another idea entered her mind not less pleasant, though less promising
of utility: this was to mention her views to young Delvile. He was
already, she knew, well informed of the distress of Mr Belfield, and she
hoped, by openly asking his opinion, to confirm to him her freedom from
any engagement with that gentleman, and convince him, at the same time,
by her application to himself, that she was equally clear of any tie
with the Baronet.
CHAPTER ii
A SYMPATHY.
The next day Cecilia had appointed to spend in St James'-square; and
she knew by experience that in its course, she should in all probability
find some opportunity of speaking with Delvile alone.
This accordingly happened; for in the evening Mrs Delvile quitted the
room for a few moments to answer a letter. Cecilia then, left with
her son, said, after a little hesitation, “Will you not think me very
strange if I should take the liberty to consult you upon some business?”
“I already think you very strange,” answered he; “so strange that I know
not any one who at all resembles you. But what is this consultation in
which you will permit me to have a voice?”
“You are acquainted, I believe, with the distress of Mr Belfield?”
“I am; and I think his situation the most melancholy that can be
imagined. I pity him with my whole soul, and nothing would give me
greater joy than an opportunity of serving him.”
“He is, indeed, much to be compassionated,” returned Cecilia; “and if
something is not speedily done for him, I fear he will be utterly lost.
The agitation of his mind baffles all the power of medicine, and
till that is relieved, his health can never be restored. His, spirit,
probably always too high for his rank in life, now struggles against
every attack of sickness and of poverty, in preference to yielding to
his fate, and applying to his friends for their interest and assistance.
I mean not to vindicate his obduracy, yet I wish it were possible it
could be surmounted. Indeed I dread to think what may become of him!
feeling at present nothing but wretchedness and pain, looking forward in
future to nothing but ruin and despair!”
“There is no man,” cried young Delvile, with emotion, “who might not
rather envy than pity sufferings which give rise to such compassion!”
“Pecuniary assistance he will not accept,” she continued, “and, indeed,
his mind is superior to receiving consolation from such temporary
relief; I wish him, therefore, to be put into some way of life by which
his own talents, which have long enough amused the world, may at length
become serviceable to himself. Do you think, Sir, this is possible?”
“How do I rejoice,” cried Delvile, colouring with pleasure while he
spoke, “in this flattering concurrence of our opinions! see, madam,”
taking from his pocket a letter, “how I have been this very morning
occupied, in endeavouring to procure for Mr Belfield some employment by
which his education might be rendered useful, and his parts redound to
his own credit and advantage.”
He then broke the seal, and put into her hand a letter to a nobleman,
whose son was soon going abroad, strongly recommending Belfield to him
in capacity of a tutor.
A sympathy of sentiment so striking impressed them at the same moment
with surprise and esteem; Delvile earnestly regarded her with eyes of
speaking admiration, while the occasion of his notice rendered it too
pleasant to distress her, and filled her with an inward satisfaction
which brightened her whole countenance.
She had only time, in a manner that strongly marked her approbation, to
return the letter, before Mrs Delvile again made her appearance.
During the rest of the evening but little was said; Cecilia was not
talkative, and young Delvile was so absent, that three times his mother
reminded him of an engagement to meet his father, who that night was
expected at the Duke of Derwent's house in town, before he heard that
she spoke to him, and three times more before, when he had heard, he
obeyed.
Cecilia, when she came back to Mr Harrel's, found the house full of
company. She went into the drawing-room, but did not remain there
long: she was grave and thoughtful, she wished to be alone, and by the
earliest opportunity, stole away to her own apartment.
