finished with country dances. It was the most elegant thing you ever
saw in your life; every thing quite in a style. I was so monstrously
fatigued, I could hardly get through the last dance. I really thought I
should have dropt down dead. Only conceive dancing five hours in such a
monstrous crowd! I assure you when I got home my feet were all blisters.
You have no idea how they smarted.”
“And whence comes it,” cried young Delvile, “that _you_ partake so
little of these delights?”
“Because I fear,” answered Cecilia, “I came too late into the school of
fashion to be a ductile pupil.”
“Do you know,” continued Miss Larolles, “Mr Meadows has not spoke one
word to me all the evening! Though I am sure he saw me, for I sat at
the outside on purpose to speak to a person or two, that I knew would be
strolling about; for if one sits on the inside, there's no speaking to
a creature, you know, so I never do it at the Opera, nor in the boxes at
Ranelagh, nor any where. It's the shockingest thing you can conceive to
be made sit in the middle of those forms; one might as well be at home,
for nobody can speak to one.”
“But you don't seem to have had much better success,” said Cecilia, “in
keeping at the outside.”
“O yes I have, for I got a little chat with two or three people as they
were passing, for, you know, when one sits there, they can't help saying
something; though I assure you all the men are so exceedingly odd they
don't care whether they speak to one or no. As to Mr Meadows, he's
really enough to provoke one to death. I suppose he's in one of his
absent fits. However, I assure you I think it's extreme impertinent of
him, and so I shall tell Mr Sawyer, for I know he'll make a point of
telling him of it again.”
“I rather think,” said Cecilia, “the best would be to return the
compliment in kind, and when he next recollects you, appear to have
forgotten him.”
“O Lord, that's a very good notion! so I will, I declare. But you can't
conceive how glad I am the Concert's over; for I assure you, though I
sat as near the fire as possible, I was so extreme cold you've no idea,
for Mr Meadows never would let me have the least peep at it. I declare
I believe he does it on purpose to plague one, for he grows worse and
worse every day. You can't think how I hate him!”
“Not easily, I believe indeed!” said Cecilia, archly.
“O do but look!” resumed the fair VOLUBLE, “if there is not Mrs Mears
in her old red gown again! I begin to think she'll never have another.
I wish she was to have an execution in her house, if it was only to get
rid of it! I am so fatigued with the sight of it you can't conceive.”
Mr Morrice now brought intelligence that he had secured one side of a
table which would very well accommodate the ladies; and that the other
side was only occupied by one gentleman, who, as he was not drinking tea
himself, would doubtless give up his place when the party appeared.
Miss Larolles then ran back to her own set, and the rest followed Mr
Morrice; Mrs Harrell, Mrs Mears and Cecilia took their places. The
gentleman opposite to them proved to be Mr Meadows: Morrice, therefore,
was much deceived in his expectations, for, far from giving up his
place, he had flung himself all along upon the form in such a lounging
posture, while he rested one arm upon the table, that, not contented
with merely keeping his own seat, he filled up a space meant for three.
Mr Harrel had already walked off to another party: Delvile stood aloof
for some minutes, expecting Sir Robert Floyer would station himself
behind Cecilia; but Sir Robert, who would scarce have thought such a
condescension due to a princess, disdained any appearance of assiduity,
even while he made it his care to publish his pretensions: and
therefore, finding no accommodation to please him, he stalked towards
some gentlemen in another part of the room. Delvile then took the post
he had neglected, and Mr Arnott, who had not had courage to make any
effort in his own favour, modestly stood near him. Cecilia contrived to
make room for Mr Gosport next to herself, and Morrice was sufficiently
happy in being allowed to call the waiters, superintend, the provisions,
and serve the whole party.
The task of making tea fell upon Cecilia, who being somewhat incommoded
by the vicinity of her neighbours, Mrs Mears called out to Mr Meadows
“Do pray, Sir, be so good as to make room for one of us at your side.”
Mr Meadows, who was indolently picking his teeth, and examining them
with a tooth pick case glass, did not, at first, seem to hear her; and
when she repeated her request, he only looked at her, and said “umph?”
“Now really, Mr Meadows,” said she, “when you see any ladies in such
distress, I wonder how you can forbear helping them.”
“In distress, are you?” cried he, with a vacant smile, “pray, what's the
matter?”
“Don't you see? we are so crowded we can hardly sit.”
