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TALES AND NOVELS, VOLUME VIII (of X)
PATRONAGE, concluded; COMIC DRAMAS; LEONORA; AND LETTERS
By Maria Edgeworth
In Ten Volumes. With Engravings on Steel
PATRONAGE
CHAPTER XXXVI.
No less an event than Alfred’s marriage, no event calling less
imperatively upon her feelings, could have recovered Lady Jane’s
sympathy for Caroline. But Alfred Percy, who had been the restorer of
her fortune, her friend in adversity, what pain it would give him
to find her, at the moment when he might expect her congratulations,
quarrelling with his sister--that sister, too, who had left her home,
where she was so happy, and Hungerford Castle, where she was adored, on
purpose to tend Lady Jane in sickness and obscurity!
Without being put exactly into these words, or, perhaps, into any
words, thoughts such as these, with feelings of gratitude and affection,
revived for Caroline in Lady Jane’s mind the moment she heard of
Alfred’s intended marriage.
“Good young man!--Excellent friend!--Well, tell me all about it, _my
dear_.”
It was the first time that her ladyship had said _my dear_ to Caroline
since the day of the fatal refusal.
Caroline was touched by this word of reconciliation--and the tears it
brought into her eyes completely overcame Lady Jane, who hastily wiped
her own.
“So, my dear Caroline--where were we? Tell me about your brother’s
marriage--when is it to be?--How has it been brought about?--The last
I heard of the Leicesters was the good dean’s death--I remember pitying
them very much--Were they not left in straitened circumstances, too?
Will Alfred have any fortune with Miss Leicester?--Tell me every
thing--read me his letters.”
To go back to Dr. Leicester’s death. For some months his preferments
were kept in abeyance. Many were named, or thought of, as likely to
succeed him. The deanery was in the gift of the crown, and as it was
imagined that the vicarage was also at the disposal of government,
applications had poured in, on all sides, for friends, and friends’
friends, to the remotest link of the supporters of ministry--But--to use
their own elegant, phrase--the hands of government were tied.
It seems that in consequence of some parliamentary interest, formerly
given opportunely, and in consideration of certain arrangements in
his diocese, to serve persons whom ministers were obliged to oblige, a
promise had long ago been given to Bishop Clay that his recommendation
to the deanery should be accepted on the next vacancy. The bishop, who
had promised the living to his sister’s husband, now presented it to
Mr. Buckhurst Falconer, with the important addition of Dr. Leicester’s
deanery.
To become a dean was once the height of Buckhurst’s ambition, that for
which in a moment of elation he prayed, scarcely hoping that his wishes
would ever be fulfilled: yet now that his wish was accomplished, and
that he had attained this height of his ambition, was he happy? No!--far
from it; farther than ever. How could he be happy--dissatisfied with his
conduct, and detesting his wife? In the very act of selling himself to
this beldam, he abhorred his own meanness; but he did not know how much
reason he should have to repent, till the deed was done. It was done in
a hurry, with all the precipitation of a man who hates himself for
what he feels forced to do. Unused to bargain and sale in any way, in
marriage never having thought of it before, Buckhurst did not take all
precautions necessary to make his sacrifice answer his own purpose. He
could not conceive the avaricious temper and habits of his lady, till he
was hers past redemption. Whatever accession of income he obtained
from his marriage, he lived up to; immediately, his establishment, his
expenses, surpassed his revenue. His wife would not pay or advance a
shilling beyond her stipulated quota to their domestic expenses. He
could not hear the parsimonious manner in which she would have had him
live, or the shabby style in which she received his friends. He was more
profuse in proportion as she was more niggardly; and whilst she scolded
and grudged every penny she paid, he ran in debt magnanimously for
hundreds. When the living and deanery came into his possession, the
second year’s fruits had been eaten beforehand. Money he must have, and
money his wife would not give--but a litigious agent suggested to him a
plan for raising it, by demanding a considerable sum from the executors
of the late Dr. Leicester, for what is called _dilapidation_. The
parsonage-house seemed to be in good repair; but to make out charges of
dilapidation was not difficult to those who understood the business--and
fifteen hundred pounds was the charge presently made out against the
executors of the late incumbent. It was invidious, it was odious for the
new vicar, in the face of his parishioners, of all those who loved and
respected his predecessor, to begin by making such a demand--especially
as it was well known that the late dean had not saved any of the income
of his preferment, but had disposed of it amongst his parishioners as
a steward for the poor. He had left his family in narrow circumstances.