Her mind was now occupied by new ideas, and her fancy was busied in the
delineation of new prospects. She had been struck from her first
meeting young Delvile with an involuntary admiration of his manners and
conversation; she had found upon every succeeding interview something
further to approve, and felt for him a rising partiality which made her
always see him with pleasure, and never part from him without a wish to
see him again. Yet, as she was not of that inflammable nature which is
always ready to take fire, as her passions were under the controul of
her reason, and she suffered not her affections to triumph over her
principles, she started at her danger the moment she perceived it, and
instantly determined to give no weak encouragement to a prepossession
which neither time nor intimacy had justified. She denied herself the
deluding satisfaction of dwelling upon the supposition of his worth, was
unusually assiduous to occupy all her time, that her heart might have
less leisure for imagination; and had she found that his character
degenerated from the promise of his appearance, the well regulated
purity of her mind would soon have enabled her to have driven him wholly
from her thoughts.
Such was her situation when the circumstances of her affairs occasioned
her becoming an inmate of his house; and here she grew less guarded,
because less clear-sighted to the danger of negligence, for the
frequency of their conversation allowed her little time to consider
their effects. If at first she had been pleased with his deportment and
elegance, upon intimacy she was charmed with his disposition and his
behaviour; she found him manly, generous, open-hearted and amiable, fond
of literature, delighting in knowledge, kind in his temper, and spirited
in his actions.
Qualities such as these, when recommended by high birth, a striking
figure, and polished manners, formed but a dangerous companion for a
young woman, who, without the guard of any former prepossession, was
so fervent an admirer of excellence as Cecilia. Her heart made no
resistance, for the attack was too gentle and too gradual to alarm her
vigilance, and therefore, though always sensible of the pleasure
she received from his society, it was not till she returned to
Portman-square, after having lived under the same roof with him for a
fortnight, that she was conscious her happiness was no longer in her own
power.
Mr Harrel's house, which had never pleased her, now became utterly
disgustful; she was wearied and uncomfortable, yet, willing to attribute
her uneasiness to any other than the true cause, she fancied the house
itself was changed, and that all its inhabitants and visitors were more
than unusually disagreeable: but this idle error was of short duration,
the moment of self-conviction was at hand, and when Delvile presented
her the letter he had written for Mr Belfield, it flashed in her eyes!
This detection of the altered state of her mind opened to her views and
her hopes a scene entirely new, for neither the exertion of the most
active benevolence, nor the steady course of the most virtuous conduct,
sufficed any longer to wholly engage her thoughts, or constitute
her felicity; she had purposes that came nearer home, and cares that
threatened to absorb in themselves that heart and those faculties which
hitherto had only seemed animated for the service of others.
Yet this loss of mental freedom gave her not much uneasiness, since the
choice of her heart, though involuntary, was approved by her principles,
and confirmed by her judgment. Young Delvile's situation in life was
just what she wished, more elevated than her own, yet not so exalted
as to humble her with a sense of inferiority; his connections were
honourable, his mother appeared to her the first of women, his character
and disposition seemed formed to make her happy, and her own fortune was
so large, that to the state of his she was indifferent.
Delighted with so flattering a union of inclination with propriety,
she now began to cherish the partiality she at first had repressed,
and thinking the future destination of her life already settled, looked
forward with grateful joy to the prospect of ending her days with the
man she thought most worthy to be entrusted with the disposal of her
fortune.
She had not, indeed, any certainty that the regard of young Delvile was
reciprocal, but she had every reason to believe he greatly admired her,
and to suspect that his mistaken notion of her prior engagement, first
with Mr Belfield, and afterwards with Sir Robert Floyer, made him at
present check those sentiments in her favour which, when that error was
removed, she hoped to see I encouraged.
Her purpose, therefore, was quietly to wait an explanation, which she
rather wished retarded than forwarded, that her leisure and opportunity
might be more for investigating his character, and saving herself from
repentance.
CHAPTER iii
A CONFLICT.
The day following this happy intellectual arrangement, Cecilia was
visited by Mr Monckton. That gentleman, who had enquired for her
immediately after the Harrels went to their villa, and who had flattered
himself with reaping much advantage from their absence, by frequent
meetings and confidential discourses, suffered the severest
mortification when he found that her stay in town rendered her not the
less inaccessible to him, since he had no personal acquaintance with the
Delviles, and could not venture to present himself at their house.