“Can't you?” cried he, “upon my honour it's very shameful that these
people don't contrive some seats more convenient.”
“Yes,” said Mrs Mears; “but if you would be so kind as to let somebody
else sit by you we should not want any contrivance.”
Here Mr Meadows was seized with a furious fit of yawning, which as much
diverted Cecilia and Mr Gosport, as it offended Mrs Mears, who with
great displeasure added, “Indeed, Mr Meadows, it's very strange that you
never hear what's said to you.”
“I beg your pardon,” said he, “were you speaking to me?” and again began
picking his teeth.
Morrice, eager to contrast his civility with the inattention of Mr
Meadows, now flew round to the other side of the table, and calling out
“let _me_ help you, Miss Beverley, I can make tea better than anybody,”
he lent over that part of the form which Mr Meadows had occupied with
one of his feet, in order to pour it out himself: but Mr Meadows, by
an unfortunate removal of his foot, bringing him forwarder than he was
prepared to go, the tea pot and its contents were overturned immediately
opposite to Cecilia.
Young Delvile, who saw the impending evil, from an impetuous impulse
to prevent her suffering by it, hastily drew her back, and bending down
before her, secured her preservation by receiving himself the mischief
with which she was threatened.
Mrs Mears and Mrs Harrel vacated their seats in a moment, and Mr Gosport
and Mr Arnott assisted in clearing the table, and removing Cecilia, who
was very slightly hurt, and at once surprised, ashamed, and pleased at
the manner in which she had been saved.
Young Delvile, though a sufferer from his gallantry, the hot water
having penetrated through his coat to his arm and shoulder, was at first
insensible to his situation, from an apprehension that Cecilia had not
wholly escaped; and his enquiries were so eager and so anxious, made
with a look of such solicitude, and a voice of such alarm, that, equally
astonished and gratified, she secretly blest the accident which had
given birth to his uneasiness, however she grieved for its consequence
to himself.
But no sooner was he satisfied of her safety, than he felt himself
obliged to retire; yet attributing to inconvenience what was really the
effect of pain, he hurried away with an appearance of sport, saying,
“There is something I must own, rather _unknightly_ in quitting the
field for a wet jacket, but the company, I hope, will only give me
credit for flying away to Ranelagh. So
“Like a brave general after being beat,
I'll exult and rejoice in a prudent retreat.” [Footnote: Smart]
He then hastened to his carriage: and poor Morrice, frightened and
confounded at the disaster he had occasioned, sneaked after him with
much less ceremony. While Mr Meadows, wholly unconcerned by the distress
and confusion around him, sat quietly picking his teeth, and looking
on, during the whole transaction, with an unmeaning stare, that made it
doubtful whether he had even perceived it.
Order being now soon restored, the ladies finished their tea, and went
up stairs. Cecilia, to whom the late accident had afforded much new and
interesting matter for reflection, wished immediately to have returned
home, but she was not the leader of the party, and therefore could not
make the proposal.
They then strolled through all the apartments, and having walked about
till the fashionable time of retiring, they were joined by Sir Robert
Floyer, and proceeded to the little room near the entrance to the great
one, in order to wait for their carriages.
Here Cecilia again met Miss Larolles, who came to make various remarks,
and infinite ridicule, upon sundry unfashionable or uncostly articles in
the dresses of the surrounding company; as well as to complain, with no
little resentment, that Mr Meadows was again standing before the fire!
Captain Aresby also advanced, to tell her he was quite _abattu_ by
having so long lost sight of her, to hope she _would make a renounce_ of
mortifying the world by discarding it, and to protest he had waited for
his carriage till he was actually upon the point of being [_accable_.]
In the midst of this _jargon_, to which the fulness of Cecilia's mind
hardly permitted her to listen, there suddenly appeared at the door of
the apartment, Mr Albany, who, with his usual austerity of countenance,
stopt to look round upon the company.
“Do you see,” cried Mr Gosport to Cecilia, “who approaches? your poor
_sycophants_ will again be taken to task, and I, for one, tremble at the
coming storm!”
“O Lord,” cried Miss Larolles, “I wish I was safe in my chair! that man
always frightens me out of my senses. You've no notion what disagreeable
things he says to one. I assure you I've no doubt but he's crazy; and
I'm always in the shockingest fright in the world for fear he should be
taken with a fit while I'm near him.”
