Montague de Courcy had dined tête-à-tête with an old uncle from whom he
had no expectations, and was returning home to sup quietly with his
mother and sister, when his progress was arrested by a group occupying
the whole breadth of the pavement, and he heard a female voice which,
though unusually musical, had in it less of entreaty than of command,
say, 'Pray, Sir, allow us to pass.' 'Not till I have seen the face that
belongs to such a figure,' answered one of a party of young men who were
rudely obstructing the passage of the lady who had spoken. With this
condition, however, she seemed not to intend compliance, for she had
doubled her veil, and pertinaciously resisted the attempts of her
persecutors to raise it.
De Courcy had a rooted antipathy to all manner of violence and
oppression, especially when exercised against the more defenceless part
of the creation; and he no sooner ascertained these circumstances, than,
with one thrust of his muscular arm, (which, to say the truth, was more
than a match for half a dozen of the puny fry of sloth and
intemperance), he opened a passage for the lady and her companion;
steadily detained her tormentors till she made good her retreat; and
then, leaving the gentlemen to answer, as they best could, to their own
interrogatories of 'What do you mean?' and 'Who the d--l are you?' he
followed the rescued damsel, with whose appearance, considering the
place and the hour, he was extremely surprised.
Her height, which certainly rose about the beautiful, perhaps even
exceeded the majestic; her figure, though slender, was admirably
proportioned, and had all the appropriate roundness of the feminine
form; her dress, though simple, and of matronly decency, was not
unfashionable; while the dignity of her gait, and the composure of her
motion, suited well with the majesty of her stature and mien.
While De Courcy was making these observations, he had offered the lady
his arm, which she accepted, and his escort home, which she declined,
saying, that she would take refuge in a shop, till a coach could be
procured. Nor was he less attentive to her companion, although the
latter was a little, elderly, vulgar-looking woman, imperfections which
would have utterly disqualified her for the civility of many a polite
gentleman.
This person had no sooner recovered the breath of which her supposed
danger, and the speed of her rescue from it had deprived her, than she
began, with extreme volubility, to comment on her adventure. 'Well,' she
cried, 'if that was not the forwardest thing ever I seed. I am sure I
have comed home afore now of an evening a matter of five hunder times,
and never met with no such thing in my life. But its all along of my
being so saving of your money; for I might have took a coach as you'd
have had me: but its no longer ago nor last week, as I comed from my
tea, at that very Mr Wilkins's, later nor this, and nobody so much as
spoke to me; but catch me penny wise again. Howsoever, it's partlins
your own doings; for if you hadn't staid so long a-looking at the
pictures in the shop we shouldn't have met with them there men.
Howsoever, Miss Montreville, you did right enough not to let that there
jackanapes see your face, otherwise we mightn't have got off from them
fellors tonight.'
The curiosity of De Courcy thus directed, overcame his habitual dislike
to staring, and rivetted his eyes on a face, which, once seen, was
destined never to be forgotten. Her luxuriant hair, (which De Courcy at
first thought black, though he afterwards corrected this opinion), was
carelessly divided on a forehead, whose spotless whiteness was varied
only by the blue of a vein that shone through the transparent skin. As
she raised her mild religious dark grey eyes, their silken lashes rested
on the well-defined but delicate eye-brow; or, when her glance fell
before the gaze of admiration, threw a long shade on a cheek of
unequalled beauty, both for form and colour. The contour of her
features, inclining to the Roman, might perhaps have been called
masculine, had it not been softened to the sweetest model of maiden
loveliness, by the delicacy of its size and colouring. The glowing
scarlet of the lips, formed a contrast with a complexion
constitutionally pale, but varying every moment; while round her easily
but firmly closing mouth, lurked not a trace of the sensual or the vain,
but all was calm benevolence, and saintly purity. In the contemplation
of a countenance, the perfect symmetry of which was its meanest charm,
De Courcy, who was a physiognomist, suffered the stream of time, as well
as that of Mrs Dawkins's eloquence, to flow on without notice, and first
became sensible that he had profited by neither, when the shop-boy
announced that the carriage was at the door. While handing the ladies
into the carriage, De Courcy again offered his attendance, which Laura,
gracefully thanking him for his attentions, again declined; and they
drove off just as he was about to inquire where they chose to be set
down.