He was now received by her with more than usual pleasure; the time had
seemed long to her since she had conversed with him, and she was eager
to ask his counsel and assistance in her affairs. She related to him
the motives which had induced her to go to St James'-square, and the
incorrigible obstinacy with which Mr Harrel still continued to encourage
the addresses of Sir Robert Floyer; she earnestly entreated him
to become her agent in a business to which she was unequal, by
expostulating in her cause with Mr Harrel, and by calling upon
Sir Robert himself to insist upon his foregoing his unauthorised
pretensions.
Mr Monckton listened eagerly to her account and request, and when she
had finished, assured her he would deliberate upon each circumstance
of the affair, and then maturely weigh every method he could devise, to
extricate her from an embarrassment which now grew far too serious to be
safely neglected.
“I will not, however,” continued he, “either act or give my opinion
without further enquiry, as I am confident there is a mystery in this
business which lies deeper than we can at present fathom. Mr Harrel has
doubtless purposes of his own to answer by this pretended zeal for Sir
Robert; nor is it difficult to conjecture what they may be. Friendship,
in a man of his light cast, is a mere cover, a mere name, to conceal a
connection which has its basis solely in the licentious convenience
of borrowing money, going to the same gaming house, and mutually
communicating and boasting their mutual vices and intrigues, while,
all the time, their regard for each other is equally hollow with their
regard for truth and integrity.”
He then cautioned her to be extremely careful with respect to any money
transactions with Mr Harrel, whose splendid extravagance he assured her
was universally known to exceed his fortune.
The countenance of Cecilia during this exhortation was testimony
sufficient to the penetrating eyes of Mr Monckton that his advice
came not too soon: a suspicion of the real state of the case speedily
occurred to him, and he questioned her minutely upon the subject. She
endeavoured to avoid making him any answer, but his discernment was too
keen for her inartificial evasion, and he very soon gathered all the
particulars of her transactions with Mr Harrel.
He was less alarmed at the sum she had lent him, which was rather within
his expectations, than at the method she had been induced to take to
procure it. He represented to her in the strongest manner the danger
of imposition, nay of ruin, from the extortions and the craft of
money-lenders; and he charged her upon no consideration to be tempted or
persuaded again to have recourse to such perilous expedients.
She promised the most attentive observance of his advice: and then told
him the acquaintance she had made with Miss Belfield, and her sorrow for
the situation of her brother; though, satisfied for the present with
the plan of young Delvile, she now gave up her design of soliciting his
counsel.
In the midst of this conversation, a note was delivered to her from Mr
Delvile senior, acquainting her with his return to town, and begging
the favour of her to call in St James's-square the next morning, as he
wished to speak to her upon some business of importance.
The eager manner in which Cecilia accepted this invitation, and her
repeated and earnest exclamation of wonder at what Mr Delvile could
have to say, past not unnoticed by Mr Monckton; he instantly turned the
discourse from the Belfields, the Harrels, and the Baronet, to enquire
how she had spent her time during her visit in St James's-square, and
what was her opinion of the family after her late opportunities of
intimacy?
Cecilia answered that she had yet seen nothing more of Mr Delvile, who
had been absent the whole time, but with equal readiness and pleasure
she replied to all his questions concerning his lady, expatiating with
warmth and fervour upon her many rare and estimable qualities.
But when the same interrogatories were transferred to the son, she
spoke no longer with the same ease, nor with her usual promptitude
of sincerity; she was embarrassed, her answers were short, and she
endeavoured to hasten from the subject.
Mr Monckton remarked this change with the most apprehensive quickness,
but, forcing a smile, “Have you yet,” he said, “observed the family
compact in which those people are bound to besiege you, and draw you
into their snares?”
“No, indeed,” cried Cecilia, much hurt by the question, “I am sure no
such compact has been formed; and I am sure, too, that if you knew them
better, you would yourself be the first to admire and do them justice.”
“My dear Miss Beverley,” cried he, “I know them already; I do not,
indeed, visit them, but I am perfectly acquainted with their characters,
which have been drawn to me by those who are most closely connected with
them, and who have had opportunities of inspection which I hope will
never fall to your share, since I am satisfied the trial would pain,
though the proof would convince you.”
