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THE WANDERER
Or
Female Difficulties
FANNY BURNEY
CONTENTS
Dedication xvii
Volume I 1
Volume II 179
Volume III 361
Volume IV 537
Volume V 681
TO DOCTOR BURNEY,
FRS _and correspondent to the institute
of France_[1]
[Footnote 1: To which honour Dr Burney was elected, by the wholly
unsolicited votes of the members _des beaux arts_. His daughter
brought over his diploma from Paris.]
The earliest pride of my heart was to inscribe to my much-loved Father
the first public effort of my pen; though the timid offering,
unobtrusive and anonymous, was long unpresented; and, even at last,
reached its destination through a zeal as secret as it was kind, by
means which he would never reveal; and with which, till within these
last few months, I have myself been unacquainted.
With what grateful delight do I cast, now, at the same revered feet
where I prostrated that first essay, this, my latest attempt!
Your name I did not dare then pronounce; and myself I believed to be
'wrapt up in a mantle of impenetrable obscurity[2].' Little did I
foresee the indulgence that would bring me forward! and that my dear
father himself, whom, even while, urged by filial feelings, and yet
nameless, I invoked,[3] I thought would be foremost to aid, nay, charge
me to shun the public eye; that He, whom I dreaded to see blush at my
production, should be the first to tell me not to blush at it myself!
The happy moment when he spoke to me those unexpected words, is ever
present, and still gay to my memory.
[Footnote 2: Preface to Evelina.]
[Footnote 3: Inscription of Evelina, 'O Author of my being!' &c.]
The early part of this immediate tribute has already twice traversed the
ocean in manuscript: I had planned and begun it before the end of the
last century but the bitter, and ever to be deplored affliction with
which this new era opened to our family, in depriving us of the darling
of our hearts,[4] at the very moment--when--after a grievous absence, we
believed her restored to us, cast it from my thoughts, and even from my
powers, for many years. I took with me, nevertheless, my prepared
materials in the year 1802, to France; where, ultimately, though only at
odd intervals, I sketched the whole work; which, in the year 1812,
accompanied me back to my native land. And, to the honour and liberality
of both nations, let me mention, that, at the Custom-house on
either--alas!--hostile shore, upon my given word that the papers
contained neither letters, nor political writings; but simply a work of
invention and observation; the voluminous manuscript was suffered to
pass, without demur, comment, or the smallest examination.
[Footnote 4: Susanna Elizabeth Phillips.]
A conduct so generous on one side, so trusting on the other, in time of
war, even though its object be unimportant, cannot but be read with
satisfaction by every friend of humanity, of either rival nation, into
whose hands its narrative may chance to fall.
Such, therefore,--if any such there be,--who expect to find here
materials for political controversy; or fresh food for national
animosity; must turn elsewhere their disappointed eyes: for here, they
will simply meet, what the Author has thrice sought to present to them
already, a composition upon general life, manners, and characters;
without any species of personality, either in the form of foreign
influence, or of national partiality. I have felt, indeed, no
disposition,--I ought rather, perhaps, to say talent,--for venturing
upon the stormy sea of politics; whose waves, for ever either receding
or encroaching, with difficulty can be stemmed, and never can be
trusted.
Even when I began;--how unconsciously you, dear Sir, well know,--what I
may now, perhaps, venture to style my literary career, nothing can more
clearly prove that I turned, instinctively, from the tempestuous course,
than the equal favour with which I was immediately distinguished by
those two celebrated, immortal authors, Dr Johnson and the Right
Honourable Edmund Burke; whose sentiments upon public affairs divided,
almost separated them, at that epoch; yet who, then, and to their last
hours, I had the pride, the delight, and the astonishment to find the
warmest, as well as the most eminent supporters of my honoured essays.
Latterly, indeed, their political opinions assimilated; but when each,
separately, though at the same time, condescended to stand for the
champion of my first small work; ere ever I had had the happiness of
being presented to either; and ere they knew that I bore, my Father!
your honoured name; that small work was nearly the only subject upon
which they met without contestation[5]:--if I except the equally
ingenious and ingenuous friend whom they vied with each other to
praise, to appreciate, and to love; and whose name can never vibrate on
our ears but to bring emotion to our hearts;--Sir Joshua Reynolds.