“It is really a petrifying thing,” said the Captain, “that one can go to
no _spectacle_ without the _horreur_ of being _obsede_ by that person!
if he comes this way, I shall certainly make a renounce, and retire.”
“Why so?” said Sir Robert, “what the d---l do you mind him for?”
“O he is the greatest bore in nature!” cried the Captain, “and I always
do _mon possible_ to avoid him; for he breaks out in such barbarous
phrases, that I find myself _degoute_ with him in a moment.”
“O, I assure you,” said Miss Larolles, “he attacks one sometimes in a
manner you've no idea. One day he came up to me all of a sudden, and
asked me what good I thought I did by dressing so much? Only conceive
how shocking!”
“O, I have had the _horreur_ of questions of that sort from him _sans
fin_,” said the Captain; “once he took the liberty to ask me, what
service I was of to the world! and another time, he desired me to inform
him whether I had ever made any poor person pray for me! and, in short,
he has so frequently inconvenienced me by his impertinences, that he
really bores me to a degree.”
“That's just the thing that makes him hunt you down,” said Sir Robert;
“if he were to ask me questions for a month together, I should never
trouble myself to move a muscle.”
“The matter of his discourse,” said Mr Gosport, “is not more singular
than the manner, for without any seeming effort or consciousness, he
runs into blank verse perpetually. I have made much enquiry about him,
but all I am able to learn, is that he was certainly confined, at one
part of his life, in a private mad-house: and though now, from not
being mischievous, he is set at liberty, his looks, language, and whole
behaviour, announce the former injury of his intellects.”
“O Lord,” cried Miss Larolles, half-screaming, “what shocking notions
you put in one's head! I declare I dare say I sha'n't get safe home
for him, for I assure you I believe he's taken a spite to me! and all
because one day, before I knew of his odd ways, I happened to fall a
laughing at his going about in that old coat. Do you know it put him
quite in a passion! only conceive how ill-natured!”
“O he has distressed me,” exclaimed the Captain, with a shrug,
“_partout_! and found so much fault with every thing I have done, that I
should really be glad to have the honour to cut, for the moment he comes
up to me, I know what I have to expect!”
“But I must tell you,” cried Miss Larolles, “how monstrously he put
me in a fright one evening when I was talking with Miss Moffat. Do you
know, he came up to us, and asked what we were saying! and because
we could not think in a minute of something to answer him, he said he
supposed we were only talking some scandal, and so we had better go
home, and employ ourselves in working for the poor! only think how
horrid! and after that, he was so excessive impertinent in his remarks,
there was quite no bearing him. I assure you he cut me up so you've no
notion.”
Here Mr Albany advanced; and every body but Sir Robert moved out of the
way.
Fixing his eyes upon Cecilia, with an expression _more in sorrow than in
anger_, after contemplating her some time in silence, he exclaimed, “Ah
lovely, but perishable flower! how long will that ingenuous countenance,
wearing, because wanting no disguise, look responsive of the whiteness
of the region within? How long will that air of innocence irradiate your
whole appearance? unspoilt by prosperity, unperverted by power! pure
in the midst of surrounding depravity! unsullied in the tainted air of
infectious perdition!”
The confusion of Cecilia at this public address, which drew upon her the
eyes and attention of all the company, was inexpressible; she arose from
her seat, covered with blushes, and saying, “I fancy the carriage must
be ready,” pressed forward to quit the room, followed by Sir Robert, who
answered, “No, no, they'll call it when it comes up. Arnott, will you go
and see where it is?”
Cecilia stopt, but whispered Mrs Harrel to stand near her.
“And whither,” cried Albany indignantly, “whither wouldst thou go? Art
thou already disdainful of my precepts? and canst thou not one short
moment spare from the tumultuous folly which encircles thee? Many and
many are the hours thou mayst spend with such as these; the world,
alas! is full of them; weary not then, so soon, of an old man that
would admonish thee,--he cannot call upon thee long, for soon he will be
called upon himself!”
This solemn exhortation extremely distressed her; and fearing to still
further offend him by making another effort to escape, she answered in
a low voice, “I will not only hear, but thank you for your precepts, if
you will forbear to give them before so many witnesses.”
