Square, often enquired what she did with herself in an evening; but
never obtaining any satisfactory answer, he concluded her engagements
were with people to whom he was a stranger.
Poor Mr Arnott felt the cruellest disappointment in being deprived
of the happiness of attending her in her evening's expeditions, when,
whether he conversed with her or not, he was sure of the indulgence of
seeing and hearing her.
But the greatest sufferer from this new regulation was Mr Monckton,
who, unable any longer to endure the mortifications of which his morning
visits to Portman Square had been productive, determined not to trust
his temper with such provocations in future, but rather to take his
chance of meeting with her elsewhere: for which purpose, he assiduously
frequented all public places, and sought acquaintance with every
family and every person he believed to be known to the Harrels: but his
patience was unrewarded, and his diligence unsuccessful; he met with her
no where, and, while he continued his search, fancied every evil power
was at work to lead him whither he was sure never to find her.
Meanwhile Cecilia passed her time greatly to her own satisfaction. Her
first care was to assist and comfort the Hills. She went herself to
their lodgings, ordered and paid for whatever the physician prescribed
to the sick man, gave clothes to the children, and money and various
necessaries to the wife. She found that the poor carpenter was not
likely to languish much longer, and therefore, for the present, only
thought of alleviating his sufferings, by procuring him such indulgences
as were authorised by his physician, and enabling his family to abate
so much of their labour as was requisite for obtaining time to nurse
and attend him: but she meant, as soon as the last duties should be paid
him, to assist his survivors in attempting to follow some better and
more profitable business.
Her next solicitude was to furnish herself with a well-chosen collection
of books: and this employment, which to a lover of literature, young
and ardent in its pursuit, is perhaps the mind's first luxury, proved
a source of entertainment so fertile and delightful that it left her
nothing to wish.
She confined not her acquisitions to the limits of her present power,
but, as she was laying in a stock for future as well as immediate
advantage, she was restrained by no expence from gratifying her taste
and her inclination. She had now entered the last year of her minority,
and therefore had not any doubt that her guardians would permit her to
take up whatever sum she should require for such a purpose.
And thus, in the exercise of charity, the search of knowledge, and the
enjoyment of quiet, serenely in innocent philosophy passed the hours of
Cecilia.
CHAPTER iii
A MASQUERADE.
The first check this tranquillity received was upon the day of the
masquerade, the preparations for which have been already mentioned.
The whole house was then in commotion from various arrangements and
improvements which were planned for almost every apartment that was to
be opened for the reception of masks. Cecilia herself, however little
pleased with the attendant circumstance of wantonly accumulating
unnecessary debts, was not the least animated of the party: she was a
stranger to every diversion of this sort, and from the novelty of the
scene, hoped for uncommon satisfaction.
At noon Mrs Harrel sent for her to consult upon a new scheme which
occurred to Mr Harrel, of fixing in fantastic forms some coloured lamps
in the drawing-room.
While they were all discoursing this matter over, one of the servants,
who had two or three times whispered some message to Mr Harrel, and then
retired, said, in a voice not too low to be heard by Cecilia, “Indeed,
Sir, I can't get him away.”
“He's an insolent scoundrel,” answered Mr Harrel; “however, if I must
speak to him, I must;” and went out of the room.
Mrs Harrel still continued to exercise her fancy upon this new project,
calling both upon Mr Arnott and Cecilia to admire her taste and
contrivance; till they were all interrupted by the loudness of a voice
from below stairs, which frequently repeated, “Sir, I can wait no
longer! I have been put off till I can be put off no more!”
Startled by this, Mrs Harrel ceased her employment, and they all stood
still and silent. They then heard Mr Harrel with much softness answer,
“Good Mr Rawlins, have a little patience; I shall receive a large sum of
money to-morrow, or next day, and you may then depend upon being paid.”
“Sir,” cried the man, “you have so often told me the same, that it goes
just for nothing: I have had a right to it a long time, and I have a
bill to make up that can't be waited for any longer.”