[Footnote 5: So strongly this coincidence of sentiment was felt by Mr
Burke himself, that, some years afterwards, at an assembly at Lady
Galloway's, where each, for a considerable time, had seemed to stimulate
the other to a flow of partial praise on Evelina and--just then
published--Cecilia; Mr Burke, upon Dr Johnson's endeavouring to detain
me when. I rose to depart, by calling out, 'Don't go yet, little
character-monger!' followed me, gaily, but impressively exclaiming,
'Miss Burney, die to-night!']
If, therefore, then,--when every tie, whether public or mental, was
single; and every wish had one direction; I held political topics to be
without my sphere, or beyond my skill; who shall wonder that
now,--united, alike by choice and by duty, to a member of a foreign
nation, yet adhering, with primaeval enthusiasm, to the country of my
birth, I should leave all discussions of national rights, and modes, or
acts of government, to those whose wishes have no opposing calls; whose
duties are undivided; and whose opinions are unbiased by individual
bosom feelings; which, where strongly impelled by dependant happiness,
insidiously, unconsciously direct our views, colour our ideas, and
entangle our partiality in our interests.
Nevertheless, to avoid disserting upon these topics as matter of
speculation, implies not an observance of silence to the events which
they produce, as matter of act: on the contrary, to attempt to
delineate, in whatever form, any picture of actual human life, without
reference to the French Revolution, would be as little possible, as to
give an idea of the English government, without reference to our own:
for not more unavoidably is the last blended with the history of our
nation, than the first, with every intellectual survey of the present
times.
Anxious, however,--inexpressibly!--to steer clear, alike, of all
animadversions that, to my adoptive country, may seem ungrateful, or, to
the country of my birth unnatural; I have chosen, with respect to what,
in these volumes, has any reference to the French Revolution, a period
which, completely past, can excite no rival sentiments, nor awaken any
party spirit; yet of which the stupendous iniquity and cruelty, though
already historical, have left traces, that, handed down, even but
traditionally, will be sought with curiosity, though reverted to with
horrour, from generation to generation.
Every friend of humanity, of what soil or what persuasion soever he may
be, must rejoice that those days, though still so recent, are over; and
truth and justice call upon me to declare, that, during the ten
eventful years, from 1802 to 1812, that I resided in the capital of
France, I was neither startled by any species of investigation, nor
distressed through any difficulties of conduct. Perhaps
unnoticed,--certainly unannoyed,--I passed my time either by my own
small--but precious fire-side; or in select society; perfectly a
stranger to all personal disturbance; save what sprang from the painful
separation that absented me from you my dearest Father, from my loved
family, and native friends and country. To hear this fact thus publicly
attested, you, dear Sir, will rejoice; and few, I trust, amongst its
readers, will disdain to feel some little sympathy in your satisfaction.
With regard to the very serious subject treated upon, from time to time,
in this work, some,--perhaps many,--may ask, Is a Novel the vehicle for
such considerations? such discussions?
Permit me to answer; whatever, in illustrating the characters, manners,
or opinions of the day, exhibits what is noxious or reprehensible,
should scrupulously be accompanied by what is salubrious, or chastening.
Not that poison ought to be infused merely to display the virtues of an
antidote; but that, where errour and mischief bask in the broad light of
day, truth ought not to be suffered to shrink timidly into the shade.
Divest, for a moment, the title of Novel from its stationary standard of
insignificance, and say! What is the species of writing that offers
fairer opportunities for conveying useful precepts? It is, or it ought
to be, a picture of supposed, but natural and probable human existence.
It holds, therefore, in its hands our best affections; it exercises our
imaginations; it points out the path of honour; and gives to juvenile
credulity knowledge of the world, without ruin, or repentance; and the
lessons of experience, without its tears.
And is not a Novel, permit me, also, to ask, in common with every other
literary work, entitled to receive its stamp as useful, mischievous, or
nugatory, from its execution? not necessarily, and in its changeless
state, to be branded as a mere vehicle for frivolous, or seductive
amusement? If many may turn aside from all but mere entertainment
presented under this form, many, also, may, unconsciously, be allured by
it into reading the severest truths, who would not even open any work of
a graver denomination.
What is it that gives the universally acknowledged superiority to the
epic poem? Its historic truth? No; the three poems, which, during so
many centuries, and till Milton arose, stood unrivalled in celebrity,
are, with respect to fact, of constantly disputed, or, rather,
disproved authenticity. Nor is it even the sweet witchery of sound; the
ode, the lyric, the elegiac, and other species of poetry, have risen to
equal metrical beauty:--
'Tis the grandeur, yet singleness of the plan; the never broken, yet
never obvious adherence to its execution; the delineation and support of
character; the invention of incident; the contrast of situation; the
grace of diction, and the beauty of imagery; joined to a judicious
choice of combinations, and a living interest in every partial detail,
that give to that sovereign species of the works of fiction, its
glorious pre-eminence.