Now, whether it was that Laura was offended at De Courcy's inspection of
her face, or whether she saw any thing disagreeable in his; whether it
was that her pride disdained lodgings in Holborn, or that she desired
not to be recognized by one who had met with her in such a situation,
certain it is, that she chose the moment when that gentleman was placing
her voluble companion in the coach, to give the coachman her directions,
in sounds that escaped the ears of De Courcy. As he had no means of
remedying this misfortune, he walked home, and philosophically
endeavoured to forget it in a game at chess with his mother. The
fidelity of a historian, however, obliges us to confess, that he this
evening played in a manner that would have disgraced a school-boy. After
mistaking his antagonist's men for his own, playing into check, throwing
away his pieces, and making false moves, he answered his mother's
question of 'Montague, what are you doing?', by pushing back his chair,
and exclaiming, 'Mother, you never beheld such a woman.'
'Woman!' repeated Mrs De Courcy, settling her spectacles, and looking
him full in the face. 'Woman!' said his sister, laying down Bruyere,
'Who is she?'
'I know not,' answered De Courcy, 'but had Lavater seen her, he could
scarcely have believed her human.'
'What is her name?'
'The woman who attended her called her Montreville.'
'Where did you meet her?'
'In the street.'
'In the street!' cried Harriet, laughing. 'Oh, Montague, that is not
half sentimental enough for you. You should have found her all in a
shady bower, playing on a harp that came there nobody knows how; or, all
elegant in India muslin, dandling a beggar's brat in a dirty cottage.
But let us hear the whole adventure.'
'I have already told you all I know,' answered De Courcy. 'Now, Madam,
will you give me my revenge.' 'No, no,' said Mrs De Courcy, 'I will play
no more; I should have no glory in conquering such a defenceless enemy.'
'Well, then,' said Montague, good-humouredly, 'give me leave to read to
you, for I would rather amuse you and Harriet in any other way than by
sitting quietly to be laughed at.'
After the ladies had retired for the night, De Courcy meditated for full
five minutes on the descent from Laura Montreville's forehead to her
nose, and bestowed a proportionable degree of consideration upon other
lines in her physiognomy; but it must be confessed, that by the time he
arrived at the dimple in her left cheek, he had forgotten both Lavater
and his opinions, and that his recollection of her mouth was somewhat
confused by that of her parting smile, which he more than once declared
aloud to himself was 'heavenly.' We are credibly informed, that he
repeated the same expression three times in his sleep; and whether it
was that his dreams reminded him of Mrs Dawkins's eloquence, or whether
his memory was refreshed by his slumbers, he had not been long awake
before he recollected that he had heard that lady mention a Mr Wilkins,
and hint that he kept a print-shop. By a proper application to the
London directory, he easily discovered the print-seller's abode, and
thither he that very day repaired.
Mr Wilkins was not in the shop when De Courcy entered it, but the
shop-boy said his master would be there in a minute. This minute
appearing to De Courcy of unusual length, he, to while it away, began to
examine the prints which hung around. His eye was presently attracted by
the only oil picture in the shop; and his attention was fixed by
observing, that it presented a striking resemblance of his old
school-fellow Hargrave. He turned to make some inquiry of the shop-boy,
when Mr Wilkins came in, and his interest reverted to a different
object. The question, however, which he had come to ask, and which to
ask would have three minutes before appeared the simplest thing in the
world, now faltered on his tongue; and it was not without something like
hesitation, that he inquired whether Mr Wilkins knew a Miss Montreville.
Desirous to oblige a person of De Courcy's appearance, Wilkins
immediately related all that he knew of Laura, either from his own
observation, or from the report of her loquacious landlady; and
perceiving that he was listened to with attention, he proceeded further
to detail his conjectures. 'This picture is painted by her,' said he,
'and I rather think the old Captain can't be very rich, she seemed so
anxious to have it sold.' De Courcy again turned to the picture, which
he had before examined, and on this second inspection, was so fortunate
as to discover that it bore the stamp of great genius,--an opinion in
which, we believe, he would have been joined by any man of
four-and-twenty who had seen the artist. 'So,' thought he, 'this lovely
creature's genius is equal to her beauty, and her worth perhaps
surpasses both; for she has the courage to rise superior to the silly
customs of the world, and can dare to be useful to herself and to
others. I knew by the noble arching of her forehead, that she was above
all vulgar prejudice:' and he admired Laura the more for being a
favourable instance of his own penetration,--a feeling so natural, that
it lessens even our enmity to the wicked, when we ourselves have
predicted their vices. It must be owned, that De Courcy was a little
hasty in his judgment of Laura's worth; but the sight of such a face as
hers, gives great speed to a young man's decision upon female character.
He instantly purchased the picture, and recollecting that it is highly
proper to patronize genius and industry, he desired Mr Wilkins to beg
that a companion might be painted. He then returned home, leaving orders
that his purchase should follow him immediately.