“Certainly, Mr Rawlins,” replied Mr Harrel, with still increasing
gentleness, “and certainly you shall have it: nobody means to dispute
your right; I only beg you to wait a day, or two days at furthest, and
you may then depend upon being paid. And you shall not be the worse
for obliging me; I will never employ any body else, and I shall have
occasion for you very soon, as I intend to make some alterations at
Violet-Bank that will be very considerable.”
“Sir,” said the man, still louder, “it is of no use your employing me,
if I can never get my money. All my workmen must be paid whether I am or
no; and so, if I must needs speak to a lawyer, why there's no help for
it.”
“Did you ever hear any thing so impertinent?” exclaimed Mrs Harrel; “I
am sure Mr Harrel will be very much to blame, if ever he lets that man
do any thing more for him.”
Just then Mr Harrel appeared, and, with an air of affected unconcern,
said, “Here's the most insolent rascal of a mason below stairs I ever
met with in my life; he has come upon me, quite unexpectedly, with a
bill of 400 pounds, and won't leave the house without the money. Brother
Arnott, I wish you would do me the favour to speak to the fellow, for I
could not bear to stay with him any longer.”
“Do you wish me to give him a draft for the money upon my own banker?”
“That would be vastly obliging,” answered Mr Harrel, “and I will give
you my note for it directly. And so we shall get rid of this fellow at
once: and he shall do nothing more for me as long as he lives. I will
run up a new building at Violet-Bank next summer, if only to shew him
what a job he has lost.”
“Pay the man at once, there's a good brother,” cried Mrs Harrel, “and
let's hear no more of him.”
The two gentlemen then retired to another room, and Mrs Harrel, after
praising the extreme good-nature of her brother, of whom she was very
fond, and declaring that the mason's impertinence had quite frightened
her, again returned to her plan of new decorations.
Cecilia, amazed at this indifference to the state of her husband's
affairs, began to think it was her own duty to talk with her upon
the subject: and therefore, after a silence so marked that Mrs Harrel
enquired into its reason, she said, “Will you pardon me, my dear friend,
if I own I am rather surprized to see you continue these preparations?”
“Lord, why?”
“Because any fresh unnecessary expences just now, till Mr Harrel
actually receives the money he talks of--”
“Why, my dear, the expence of such a thing as this is nothing; in Mr
Harrel's affairs I assure you it will not be at all felt. Besides,
he expects money so soon, that it is just the same as if he had it
already.”
Cecilia, unwilling to be too officious, began then to express her
admiration of the goodness and generosity of Mr Arnott; taking frequent
occasion, in the course of her praise, to insinuate that those only can
be properly liberal, who are just and economical.
She had prepared no masquerade habit for this evening, as Mrs Harrel,
by whose direction she was guided, informed her it was not necessary
for ladies to be masked at home, and said she should receive her company
herself in a dress which she might wear upon any other occasion. Mr
Harrel, also, and Mr Arnott made not any alteration in their appearance.
At about eight o'clock the business of the evening began; and before
nine, there were so many masks that Cecilia wished she had herself made
one of the number, as she was far more conspicuous in being almost the
only female in a common dress, than any masquerade habit could have made
her. The novelty of the scene, however, joined to the general air
of gaiety diffused throughout the company, shortly lessened her
embarrassment; and, after being somewhat familiarized to the abruptness
with which the masks approached her, and the freedom with which they
looked at or addressed her, the first confusion of her situation
subsided, and in her curiosity to watch others, she ceased to observe
how much she was watched herself.
Her expectations of entertainment were not only fulfilled but surpassed;
the variety of dresses, the medley of characters, the quick succession
of figures, and the ludicrous mixture of groups, kept her attention
unwearied: while the conceited efforts at wit, the total thoughtlessness
of consistency, and the ridiculous incongruity of the language with the
appearance, were incitements to surprise and diversion without end. Even
the local cant of, _Do you know me? Who are you?_ and _I know you_; with
the sly pointing of the finger, the arch nod of the head, and the
pert squeak of the voice, though wearisome to those who frequent such
assemblies, were, to her unhackneyed observation, additional subjects of
amusement.
Soon after nine o'clock, every room was occupied, and the common crowd
of regular masqueraders were dispersed through the various apartments.