Will my dear Father smile at this seeming approximation of the
compositions which stand foremost, with those which are sunk lowest in
literary estimation? No; he will feel that it is not the futile
presumption of a comparison that would be preposterous; but a fond
desire to separate,--with a high hand!--falsehood, that would deceive to
evil, from fiction, that would attract another way;--and to rescue from
ill opinion the sort of production, call it by what name we may, that
his daughter ventures to lay at his feet, through the alluring, but
awful tribunal of the public.
He will recollect, also, how often their so mutually honoured Dr Johnson
has said to her, 'Always aim at the eagle!--even though you expect but
to reach a sparrow!'
The power of prejudice annexed to nomenclature is universal: the same
being who, unnamed, passes unnoticed, if preceded by the title of a
hero, or a potentate, catches every eye, and is pursued with clamorous
praise, or,--its common reverberator!--abuse: but in nothing is the
force of denomination more striking than in the term Novel; a species of
writing which, though never mentioned, even by its supporter, but with a
look that fears contempt, is not more rigidly excommunicated, from its
appellation, in theory, than sought and fostered, from its attractions,
in practice.
So early was I impressed myself with ideas that fastened degradation to
this class of composition, that at the age of adolescence, I struggled
against the propensity which, even in childhood, even from the moment I
could hold a pen, had impelled me into its toils; and on my fifteenth
birth-day, I made so resolute a conquest over an inclination at which I
blushed, and that I had always kept secret, that I committed to the
flames whatever, up to that moment, I had committed to paper. And so
enormous was the pile, that I thought it prudent to consume it in the
garden.
You, dear Sir, knew nothing of its extinction, for you had never known
of its existence. Our darling Susanna, to whom alone I had ever ventured
to read its contents, alone witnessed the conflagration; and--well I
remember!--and wept, with tender partiality, over the imaginary ashes of
Caroline Evelyn, the mother of Evelina.
The passion, however, though resisted, was not annihilated: my bureau
was cleared; but my head was not emptied; and, in defiance of every
self-effort, Evelina struggled herself into life.
If then, even in the season of youth, I felt ashamed of appearing to be
a votary to a species of writing that by you, Sir, liberal as I knew you
to be, I thought condemned; since your large library, of which I was
then the principal librarian, contained only one work of that class;[6]
how much deeper must now be my blush,--now, when that spring of
existence has so long taken its flight,--transferring, I must hope, its
genial vigour upon your grandson![7]--if the work which I here present
to you, may not shew, in the observations which it contains upon various
characters, ways, or excentricities of human life, that an exterior the
most frivolous may enwrap illustrations of conduct, that the most rigid
preceptor need not deem dangerous to entrust to his pupils; for, if what
is inculcated is right, it will not, I trust, be cast aside, merely
because so conveyed as not to be received as a task. On the contrary, to
make pleasant the path of propriety, is snatching from evil its most
alluring mode of ascendency. And your fortunate daughter, though past
the period of chusing to write, or desiring to read, a merely romantic
love-tale, or a story of improbable wonders, may still hope to
retain,--if she has ever possessed it,--the power of interesting the
affections, while still awake to them herself, through the many much
loved agents of sensibility, that still hold in their pristine energy
her conjugal, maternal, fraternal, friendly, and,--dearest Sir!--her
filial feelings.
[Footnote 6: Fielding's _Amelia_.]
[Footnote 7: Alexander Charles Lewis d'Arblay.]
Fiction, when animating the design of recommending right, has always
been permitted and cultivated, not alone by the moral, but by the pious
instructor; not alone to embellish what is prophane, but to promulgate
even what is sacred, from the first aera of tuition, to the present
passing moment. Yet I am aware that all which, incidentally, is treated
of in these volumes upon the most momentous of subjects, may HERE, in
this favoured island, be deemed not merely superfluous, but, if
indulgence be not shewn to its intention, impertinent; and HERE, had I
always remained, the most solemn chapter of the work,--I will not
anticipate its number,--might never have been traced; for, since my
return to this country, I have been forcibly struck in remarking, that
all sacred themes, far from being either neglected, or derided, are
become almost common topics of common discourse; and rather, perhaps,
from varying sects, and diversified opinions, too familiarly discussed,
than defyingly set aside.