“What then have you heard of them?” cried Cecilia, with much
earnestness: “It is, at least, not possible any ill can be said of Mrs
Delvile.”
“I beg your pardon,” returned he. “Mrs Delvile is not nearer perfection
than the rest of her family, she has only more art in disguising her
foibles; because, tho' she is the daughter of pride, she is the slave of
interest.”
“I see you have been greatly misinformed,” said Cecilia warmly;
“Mrs Delvile is the noblest of women! she may, indeed, from her very
exaltation, have enemies, but they are the enemies of envy, not of
resentment, enemies raised by superior merit, not excited by injury or
provocation!”
“You will know her better hereafter;” said Mr Monckton calmly, “I only
hope your knowledge will not be purchased by the sacrifice of your
happiness.”
“And what knowledge of her, Sir,” cried Cecilia, starting, “can have
power to put my happiness in any danger?”
“I will tell you,” answered he, “with all the openness you have a claim
to from my regard, and then leave to time to shew if I am mistaken. The
Delvile family, notwithstanding its ostentatious magnificence, I
can solemnly assure you, is poor in every branch, alike lineal and
collateral.”
“But is it therefore the less estimable?”
“Yes, because the more rapacious. And while they count on each side
Dukes, Earls and Barons in their genealogy, the very wealth with which,
through your means, they project the support of their insolence, and
which they will grasp with all the greediness of avarice, they will
think honoured by being employed in their service, while the instrument,
all amiable as she is, by which they attain it, will be constantly held
down as the disgrace of their alliance.”
Cecilia, stung to the soul by this speech, rose from her chair,
unwilling to answer it, yet unable to conceal how much it shocked her.
Mr Monckton, perceiving her emotion, followed her, and taking her hand,
said, “I would not give this warning to one I thought too weak to profit
from it; but as I am well informed of the use that is meant to be made
of your fortune, and the abuse that will follow of yourself, I think it
right to prepare you for their artifices, which merely to point out, may
render abortive.”
Cecilia, too much disturbed to thank him, drew back her hand, and
continued silent. Mr Monckton, reading through her displeasure the state
of her affections, saw with terror the greatness of the danger which
threatened him. He found, however, that the present was no time for
enforcing objections, and perceiving he had already gone too far, though
he was by no means disposed to recant, he thought it most prudent to
retreat, and let her meditate upon his exhortation while its impression
was yet strong in her mind.
He would now, therefore, have taken leave; but Cecilia, endeavouring to
recollect herself, and fully persuaded that however he had shocked her,
he had only her interest in view, stopt him, saying, “You think
me, perhaps, ungrateful, but believe me I am not; I must, however,
acknowledge that your censure of Mrs Delvile hurts me extremely. Indeed
I cannot doubt her worthiness, I must still, therefore, plead for her,
and I hope the time may come when you will allow I have not pleaded
unjustly.”
“Justly or unjustly,” answered Mr Monckton, “I am at least sure you can
never plead vainly. I give up, therefore, to your opinion my attack of
Mrs Delvile, and am willing from your commendations to suppose her the
best of the race. Nay, I will even own that perhaps Mr Delvile himself,
as well as his lady, might pass through life and give but little
offence, had they only themselves to think of, and no son to stimulate
their arrogance.”
“Is the son, then,” said Cecilia faintly, “so much the most culpable?”
“The son, I believe,” answered he, “is at least the chief incentive to
insolence and ostentation in the parents, since it is for his sake they
covet with such avidity honours and riches, since they plume themselves
upon regarding him as the support of their name and, family, and since
their pride in him even surpasses their pride in their lineage and
themselves.”
“Ah!” thought Cecilia, “and of such a son who could help being proud!”
“Their purpose, therefore,” he continued, “is to, secure through his
means your fortune, which they will no sooner obtain, than, to my
certain knowledge, they mean instantly, and most unmercifully, to employ
it in repairing all their dilapidated estates.”
