When I was a boy at school, I used, like other boys, to employ very
unprofitably some of my leisure hours in keeping silk-worms. In a
neighbouring garden there was a large mulberry-tree, and for a certain
sum--I forget what--I, as well as other boys, was permitted to go in
and gather as many leaves as I thought necessary as food for the
emblem of the English literary man: I mean the silk-worm who spins
golden threads for the benefit of others, and whose tomb is valued
after he himself is gone. But it is not with the silk-worm I have to
do now. The leaves which I gathered as a boy are my illustration. I
remember very well that I used to place them one upon the other in a
pile, and try to gather them as nearly of the same size and shape as I
could; but, do what I would, I never was able to find two that were
exactly alike. A point would stick out here, and a point would stick
out there. Some would be a little longer, some would be a little
shorter; and I used to marvel, even in those young days, that in such
a simple thing as a leaf there should be such infinite variety.
I have marvelled more at human nature since, in which, with all the
training and forcing and moulding of society, with similar education,
similar laws--I might almost say similar accidents--we never find two
characters exactly alike, any more than two leaves perfectly the same
on a tree.
Were this a contemplative age, I would venture to meditate upon the
subject much farther, for it is a fine one and a strange one. But this
is not a contemplative age. It is an age of action, wherein no thought
that does not apply to the mere business of the day is worth a
farthing. I do not mean to abuse it. It is quite as good as any other
age that ever was, or perhaps ever will be; but still this is its
character. It has lost something, if it has gained something. Let
those strike the balance who keep such accounts accurately. I am of
the age, so I must onward; and I only put down these meditations
because there are some men of a contemplative turn, such as I once was
myself; and because even men of the most earnest activity have their
contemplative moments, when that which is suggestive interests more
than that which is objective.
It is difficult to find words to express the infinite; and, although
it may seem a pleonasmatic expression, I must say that all the
varieties of human character have infinite varieties within
themselves. However, the easily impressible character--that which
suffers opinions, feelings, thoughts, purposes, actions, to be
continually altered by the changing circumstances around--the
chameleon character, if I may so call it--is perhaps the most
dangerous to itself, and to those it affects, of any that I know. It
goes beyond the chameleon, indeed. The reptile only reflects the
colours of objects near, retaining its own form and nature. The
impressible character, on the contrary, is changed in every line, as
well as in every hue, by that with which it comes in contact. Certain
attributes it certainly does retain. The substance is the same, but
the colour and the form are always varying. In the substance lie the
permanence and the identity: all else is moulded and painted by
circumstance.
Now, substantially there never was a kinder or a better heart in the
world than that of Lady Fleetwood. She was ever anxious for the
happiness of those around her. She was too anxious, in fact; for,
never thinking they could secure it for themselves, she was always
seeking to do it for them--in her own way. In this, too, she differed
from many other persons, that the foundation of her ill-directed
activity was not exactly vanity. It was not so much that she thought
she knew better than they did what would contribute to their
happiness, as that she was always making mistakes as to what their
real wishes were. As soon as she was thoroughly convinced and
completely comprehended--which seldom happened--what her friends truly
desired, no one would labour more zealously to accomplish it than she
would; but always in a wrong direction, be it remarked. Thus it was
nearly as dangerous to let her know one's wishes as to conceal them.
This may seem a somewhat singular character; but yet, I believe few
who have lived long have not met with some specimens, modified by
circumstances, probably; and indeed there is a spice of this same
disposition in more people than we know; there may be in ourselves. If
you wish to prove the fact, give a commission to a friend, he would do
anything to serve you, but he never executes the commission as he
received it.
When Henry Hayley left her drawing-room with Charles Marston, Lady
Fleetwood, who had fully made up her mind that her niece Maria ought
to marry her nephew Charles, and that she would have married him, too,
if he had asked her--which, by-the-bye, wasn't the case--was very much
disappointed to see a towering impediment rising up in the way of such
a consummation; and she resolutely and at once determined to go that
very day and consult with her brother, Mr. Scriven, in the desperate
hope of still bringing it about.
She remained firm in her purpose till the visiters who were in the
room took their leave also; but then, _unfortunately_, a conversation
took place between her and Maria, which changed all her views and
purposes.
Take note, reader, that each word is considered--even that word
"unfortunately."
When the visiters were gone, Lady Fleetwood thought she might as well
say something to Maria about Colonel Middleton. She thought she
should, at least, learn what her views and intentions were, and very
likely her own advice and remonstrances might still affect Maria's
decision. Heaven help the poor lady! she was but little aware that
Maria's stronger mind and more energetic character had guided her like
a child for many years, without ever seeming to do so, indeed, but
gently, gaily, laughingly.