But what I observed in my long residence abroad, presented another
picture; and its colours, not, indeed, with cementing harmony, but to
produce a striking contrast, have forcibly, though not, I hope,
glaringly tinted my pen.
Nevertheless, truth, and my own satisfaction, call upon me to mention,
that, in the circle to which, in Paris, I had the honour, habitually, to
belong, piety, generally, in practice as well as in theory, held its
just pre-eminence; though almost every other society, however cultured,
brilliant, and unaffectedly good, of which occasionally I heard, or in
which, incidentally, I mixed, commonly considered belief and bigotry as
synonymous terms.
They, however, amongst my adopted friends, for whose esteem I am most
solicitous, will suffer my design to plead, I trust, in my favour; even
where my essays, whether for their projection, or their execution, may
most sarcastically be criticised.
Strange, indeed, must be my ingratitude, could I voluntarily give
offence where, during ten unbroken years, I should, personally, have
known nothing but felicity, had I quitted a country, or friends, I,
could have forgotten. For me, however, as for all mankind, concomitant
circumstances took their usual charge of impeding any exception to the
general laws of life.
And now, dear Sir, in leaving you to the perusal of these volumes, how
many apprehensions would be hushed, might I hope that they would revive
in your feelings the partial pleasure with which you cherished their
predecessors!
Will the public be offended, if here, as in private, I conclude my
letter with a prayer for my dearest Father's benediction and
preservation? No! the public voice, and the voice of his family is one,
in reverencing his virtues, admiring his attainments, and ardently
desiring that health, peace of mind, and fulness of merited honours, may
crown his length of days, and prolong them to the utmost verge of
enjoyable mortality!
F. B. d'ARBLAY.
_March 14. 1814_
VOLUME I
CHAPTER I
During the dire reign of the terrific Robespierre, and in the dead of
night, braving the cold, the darkness and the damps of December, some
English passengers, in a small vessel, were preparing to glide silently
from the coast of France, when a voice of keen distress resounded from
the shore, imploring, in the French language, pity and admission.
The pilot quickened his arrangements for sailing; the passengers sought
deeper concealment; but no answer was returned.
'O hear me!' cried the same voice, 'for the love of Heaven, hear me!'
The pilot gruffly swore, and, repressing a young man who was rising,
peremptorily ordered every one to keep still, at the hazard of discovery
and destruction.
'Oh listen to my prayers!' was called out by the same voice, with
increased and even frightful energy; 'Oh leave me not to be massacred!'
'Who's to pay for your safety?' muttered the pilot.
'I will!' cried the person whom he had already rebuffed, 'I pledge
myself for the cost and the consequence!'
'Be lured by no tricks;' said an elderly man, in English; 'put off
immediately, pilot.'
The pilot was very ready to obey.
The supplications from the land were now sharpened into cries of agony,
and the young man, catching the pilot by the arm, said eagerly, ''Tis
the voice of a woman! where can be the danger? Take her in, pilot, at my
demand, and my charge!'
'Take her in at your peril, pilot!' rejoined the elderly man.
Rage had elevated his voice; the petitioner heard it, and
called--screamed, rather, for mercy.
'Nay, since she is but a woman, and in distress, save her, pilot, in
God's name!' said an old sea officer. 'A woman, a child, and a fallen
enemy, are three persons that every true Briton should scorn to misuse.'
The sea officer was looked upon as first in command; the young man,
therefore, no longer opposed, separated himself from a young lady with
whom he had been conversing, and, descending from the boat, gave his
hand to the suppliant.
There was just light enough to shew him a female in the most ordinary
attire, who was taking a whispering leave of a male companion, yet more
meanly equipped.
With trembling eagerness, she sprang into the vessel, and sunk rather
than sat upon a place that was next to the pilot, ejaculating fervent
thanks, first to Heaven, and then to her assistant.
The pilot now, in deep hoarse accents, strictly enjoined that no one
should speak or move till they were safely out at sea.
All obeyed; and, with mingled hope and dread, insensible to the weather,
and dauntless to the hazards of the sea, watchful though mute, and
joyful though filled with anxiety, they set sail.
In about half an hour, the grumbling of the pilot, who was despotic
master of the boat, was changed into loud and vociferous oaths.
Alarmed, the passengers concluded that they were chaced. They looked
around,--but to no purpose; the darkness impeded examination.
They were happily, however, mistaken; the lungs of the pilot had merely
recovered their usual play, and his humour its customary vent, from a
belief that all pursuit would now be vain.
