Captain Montreville and his daughter were engaged in a friendly contest
on the subject of a companion for the picture, when De Courcy made his
visit. Though, as he entered the room, something unfashionably like a
blush visited his face, his manner was free from rustic embarrassment.
'I believe,' said he, advancing towards Captain Montreville, 'I must
apologize for the intrusion of a stranger. My person must have outgrown
your recollection. My name, I hope, has been more fortunate. It is De
Courcy.' 'The son I presume of Major De Courcy,' said Montreville,
cordially extending his hand to him. 'Yes,' replied Montague, heartily
taking the offered hand; 'the same whose childhood was indebted to you
for so many of its pleasures.' 'My old friend Montague!' cried the
Captain, 'though your present form is new to me, I remember my lovely
little noble-spirited play-fellow with an interest which I have never
felt in any other child except this girl.' 'And who knows,' said De
Courcy, turning to Laura with a smile, 'who knows what cause I may find
to rue that Miss Montreville is past the age when I might have repaid
her father's kindness by assiduities to her doll?' 'That return,' said
Laura, colouring, as she recollected her late champion, 'would not have
been quite so arduous as the one you have already made. I hope you have
had no further trouble with those rude people?' 'No, Madam,' answered De
Courcy, 'nor did I expect it; the spirits that are so insolent where
they dare, are submissive enough where they must.' Laura now explained
to her father her obligation to De Courcy; and the Captain having
thanked him for his interference, the conversation took a general turn.
Elated as he was with the successful industry and genius of his child,
and pleased with the attentions of the son of his friend, the spirits
of Montreville rose higher than they had ever done since his arrival in
London. Won by the happy mixture of familiarity and respect, of spirit
and gentleness, which distinguished the manners of De Courcy, the
Captain became cheerful, and Laura almost talkative: the conversation
rose from easy to animated, from animated to gay; and two hours had
passed before any of the party was aware that one-fourth of that time
was gone. Laura's general reserve with strangers seemed to have forsaken
her while she conversed with De Courcy. But De Courcy was not a
stranger. By character she knew him well. Hargrave had mentioned to her
his intimacy with De Courcy. Nay, De Courcy had, at the hazard of his
life, saved the life of Hargrave. Laura had heard her lover dwell with
the eloquence of gratitude upon the courage, the presence of mind, with
which (while others, confounded by his danger, or fearing for their own
safety, left him to perish without aid), De Courcy had seized a fisher's
net, and, binding one end of it to a tree, the other to his body, had
plunged into the water, and intercepted Hargrave, just as the stream was
hurrying him to the brink of a tremendous fall. 'All struggle was in
vain,' had Hargrave said to the breathless Laura; 'but for that noble
fellow, that minute would have been my last, and I should have died
without awakening this interest so dear to my heart.' 'I wish I could
see this De Courcy,' had Laura fervently exclaimed. 'Heaven forbid!' had
been the hasty reply, 'for your habits--your pursuits--your sentiments
are so similar, that he would gain without labour, perhaps without a
wish, the heart that has cost me such anxious toil.' A recollection of
this dialogue stole into the mind of Laura, as De Courcy was expressing
an opinion which, though not a common one, coincided exactly with her
own. For a moment she was absent and thoughtful; but De Courcy continued
the conversation, and she resumed her gaiety.
When unwillingly at last he rose to take his leave, Captain Montreville
detained him while he made some friendly inquiries into the history of
the family for the last twenty years. As the questions of the Captain,
however, were not impertinently minute, nor the answers of De Courcy
very copious, it may not be improper to supply what was wanting in the
narrative.
Major De Courcy was the representative of a family which could trace its
descent from the times of the Conqueror,--an advantage which they valued
above the hereditary possessions of their fathers; and if an advantage
ought to be estimated by its durability, they were in the right; for
the former, of necessity, was improved by time, the latter seemed
tending towards decline. Frederick De Courcy was suffered to follow his
inclinations in entering the army; because that was the profession the
most suitable to the dignity of an ancient house. That it was of all
professions the least likely to improve his fortune, was a consideration
equally despised by his father and himself. When he attained his
seventeenth year, a commission was purchased for him. Stored with
counsels sufficient, if he followed them, to conduct him to wisdom and
happiness, and with money sufficient to make these counsels of no avail,
he set out from his paternal home to join his regiment. Thus was De
Courcy, in his dangerous passage from youth to manhood, committed to the
guidance of example, and the discretion belonging to his years;
fortified, indeed, by the injunctions of his parents, and his own
resolutions, never to disgrace his descent. This bulwark, he soon found,
was too weak to resist the number and variety of the weapons which
attacked him. The shafts of ridicule assailed him; his own passions took
up arms; his pride itself turned against him. Unable to resist with
vigour, he ceased to resist at all; and was hurried into every folly in
which his companions wished for the assistance of his purse, or the
countenance of his example.