Dominos of no character, and fancy dresses of no meaning, made, as is
usual at such meetings, the general herd of the company: for the rest,
the men were Spaniards, chimney-sweepers, Turks, watchmen, conjurers,
and old women; and the ladies, shepherdesses, orange girls, Circassians,
gipseys, haymakers, and sultanas.
Cecilia had, as yet, escaped any address beyond the customary enquiry
of _Do you know me?_ and a few passing compliments; but when the rooms
filled, and the general crowd gave general courage, she was attacked in
a manner more pointed and singular.
The very first mask who approached her seemed to have nothing less in
view than preventing the approach of every other: yet had he little
reason to hope favour for himself, as the person he represented, of all
others least alluring to the view, was the devil! He was black from head
to foot, save that two red horns seemed to issue from his forehead;
his face was so completely covered that the sight only of his eyes was
visible, his feet were cloven, and in his right hand he held a wand the
colour of fire.
Waving this wand as he advanced towards Cecilia, he cleared a
semi-circular space before her chair, thrice with the most profound
reverence bowed to her, thrice turned himself around with sundry
grimaces, and then fiercely planted himself at her side.
Cecilia was amused by his mummery, but felt no great delight in his
guardianship, and, after a short time, arose, with intention to walk to
another place; but the black gentleman, adroitly moving round her,
held out his wand to obstruct her passage, and therefore, preferring
captivity to resistance, she was again obliged to seat herself.
An Hotspur, who just then made his appearance, was now strutting boldly
towards her; but the devil, rushing furiously forwards, placed himself
immediately between them. Hotspur, putting his arms a-kimbo with an air
of defiance, gave a loud stamp with his right foot, and then--marched
into another room!
The victorious devil ostentatiously waved his wand, and returned to his
station.
Mr Arnott, who had never moved two yards from Cecilia, knowing her too
well to suppose she received any pleasure from being thus distinguished,
modestly advanced to offer his assistance in releasing her from
confinement; but the devil, again describing a circle with his wand,
gave him three such smart raps on the head that his hair was disordered,
and his face covered with powder. A general laugh succeeded, and Mr
Arnott, too diffident to brave raillery, or withstand shame, retired in
confusion.
The black gentleman seemed now to have all authority in his own hands,
and his wand was brandished with more ferocity than ever, no one again
venturing to invade the domain he thought fit to appropriate for his
own.
At length, however, a Don Quixote appeared, and every mask in the room
was eager to point out to him the imprisonment of Cecilia.
This Don Quixote was accoutered with tolerable exactness according to
the description of the admirable Cervantes; his armour was rusty, his
helmet was a barber's basin, his shield, a pewter dish, and his lance,
an old sword fastened to a slim cane. His figure, tall and thin, was
well adapted to the character he represented, and his mask, which
depictured a lean and haggard face, worn with care, yet fiery with crazy
passions, exhibited, with propriety the most striking, the knight of the
doleful countenance.
The complaints against the devil with which immediately and from all
quarters he was assailed, he heard with the most solemn taciturnity:
after which, making a motion for general silence, he stalked
majestically towards Cecilia, but stopping short of the limits
prescribed by her guard, he kissed his spear in token of allegiance, and
then, slowly dropping upon one knee, began the following address:
“Most incomparable Princess!--Thus humbly prostrate at the feet of your
divine and ineffable beauty, graciously permit the most pitiful of your
servitors, Don Quixote De la Mancha, from your high and tender grace, to
salute the fair boards which sustain your corporeal machine.”
Then, bending down his head, he kissed the floor; after which, raising
himself upon his feet, he proceeded in his speech.
“Report, O most fair and unmatchable virgin! daringly affirmeth that a
certain discourteous person, who calleth himself the devil, even now,
and in thwart of your fair inclinations, keepeth and detaineth your
irradiant frame in hostile thraldom. Suffer then, magnanimous and
undescribable lady! that I, the most groveling of your unworthy vassals,
do sift the fair truth out of this foul sieve, and obsequiously bending
to your divine attractions, conjure your highness veritably to inform
me, if that honourable chair which haply supports your terrestrial
perfections, containeth the inimitable burthen with the free and legal
consent of your celestial spirit?”