This proved the signal to general liberty of speech; and the young lady
already mentioned, addressing herself, in a low voice, to the gentleman
who had aided the Incognita, said, 'I wonder what sort of a dulcinea you
have brought amongst us! though, I really believe, you are such a
complete knight-errant, that you would just as willingly find her a
tawny Hottentot as a fair Circassian. She affords us, however, the
vivifying food of conjecture,--the only nourishment of which I never
sicken!--I am glad, therefore, that 'tis dark, for discovery is almost
always disappointment.'
'She seems to be at prayers.'
'At prayers? She's a nun, then, depend upon it. Make her tell us the
history of her convent.'
'Why what's all this, woman?' said the pilot, in French, 'are you afraid
of being drowned?'
'No!' answered she, in the same language, 'I fear nothing now--it is
therefore I am thankful!'
Retreating, then, from her rude neighbour, she gently approached an
elderly lady, who was on her other side, but who, shrinking from her,
called out, 'Mr Harleigh, I shall be obliged to you if you will change
places with me.'
'Willingly;' he answered; but the young lady with whom he had been
conversing, holding his coat, exclaimed, 'Now you want to have all the
stories of those monks and abbesses to yourself! I won't let you stir, I
am resolved!'
The stranger begged that she might not incommode any one; and drew back.
'You may sit still now, Mr Harleigh,' said the elderly lady, shaking
herself; 'I do very well again.'
Harleigh bit his lip, and, in a low voice, said to his companion, 'It is
strange that the facility of giving pain should not lessen its pleasure!
How far better tempered should we all be to others, if we anticipated
the mischief that ill humour does to ourselves!'
'Now are you such a very disciple of Cervantes,' she replied, 'that I
have no doubt but your tattered dulcinea has secured your protection for
the whole voyage, merely because old aunt Maple has been a little ill
bred to her.'
'I don't know but you are right, for nothing so uncontrollably excites
resistance, as grossness to the unoffending.'
He then, in French, enquired of the new passenger, whether she would not
have some thicker covering, to shelter her from the chill of the night;
offering her, at the same time, a large wrapping coat.
She thanked him, but declared that she was perfectly warm.
'Are you so, faith?' cried the elderly man already mentioned, 'I wish,
then, you would give me your receipt, Mistress; for I verily think that
my blood will take a month's thawing, before it will run again in my
veins.'
She made no answer, and, in a tone somewhat piqued, he added, 'I believe
in my conscience those outlandish gentry have no more feeling without
than they have within!'
Encreasing coldness and darkness repressed all further spirit of
conversation, till the pilot proclaimed that they were halfway over the
straits.
A general exclamation of joy now broke forth from all, while the new
comer, suddenly casting something into the sea, ejaculated, in French,
'Sink, and be as nothing!' And then, clasping her hands, added, 'Heaven
be praised, 'tis gone for ever!'
The pilot scolded and swore; every one was surprised and curious; and
the elderly man plumply demanded, 'Pray what have you thrown overboard,
Mistress?'
Finding himself again unanswered, he rather angrily raised his voice,
saying, 'What, I suppose you don't understand English now? Though you
were pretty quick at it when we were leaving you in the lurch! Faith,
that's convenient enough!'
'For all I have been silent so long,' cried the old sea officer, 'it has
not been for want of something to say; and I ask the favour that you
won't any of you take it ill, if I make free to mention what has been
passing, all this time, in my mind; though it may rather have the air of
a hint than a compliment; but as I owe to being as much in fault as
yourselves, I hope you won't be affronted at a little plain dealing.'
'You are mighty good to us, indeed, Sir!' cried Mrs Maple, 'but pray
what fault have you to charge Me with, amongst the rest?'
'I speak of us in a body, Madam, and, I hope, with proper shame! To
think that we should all get out of that loathsome captivity, with so
little reverence, that not one amongst us should have fallen upon his
knees, to give thanks, except just this poor outlandish gentlewoman;
whose good example I recommend it to us all now to follow.'
'What, and so overturn the boat,' said the elderly man, 'that we may all
be drowned for joy, because we have escaped being beheaded?'
'I submit to your better judgment, Mr Riley,' replied the officer, 'with
regard to the attitude; and the more readily, because I don't think that
the posture is the chief thing, half the people that kneel, even at
church, as I have taken frequent note, being oftener in a doze than in a
fit of devotion. But the fear of shaking the boat would be but a poor
reason to fear shaking our gratitude, which seems to me to want it
abundantly. So I, for one, give thanks to the Author of all things!'