“Whence,” cried he sternly, “these vain and superficial distinctions? Do
you not dance in public? What renders you more conspicuous? Do you not
dress to be admired, and walk to be observed? Why then this fantastical
scruple, unjustified by reason, unsupported by analogy? Is folly only
to be published? Is vanity alone to be exhibited? Oh slaves of senseless
contradiction! Oh feeble followers of yet feebler prejudice! daring to
be wicked, yet fearing to be wise; dauntless in levity, yet shrinking
from the name of virtue!”
The latter part of this speech, during which he turned with energy to
the whole company, raised such a general alarm, that all the ladies
hastily quitted the room, and all the gentlemen endeavoured to enter
it, equally curious to see the man who made the oration, and the lady
to whom it was addressed. Cecilia, therefore, found her situation
unsupportable; “I must go,” she cried, “whether there is a carriage or
not! pray, Mrs Harrel, let us go!”
Sir Robert then offered to take her hand, which she was extremely ready
to give him; but while the crowd made their passage difficult, Albany,
following and stopping her, said, “What is it you fear? a miserable old
man, worn out by the sorrows of that experience from which he offers
you counsel? What, too, is it you trust? a libertine wretch, coveting
nothing but your wealth, for the gift of which he will repay you by the
perversion of your principles!”
“What the d--l do you mean by that?” cried the Baronet.
“To shew,” answered he, austerely, “the inconsistency of false delicacy;
to show how those who are too timid for truth, can fearless meet
licentiousness.”
“For Heaven's sake, Sir,” cried Cecilia, “say no more to me now: call
upon me in Portman-square when you please,--reprove me in whatever
you think me blameable, I shall be grateful for your instructions, and
bettered, perhaps, by your care;--but lessons and notice thus public can
do me nothing but injury.”
“How happy,” cried he, “were no other injury near thee! spotless were
then the hour of thy danger, bright, fair and refulgent thy passage
to security! the Good would receive thee with praise, the Guilty would
supplicate thy prayers, the Poor would follow thee with blessings, and
Children would be taught by thy example!”
He then quitted her, every body making way as he moved, and proceeded
into the great room. Mrs Harrel's carriage being announced at the same
time, Cecilia lost not an instant in hastening away.
Sir Robert, as he conducted her, disdainfully laughed at the adventure,
which the general licence allowed to Mr Albany prevented his resenting,
and which therefore he scorned to appear moved at.
Mrs. Harrel could talk of nothing else, neither was Cecilia disposed
to change the subject, for the remains of insanity which seemed to hang
upon him were affecting without being alarming, and her desire to know
more of him grew every instant stronger.
This desire, however, outlived not the conversation to which it gave
rise; when she returned to her own room, no vestige of it remained upon
her mind, which a nearer concern and deeper interest wholly occupied.
The behaviour of young Delvile had pained, pleased, and disturbed
her; his activity to save her from mischief might proceed merely from
gallantry or good nature; upon that, therefore, she dwelt little: but
his eagerness, his anxiety, his insensibility to himself, were more
than good breeding could claim, and seemed to spring from a motive less
artificial.
She now, therefore, believed that her partiality was returned; and
this belief had power to shake all her resolves, and enfeeble all her
objections. The arrogance of Mr Delvile lessened in her reflections, the
admonitions of Mr Monckton abated in their influence. With the first she
considered that though connected she need not live, and for the second,
though she acknowledged the excellence of his judgment, she concluded
him wholly ignorant of her sentiments of Delvile; which she imagined,
when once revealed, would make every obstacle to the alliance seem
trifling, when put in competition with mutual esteem and affection.
CHAPTER vii
A REPROOF.
The attention of Cecilia to her own affairs, did not make her forgetful
of those of the Harrels: and the morning after the busy day which was
last recorded, as soon as she quitted the breakfast-room, she began a
note to Mr Monckton, but was interrupted with information that he was
already in the house.
She went to him immediately, and had the satisfaction of finding him
alone: but desirous as she was to relate to him the transactions of the
preceding day, there was in his countenance a gravity so unusual, that
her impatience was involuntarily checked, and she waited first to hear
if he had himself any thing to communicate.
He kept her not long in suspence; “Miss Beverley,” he said, “I bring you
intelligence which though I know you will be very sorry to hear, it is
absolutely necessary should be told you immediately: you may otherwise,
from however laudable motives, be drawn into some action which you may
repent for life.”
“What now!” cried Cecilia, much alarmed.
