceremony--who are
‘Content to dwell in _decencies_ for ever.’
I shall not dispute their merits. Verily, they have their reward in the
good opinion and good word of all little minds, that is to say, of above
half the world. I envy them not their hard-earned fame. Let ceremony
curtsy to ceremony with Chinese decorum; but, when ceremony expects to
be paid with affection, I beg to be excused.”
“Ceremony sets no value upon affection, and therefore would not desire
to be paid with it,” said Belinda.
“Never yet,” continued lady Delacour, pursuing the train of her own
thoughts without attending to Belinda, “never yet was any thing like
real affection won by any of these ceremonious people.”
“Never,” said Miss Portman, looking at Helena; who, having quickness
enough to perceive that her mother aimed this _tirade_ against ceremony
at Lady Anne Percival, sat in the most painful embarrassment, her eyes
cast down, and her face and neck colouring all over. “Never yet,” said
Miss Portman, “did mere ceremonious person win any thing like real
affection; especially from children, who are often excellent, because
unprejudiced, judges of character.”
“We are all apt to think, that an opinion that differs from our own is a
prejudice,” said Lady Delacour: “what is to decide?”
“Facts, I should think,” said Belinda.
“But it is so difficult to get at facts, even about the merest trifles,”
said Lady Delacour. “Actions we see, but their causes we seldom see--an
aphorism worthy of Confucius himself: now to apply. Pray, my dear
Helena, how came you by the pretty gold fishes that you were so good as
to send to me yesterday?”
“Lady Anne Percival gave them to me, ma’am.”
“And how came her ladyship to give them to you, ma’am?”
“She gave them to me,” said Helena, hesitating.
“You need not blush, nor repeat to me that she gave them to you; that I
have heard already--that is the fact: now for the cause--unless it be a
secret. If it be a secret which you have been desired to keep, you
are quite right to keep it. I make no doubt of its being necessary,
according to some systems of education, that children should be taught
to keep secrets; and I am convinced (for Lady Anne Percival is, I have
heard, a perfect judge of propriety) that it is peculiarly proper that a
daughter should know how to keep secrets from her mother: therefore,
my dear, you need not trouble yourself to blush or hesitate any more--I
shall ask no farther questions: I was not aware that there was any
secret in the case.”
“There is no secret in the world in the case, mamma,” said Helena; “I
only hesitated because--”
“You hesitated _only_ because, I suppose you mean. I presume Lady Anne
Percival will have no objection to your speaking good English?”
“I hesitated only because I was afraid it would not be right to praise
myself. Lady Anne Percival one day asked us all--”
“Us all?”
“I mean Charles, and Edward, and me, to give her an account of some
experiments, on the hearing of fishes, which Dr. X---- had told to us:
she promised to give the gold fishes, of which we were all very fond, to
whichever of us should give the best account of them--Lady Anne gave the
fishes to me.”
“And is this all the secret? So it was real modesty made her hesitate,
Belinda? I beg your pardon, my dear, and Lady Anne’s: you see how candid
I am, Belinda. But one question more, Helena: Who put it into your head
to send me your gold fishes?”
“Nobody, mamma; no one put it into my head. But I was at the
bird-fancier’s yesterday, when Miss Portman was trying to get some bird
for Mrs. Marriott, that could not make any noise to disturb you; so
I thought my fishes would be the nicest things for you in the world;
because they cannot make the least noise, and they are as pretty as any
birds in the world--prettier, I think--and I hope Mrs. Marriott thinks
so too.”
“I don’t know what Marriott thinks about the matter, but I can tell you
what I think,” said Lady Delacour, “that you are one of the sweetest
little girls in the world, and that you would make me love you if I
had a heart of stone, which I have not, whatever some people may
think.--Kiss me, my child!”
The little girl sprang forwards, and threw her arms round her mother,
exclaiming, “Oh, mamma, are you in earnest?” and she pressed close to
her mother’s bosom, clasping her with all her force.
Lady Delacour screamed, and pushed her daughter away.
“She is not angry with you, my love,” said Belinda, “she is in sudden
and violent pain--don’t be alarmed--she will be better soon. No, don’t
ring the bell, but try whether you can open these window-shutters, and
throw up the sash.”
Whilst Belinda was supporting Lady Delacour, and whilst Helena was
trying to open the window, a servant came into the room to announce the
Count de N----.
“Show him into the drawing-room,” said Belinda. Lady Delacour, though in
great pain, rose and retired to her dressing-room. “I shall not be able
to go down to these people yet,” said she; “you must make my excuses
to the count and to every body; and tell poor Helena I was not angry,
though I pushed her away. Keep her below stairs: I will come as soon as
I am able. Send Marriott. Do not forget, my dear, to tell Helena I was
not angry.”
The reading party went on, and Lady Delacour made her appearance as the
company were drinking orgeat, between the fourth and fifth act. “Helena,
_my dear_,” said she, “will you bring me a glass of orgeat?”
Clarence Hervey looked at Belinda with a congratulatory smile: “do not
you think,” whispered he, “that we shall succeed? Did you see that look
of Lady Delacour’s?”
Nothing tends more to increase the esteem and affection of two people
for each other than their having one and the same benevolent object.
Clarence Hervey and Belinda seemed to know one another’s thoughts and
feelings this evening better than they had ever done before during the
whole course of their acquaintance.