His father's liberal allowance was soon insufficient to supply his
extravagance. He contracted debts. After severe but well-merited
reproof, his father paid them; and De Courcy promised amendment. A whole
week of strict sobriety ensued; and the young soldier was convinced that
his resolution was immutable. And so he would probably have found it, if
now, for the first time since man was made, temptation had become weaker
by victory, or virtue stronger by defeat. But though he had tasted the
glittering bait of folly, and though he at times confessed its
insipidity, the same lure again prevailed, and De Courcy was again
entangled in pecuniary embarrassments. What was to be done? His father
had declared his irrevocable determination no further to injure the
interests of his younger children by supplying the prodigality of the
eldest. By the advice of a veteran in profusion, De Courcy had recourse
to Jews. As it was in his father's power to disinherit him, it was
necessary to conceal these transactions; and the high spirit of
Frederick was compelled to submit to all the evasions, embarrassments,
and wretchedness that attend a clandestine course of action.
Often did he illustrate the trite observation that no life is more
remote from happiness than a life of pleasure. The reward of all his
labour was satiety; the wages of all his self-reproaches were the
applause of the thoughtless for his spirit; the lamentations of the
wise, that an honourable mind should be so perverted. In his
twenty-second year, his father's death left him at liberty to pay his
old debts, and to contract new. That which has preserved the virtue of
many young men, prevented the total ruin of De Courcy. He became
attached to a virtuous woman; and, influenced much by inclination, more
by the wishes of her friends, she married him.
Mrs De Courcy brought no dower except the beauty which had captivated
her husband, the sweetness which prolonged her power, and the good sense
which made that power useful. She therefore did not think herself
entitled to remonstrate very warmly on the negligence that appeared in
the conduct of her husband's affairs; and it was not until after she
became a mother that she judged it proper to interfere. Her gentle
remonstrances, however, produced little effect beyond promises and vague
resolutions, that at some '_convenient season_' the Major would examine
into the real state of his fortune.
Accident at last befriended her endeavours. Soon after the birth of her
second child (a daughter), a demand was made on De Courcy for a debt
which he had not the means of discharging. He could not apply to the
Jew; for he had solemnly pledged to Mrs De Courcy, that he would never
more have recourse to that ruinous expedient. He was discussing with his
wife the possibility of procuring the money by a new mortgage, while
Montague, then a child of four year's old, was playing in the room.
Struck by the melancholy tone of his mother's voice, the child forsook
his play, and taking hold of her gown, looked anxiously from one
mournful face to the other. 'I am as averse to it as you can be, my
dear,' said the Major, 'but there is no other way of raising the money.'
'Wait till I am a man, Papa,' said the child; 'and then Betty says, I
shall have a good two thousand pounds a-year, and I will give it all to
you. And here,' added he, searching his little pocket, 'here is my
pretty shilling that Captain Montreville gave me; take it, and don't
look sorry any more.' Mrs De Courcy passionately loved this child.
Overcome by the feeling of the moment, she clasped him in her arms. 'My
poor wronged child!' she exclaimed, and burst into tears.
These were the first words of bitterness which Major De Courcy had ever
heard from her lips; and overcome by them, and by her tears, he gave her
a hasty promise, that he would, that very hour, begin the examination
of his affairs. Sensible of her advantage, she permitted not his purpose
to slumber, but persuaded him to a full inquiry into the extent of his
debts; and in order to remove him from future temptation, she prevailed
on him to sell his commission, and reside at his paternal Norwood.
After selling so much of his estate as to clear the remainder from all
incumbrance, he found his income diminished to little more than a third
of its original extent. His family pride reviving at the sight of the
halls of his fathers, and a better affection awakening in his
intercourse with the descendants of those whom his ancestors had
protected, he determined to guard against the possibility of Norwood and
its tenants being transferred to strangers, and entailed the remains of
his property on Montague De Courcy, in the strictest form of English
law. For Mrs De Courcy he made but a slender provision. For his daughter
he made none: but he determined to save from his income a sum sufficient
to supply this deficiency. He was still a young man, and never thought
of doubting whether he might live long enough to accomplish his design,
or whether the man who had found an income of £2000 a-year too small for
his necessities, might be able to make savings from one of £800. In
spite of the soberness of the establishment, which during the novelty of
his reform he allowed Mrs De Courcy to arrange, he continued to find
uses for all the money he could command. His fields wanted inclosures;
his houses needed repairs; his son's education was an increasing
expence; and he died while Montague was yet a boy, without having
realized any part of his plans in favour of his daughter.
He left the highest testimony to the understanding and worth of Mrs De
Courcy, by making her the sole guardian of his children; and the steady
rectitude and propriety of her conduct justified his confidence. Aware
of the radical defect of every mode of education that neglects or severs
the domestic tie, yet convinced that the house where he was master, and
the dependents he could command, were dangerous scenes and companions
for a youth of Montague's spirit, she committed him to the care of a
clergyman, whose residence was a few miles distant from Norwood, and who
also took charge of four other boys of about the same age.