“All that I suspected,” said he, “and more than I hinted to you, is
true; Mr Harrel is a ruined man! he is not worth a groat, and he is in
debt beyond what he ever possessed.”
Cecilia made no answer: she knew but too fatally the desperate state of
his affairs, yet that _his debts were more than he had ever possessed_,
she had not thought possible.
“My enquiries,” continued he, “have been among principals, and such
as would not dare deceive me. I hastened, therefore, to you, that this
timely notice might enforce the injunctions I gave you when I had the
pleasure of seeing you last, and prevent a misjudging generosity from
leading you into any injury of your own fortune, for a man who is past
all relief from it, and who cannot be saved, even though you were to be
destroyed for his sake.”
“You are very good,” said Cecilia, “but your counsel is now too late!”
She then briefly acquainted him with what passed, and with how large a
sum she had parted.
He heard her with rage, amazement, and horror: and after inveighing
against Mr Harrel in the bitterest terms, he said, “But why, before you
signed your name to so base an imposition, could you not send for me?”
“I wished, I meant to have done it,” cried she, “but I thought the time
past when you could help me: how, indeed, could you have saved me? my
word was given, given with an oath the most solemn, and the first I have
ever taken in my life.”
“An oath so forced,” answered he, “the most delicate conscience would
have absolved you from performing. You have, indeed, been grossly
imposed upon, and pardon me if I add unaccountably to blame. Was it not
obvious that relief so circumstanced must be temporary? If his ruin
had been any thing less than certain, what tradesmen would have been
insolent? You have therefore deprived yourself of the power of doing
good to a worthier object, merely to grant a longer date to extravagance
and villainy.”
“Yet how,” cried Cecilia, deeply touched by this reproof, “how could
I do otherwise! Could I see a man in the agonies of despair, hear him
first darkly hint his own destruction, and afterwards behold him
almost in the very act of suicide, the instrument of self-murder in his
desperate hand--and yet, though he put his life in my power, though he
told me I could preserve him, and told me he had no other reliance
or resource, could I leave him to his dreadful despondence, refuse my
assisting hand to raise him from perdition, and, to save what, after
all, I am well able to spare, suffer a fellow-creature, who flung
himself upon my mercy, to offer up his last accounts with an action
blacker than any which had preceded it?--No, I cannot repent what I have
done, though I lament, indeed, that the object was not more deserving.”
“Your representation,” said Mr Monckton, “like every thing else that I
ever heard you utter, breathes nothing but benevolence and goodness:
but your pity has been abused, and your understanding imposed upon. Mr
Harrel had no intention to destroy himself; the whole was an infamous
trick, which, had not your generosity been too well known, would never
have been played.”
“I cannot think quite so ill of him,” said Cecilia, “nor for the world
would I have risked my own future reproaches by trusting to such a
suspicion, which, had it proved wrong, and had Mr Harrel, upon my
refusal committed the fatal deed, would have made his murder upon my
own conscience rest for ever! surely the experiment would have been too
hazardous, when the consequence had all my future peace in its power.
“It is impossible not to revere your scruples,” said Mr Monckton, “even
while I consider them as causeless; for causeless they undoubtedly were:
the man who could act so atrocious a part, who could so scandalously
pillage a young lady who was his guest and his ward, take advantage of
her temper for the plunder of her fortune, and extort her compliance by
the basest and most dishonourable arts, meant only to terrify her into
compliance, for he can be nothing less than a downright and thorough
scoundrel, capable of every species of mean villainy.”
He then protested he would at least acquaint her other guardians with
what had passed, whose business it would be to enquire if there was any
chance of redress.
Cecilia, however, had not much trouble in combating this proposal; for
though her objections, which were merely those of punctilious honour and
delicacy, weighed nothing with a man who regarded them as absurdities,
yet his own apprehensions of appearing too officious in her affairs,
forced him, after a little deliberation, to give up the design.
“Besides,” said Cecilia, “as I have his bond for what I have parted
with, I have, at least, no right to complain, unless, after he receives
his rents, he refuses to pay me.”
“His bonds! his rents!” exclaimed Mr Monckton, “what is a man's bond who
is not worth a guinea? and what are his rents, when all he ever owned
must be sold before they are due, and when he will not himself receive
a penny from the sale, as he has neither land, house, nor possession of
any sort that is not mortgaged?”