After the play was over, most of the company went away; only a select
party of _beaux esprits_ stayed to supper; they were standing at the
table at which the count had been reading: several volumes of French
plays and novels were lying there, and Clarence Hervey, taking up one of
them, cried, “Come, let us try our fate by the Sortes Virgilianae.”
Lady Delacour opened the book, which was a volume of Marmontel’s Tales.
“La femme comme il y en a peu!” exclaimed Hervey.
“Who will ever more have faith in the Sortes Virgilianae?” said Lady
Delacour, laughing; but whilst she laughed she went closer to a candle,
to read the page which she had opened. Belinda and Clarence Hervey
followed her. “Really, it is somewhat singular, Belinda, that I should
have opened upon this passage,” continued she, in a low voice, pointing
it out to Miss Portman.
It was a description of the manner in which la femme comme il y en a
peu managed a husband, who was excessively afraid of being thought to
be governed by his wife. As her ladyship turned over the page, she saw
a leaf of myrtle which Belinda, who had been reading the story the
preceding day, had put into the book for a mark.
“Whose mark is this? Yours, Belinda, I am sure, by its elegance,” said
Lady Delacour. “So! this is a concerted plan between you two, I see,”
continued her ladyship, with an air of pique: “you have contrived
prettily de me dire des vérités! One says, ‘Let us try our fate by the
Sortes Virgilianae;’ the other has dexterously put a mark in the book,
to make it open upon a lesson for the naughty child.”
Belinda and Mr. Hervey assured her that they had used no such mean arts,
that nothing had been concerted between them.
“How came this leaf of myrtle here, then?” said Lady Delacour.
“I was reading that story yesterday, and left it as my mark.”
“I cannot help believing you, because you never yet deceived me, even
in the merest trifle: you are truth itself, Belinda. Well, you see that
_you_ were the cause of my drawing such an extraordinary lot; the book
would not have opened here but for your mark. My fate, I find, is in
your hands: if Lady Delacour is ever to be la femme comme il y en a peu,
which is the most _improbable_ thing in the world, Miss Portman will be
the cause of it.”
“Which is the most probable thing in the world,” said Clarence Hervey.
“This myrtle has a delightful perfume,” added he, rubbing the leaf
between his fingers.
“But, after all,” said Lady Delacour, throwing aside the book, “This
heroine of Marmontel’s is not la femme comme il y en a peu, but la femme
comme il n’y en a _point_.”
“Mrs. Margaret Delacour’s carriage, my lady, for Miss Delacour,” said a
footman to her ladyship.
“Helena stays with me to-night--my compliments,” said Lady Delacour.
“How pleased the little gipsy looks!” added she, turning to Helena, who
heard the message; “and how handsome she looks when she is pleased!--Do
these auburn locks of yours, Helena, curl naturally or artificially?”
“Naturally, mamma.”
“Naturally! so much the better: so did mine at your age.”
Some of the company now took notice of the astonishing resemblance
between Helena and her mother; and the more Lady Delacour considered her
daughter as a part of herself, the more she was inclined to be pleased
with her. The glass globe containing the gold fishes was put in the
middle of the table at supper; and Clarence Hervey never paid her
ladyship such respectful attention in his life as he did this evening.
The conversation at supper turned upon a magnificent and elegant
entertainment which had lately been given by a fashionable duchess,
and some of the company spoke in high terms of the beauty and
accomplishments of her grace’s daughter, who had for the first time
appeared in public on that occasion.
“The daughter will eclipse, totally eclipse, the mother,” said Lady
Delacour. “That total eclipse has been foretold by many knowing people,”
said Clarence Hervey; “but how can there be an eclipse between two
bodies which never cross one another and that I understand to be the
case between the duchess and her daughter.”
This observation seemed to make a great impression upon Lady Delacour.
Clarence Hervey went on, and with much eloquence expressed his
admiration of the mother who had stopped short in the career of
dissipation to employ her inimitable talents in the education of
her children; who had absolutely brought Virtue into fashion by the
irresistible powers of wit and beauty.
“Really, Clarence,” said Lady Delacour, rising from table, “vous parlez
avec beaucoup d’onction. I advise you to write a sentimental comedy,
a comédie larmoyante, or a drama on the German model, and call it The
School for Mothers, and beg her grace of ---- to sit for your heroine.”
“Your ladyship, surely, would not be so cruel as to send a faithful
servant a begging for a heroine?” said Clarence Hervey.
Lady Delacour smiled at first at the compliment, but a few minutes
afterwards she sighed bitterly. “It is too late for me to think of being
a heroine,” said she.
“Too late?” cried Hervey, following her eagerly as she walked out of
the supper-room; “too late? Her grace of ---- is _some_ years older than
your ladyship.”
“Well, I did not mean to say _too late_,” said Lady Delacour; “but let
us go on to something else. Why were you not at the fète champêtre the
other day? and where were you all this morning? And pray can you tell me
when your friend doctor X---- returns to town?”
“Mr. Horton is getting better,” said Clarence, “and I hope that we shall
have Dr. X---- soon amongst us again. I hear that he is to be in town in
the course of a few days.”
“Did he inquire for me?--Did he ask how I did?”
“No. I fancy he took it for granted that your ladyship was quite well;
for I told him you were getting better every day, and that you were in
charming spirits.”
“Yes,” said Lady Delacour, “but I wear myself out with these charming
spirits. I am very nervous still, I assure you, and sitting up late is
not good for me: so I shall wish you and all the world a good night. You
see I am absolutely a reformed rake.”