She had some little difficulty in beginning, for there was a sort of
vague consciousness of weakness about her, which occasionally made her
timid in her activity. However, she at length said--
"I did not expect to find Colonel Middleton here this morning, my
love."
Maria, who knew every turn of her aunt's mind as well as that of her
own sandal, saw what was coming; and a slight glow spread over her
face, deepening the colour of her cheek and tinging her fair brow and
temples.
"Why not, my dear aunt?" she asked, knowing that it would never do to
show any timidity.
"Why, if he was here for an hour before I came in, his visit must have
been an early one," replied Lady Fleetwood.
Maria mused for a single moment, but then determined upon her course
at once.
"He wished to see me, my dear aunt," she said; "and therefore he came
at a time when he thought I should be at home."
Lady Fleetwood began to perceive that the matter was rather hopeless;
and shaking her head, with a deep sigh she replied--
"I am sorry to hear it, my love. I had hoped----"
There she stopped, and looked so disconsolate that Maria in her own
kind and gentle manner crossed the room, sat down beside her, and laid
her hand kindly upon her aunt's.
"You had hoped what, my dear aunt?" she said; and then added, with a
gay smile, "that I should marry Charles?"
"Why, I certainly did hope it, Maria," answered her aunt; "and I know
that your uncle wished it also."
"Your wishes, my dear aunt, would always have much weight with me,"
replied Maria; "but I am afraid my uncle's, upon such a subject as
this especially, would have none. As to Charles and myself, however,
though I am very sorry that any wish of yours should be disappointed,
you will, I am sure, admit that I never gave you any reason to believe
that such a thing as a marriage between him and me could take place:
indeed, quite the contrary. Charles and I are utterly unsuited to each
other, though I have a great regard for him, and he the same for me.
But, even were such not the case, my dear aunt, certainly no marriage
can or ought to take place where neither party is willing; and
Charles, depend upon it, would be quite as unwilling to marry me as I
should be to marry him."
"But that is no reason, my dear, why you should marry this Colonel
Middleton, whom you have only known for a few days," said Lady
Fleetwood, almost sharply.
"Certainly not," answered Maria, her colour a little heightened; "nor
did I say that I am going to do so. But yet I may see a great number
of good reasons for doing so, and no reason against it, in any
impracticable scheme which friends, however kind, may have thought fit
to frame for me and Charles. But tell me, my dear aunt, what
objections have you to urge against Colonel Middleton?"
"Why, that you have known him so short a time," replied Lady
Fleetwood, causing a faint smile to flutter about Maria's pretty lips;
"and then he is half a foreigner. You can know nothing of his
character, his disposition, his fortune, his station--nor, indeed of
anything about him."
Maria leaned her head thoughtfully on her hand, and mused for a minute
or two, without reply.
Lady Fleetwood thought she had made great progress, that her niece's
resolution was shaken, and that by a word or two more she might
triumph.
"Indeed, Maria," she said, "you must think better of this matter, and
not give this young man such encouragement. I will do everything I can
to dissuade you, and I must get your uncle to help me. I have no doubt
the man is some foreign adventurer, who thinks to raise himself from
adversity by marrying an English heiress."
"Fie, fie, my dear aunt!" cried Maria, almost indignantly: "this is
unlike yourself. Is it generous, is it kind, is it even just, to speak
thus of a man of whose character and situation you know nothing? But
now, my dear aunt, I will tell you, I know everything about him--his
family, his fortune, his character, his station. He is no needy
adventurer, but a distinguished officer, with ample fortune and a high
reputation. The Conde de Fraga told me so last night; and if he has
met with adversities in life, and sorrows bitter and undeserved, it
shall be my task, and a sweet one, to console him and make him forget
them."
Lady Fleetwood was aghast at the result of her own efforts, for she
had never seen Maria so much moved before; and she felt, also, that
there was some truth in the reproachful words of her niece.
"Well, my dear Maria," she said, in a timid tone, "I did not know that
you had so completely made up your mind, or I should not have said
what I did. As to Colonel Middleton's character, of course, as you
say, I can know nothing. I only spoke from what your uncle said, for
he seemed to think very ill of him."
"I thought so," replied Maria. "I was quite sure, my dear aunt, that
it is not in your nature to injure or traduce any one even by a word.