They were proud of his virtues, and not ashamed of the consequences.
With dignity and ease they retrenched their expenses; and after having
lived as became the family of a dignitary of the church, on quitting the
parsonage, the widow and her niece retired to a small habitation, suited
to their altered circumstances, and lived with respectable and respected
economy. The charge brought against them by the new dean was an
unexpected blow. It was an extortion, to which Mrs. Leicester would not
submit--could not without injury to her niece, from whose fortune the
sum claimed, if yielded, must be deducted.
Alfred Percy, from the first moment of their distress, from the time of
good Dr. Leicester’s death, had been assiduous in his attentions to Mrs.
Leicester; and by the most affectionate letters, and, whenever he could
get away from London, by his visits to her and to his Sophia, had
proved the warmth and constancy of his attachment. Some months had now
passed--he urged his suit, and besought Sophia no longer to delay his
happiness. Mrs. Leicester wished that her niece should now give herself
a protector and friend, who might console her for the uncle she had
lost. It was at this period the _dilapidation charge_ was made. Mrs.
Leicester laid the whole statement before Alfred, declaring that for
his sake, as well as for her niece’s, she was resolute to defend herself
against injustice. Alfred could scarcely bring himself to believe that
Buckhurst Falconer had acted in the manner represented, with a rapacity,
harshness, and cruelty, so opposite to his natural disposition. Faults,
Alfred well knew that Buckhurst had; but they were all, he thought, of
quite a different sort from those of which he now stood accused. What
was to be done? Alfred was extremely averse from going to law with a man
who was his relation, for whom he had early felt, and still retained,
a considerable regard: yet he could not stand by, and see the woman he
loved, defrauded of nearly half the small fortune she possessed. On the
other hand, he was employed as a professional man, and called upon
to act. He determined, however, before he should, as a last resource,
expose the truth and maintain the right in a court of justice,
previously to try every means of conciliation in his power. To all
his letters the new dean answered evasively and unsatisfactorily, by
referring him to his attorney, into whose hands he said he had put the
business, and he knew and wished to hear nothing more about it. The
attorney, Solicitor Sharpe, was impracticable--Alfred resolved to
see the dean himself; and this, after much difficulty, he at length
effected. He found the dean and his lady tête-à-tête. Their raised
voices suddenly stopped short as he entered. The dean gave an angry look
at his servant as Alfred came into the room.
“Your servants,” said Alfred, “told me that you were not at home, but I
told them that I knew the dean would be at home to an old friend.”
“You are very good,--(said Buckhurst)--you do me a great deal of
honour,” said the dean.
Two different manners appeared in the same person: one
natural--belonging to his former, the other assumed, proper, as he
thought, for his present self, or rather for his present situation.
“Won’t you be seated? I hope all our friends--” Mrs. Buckhurst, or, as
she was called, Mrs. Dean Falconer, made divers motions, with a
very ugly chin, and stood as if she thought there ought to be an
introduction. The dean knew it, but being ashamed to introduce her,
determined against it. Alfred stood in suspension, waiting their mutual
pleasure.
“Won’t you sit down, sir?” repeated the dean.
Down plumped Mrs. Falconer directly, and taking out her spectacles, as
if to shame her husband, by heightening the contrast of youth and age,
deliberately put them on; then drawing her table nearer, settled herself
to her work.
Alfred, who saw it to be necessary, determined to use his best address
to conciliate the lady.
“Mr. Dean, you have never yet done me the honour to introduce me to Mrs.
Falconer.”
“I thought--I thought we had met before--since--Mrs. Falconer, Mr.
Alfred Percy.”
The lady took off her spectacles, smiled, and adjusted herself,
evidently with an intention to be more agreeable. Alfred sat down by her
work-table, directed his conversation to her, and soon talked, or rather
induced her to talk herself into fine humour. Presently she retired
to dress for dinner, and “hoped Mr. Alfred Percy had no intention of
running away--_she_ had a well-aired bed to offer him.”