Though nature, a private education, and studious habits, made De Courcy
rather reserved to strangers, he was, in his domestic circle, one of the
most communicative persons in the world; and the moment he saw his
mother, he began to inform her of the discoveries he had made that
morning. 'Montreville!' said Mrs De Courcy, when he had ended, 'can that
be William Montreville who was in the ---- regiment when your father was
the major of it?' 'Most likely he is,' said Montague, eagerly. 'Many a
time did he hold you upon his horse, and many a paper kite did he make
for you.' 'It must be the same,' said Montague; 'the name is not a
common one; it certainly must be the same.' 'I can hardly believe it,'
said Mrs De Courcy; 'William Montreville married that strange imprudent
woman, Lady Harriet Bircham. Poor Montreville!--he deserved a better
wife.' 'It cannot be he,' said De Courcy, sorrowfully; 'no such woman
could be the mother of Miss Montreville.' 'He settled in Scotland
immediately after his marriage,' continued Mrs De Courcy, 'and since
that time I have never heard of him.' 'It is the same then,' said
Montague, his countenance lightening with pleasure, 'for Miss
Montreville is a Scotch woman. I remember his kindness. I think I almost
recollect his face. He used to set me on his knee and sing to me; and
when he sung the Babes in the Woods, I pretended to go to sleep on his
bosom, for I thought it not manly to cry; but when I looked up, I saw
the tears standing in his own eyes. I will go and see my old friend this
very hour.' 'You have forgotten,' said Mrs De Courcy, 'that you promised
to escort Harriet to the park, and she will be disappointed if you
engage yourself elsewhere.' De Courcy, who would have postponed any
personal gratification rather than disappoint the meanest servant in his
household, instantly agreed to defer his visit; and as it had never
occurred to him that the claims of relationship were incompatible with
those of politeness, he did not once during their walk insinuate to his
sister that he would have preferred another engagement.
Never had he, either as a physiognomist or as a man, admired any woman
so much as he did Laura; yet her charms were no longer his only, or even
his chief, magnet of attraction towards the Montrevilles. Never before
had any assemblage of features possessed such power of him, but De
Courcy's was not a heart on which mere beauty could make any very
permanent impression; and, to the eternal disgrace of his gallantry, it
must be confessed, that he scarcely longed more for a second interview
with Laura, than he did for an opportunity of paying some grateful
civilities to the man who, twenty years before, had good-naturedly
forgone the society of his equals in age, to sing ballads and make
paper-kites for little Montague. Whatever member of his family occupied
most of his thoughts, certain it is, that he spoke much more that
evening of Captain Montreville than of his daughter, until the arrival
of the painting afforded him occasion to enlarge on her genius,
industry, and freedom from vulgar prejudice. On these he continued to
descant, till Mrs De Courcy smiled, and Harriet laughed openly; a
liberty at which Montague testified his displeasure, by carefully
avoiding the subject for the rest of the evening.
Meanwhile the ungrateful Laura had never, from the hour in which they
met, bestowed one thought upon her champion. The blackness of his eyes,
and the whiteness of his teeth, had entirely escaped her observation;
and, even if she had been asked, whether he was tall or short, she could
scarcely have given a satisfactory reply. For this extraordinary
stupidity, the only excuse is, that her heart was already occupied, the
reader knows how, and that her thoughts were engrossed by an intention
which her father had mentioned, of borrowing money upon his half-pay.
Though Laura had never known affluence, she was equally a stranger to
all the shames, the distresses, and embarrassments of a debtor; and the
thoughts of borrowing what she could not hope by any economy to repay,
gave to her upright mind the most cutting uneasiness. But no resource
remained; for, even if Captain Montreville could have quitted London
within the hour, he had not the means of defraying the expence of the
journey. Warren's promises had hitherto produced nothing but hope, and
there was no immediate prospect that the payment of the annuity would
relieve the difficulty.
Laura turned a despairing wish towards her picture, lamenting that she
had ever formed her presumptuous scheme, and hating herself for having,
by her presence, increased the perplexities of her father. She prevailed
upon him, however, to defer borrowing the money till the following day;
and once more, accompanied by Julia, bent her almost hopeless steps
towards the print-shop.
Silent and melancholy she passed on, equally regardless of the
admiration which she occasionally extorted, and of the animadversions,
called forth by the appearance of so elegant a woman on foot, in the
streets of the city. As she entered the shop, she cast a half-despairing
look towards the place where her picture had hung, and her heart leapt
when she perceived that it was gone. 'Well, Ma'am,' said Wilkins,
approaching her, 'it is sold at last, and here is the money;' and he put
into her hands by far the largest sum they had ever contained. 'You may
have as much more whenever you please,' continued he, 'for the gentleman
who bought it wants a companion painted.'
