_Traits of Eccentricity_
Thus passed the first eight days of the Tunbridge excursion, and another
week succeeded without any varying event.
Mrs. Arlbery now, impelled with concern for Camilla, and resentment
against Edgar, renewed the subject of her opinion and advice upon his
character and conduct. 'My dear young friend,' cried she, 'I cannot bear
to see your days, your views, your feelings, thus fruitlessly consumed:
I have observed this young man narrowly, and I am convinced he is not
worth your consideration.'
Camilla, deeply colouring, was beginning to assure her she had no need
of this counsel; but Mrs. Arlbery, not listening, continued.
'I know what you must say; yet, once more, I cannot refrain venturing at
the liberty of lending you my experience. Turn your mind from him with
all the expedition in your power, or its peace may be touched for the
better half of your life. You do not see, he does not, perhaps, himself
know, how exactly he is calculated to make you wretched. He is a
watcher; and a watcher, restless and perturbed himself, infests all he
pursues with uneasiness. He is without trust, and therefore without
either courage or consistency. To-day he may be persuaded you will make
all his happiness; to-morrow, he may fear you will give him nothing but
misery. Yet it is not that he is jealous of any other; 'tis of the
object of his choice he is jealous, lest she should not prove good
enough to merit it. Such a man, after long wavering, and losing probable
happiness in the terror of possible disappointment, will either die an
old batchelor, with endless repinings at his own lingering
fastidiousness, or else marry just at the eve of confinement for life,
from a fit of the gout. He then makes, on a sudden, the first prudent
choice in his way; a choice no longer difficult, but from the
embarrassment of its ease; for she must have no beauty, lest she should
be sought by others, no wit, lest others should be sought by herself;
and no fortune, lest she should bring with it a taste of independence,
that might curb his own will, when the strength and spirit are gone with
which he might have curbed her's.'
Camilla attempted to laugh at this portrait; but Mrs. Arlbery entreated
her to consider it as faithful and exact. 'You have thought of him too
much,' cried she, 'to do justice to any other, or you would not, with
such perfect unconcern, pass by your daily increasing influence with Sir
Sedley Clarendel.'
Excessively, and very seriously offended, Camilla earnestly besought to
be spared any hints of such a nature.
'I know well,' cried she, 'how repugnant to seventeen is every idea of
life that is rational. Let us, therefore, set aside, in our discussions,
any thing so really beneficial, as a solid connection formed with a view
to the worldly comforts of existence, and speak of Sir Sedley's devoirs
merely as the instrument of teaching Mandlebert, that he is not the only
rich, young, and handsome man in this lower sphere, who has viewed Miss
Camilla Tyrold with complacency. Clarendel, it is true, would lose every
charm in my estimation by losing his heart; for the earth holds nothing
comparable for deadness of weight, with a poor soul really in
love--except when it happens to be with oneself!--yet, to alarm the
selfish irresolution of that impenetrable Mandlebert, I should really
delight to behold him completely caught.'
Camilla, distressed and confused, sought to parry the whole as raillery:
but Mrs. Arlbery would not be turned aside from her subject and purpose.
'I languish, I own,' cried she, 'to see that frozen youth worked up into
a little sensibility. I have an instinctive aversion to those cold,
haughty, drawing-back characters, who are made up of the egotism of
looking out for something that is wholly devoted to them, and that has
not a breath to breathe that is not a sigh for their perfections.'
'O! this is far ...' Camilla began, meaning to say, far from the
character of Mandlebert; but ashamed of undertaking his defence, she
stopt short, and only mentally added, Even excellence such as his
cannot, then, withstand prejudice!
'If there is any way,' continued Mrs. Arlbery, 'of animating him for a
moment out of himself, it can only be by giving him a dread of some
other. The poor Major does his best; but he is not rich enough to be
feared, unless he were more attractive. Sir Sedley will seem more
formidable. Countenance, therefore, his present propensity to wear your
chains, till Mandlebert perceives that he is putting them on; and
then ... mount to the rising ground you ought to tread, and shew, at
once, your power and your disinterestedness, by turning from the handsome
Baronet and all his immense wealth, to mark ... since you are determined
to indulge it ... your unbiassed preference for Mandlebert.'
Camilla, irresistibly appeased by a picture so flattering to all her
best feelings, and dearest wishes, looked down; angry with herself to
find she felt no longer angry with Mrs. Arlbery.