'You are a fine fellow, noble Admiral!' cried Mr Riley, 'as fine a
fellow as ever I knew! and I honour you, faith! for I don't believe
there is a thing in the world that requires so much courage as to risk
derision, even from fools.'
A young man, wrapped up in flannels, who had been undisguisedly enjoying
a little sneering laugh, now became suddenly grave, and pretended not to
heed what was passing.
Mrs Maple protested that she could not bear the parade of saying her
prayers in public.
Another elderly lady, who had hitherto seemed too sick to speak,
declared that she could not think of giving thanks, till she were sure
of being out of danger.
And the young lady, laughing immoderately, vowed that she had never seen
such a congress of quizzes in her life; adding, 'We want nothing, now,
but a white foaming billow, or a shrill whistle from Boreas, to bring us
all to confession, and surprise out our histories.'
'Apropos to quizzes,' said Mr Riley, addressing the hitherto silent
young man, 'how comes it, Mr Ireton, that we have not had one word from
you all this time?'
'What do you mean by apropos, Sir?' demanded the young man, somewhat
piqued.
'Faith, I don't very well know. I am no very good French dictionary. But
I always say apropos, when I am at a loss how to introduce any thing.
Let us hear, however, where you have been passing your thoughts all this
time. Are you afraid the sea should be impregnated with informers,
instead of salt, and so won't venture to give breath to an idea, lest it
should be floated back to Signor Robespierre, and hodge-podged into a
conspiracy?'
'Ay, your thoughts, your thoughts! give us your thoughts, Ireton!' cried
the young lady, 'I am tired to death of my own.'
'Why, I have been reflecting, for this last hour or two, what a singular
circumstance it is, that in all the domains that I have scampered over
upon the continent, I have not met with one young person who could hit
my fancy as a companion for life.'
'And I, Sir, think,' said the sea officer, turning to him with some
severity, 'that a man who could go out of old England to chuse himself a
wife, never deserves to set foot on it again! If I knew any worse
punishment, I should name it.'
This silenced Mr Ireton; and not another word was uttered, till the
opening of day displayed the British shore.
The sea officer then gave a hearty huzza, which was echoed by Harleigh;
while Riley, as the light gleamed upon the old and tattered garments of
the stranger, burst into a loud laugh, exclaiming, 'Faith, I should like
to know what such a demoiselle as this should come away from her own
country for? What could you be afraid of, hay! demoiselle?'--
She turned her head from him in silence. Harleigh enquired, in French,
whether she had escaped the general contagion, from which almost all in
the boat had suffered, of sickness.
She cheerfully replied, Yes! She had escaped every evil!
'The demoiselle is soon contented,' said Riley; 'but I cannot for my
life make out who she is, nor what she wants. Why won't you tell us,
demoiselle? I should like to know your history.'
'Much obliged for the new fellow traveller you have given us, Mr
Harleigh!' said Mrs Maple, contemptuously examining her; 'I have really
some curiosity myself, to be informed what could put into such a body's
mind as that, to want to come over to England.'
'The desire of learning the language, I hope!' cried Harleigh, 'for I
should be sorry that she knew it already!'
'I wish, at least, she would tell us,' said the young lady, 'how she
happened to find out our vessel just at the moment we were sailing.'
'And I should be glad to discover,' cried Riley, 'why she understands
English on and off at her pleasure, now so ready, and now answering one
never a word.'
The old sea officer, touching his hat as he addressed her, said, 'For my
part, Madam, I hope the compliment you make our country in coming to it,
is that of preferring good people to bad; in which case every Englishman
should honour and welcome you.'
'And I hope,' cried Harleigh, while the stranger seemed hesitating how
to answer, 'that this patriotic benevolence is comprehended; if not, I
will attempt a translation.'
'I speak French so indifferently, which, however, I don't much mind,'
cried the Admiral, 'that I am afraid the gentlewoman would hardly
understand me, or else I would translate for myself.'
The stranger now, with a strong expression of gratitude, replied in
English, but with a foreign accent, 'It is only how to thank you I am at
a loss, Sir; I understand you perfectly.'
'So I could have sworn!' cried Riley, with a laugh, 'I could have sworn
that this would be the turn for understanding English again! And you can
speak it, too, can you, Mistress?'
'And pray, good woman,' demanded Mrs Maple, staring at her, 'how came
you to learn English? Have you lived in any English family? If you have,
I should be glad to know their names.'