This gentleman was admirably fitted for his trust; for he had a
cultivated understanding, an affectionate heart, sound piety, and a calm
but inflexible temper. Add to which, he had travelled, and, in his
youth, associated much with men of rank, and more with men of talents;
though, since he had become a pastor, the range of his moral observation
had been narrowed to the hearts of a few simple villagers, which were
open to him as to their father and their friend. The boys studied and
played together, but they each had a separate apartment; for Mr
Wentworth had himself been educated at a public school, and never
recollected without shuddering, the hour when his youthful modesty had
shrunk from sharing his bed with a stranger, and when the prayer for his
parents, which he was mingling with his tears, had been disturbed by the
jokes of a little rabble.
Every Saturday did Montague bend his joyful course homewards, regardless
of summer's heat or winter storms. Every Sunday did his mother spend in
mixing the lessons of piety with the endearments of love; in striving to
connect the idea of a superintending God with all that is beautiful--all
that is majestic--in nature. As her children grew up, she unfolded to
them the peculiar doctrines of Christianity, so sublime, so consolatory,
so suitable to the wants of man. Aware how much occasion favours the
strength of impressions, she chose the hour of strong remorse on account
of a youthful fault, while the culprit yet trembled before the offended
Majesty of Heaven, to explain to her son the impossibility that
repentance should, of itself, cancel errors past, or that the great
Lawgiver should accept a few ineffectual tears, or a tardy and imperfect
obedience, as a compensation for the breach of a law that is perfect.
When she saw that the intended impression was made, she spoke of the
great atonement that once was offered, not to make repentance
unnecessary, but to make it effectual; and, from that time, using this
as one of the great landmarks of faith, she contributed to make it in
the mind of De Courcy a practical and abiding principle. The peculiar
precepts of Christianity she taught him to apply to his actions, by
applying them herself; and the praise that is so often lavished upon
boldness, dexterity, and spirit, she conscientiously reserved for acts
of candour, humility, and self-denial.
Her cares were amply rewarded, and Montague became all that she wished
him to be. He was a Christian from the heart, without being either
forward to claim, or ashamed to own, the distinction. He was industrious
in his pursuits, and simple in his pleasures. But the distinctive
feature of his character, was the total absence of selfishness. His own
pleasure or his own amusement he never hesitated to sacrifice to the
wishes of others; or, to speak more correctly, he found his pleasure
and amusement in theirs. Upon the whole, we do not say that Montague De
Courcy had no faults; but we are sure he had none that he did not strive
to conquer. Like other human beings, he sometimes acted wrong; but we
believe he would not deliberately have neglected a known duty to escape
any worldly misfortune; we are sure he would not deliberately have
committed a crime to attain any earthly advantage.
Desirous that her darling should enjoy the benefits of the most liberal
education, yet afraid to trust him to the temptations of an English
university, Mrs De Courcy went for some years to reside in Edinburgh
during the winter--in summer she returned with her family to Norwood. To
his private studies, and his paternal home, Montague returned with ever
new delight; for his tastes and his habits were all domestic. He had no
ambitious wishes to lure him from his retreat, for his wants were even
more moderate than his fortune. Except in so far as he could make it
useful to others, he had no value for money, nor for anything that money
could buy, exclusive of the necessaries of life, books, and implements
of chemistry. The profession which he had chosen was that of improving
and embellishing his estate; and, in the tranquil pleasures of a country
gentleman, a man of taste, a classical scholar, and a chemist, he found
means to occupy himself without injury to his health, his morals, or his
fortune. His favourite amusements were drawing and physiognomy; and,
like other favourites, these were sometimes in danger of making
encroachments, and advancing into the rank of higher concerns. But this
he prevented by an exact distribution of his time, to which he
resolutely adhered.
With his mother and his sister he lived in the most perfect harmony,
though the young lady had the reputation of a wit, and was certainly a
little addicted to sarcasm. But she was in other respects amiable, and
incapable of doing anything to offend her brother, whose indignation
indeed never rose but against cruelty, meanness, or deceit.
De Courcy had just entered his twenty-fifth year, when a rheumatic fever
deprived his mother of the use of her limbs; and, forsaking all his
employments, he had quitted his beloved Norwood to attend her in London,
whither she had come for the benefit of medical advice. He had been but
a few days in town when he met with Miss Montreville, and the impression
which her beauty made, the second interview tended to confirm.
Montague had never, even in imagination, been in love. The regulation of
his passions, the improvement of his mind, and the care of his property,
had hitherto left him no leisure for the tender folly. He had scarcely
ever thought of a young woman's face, except with a reference to
Lavater's opinion, nor of her manners, except to wonder how she could be
so obtrusive. But in contemplating Laura's face, he forgot the rules of
the physiognomist; and, in the interesting reserve of her manners, he
found continually something to desire. If, at the close of his visit, he
was not in love, he was at least in a fair way for being so. He was
assailed at once by beauty, grace, good sense, and sweetness; and to
these Laura added the singular charm of being wholly insensible to their
effects upon the beholder. No side glance was sent in search of
admiration; no care was taken to compose her drapery; no look of triumph
accompanied her judicious remarks; no parade of sensibility disgraced
her tenderness. Every charm was heightened by a matchless absence of all
design; and against this formidable battery had poor De Courcy to make
his stand, just at the inauspicious hour when, for the first time in his
life, he had nothing else to do.