My uncle is harsh and prejudiced; but surely you will not listen to
unfounded suspicions, the justice of which he cannot bring forward a
proof to support."
"I know very well your uncle does dislike him very much from his
likeness to poor Henry Hayley," said Lady Fleetwood.
"For that very reason I should love him," replied Maria, warmly. "And
now, my dear aunt," she said, taking Lady Fleetwood's hand
affectionately, "do not pain and grieve your Maria by throwing any
needless and useless obstacles and objections in my way. Be assured
that I know well what I am doing, and shall be perfectly prepared to
justify it. But, even were such not the case--were Colonel Middleton
poor, as you have supposed--you would not, I am sure, provided he
can prove himself, as he assuredly can, an honourable and upright
man--endeavour to thwart the affection of two people who love each
other deeply and devotedly. That such is the case on my part you may
be perfectly sure; for no consideration would ever make me give my
hand to a man who did not possess my whole heart. You yourself, my
dear aunt, have shown that you can feel the deepest and most enduring
affection; and you ought to know how painful it is to hear objections,
suspicions, and prejudices urged against a man whom one loves."
The tears came into Lady Fleetwood's eyes.
"I do indeed, my dear Maria," she said; "and now that I know you do
love him, far be it from me to do anything to mar your happiness. Far,
far from it! I will do everything I can on earth to facilitate your
views. But still it is very strange that you should become attached to
him so soon and so strongly. Why, I have seen many a man paying
devoted attention to you for months, without being able to obtain
anything but the coldest possible return, and in the end a decided
rejection."
"No man had any right to make me reject him," replied Maria; "for I
have always taken care, my dear aunt, to give no encouragement to such
proposals, and have done my best to avoid them; for you may well
believe that nothing could be more painful to me than to inflict pain
upon another."
"But still it is very strange that you should become attached to
Colonel Middleton so soon," answered Lady Fleetwood, returning
pertinaciously to her point.
Maria smiled.
"There is a secret, my dear aunt," she said, "which I must not tell
you or any one yet; but you shall be one of the very first to know it,
and when you do, it will explain all that now seems strange."
Lady Fleetwood meditated, saying--
"A secret! Well, my dear, I don't wish to pry into any secrets; but be
sure that I will do whatever I can to help you;" and warming in her
new zeal as she went on, she said, "Whenever Colonel Middleton comes
again, I shall go out of the room, just to leave you alone with him,
for you may have things to say to each other."
"No, no, my dear aunt; pray do not do that!" exclaimed Maria: "only
let matters follow their course quietly and easily. Take no notice of
the feelings between Colonel Middleton and myself; and I promise you
that, if I have anything to say to him, or he to me, which requires to
be said in private, I shall very quietly take him into another room;
for I am not in the least ashamed of my choice or afraid of avowing
it."
Notwithstanding this admonition, excellent Lady Fleetwood was
determined to be of service to Maria and her lover. Now that she was
fully convinced of which way her niece's happiness really lay, she was
all eagerness to promote her views. There was a necessity for activity
in some direction upon her; and, had she but possessed the rare
quality of discretion, she might indeed have helped the lovers very
much; but unfortunately the worthy lady's first consideration was how
she might be active immediately, without waiting for opportunity,
which is always very indiscreet. No way presented itself to her
imagination for some moments; and while Maria retired to her room to
dress for going out, and moreover to recover from a greater degree of
agitation than she had suffered to appear, Lady Fleetwood went on
considering what could best be done to remove all difficulties from
her niece's way. As mischief would have it, the only thing she could
think of was to go and persuade Mr. Scriven that it would be the best
possible thing, after all, for Maria to marry Colonel Middleton. She
felt not the slightest doubt in the world that she should be quite
successful; for, although she had enjoyed plenty of opportunities of
judging of her brother, she was not yet convinced of the indisputable
fact, that Mr. Scriven could never be persuaded. Whether it was that
his brains were harder than other men's, or that he never formed a
wrong opinion in his life, or that there is a peculiar organ of
persuadability which he did not possess, certain it is that he was
never known to yield one step when once he had taken up his ground.
However, as I have said, Lady Fleetwood felt perfectly confident of
success. She was convinced herself, and she thought the same arguments
which had produced that effect on her must be convincing with others.
She did not remember, indeed, that she was not unlikely to forget
one-half of them. Nevertheless she thought, "I will not say a word
about it to Maria. It will be a pleasant surprise to her to find that
her uncle offers no opposition. I will just wait till she has gone
out, and then drive to the city at once."