Here he ceased: and Cecilia, who laughed at this characteristic address,
though she had not courage to answer it, again made an effort to quit
her place, but again by the wand of her black persecutor was prevented.
This little incident was answer sufficient for the valorous knight, who
indignantly exclaimed,
“Sublime Lady!--I beseech but of your exquisite mercy to refrain
mouldering the clay composition of my unworthy body to impalpable dust,
by the refulgence of those bright stars vulgarly called eyes, till I
have lawfully wreaked my vengeance upon this unobliging caitiff, for his
most disloyal obstruction of your highness's adorable pleasure.”
Then, bowing low, he turned from her, and thus addressed his intended
antagonist:
“Uncourtly Miscreant,--The black garment which envellopeth thy most
unpleasant person, seemeth even of the most ravishing whiteness, in
compare of the black bile which floateth within thy sable interior.
Behold, then, my gauntlet! yet ere I deign to be the instrument of thy
extirpation, O thou most mean and ignoble enemy! that the honour of Don
Quixote De la Mancha may not be sullied by thy extinction, I do here
confer upon thee the honour of knighthood, dubbing thee, by my own
sword, Don Devil, knight of the horrible physiognomy.”
He then attempted to strike his shoulder with his spear, but the black
gentleman, adroitly eluding the blow, defended himself with his wand: a
mock fight ensued, conducted on both sides with admirable dexterity; but
Cecilia, less eager to view it than to become again a free agent, made
her escape into another apartment; while the rest of the ladies, though
they almost all screamed, jumped upon chairs and sofas to peep at the
combat.
In conclusion, the wand of the knight of the horrible physiognomy was
broken against the shield of the knight of the doleful countenance;
upon which Don Quixote called out _victoria_! the whole room echoed
the sound; the unfortunate new knight retired abruptly into another
apartment, and the conquering Don, seizing the fragments of the weapon
of his vanquished enemy went out in search of the lady for whose
releasement he had fought: and the moment he found her, prostrating both
himself and the trophies at her feet, he again pressed the floor with
his lips, and then, slowly arising, repeated his reverences with added
formality, and, without waiting her acknowledgments, gravely retired.
The moment he departed a Minerva, not stately nor austere, not marching
in warlike majesty, but gay and airy,
“Tripping on light fantastic toe,”
ran up to Cecilia, and squeaked out, “Do you know me?”
“Not,” answered she, instantly recollecting Miss Larolles, “by your
_appearance_, I own! but by your _voice_, I think I can guess you.”
“I was monstrous sorry,” returned the goddess, without understanding
this distinction, “that I was not at home when you called upon me. Pray,
how do you like my dress? I assure you I think it's the prettiest here.
But do you know there's the most shocking thing in the world happened in
the next room! I really believe there's a common chimney-sweeper got
in! I assure you it's enough to frighten one to death, for every time he
moves the soot smells so you can't think; quite real soot, I assure you!
only conceive how nasty! I declare I wish with all my heart it would
suffocate him!”
Here she was interrupted by the re-appearance of _Don Devil_; who,
looking around him, and perceiving that his antagonist was gone, again
advanced to Cecilia: not, however, with the authority of his first
approach, for with his wand he had lost much of his power; but to
recompense himself for this disgrace, he had recourse to another method
equally effectual for keeping his prey to himself, for he began a
growling, so dismal and disagreeable, that while many of the ladies,
and, among the first, the _Goddess of Wisdom and Courage_, ran away to
avoid him, the men all stood aloof to watch what next was to follow.
Cecilia now became seriously uneasy; for she was made an object of
general attention, yet could neither speak nor be spoken to. She could
suggest no motive for behaviour so whimsical, though she imagined the
only person who could have the assurance to practise it was Sir Robert
Floyer.
After some time spent thus disagreeably, a white domino, who for a few
minutes had been a very attentive spectator, suddenly came forward,
and exclaiming, “_I'll cross him though he blast me!_” rushed upon the
fiend, and grasping one of his horns, called out to a Harlequin who
stood near him, “Harlequin! do you fear to fight the devil?”
“Not I truly!” answered Harlequin, whose voice immediately betrayed
young Morrice, and who, issuing from the crowd, whirled himself round
before the black gentleman with yet more agility than he had himself
done before Cecilia, giving him, from time to time, many smart blows on
his shoulders, head, and back, with his wooden sword.