And then he quitted the subject; and, with that guarded warmth which
accompanied all his expressions, told her he would carefully watch for
her honour and welfare, and, repeating his promise of endeavouring to
discover the tie by which Mr Harrel seemed bound to the Baronet, he left
her--a prey himself to an anxiety yet more severe than that with which
he had filled her! He now saw all his long cherished hopes in danger
of final destruction, and suddenly cast upon the brink of a precipice,
where, while he struggled to protect them from falling, his eyes were
dazzled by beholding them totter.
Mean while Cecilia, disturbed from the calm of soft serenity to which
she had yielded every avenue of her soul, now looked forward with
distrust and uneasiness, even to the completion of the views which but
a few minutes before had comprised all her notions of felicity. The
alliance which so lately had seemed wholly unexceptionable, now
appeared teeming with objections, and threatening with difficulties.
The representations of Mr Monckton had cruelly mortified her; well
acquainted with his knowledge of the world, and wholly unsuspicious of
his selfish motives, she gave to his assertions involuntary credit,
and even while she attempted to combat them, they made upon her mind an
impression scarce ever to be erased.
Full, therefore, of doubt and inquietude, she passed the night in
discomfort and irresolution, now determining to give way to her
feelings, and now to be wholly governed by the counsel of Mr Monckton.
CHAPTER iv
AN EXPECTATION.
In this disposition of mind Cecilia the next morning obeyed the summons
of Mr Delvile, and for the first time went to St James'-square in
a humour to look for evil instead of good, and meanness instead of
nobleness.
She was shewn into an apartment where she found Mr Delvile alone, and
was received by him, as usual, with the most stately solemnity.
When she was seated, “I have given you, Miss Beverley,” said he, “the
trouble of calling, in order to discuss with you the internal state of
your affairs; a duty which, at this juncture, I hold to be incumbent
upon my character. The delicacy due to your sex would certainly have
induced me to wait upon you myself for this purpose, but for the reasons
I have already hinted to you, of fearing the people with whom you live
might think it necessary to return my visit. Persons of low origin are
commonly in those matters the most forward. Not, however, that I would
prejudice you against them; though, for myself, it is fit I remember
that a general and indiscriminate acquaintance, by levelling all ranks,
does injury to the rites of society.”
Ah! thought Cecilia, how infallible is Mr Monckton! and how inevitably,
in a family of which Mr Delvile is the head, should I be cruelly _held
down, as the disgrace of their alliance_!
“I have applied,” continued he, “to Mrs Delvile, to know if the
communication which I had recommended to you, and to which she had
promised her attention, had yet passed; but I am informed you have not
spoken to her upon the subject.”
“I had nothing, Sir, to communicate,” answered Cecilia, “and I had
hoped, as Mrs Delvile made no enquiries, she was satisfied she had
nothing to hear.”
“With respect to enquiries,” said Mr Delvile, “I fear you are not
sufficiently aware of the distance between a lady of Mrs Delvile's rank,
both by birth and alliance, and such a young woman as Mrs Harrel, whose
ancestors, but a short time since, were mere Suffolk farmers. But I beg
your pardon;--I mean not any reflection upon yours: I have always
heard they were very worthy people. And a farmer is certainly a very
respectable person. Your father, I think, no more than the Dean your
uncle, did nothing in that way himself?”
“No, Sir,” said Cecilia, drily, and much provoked by this contemptuous
courtesy.
“I have always been told he was a very good sort of man: I knew none
of the family myself, but the Dean. His connections with the Bishop of
------, my relation, put him often in my way. Though his naming me for
one of his trustees, I must own, was rather extraordinary; but I mean
not to hurt you; on the contrary, I should be much concerned to give you
any uneasiness.”
Again Mr Monckton arose in the mind of Cecilia, and again she
acknowledged the truth of his strictures; and though she much wondered
in what an harangue so pompous was to end, her disgust so far conquered
her curiosity, that without hearing it, she wished herself away.