Laura spoke not,--she had not indeed the power to speak;--but she raised
her eyes with a look that intelligibly said, 'Blessed Father! thy tender
mercies are over all thy works.' Recollecting herself, she thanked
Wilkins, liberally rewarded him for his trouble, and taking her
companion by the arm, she hastened homewards.
The sight of Laura's wealth powerfully affected the mind of Miss
Dawkins, and she formed an immediate resolution, to grow rich by similar
means. One little objection to this scheme occurred to her, namely, that
she had learnt to draw only flowers, and that even this humble branch of
the art she had discontinued since she left school. But she thought that
a little practice would repair what she had lost, and that though
perhaps flowers might not be so productive as historical pieces, she
might better her fortune by her works; at the least, they would furnish
her with clothes and pocket-money. Upon this judicious plan, she
harangued with great volubility to Laura, who, buried in her own
reflections, walked silently on, unconscious even of the presence of her
loquacious companion. As she approached her home, she began to frame a
little speech, with which she meant to present her treasure to her
father; and, on entering the house, she flew with a beating heart to
find him. She laid her wealth upon his knee. 'My dearest father,' she
began, 'the picture'--and she fell upon his neck and burst into tears.
Sympathetic tears stood in the eyes of Montreville. He had been
surprized at the stoicism with which his daughter appeared to him to
support her disappointment, and he was not prepared to expect from her
so much sensibility to success. But though Laura had learnt from
frequent experience, how to check the feelings of disappointment, to
pleasure such as she now felt she was new, and she could not controul
its emotions. So far was she, however, from thinking that sensibility
was bestowed merely for an ornament, (an opinion which many fair ladies
appear to entertain), that the expression of it was always with her an
occasion of shame. Unable at this moment to contain herself, she burst
from her father's embrace, and hiding herself in her chamber, poured
forth a fervent thanksgiving to Him who 'feedeth the ravens when they
cry to him.'
'This money is yours my love,' said Captain Montreville to her when she
returned to the parlour. 'I cannot bear to rob you of it. Take it, and
you can supply me when I am in want of it.' The face and neck of Laura
flushed crimson. Her whole soul revolted at the thought of her father's
feeling himself a pensioner on her bounty. 'No indeed, Sir,' she replied
with energy, 'it is yours--it always was intended for you. But for you,
I could never have acquired it.' 'I will not disappoint your generosity,
my dearest,' said Montreville, 'part I will receive from you, but the
rest you must keep. I know you must have many little wants.' 'No, Papa,'
said Laura, 'so liberal has your kindness been to me, that I cannot at
this moment name a single want.' 'Wishes, then, you surely have,' said
the Captain, still pressing the money upon her; 'and let the
first-fruits of your industry supply them.' 'I have no wishes,' said
Laura; 'none at least which money can gratify:--and when I have,' added
she, with an affectionate smile, 'let their gratification come from you,
that its pleasure may be doubled to me.'
No creature could less value money for its own sake than did Laura. All
her wealth, the fruit of so much labour and anxiety, would not have
purchased the attire of a fashionable lady for one evening. She, who
had been accustomed to wander in happy freedom among her native hills,
was imprisoned amidst the smoke and dust of a city. Without a companion,
almost without an acquaintance to invigorate her spirits for the task,
it was her province to revive the fainting hopes, and beguile the tedium
of her father, who was depressed by disappointments in his pursuits, and
disconcerted by the absence of his accustomed employments. She was at a
distance from the object, not only of a tender affection, but of a
romantic passion,--a passion, ardent in proportion as its object was
indebted to her imagination for his power. Scarce three months had
elapsed since the depravity of this idolized being had burst on her in
thunder, the thought of it was still daggers to her heart, and it was
very doubtful whether he could ever give such proofs of reformation as
would make it safe for her to restore him to his place in her regard.
Yet be it known to all who, from similar circumstances, feel entitled to
fancy themselves miserable, and thus (if they live with beings of common
humanity) make others really so, that no woman ever passed an evening in
more heartfelt content, than Laura did that which our history is now
recording. She did, indeed, possess that which, next to the overflowings
of a pious heart, confers the purest happiness on this side Heaven. She
felt that she was USEFUL. Nay, in one respect the consciousness of a
successful discharge of duty has the advantage over the fervours of
devotion; for Providence, wise in its bounty, has decreed, that while
these foretastes of heavenly rapture are transient lest their delights
should detach us from the business of life, we are invited to a
religious practice by the permanence of its joys.