The dean, though he cordially hated his lady, was glad, for his own
sake, to be relieved from her fits of crossness; and was pleased by
Alfred’s paying attention to her, as this was a sort of respect to
himself, and what he seldom met with from those young men who had been
his companions before his marriage--they usually treated his lady with a
neglect or ridicule which reflected certainly upon her husband.
Alfred never yet had touched upon his business, and Buckhurst began to
think this was merely a friendly visit. Upon Alfred’s observing some
alteration which had been lately made in the room in which they were
sitting, the dean took him to see other improvements in the house; in
pointing out these, and all the conveniences and elegancies about the
parsonage, Buckhurst totally forgot the _dilapidation suit_; and every
thing he showed and said tended unawares to prove that the house was in
the most perfect repair and best condition possible. Gradually, whatever
solemnity and beneficed pomp there had at first appeared in the dean’s
manner, wore off, or was laid aside; and, except his being somewhat
more corpulent and rubicund than in early years, he appeared like the
original Buckhurst. His gaiety of heart, indeed, was gone, but some
sparkles of his former spirits remained.
“Here,” said he, showing Alfred into his study, “here, as our good
friend Mr. _Blank_ said, when he showed us his study, ‘_Here_ is _where_
I read all day long--quite snug--and nobody’s a bit the wiser for it.’”
The dean seated himself in his comfortable arm-chair. “Try that chair,
Alfred, excellent for sleeping in at one’s ease.”
“To rest the cushion and soft dean invite.”
“Ah!” said Alfred, “often have I sat in this room with my excellent
friend, Dr. Leicester!”
The new dean’s countenance suddenly changed: but endeavouring to pass
it off with a jest, he said, “Ay, poor good old Leicester, he sleeps for
ever,--that’s one comfort--to me--if not to you.” But perceiving that
Alfred continued to look serious, the dean added some more proper
reflections in a tone of ecclesiastical sentiment, and with a sigh
of decorum--then rose, for he smelt that the _dilapidation suit_ was
coming.
“Would not you like, Mr. Percy, to wash your hands before dinner?”
“I thank you, Mr. Dean, I must detain you a moment to speak to you on
business.”
Black as Erebus grew the face of the dean--he had no resource but to
listen, for he knew it would come after dinner, if it did not come now;
and it was as well to have it alone in the study, where nobody might be
a bit the wiser.
When Alfred had stated the whole of what he had to say, which he did
in as few and strong words as possible, appealing to the justice and
feelings of Buckhurst--to the fears which the dean must have of
being exposed, and ultimately defeated, in a court of justice--“Mrs.
Leicester,” concluded he, “is determined to maintain the suit, and has
employed me to carry it on for her.”
“I should very little have expected,” said the dean, “that Mr. Alfred
Percy would have been employed in such a way against me.”
“Still less should I have expected that I could be called upon in such
a way against you,” replied Alfred. “No one can feel it more than I do.
The object of my present visit is to try whether some accommodation may
not be made, which will relieve us both from the necessity of going to
law, and may prevent me from being driven to the performance of this
most painful professional duty.”
“Duty! professional duty!” repeated Buckhurst: “as if I did not
understand all those _cloak-words_, and know how easy it is to put them
on and off at pleasure!”
“To some it may be, but not to me,” said Alfred, calmly.
Anger started into Buckhurst’s countenance: but conscious how
inefficacious it would be, and how completely he had laid himself open,
the dean answered, “You are the best judge, sir. But I trust--though
I don’t pretend to understand the honour of lawyers--I trust, as a
gentleman, you will not take advantage against me in this suit, of any
thing my openness has shown you about the parsonage.”
“You trust rightly, Mr. Dean,” replied Alfred, in his turn, with a look
not of anger, but of proud indignation; “you trust rightly, Mr. Dean,
and as I should have expected that one who has had opportunities of
knowing me so well ought to trust.”
“That’s a clear answer,” said Buckhurst. “But how could I tell?--so much
_jockeying_ goes on in every profession--how could I tell that a lawyer
would be more conscientious than another man? But now you assure me of
it--I take it upon your word, and believe it in your case. About the
accommodation--_accommodation_ means money, does not it?--frankly, I
have not a shilling. But Mrs. Falconer is all _accommodation_. Try what
you can do with her--and by the way you began, I should hope you would
do a great deal,” added he, laughing.