The rage of _Don Devil_ at this attack seemed somewhat beyond what a
masquerade character rendered necessary; he foamed at the mouth with
resentment, and defended himself with so much vehemence, that he soon
drove poor Harlequin into another room: but, when he would have returned
to his prey, the genius of pantomime, curbed, but not subdued, at
the instigation of the white domino, returned to the charge, and by
a perpetual rotation of attack and retreat, kept him in constant
employment, pursuing him from room to room, and teazing him without
cessation or mercy.
Mean time Cecilia, delighted at being released, hurried into a corner,
where she hoped to breathe and look on in quiet; and the white domino
having exhorted Harlequin to torment the tormentor, and keep him at bay,
followed her with congratulations upon her recovered freedom.
“It is you,” answered she, “I ought to thank for it, which indeed I do
most heartily. I was so tired of confinement, that my mind seemed almost
as little at liberty as my person.”
“Your persecutor, I presume,” said the domino, “is known to you.”
“I hope so,” answered she, “because there is one man I suspect, and I
should be sorry to find there was another equally disagreeable.”
“O, depend upon it,” cried he, “there are many who would be happy
to confine you in the same manner; neither have you much cause for
complaint; you have, doubtless, been the aggressor, and played this
game yourself without mercy, for I read in your face the captivity of
thousands: have you, then, any right to be offended at the spirit of
retaliation which one, out of such numbers has courage to exert in
return?”
“I protest,” cried Cecilia, “I took you for my defender! whence is it
you are become my accuser?”
“From seeing the danger to which my incautious knight-errantry has
exposed me; I begin, indeed, to take you for a very mischievous sort of
person, and I fear the poor devil from whom I rescued you will be amply
revenged for his disgrace, by finding that the first use you make of
your freedom is to doom your deliverer to bondage.”
Here they were disturbed by the extreme loquacity of two opposite
parties: and listening attentively, they heard from one side, “My
angel! fairest of creatures! goddess of my heart!” uttered in accents
of rapture; while from the other, the vociferation was so violent they
could distinctly hear nothing.
The white domino satisfied his curiosity by going to both parties; and
then, returning to Cecilia, said, “Can you conjecture who was making
those soft speeches? a Shylock! his knife all the while in his hand, and
his design, doubtless, to _cut as near the heart as possible!_ while the
loud cackling from the other side is owing to the riotous merriment of a
noisy Mentor! when next I hear a disturbance, I shall expect to see some
simpering Pythagoras stunned by his talkative disciples.”
“To own the truth,” said Cecilia, “the almost universal neglect of the
characters assumed by these masquers has been the chief source of my
entertainment this evening: for at a place of this sort, the next
best thing to a character well supported is a character ridiculously
burlesqued.”
“You cannot, then, have wanted amusement,” returned the domino, “for
among all the persons assembled in these apartments, I have seen only
three who have seemed conscious that any change but that of dress was
necessary to disguise them.”
“And pray who are those?”
“A Don Quixote, a schoolmaster, and your friend the devil.”
“O, call him not my friend,” exclaimed Cecilia, “for indeed in or out of
that garb he is particularly my aversion.”
“_My_ friend, then, I will call him,” said the domino, “for so, were
he ten devils, I must think him, since I owe to him the honour of
conversing with you. And, after all, to give him his due, to which, you
know, he is even proverbially entitled, he has shewn such abilities in
the performance of his part, so much skill in the display of malice, and
so much perseverance in the art of tormenting, that I cannot but respect
his ingenuity and capacity. And, indeed, if instead of an evil genius,
he had represented a guardian angel, he could not have shewn a more
refined taste in his choice of an object to hover about.”
Just then they were approached by a young haymaker, to whom the white
domino called out, “You look as gay and as brisk as if fresh from the
hay-field after only half a day's work. Pray, how is it you pretty
lasses find employment for the winter?”
“How?” cried she, pertly, “why, the same as for the summer!” And pleased
with her own readiness at repartee, without feeling the ignorance it
betrayed, she tript lightly on.