Mrs. Arlbery, perceiving a point gained, determined to enforce the blow,
and then leave her to her reflections.
'Mandlebert is a creature whose whole composition is a pile of
accumulated punctilios. He will spend his life in refining away his own
happiness: but do not let him refine away yours. He is just a man to
bewitch an innocent and unguarded young woman from forming any other
connexion, and yet, when her youth and expectations have been sacrificed
to his hesitation, ... to conceive he does not use her ill in thinking
of her no more, because he has entered into no verbal engagement. If his
honour cannot be arraigned of breaking any bond, ... What matters merely
breaking her heart?'
She then left the room; but Camilla dwelt upon nothing she had uttered
except the one dear and inviting project of proving disinterestedness to
Edgar. 'O! if once,' she cried, 'I could annihilate every mercenary
suspicion! If once I could shew Edgar that his situation has no charms
for me ... and it has none! none! then, indeed, I am his equal, though I
am nothing, ... equal in what is highest, in mind, in spirit, in
sentiment!
* * * * *
From this time the whole of her behaviour became coloured by this
fascinating idea; and a scheme which, if proposed to her under its real
name of coquetry, she would have fled and condemned with antipathy, when
presented to her as a means to mark her freedom from sordid motives, she
adopted with inconsiderate fondness. The sight, therefore, of Edgar,
wherever she met him, became now the signal for adding spirit to the
pleasure with which, already, and without any design, she had attended
to the young Baronet. Exertion gave to her the gaiety of which
solicitude had deprived her, and she appeared, in the eyes of Sir
Sedley, every day more charming. She indulged him with the history of
her adventure at the house of Mr. Dubster, and his prevalent taste for
the ridiculous made the account enchant him. He cast off, in return, all
airs of affectation, when he conversed with her separately; and though
still, in all mixt companies, they were resumed, the real integrity, as
well as indifference of her heart, made that a circumstance but to
stimulate this new species of intercourse, by representing it to be
equally void of future danger to them both.
All this, however, failed of its desired end. Edgar never saw her
engaged by Sir Sedley, but he thought her youthfully grateful, and
esteemed her the more, or beheld her as a mere coquette, and ceased to
esteem her at all. But never for a moment was any personal uneasiness
excited by their mutually increasing intimacy. The conversations he had
held, both with the Baronet and herself, had satisfied him that neither
entertained one serious thought of the other; and he took, therefore, no
interest in their acquaintance, beyond that which was always alive,--a
vigilant concern for the manner in which it might operate upon her
disposition.
With respect to the Major, he was by no means so entirely at his ease.
He saw him still the declared and undisguised pursuer of her favour; and
though he perceived, at the same time, she rather avoided than sought
him, he still imagined, in general, his acceptance was arranged, from
the many preceding circumstances which had first given him that belief.
The whole of her behaviour, nevertheless, perplexed as much as it
grieved him, and frequently, in the same half hour, she seemed to him
all that was most amiable for inspiring admiration, and all that was
least to be depended upon, for retaining attachment.
Yet however, from time to time, he felt alarmed or offended, he never
ceased to experience the fondest interest in her happiness, nor the most
tender compassion for the dangers with which he saw her environed. He
knew, that though her understanding was excellent, her temper was so
inconsiderate, that she rarely consulted it; and that, though her mind
was of the purest innocence, it was unguarded by caution, and
unprotected by reflexion. He thought her placed where far higher
discretion, far superior experience, might risk being shaken; and he did
not more fervently wish, than internally tremble, for her safety.
Wherever she appeared, she was sure of distinction: ''Tis Miss Tyrold,
the friend of Mrs. Berlinton,' was buzzed round the moment she was seen;
and the particular favour in which she stood with some votaries of the
_ton_, made even her artlessness, her retired education, and her
ignorance of all that pertained to the _certain circles_, past over and
forgiven, in consideration of her personal attractions, her youth, and
newness.
Still, however, even this celebrity was not what most he dreaded: so
sudden and unexpected an elevation upon the heights of fashionable fame
might make her head, indeed, giddy, but her heart he thought formed of
materials too pure and too good to be endangered so lightly; and though
frequently, when he saw her so circumstanced, he feared she was undone
for private life, he could not reflect upon her principles and
disposition, without soon recovering the belief that a short time might
restore her mind to its native simplicity and worth. But another rock
was in the way, against which he apprehended she might be dashed, whilst
least suspicious of any peril.