'Ay, their names! their names!' was echoed from Mrs Maple by her niece.
The stranger looked down, and stammered, but said nothing that could
distinctly be heard.
Riley, laughing again, though provoked, exclaimed, 'There! now you ask
her a question, she won't comprehend a word more! I was sure how 'twould
be! They are clever beings, those French, they are, faith! always
playing fools' tricks, like so many monkies, yet always lighting right
upon their feet, like so many cats!'
'You must resign your demoiselle, as Mr Riley calls her, for a heroine;'
whispered the young lady to Mr Harleigh. 'Her dress is not merely
shabby; 'tis vulgar. I have lost all hope of a pretty nun. She can be
nothing above a house-maid.'
'She is interesting by her solitary situation,' he answered, 'be she
what she may by her rank: and her voice, I think, is singularly
pleasing.'
'Oh, you must fall in love with her, I suppose, as a thing of course.
If, however, she has one atom that is native in her, how will she be
choaked by our foggy atmosphere!'
'And has our atmosphere, Elinor, no purifying particles, that, in
defiance of its occasional mists, render it salubrious?'
'Oh, I don't mean alone the foggy air that she must inhale; but the
foggy souls whom she must see and hear. If she have no political bias,
that sets natural feelings aside, she'll go off in a lethargy, from
_ennui_, the very first week. For myself I confess, from my happiness in
going forth into the world at this sublime juncture, of turning men into
infants, in order to teach them better how to grow up, I feel as if I
had never awaked into life, till I had opened my eyes on that side of
the channel.'
'And can you, Elinor, with a mind so powerful, however--pardon
me!--wild, have witnessed....'
'Oh, I know what you mean!--but those excesses are only the first froth
of the cauldron. When once 'tis skimmed, you will find the composition
clear, sparkling, delicious!'
'Has, then, the large draught which, in a two years' residence amidst
that combustion, you have, perforce, quaffed, of revolutionary beverage,
left you, in defiance of its noxious qualities, still thus....' He
hesitated.
'Inebriated, you would say, Albert,' cried she, laughing, 'if you
blushed not for me at the idea. But, in this one point, your liberality,
though matchless in every other, is terribly narrowed by adhesion to
old tenets. You enjoy not therefore, as you ought, this glorious epoch,
that lifts our minds from slavery and from nothingness, into play and
vigour; and leaves us no longer, as heretofore, merely making believe
that we are thinking beings.'
'Unbridled liberty, Elinor, cannot rush upon a state, without letting it
loose to barbarism. Nothing, without danger, is suddenly unshackled:
safety demands control from the baby to the despot.'
'The opening essays here,' she replied, 'have certainly been calamitous:
but, when all minor articles are progressive, in rising to perfection,
must the world in a mass alone stand still, because its amelioration
would be costly? Can any thing be so absurd, so preposterous, as to seek
to improve mankind individually, yet bid it stand still collectively?
What is education, but reversing propensities; making the idle
industrious, the rude civil, and the ignorant learned? And do you not,
for every student thus turned out of his likings, his vagaries, or his
vices, to be new modelled, call this alteration improvement? Why, then,
must you brand all similar efforts for new organizing states, nations,
and bodies of society, by that word of unmeaning alarm, innovation?'
'To reverse, Elinor, is not to new model, but to destroy. This
education, with which you illustrate your maxims, does it begin with the
birth? Does it not, on the contrary, work its way by the gentlest
gradations, one part almost imperceptibly preparing for another,
throughout all the stages of childhood to adolescence, and of
adolescence to manhood? If you give Homer before the Primer, do you
think that you shall make a man of learning? If you shew the planetary
system to the child who has not yet trundled his hoop, do you believe
that you will form a mathematician? And if you put a rapier into his
hands before he has been exercised with foils,--what is your guarantee
for the safety of his professor?'
Just then the stranger, having taken off her gloves, to arrange an old
shawl, in which she was wrapt, exhibited hands and arms of so dark a
colour, that they might rather be styled black than brown.
Elinor exultingly drew upon them the eyes of Harleigh, and both taking,
at the same instant, a closer view of the little that was visible of the
muffled up face, perceived it to be of an equally dusky hue.
The look of triumph was now repeated.
'Pray, Mistress,' exclaimed Mr Riley, scoffingly fixing his eyes upon
her arms, 'what part of the world might you come from? The settlements
in the West Indies? or somewhere off the coast of Africa?'
She drew on her gloves, without seeming to hear him.