Alfred would not undertake to speak to his lady, unless the dean would,
in the first instance, make some sacrifice. He represented that he was
not asking for money, but for a relinquishment of a claim, which he
apprehended not to be justly due: “And the only use I shall ever make of
what you have shown me here, is to press upon your feelings, as I do at
this moment, the conviction of the injustice of that claim, which I am
persuaded your lawyers only instigated, and that you will abandon.”
Buckhurst begged him not to be persuaded of any such thing. The
instigation of an attorney, he laughing said, was not in law counted the
instigation of the devil--at law no man talked of feelings. In matters
of property judges did not understand them, whatever figure they might
make with a jury in criminal cases--with an eloquent advocate’s hand on
his breast.
Alfred let Buckhurst go on with his vain wit and gay rhetoric till he
had nothing more to say, knowing that he was hiding consciousness of
unhandsome conduct. Sticking firmly to his point, Alfred showed that his
client, though gentle, was resolved, and that, unless Buckhurst yielded,
law must take its course--that though he should never give any hint, the
premises must be inspected, and disgrace and defeat must follow.
Forced to be serious, fretted and hurried, for the half-hour bell before
dinner had now rung, and the dean’s stomach began to know canonical
hours, he exclaimed, “The upshot of the whole business is, that Mr.
Alfred Percy is in love, I understand, with Miss Sophia Leicester, and
this fifteen hundred pounds, which he pushes me to the bare wall to
relinquish, is eventually, as part of her fortune, to become his. Would
it not have been as fair to have stated this at once?”
“No--because it would not have been the truth.”
“No!--You won’t deny that you are in love with Miss Leicester?”
“I am as much in love as man can be with Miss Leicester; but her fortune
is nothing to me, for I shall never touch it.”
“Never touch it! Does the aunt--the widow--the cunning widow, refuse
consent?”
“Far from it: the aunt is all the aunt of Miss Leicester should be--all
the widow of Dr. Leicester ought to be. But her circumstances are not
what they ought to be; and by the liberality of a friend, who lends me
a house, rent free, and by the resources of my profession, I am better
able than Mrs. Leicester is to spare fifteen hundred pounds: therefore,
in the recovery of this money I have no personal interest at present. I
shall never receive it from her.”
“Noble! Noble!--just what I could have done myself--once! What a
contrast!”
Buckhurst laid his head down upon his arms flat on the table, and
remained for some moments silent--then, starting upright, “I’ll never
claim a penny from her--I’ll give it all up to you! I will, if I sell my
band for it, by Jove!”
“Oh! what has your father to answer for, who forced you into the
church!” thought Alfred.
“My dear Buckhurst,” said he, “my dear dean--”
“Call me Buckhurst, if you love me.”
“I do love you, it is impossible to help it, in spite of--”
“All my faults--say it out--say it out--in spite of your conscience,”
added Buckhurst, trying to laugh.
“Not in spite of my conscience, but in favour of yours,” said Alfred,
“against whose better dictates you have been compelled all your life to
act.”
“I have so, but that’s over. What remains to be done at present? I am in
real distress for five hundred pounds. Apropos to your being engaged in
this dilapidation suit, you can speak to Mrs. Falconer about it. Tell
her I have given up the thing; and see what she will do.”
Alfred promised he would speak to Mrs. Falconer. “And, Alfred, when you
see your sister Caroline, tell her that I am not in one sense such a
wretch--quite, as she thinks me. But tell her that I am yet a greater
wretch--infinitely more miserable than she, I hope, can conceive--beyond
redemption--beyond endurance miserable.” He turned away hastily in an
agony of mind. Alfred shut the door and escaped, scarcely able to bear
his own emotion.
When they met at dinner, Mrs. Dean Falconer was an altered person--her
unseemly morning costume and well-worn shawl being cast aside, she
appeared in bloom-coloured gossamer gauze, and primrose ribbons, a
would-be young lady. Nothing of that curmudgeon look, or old fairy cast
of face and figure, to which he had that morning been introduced, but in
their place smiles, and all the false brilliancy which rouge can give to
the eyes, proclaimed a determination to be charming.