This rock, indeed, exhibited nothing to the view that could have
affrighted any spectator less anxiously watchful, or less personally
interested in regarding it. But youth itself, in the fervour of a strong
attachment, is as open-eyed, as observant, and as prophetic as age, with
all its concomitants of practice, time, and suspicion. This rock,
indeed, far from giving notice of danger by any sharp points or rough
prominences, displayed only the smoothest and most inviting surface: for
it was Mrs. Berlinton, the beautiful, the accomplished, the attractive
Mrs. Berlinton, whom he beheld as the object of the greatest risk she
had to encounter.
As he still preserved the character with which she had consented to
invest him of her monitor, he seized every opportunity of communicating
to her his doubts and apprehensions. But in proportion as her connexion
with that lady increased, use to her manners and sentiments abated the
wonderment they inspired, and they soon began to communicate an unmixt
charm, that made all other society, that of Edgar alone excepted,
heartless and uninteresting. Yet, in the conversations she held with him
from time to time, she frankly related the extraordinary attachment of
her new friend to some unknown correspondent, and confessed her own
surprise when it first came to her knowledge.
Edgar listened to the account with the most unaffected dismay, and
represented the probable danger, and actual impropriety of such an
intercourse, in the strongest and most eloquent terms; but he could
neither appal her confidence, nor subdue her esteem. The openness with
which all had originally and voluntarily been avowed, convinced her of
the innocence with which it was felt, and all that his exhortations
could obtain, was a remonstrance on her own part to Mrs. Berlinton.
She found that lady, however, persuaded she indulged but an innocent
friendship, which she assured her was bestowed upon a person of as much
honour as merit, and which only with life she should relinquish, since
it was the sole consolation of her fettered existence.
Edgar, to whom this was communicated, saw with terror the ascendance
thus acquired over her judgment as well as her affections, and became
more watchful and more uneasy in observing the progress of this
friendship, than all the flattering devoirs of the gay Baronet, or the
more serious assiduities of the Major.
Mrs. Berlinton, indeed, was no common object, either for fear or for
hope, for admiration or for censure. She possessed all that was most
softly attractive, most bewitchingly beautiful, and most irresistibly
captivating, in mind, person, and manners. But to all that was thus most
fascinating to others, she joined unhappily all that was most dangerous
for herself; an heart the most susceptible, sentiments the most
romantic, and an imagination the most exalted. She had been an orphan
from earliest years, and left, with an only brother, to the care of a
fanatical maiden aunt, who had taught her nothing but her faith and her
prayers, without one single lesson upon good works, or the smallest
instruction upon the practical use of her theoretical piety. All that
ever varied these studies were some common and ill selected novels and
romances, which a young lady in the neighbourhood privately lent her to
read; till her brother, upon his first vacation from the University,
brought her the works of the Poets. These, also, it was only in secret
she could enjoy; but, to her juvenile fancy, and irregularly principled
mind, that did not render them more tasteless. Whatever was most
beautifully picturesque in poetry, she saw verified in the charming
landscapes presented to her view in the part of Wales she inhabited;
whatever was most noble or tender in romance, she felt promptly in her
heart, and conceived to be general; and whatever was enthusiastic in
theology, formed the whole of her idea and her belief with respect to
religion.
Brought up thus, to think all things the most unusual and extraordinary,
were merely common and of course; she was romantic without
consciousness, and excentric without intention. Nothing steady or
rational had been instilled into her mind by others; and she was too
young, and too fanciful to have formed her own principles with any depth
of reflection, or study of propriety. She had entered the world, by a
sudden and most unequal marriage, in which her choice had no part, with
only two self-formed maxims for the law of her conduct. The first of
these was, that, from her early notions of religion, no vestal should be
more personally chaste; the second, that, from her more recently imbibed
ones of tenderness, her heart, since she was married without its
concurrence, was still wholly at liberty to be disposed of by its own
propensities, without reproach and without scruple.
With such a character, where virtue had so little guide even while
innocence presided; where the person was so alluring, and the situation
so open to temptation, Edgar saw with almost every species of concern
the daily increasing friendship of Camilla. Yet while he feared for her
firmness, he knew not how to blame her fondness; nor where so much was
amiable in its object, could he cease to wish that more were right.
* * * * *
Thus again lived and died another week; and the fourth succeeded with no
actual occurrence, but a new change of opinion in Mrs. Arlbery, that
forcibly and cruelly affected the feelings of Camilla.