'There!' said he, 'now the demoiselle don't understand English again!
Faith, I begin to be entertained with her. I did not like it at first.'
'What say you to your dulcinea now, Harleigh?' whispered Elinor; 'you
will not, at least, yelep her the Fair Maid of the Coast.'
'She has very fine eyes, however!' answered he, laughing.
The wind just then blowing back the prominent borders of a French
night-cap, which had almost concealed all her features, displayed a large
black patch, that covered half her left cheek, and a broad black ribbon,
which bound a bandage of cloth over the right side of her forehead.
Before Elinor could utter her rallying congratulations to Harleigh, upon
this sight, she was stopt by a loud shout from Mr Riley; 'Why I am
afraid the demoiselle has been in the wars!' cried he. 'Why, Mistress,
have you been trying your skill at fisty cuffs for the good of your
nation? or only playing with kittens for your private diversion?'
'Now, then, Harleigh,' said Elinor, 'what says your quixotism now? Are
you to become enamoured with those plaisters and patches, too?'
'Why she seems a little mangled, I confess; but it may be only by
scrambling from some prison.'
'Really, Mr Harleigh,' said Mrs Maple, scarcely troubling herself to
lower her voice as, incessantly, she continued surveying the stranger,
'I don't think that we are much indebted to you for bringing us such
company as this into our boat! We did not pay such a price to have it
made a mere common hoy. And without the least enquiry into her
character, too! without considering what one must think of a person who
could look out for a place, in a chance vessel, at midnight!'
'Let us hope,' said Harleigh, perceiving, by the down-cast eyes of the
stranger, that she understood what passed, 'that we shall not make her
repent her choice of an asylum.'
'Ah! there is no fear!' cried she, with quickness.
'Your prepossession, then, is, happily, in our favour?'
'Not my prepossession, but my gratitude!'
'This is true practical philosophy, to let the sum total of good
outbalance the detail, which little minds would dwell upon, of evil.'
'Of evil! I think myself at this moment the most fortunate of human
beings!'
This was uttered with a sort of transport that she seemed unable to
control, and accompanied with a bright smile, that displayed a row of
beautifully white and polished teeth.
Riley now, again heartily laughing, exclaimed, 'This demoiselle amuses
me mightily! she does, faith! with hardly a rag to cover her this cold
winter's night; and on the point of going to the bottom every moment, in
this crazy little vessel; with never a friend to own her body if she's
drowned, nor an acquaintance to say a word to before she sinks; not a
countryman within leagues, except our surly pilot, who grudges her even
life-room, because he's afraid he shan't be the better for her: going to
a nation where she won't know a dog from a cat, and will be buffetted
from pillar to post, if she don't pay for more than she wants; with all
this, she is the most fortunate of human beings! Faith, the demoiselle
is soon pleased! She is, faith! But why won't you give me your receipt,
Mistress, for finding all things so agreeable?'
'You would be sorry, Sir, to take it!'
'I fear, then,' said Harleigh, 'it is only past suffering that bestows
this character of bliss upon simple safety?'
'Pray, Mr Riley,' cried Mrs Maple, 'please to explain what you mean, by
talking so freely of our all going to the bottom? I should be glad to
know what right you had to make me come on board the vessel, if you
think it so crazy?'
She then ordered the pilot to use all possible expedition for putting
her on shore, at the very first jut of land; adding, 'you may take the
rest of the company round, wherever you chuse, but as to me, I desire to
be landed directly.'
She could not, however, prevail; but, in the panic which had seized her,
she grew as incessant in reproach as in alarm, bitterly bewailing the
moment that she had ever trusted herself to such an element, such a
vessel, and such guides.
'See,' said Harleigh, in a low voice to the stranger, 'how little your
philosophy has spread; and how soon every evil, however great, is
forgotten when over, to aggravate the smallest discomfort that still
remains! What recompence, or what exertion would any one of us have
thought too great, for obtaining a place in this boat only a few hours
ago! Yet you, alone, seem to have discovered, that the true art of
supporting present inconvenience is to compare it with past
calamity,--not with our disappointed wishes.'
'Calamity!' repeated she with vivacity, 'ah! if once I reach that
shore,--that blessed shore! shall I have a sorrow left?'
'The belief that you will not,' said he, smiling, 'will almost suffice
for your security, since, certainly, half our afflictions are those
which we suffer through anticipation.'
There was time for nothing more; the near approach to land seeming to
fill every bosom, for the instant, with sensations equally
enthusiastic.