LETTER FROM CAROLINE TO ERASMUS.
“MY DEAR ERASMUS,
“Your friend and patient, Mr. Gresham, was so eager to take your advice,
and so quick in his movements, that your letter, announcing his intended
visit, reached us but a few days before his arrival at the Hills.
And--mark how great and little events, which seem to have no possible
link of connexion, depend upon one another--Alfred or Mr. Gresham must
have sat up all night, or slept on the floor, had not Alfred, that
morning, received a letter from Mrs. Hungerford, summoning him to town
to draw her son’s marriage settlements. It is thought that Colonel
Hungerford, whose leave of absence from his regiment has, by special
favour, been repeatedly protracted, will be very soon sent abroad. Lady
Elizabeth Pembroke has, therefore, consented to his urgent desire for
their immediate union; and Alfred will, I am sure, give them as little
reason as possible to complain of the law’s delay. Lady Elizabeth, who
has all that decision of mind and true courage which you know is so
completely compatible with the most perfect gentleness of disposition
and softness, even timidity of manners, resolves to leave all her
relations and friends, and to go abroad. She says she knew what
sacrifices she must make in marrying a soldier, and she is prepared to
make them without hesitation or repining.
“And now to return to your friend, Mr. Gresham. The more we see of him
the more we like him. Perhaps he bribed our judgment a little at
first by the kind, affectionate manner in which he spoke of you; but,
independently of this prepossession, we should, I hope, soon have
discovered his merit. He is a good English merchant. Not a ‘_M. Friport,
qui sçait donner, mais qui ne sçait pas vivre_,’ but a well-bred,
well-informed gentleman, upright, liberal, and benevolent, without
singularity or oddities of any sort. His quiet, plain manners, free
from ostentation, express so well the kind feelings of his mind, that I
prefer them infinitely to what are called polished manners. Last night
Rosamond and I were amusing ourselves by contrasting him with our
recollection of the polished M. de Tourville--but as you were not at
home at the memorable time of the shipwreck, and of M. de Tourville’s
visit, you cannot feel the force of our parallel between these two
beings, the most dissimilar I have ever seen--an English merchant and a
diplomatic Frenchman. You will ask, what put it into our heads to make
the comparison? A slight circumstance which happened yesterday evening.
Rosamond was showing Mr. Gresham some of my drawings, and among them
the copy of that beautiful miniature in M. de Tourville’s snuff-box.
My father told him the history of Euphrosyne, of her German prince, and
Count Albert. Mr. Gresham’s way of listening struck us, by its contrast
to the manner of M. de Tourville--and this led us on to draw a parallel
between their characters. Mr. Gresham, instead of shrugging his
shoulders, and smiling disdainfully, like the Frenchman, at the
Quixotism of the young nobleman, who lost his favour at court by
opposing the passion of his prince, was touched with Count Albert’s
disinterested character; and quite forgetting, as Rosamond observed, to
compliment me upon my picture of Euphrosyne, he laid down the miniature
with a negligence of which M. de Tourville never would have been guilty,
and went on eagerly to tell some excellent traits of the count. For
instance, when he was a very young man in the Prussian or Austrian
service, I forget which, in the heat of an engagement he had his sabre
lifted over the head of one of the enemy’s officers, when, looking down,
he saw that the officer’s right arm was broken. The count immediately
stopped, took hold of the disabled officer’s bridle, and led him off to
a place of safety. This and many other anecdotes Mr. Gresham heard,
when he spent some time on the continent a few years ago, whilst he
was transacting some commercial business. He had full opportunities of
learning the opinions of different parties; and he says, that it was
the prayer of all the good and wise in Germany, whenever the hereditary
prince should succeed to the throne, that Count Albert Altenberg might
be his minister.
“By-the-bye, Mr. Gresham, though he is rather an elderly man, and looks
remarkably cool and composed, shows all the warmth of youth whenever any
of his feelings are touched.
“I wish you could see how much my father is pleased with your friend. He
has frequently repeated that Mr. Gresham, long as he has been trained in
the habits of mercantile life, is quite free from the spirit of monopoly
in small or great affairs. My father rejoices that his son has made such
a friend. Rosamond charged me to leave her room to write to you at the
end of my letter; but she is listening so intently to something Mr.
Gresham is telling her, that I do not believe she will write one line. I
hear a few words, which so much excite my curiosity, that I must go and
listen too. Adieu.
“Affectionately yours,
“CAROLINE PERCY.”
Another letter from Caroline to Erasmus, dated some weeks after the
preceding.
“Tuesday, 14th.