The dean was silent, and scarcely ate any thing, though the dinner was
excellent, for his lady was skilled in the culinary department, and in
favour of Alfred had made a more hospitable display than she usually
condescended to make for her husband’s friends. There were no other
guests, except a young lady, companion to Mrs. Falconer. Alfred was
as agreeable and entertaining as circumstances permitted; and Mrs.
Buckhurst Falconer, as soon as she got out of the dining-room, even
before she reached the drawing-room, pronounced him to be a most polite
and accomplished young man, very different indeed from the _common run_,
or the usual style, of Mr. Dean Falconer’s dashing bachelor beaux, who
in her opinion were little better than brute bears.
At coffee, when the gentlemen joined the ladies in the drawing-room,
as Alfred was standing beside Mrs. Falconer, meditating how and when to
speak of the object of his visit, she cleared the ground by choosing the
topic of conversation, which, at last fairly drove her husband out of
the room. She judiciously, maliciously, or accidentally, began to talk
of the proposal which she had heard a near relation of hers had not
long since made to a near relation of Mr. Alfred Percy’s--Mr. Clay,
of Clay-hall, her nephew, had proposed for Mr. Alfred’s sister, Miss
Caroline Percy. She was really sorry the match was not to take place,
for she had heard a very high character of the young lady in every way,
and her nephew was rich enough to do without fortune--not but what that
would be very acceptable to all men--especially young men, who are now
mostly all for money instead of all for love--except in the case of very
first rate extraordinary beauty, which therefore making a woman a prey,
just as much one as the other, might be deemed a misfortune as great,
though hardly _quite_, Mrs. Buckhurst said, as she had found a great
fortune in her own particular case. The involution of meaning in these
sentences rendering it not easy to be comprehended, the dean stood it
pretty well, only stirring his coffee, and observing that it was cold;
but when his lady went on to a string of interrogatories about Miss
Caroline Percy--on the colour of her eyes and hair--size of her mouth
and nose--requiring in short a complete full-length portrait of the
young lady, poor Buckhurst set down his cup, and pleading business in
his study, left the field open to Alfred.
“Near-sighted glasses! Do you never use them, Mr. Percy?” said Mrs. Dean
Falconer, as she thought Alfred’s eyes fixed upon her spectacles, which
lay on the table.
No--he never used them, he thanked her: he was rather far-sighted than
short-sighted. She internally commended his politeness in not taking
them up to verify her assertion, and put them into her pocket to avoid
all future danger.
He saw it was a favourable moment, and entered at once into his
business--beginning by observing that the dean was much out of spirits.
The moment money was touched upon, the curmudgeon look returned upon the
lady; and for some time Alfred had great difficulty in making himself
heard: she poured forth such complaints against the extravagance of the
dean, with lists of the debts she had paid, the sums she had given, and
the vow she had made, never to go beyond the weekly allowance she had,
at the last settlement, agreed to give her husband.
Alfred pleaded strongly the expense of law, and the certainty, in his
opinion, of ultimate defeat, with the being obliged to pay all the
costs, which would fall upon the dean. The dean was willing to withdraw
his claim--he had promised to do so, in the most handsome manner; and
therefore, Alfred said, he felt particularly anxious that he should
not be distressed for five hundred pounds, a sum for which he knew
Mr. Falconer was immediately pressed. He appealed to Mrs. Falconer’s
generosity. He had been desired by the dean to speak to her on the
subject, otherwise he should not have presumed--and it was as a
professional man, and a near relation, that he now took the liberty:
this was the first transaction he had ever had with her, and he hoped he
should leave the vicarage impressed with a sense of her generosity, and
enabled to do her justice in the opinion of those who did not know her.
That was very little to her, she bluntly said--she acted only up to her
own notions--she lived only for herself.
“And for her husband.” Love, Alfred Percy said, he was assured, was
superior to money in her opinion. “And after all, my dear madam, you
set me the example of frankness, and permit me to speak to you without
reserve. What can you, who have no reason, you say, to be pleased with
either of your nephews, do better with your money, than spend it while
you live and for yourself, in securing happiness in the gratitude
and affection of a husband, who, generous himself, will be peculiarly
touched and attached by generosity?”