Uninformed of the motive that occasioned the indifference with which
Edgar beheld the newly awakened gallantry of Sir Sedley, and the
pleasure with which Camilla received it, Mrs. Arlbery observed his total
unconcern, first with surprise, next with perplexity, and finally with a
belief he was seriously resolved against forming any connection with her
himself. This she took an early opportunity to intimate to Camilla,
warmly exhorting her to drive him fast from her mind.
Camilla assured her that no task could be more easy; but the
disappointment of the project with respect to Sir Sedley, which she
blushed to have adopted, hurt her in every possible direction. Coquetry
was as foreign to the ingenuousness of her nature, as to the dignity of
all her early maternal precepts. She had hastily encouraged the devoirs
of the Baronet, upon the recommendation of a woman she loved and
admired; but now, that the failure of her aim brought her to reflexion,
she felt penitent and ashamed to have heeded any advice so contrary to
the singleness of the doctrines of her father, and so inferior to the
elevation of every sentiment she had ever heard from her mother. If
Edgar had seen her design, he had surely seen it with contempt: and
though his manner was still the most gentle, and his advice ever ready
and friendly, the opinion of Mrs. Arlbery was corroborated by all her
own observations, that he was decidedly estranged from her.
What repentance ensued! what severity of regret! how did she canvass her
conduct, how lament she had ever formed that fatal acquaintance with
Mrs. Arlbery, which he had so early opposed, and which seemed eternally
destined to lead her into measures and conduct most foreign to his
approbation!
The melancholy that now again took possession of her spirits made her
decline going abroad, from a renewed determination to avoid all meetings
with Edgar. Mrs. Arlbery felt provoked to find his power thus unabated,
and Sir Sedley was astonished. He still saw her perpetually, from his
visits at Mount Pleasant; but his vanity, that weakest yet most
predominant feature of his character, received a shock for which no
modesty of apprehension or fore-thought had prepared him, in finding
that, when he saw her no more in the presence of Mandlebert, he saw her
no more the same. She was ready still to converse with him; but no
peculiar attention was flattering, no desire to oblige was pointed. He
found he had been merely a passive instrument, in her estimation, to
excite jealousy; and even as such had been powerless to produce that
effect. The raillery which Mrs. Arlbery spared not upon the occasion
added greatly to his pique, and his mortification was so visible, that
Camilla perceived it, and perceived it with pain, with shame, and with
surprise. She thought now, for the first time, that the public homage he
had paid her had private and serious motives, and that what she imagined
mere sportive gallantry, arose from a growing attachment.
This idea had no gratifying power; believing Edgar without care for her,
she could not hope it would stimulate his regard; and conceiving she had
herself excited the partiality by wilful civilities, she could feel only
reproach from a conquest, unduly, unfairly, uningenuously obtained.
In proportion as these self-upbraidings made her less deserving in her
own eyes, the merits of the young Baronet seemed to augment; and in
considering herself as culpable for having raised his regard, she
appeared before him with a humility that gave a softness to her look and
manners, which soon proved as interesting to Sir Sedley as her marked
gaiety had been flattering.
When she perceived this, she felt distressed anew. To shun him was
impossible, as Mrs. Arlbery not only gave him completely the freedom of
her house, but assiduously promoted their belonging always to the same
group, and being seated next to each other. There was nothing she would
not have done to extenuate her error, and to obviate its ill effect upon
Sir Sedley; but as she always thought herself in the wrong, and regarded
him as injured, every effort was accompanied with a timidity that gave
to every change a new charm, rather than any repulsive quality.
In this state of total self-disapprobation, to return to Etherington was
her only wish, and to pass the intermediate time with Mrs. Berlinton
became her sole pleasure. But she was forced again into public to avoid
an almost single intercourse with Sir Sedley.
In meeting again with Edgar she saw him openly delighted at her sight,
but without the least apparent solicitude, or notice, that the young
Baronet had passed almost the whole of the interval upon Mount Pleasant.
This was instantly noticed, and instantly commented upon by Mrs.
Arlbery, who again, and strongly pointed out to Camilla, that to save
her youth from being wasted by fruitless expectation, she must forget
young Mandlebert, and study only her own amusement.
Camilla dissented not from the opinion; but the doctrine to which it was
easy to agree, it was difficult to put in practice; and her ardent mind
believed itself fettered for ever, and for ever unhappy.