The words, _love, generosity, generous_, sounded upon the lady’s ear,
and she was unwilling to lose that high opinion which she imagined
Alfred entertained of her sentiments and character. Besides, she was
conscious that he was in fact nearer the truth than all the world
would have believed. Avaricious in trifles, and parsimonious in those
every-day habits which brand the reputation immediately with the fault
of avarice, this woman was one of those misers who can be generous by
fits and starts, and who have been known to _give_ hundreds of pounds,
but never without reluctance would part with a shilling.
She presented the dean, her husband, with an order on her banker for
the money he wanted, and Alfred had the pleasure of leaving his unhappy
friend better, at least, than he found him. He rejoiced in having
compromised this business so successfully, and in thus having prevented
the litigation, ill-will, and disgraceful circumstances, which, without
his interference, must have ensued.
The gratitude of Mrs. Leicester and her niece was delightful. The aunt
urged him to accept what he had been the means of saving, as part of
her niece’s fortune; but this he absolutely refused, and satisfied Mrs.
Leicester’s delicacy, by explaining, that he could not, if he would, now
yield to her entreaties, as he had actually obtained the money from poor
Buckhurst’s generous repentance, upon the express faith that he had no
private interest in the accommodation.
“You would not,” said Alfred, “bring me under the act against raising
money upon false pretences?”
What Alfred lost in money he gained in love. His Sophia’s eyes beamed
upon him with delight. The day was fixed for their marriage, and at
Alfred’s suggestion, Mrs. Leicester consented, painful as it was, in
some respects, to her feelings, that they should be married by the dean
in the parish church.
Alfred brought his bride to town, and as soon as they were established
in their own house, or rather in that house which Mr. Gresham insisted
upon their calling their own, Lady Jane Granville was the first person
to offer her congratulations.--Alfred begged his sister Caroline from
Lady Jane, as he had already obtained his father’s and mother’s consent.
Lady Jane was really fond of Caroline’s company, and had forgiven her,
as well as she could; yet her ladyship had no longer a hope of being _of
use_ to her, and felt that even if any other offer were to occur--and
none such as had been made could ever more be expected--it would lead
only to fresh disappointment and altercation; therefore she, with the
less reluctance, relinquished Caroline altogether.
Caroline’s new sister had been, from the time they were first
acquainted, her friend, and she rejoiced in seeing all her hopes for her
brother’s happiness accomplished by this marriage. His Sophia had those
habits of independent occupation which are essential to the wife of a
professional man, and which enable her to spend cheerfully many hours
alone, or at least without the company of her husband. On his return
home every evening, he was sure to find a smiling wife, a sympathizing
friend, a cheerful fireside.--She had musical talents--her husband was
fond of music; and she did not lay aside the accomplishments which
had charmed the lover, but made use of them to please him whom she had
chosen as her companion for life. Her voice, her harp, her utmost skill,
were ready at any moment, and she found far more delight in devoting
her talents to him than she had ever felt in exhibiting them to admiring
auditors. This was the domestic use of accomplishments to which
Caroline had always been accustomed; so that joining in her new sister’s
occupations and endeavours to make Alfred’s evenings pass pleasantly,
she felt at once as much _at home_ as if she had been in the country;
for the mind is its own place, and domestic happiness may be naturalized
in a capital city.
At her brother’s house, Caroline had an opportunity of seeing a society
that was new to her, that of the professional men of the first eminence
both in law and medicine, the men of science and of literature, with
whom Alfred and Erasmus had been for years assiduously cultivating
acquaintance. They were now happy to meet at Alfred’s house, for they
liked and esteemed him, and they found his wife and sister sensible,
well-informed women, to whom their conversation was of real amusement
and instruction; and who, in return, knew how to enliven their leisure
hours by female sprightliness and elegance. Caroline now saw the
literary and scientific world to the best advantage: not the amateurs,
or the mere _show_ people, but those who, really excelling and feeling
their own superiority, had too much pride and too little time to
waste upon idle flattery, or what to them were stupid, uninteresting
_parties_. Those who refused to go to Lady Spilsbury’s, or to Lady
Angelica Headingham’s, or who were seen there, perhaps, once or twice in
a season as a great favour and honour, would call three or four evenings
every week at Alfred’s.
The first news, the first hints of discoveries, inventions, and literary
projects, she heard from time to time discussed. Those men of talent,
whom she had heard were to be seen at _conversaziones_, or of whom she
had had a glimpse in fine society, now appeared in a new point of view,
and to the best advantage; without those pretensions and rivalships with
which they sometimes are afflicted in public, or those affectations
and singularities, which they often are supposed to assume, to obtain
notoriety among persons inferior to them in intellect and superior in
fashion. Instead of playing, as they sometimes did, a false game to
amuse the multitude, they were obliged now to exert their real skill,
and play fair with one another.
Sir James Harrington tells us, that in his days the courtiers who played
at divers games in public, had a way of exciting the admiration and
amazement of the commoner sort of spectators, by producing heaps of
golden counters, and seeming to stake immense sums, when all the time
they had previously agreed among one another, that each guinea should
stand for a shilling, or each hundred guineas for one: so that in fact
two modes of calculation were used for the initiated and uninitiated;
and this exoteric practice goes on continually to this hour, among
literary performers in the intellectual, as well as among courtiers in
the fashionable world.
Besides the pleasure of studying celebrated characters, and persons
of eminent merit, at their ease and at her own, Caroline had now
opportunities of seeing most of those objects of rational curiosity,
which with Lady Jane Granville had been prohibited as _mauvais ton_.
With men of sense she found it was not _mauvais ton_ to use her eyes for
the purposes of instruction or entertainment.
With Mrs. Alfred Percy she saw every thing in the best manner; in the
company of well-informed guides, who were able to point out what was
essential to be observed; ready to explain and to illustrate; to procure
for them all those privileges and advantages as spectators, which common
gazers are denied, but which liberal and enlightened men are ever not
only ready to allow, but eager to procure for intelligent, unassuming
females.
Among the gentlemen of learning, talents, and eminence in Alfred’s own
profession, whom Caroline had the honour of seeing at her brother’s,
were Mr. Friend, the _friend_ of his early years at the bar; and that
great luminary, who in a higher orbit had cheered and guided him in his
ascent. The chief justice was in a station, and of an age, where praise
can be conferred without impropriety, and without hurting the feelings
of delicacy or pride. He knew how to praise--a difficult art, but he
excelled in it. As Caroline once, in speaking of him, said, “Common
compliments compared to praise from him, are as common coin compared to
a medal struck and appropriated for the occasion.”
About this time Mr. Temple came to tell Alfred, that a ship had been
actually ordered to be in readiness to carry him on his intended
embassy; that Mr. Shaw had recovered; that Cunningham Falconer had
no more excuses or pretences for delay; despatches, the last Lord
Oldborough said he should ever receive from him as envoy, had now
arrived, and Temple was to have set out immediately; but that the whole
embassy had been delayed, because Lord Oldborough had received a letter
from Count Altenberg, giving an account of alarming revolutionary
symptoms, which had appeared in the capital, and in the provinces, in
the dominions of his sovereign, Lord Oldborough had shown Mr. Temple
what related to public affairs, but had not put the whole letter into
his hands. All that he could judge from what he read was, that the
Count’s mind was most seriously occupied with the dangerous state
of public affairs in his country. “I should have thought,” added
Mr. Temple, “that the whole of this communication was entirely of a
political nature, but that in the last page which Lord Oldborough put
into my hand, the catch-words at the bottom were _Countess Christina_.”
Alfred observed, “that, without the aid of Rosamond’s imagination to
supply something more, nothing could be made of this. However, it was a
satisfaction to have had direct news of Count Altenberg.”
The next day Mr. Temple came for Alfred. Lord Oldborough desired to see
him.
“Whatever his business may be, I am sure it is important and
interesting,” said Mr. Temple; “by this time I ought to be well
acquainted with Lord Oldborough--I know the signs of his suppressed
emotion, and I have seldom seen him put such force upon himself to
appear calm, and to do the business of the day, before he should yield
his mind to what pressed on his secret thoughts.”