“Yes, my dear Erasmus, your friend, Mr. Gresham, is still with us; and
he declares that he has not, for many years, been so happy as since he
came here. He is now sufficiently intimate in this family to speak of
himself, and of his own feelings and plans. You, who know what a horror
he has of egotism, will consider this as a strong proof of his liking
us, and of his confidence in our regard. He has related many of the
instances, which, I suppose, he told you, of the ingratitude and
disappointments he has met with from persons whom he attempted to
serve. He has kept us all, for hours, Rosamond especially, in a state
of alternate pity and indignation. For all that has happened, he blames
himself more than he blames any one else; and with a mildness and
candour which make us at once admire and love him, he adverts to the
causes of his own disappointment.
“My father has spoken to him as freely as you could desire. He has
urged, that as far as the public good is concerned, free competition is
more advantageous to the arts and to artists than any private patronage
can be.
“If the productions have real merit, they will make their own way; if
they have not merit, they ought not to make their way. And the same
argument he has applied to literary merit, and to the merit, generally
speaking, of persons as well as of things. He has also plainly told
Mr. Gresham that he considers the trade of a patron as one of the most
thankless, as it is the least useful, of all trades.
“All this has made such an impression upon your candid friend, that he
has declared it to be his determination to have no more protégées, and
to let the competition of talents work fairly without the interference,
or, as he expressed it, any of the _bounties_ and _drawbacks_ of
patronage. ‘But then,’ he added, with a sigh, ‘I am a solitary being:
am I to pass the remainder of my days without objects of interest or
affection? While Constance Panton was a child, she was an object to
me; but now she must live with her parents, or she will marry: at
all events, she is rich--and is my wealth to be only for my selfish
gratification? How happy you are, Mr. Percy, who have such an amiable
wife, such a large family, and so many charming domestic objects of
affection!’
“Mr. Gresham then walked away with my father to the end of the room, and
continued his conversation in a low voice, to which I did not think I
ought to listen, so I came up stairs to write to you. I think you told
me that Mr. Gresham had suffered some disappointment early in life,
which prevented his marrying; but if I am not mistaken, his mind now
turns again to the hopes of domestic happiness. If I am not mistaken,
Rosamond has made an impression on his heart. I have been as
conveniently and meritoriously deaf, blind, and stupid, for some time
past as possible; but though I shut my eyes, and stop my ears, yet my
imagination will act, and I can only say to myself, as we used to do
when we were children--I will not think of it till it comes, that I may
have the pleasure of the surprise....
“Affectionately yours,
“CAROLINE PERCY.”
Caroline was right--Rosamond had made a great impression upon Mr.
Gresham’s heart. His recollection of the difference between his age
and Rosamond’s, and his consciousness of the want of the gaiety and
attractions of youth, rendered him extremely diffident, and for some
time suppressed his passion, at least delayed the declaration of his
attachment. But Rosamond seemed evidently to like his company and
conversation, and she showed that degree of esteem and interest for
him which, he flattered himself, might be improved into a more tender
affection. He ventured to make his proposal--he applied first to Mrs.
Percy, and entreated that she would make known his sentiments to her
daughter.
When Mrs. Percy spoke to Rosamond, she was surprised at the very decided
refusal which Rosamond immediately gave. Both Mrs. Percy and Caroline
were inclined to think that Rosamond had not only a high opinion of Mr.
Gresham, but that she had felt a preference for him which she had never
before shown for any other person; and they thought that, perhaps, some
refinement of delicacy about accepting his large fortune, or some fear
that his want of high birth, and what are called good connexions, would
be objected to by her father and mother, might be the cause of
this refusal. Mrs. Percy felt extremely anxious to explain her own
sentiments, and fully to understand Rosamond’s feelings. In this anxiety
Caroline joined most earnestly; all the kindness, sympathy, and ardent
affection, which Rosamond had ever shown for her, when the interests of
her heart were in question, were strong in Caroline’s recollection, and
these were now fully returned. Caroline thought Mr. Gresham was too old
for her sister; but she considered that this objection, and all others,
should yield to Rosamond’s own opinion and taste. She agreed with her
mother in imagining that Rosamond was not quite indifferent to his merit
and to his attachment.
Mrs. Percy began by assuring Rosamond that she should be left entirely
at liberty to decide according to her own judgment and feelings. “You
have seen, my dear, how your father and I have acted towards your
sister; and you may be sure that we shall show you equal justice. Though
parents are accused of always rating ‘a good estate above a faithful
lover,’ yet you will recollect that Mr. Barclay’s good estate did not
induce us to press his suit with Caroline. Mr. Gresham has a large
fortune; and, to speak in Lady Jane Granville’s style, it must be
acknowledged, my dear Rosamond, that this would be a most advantageous
match; but for this very reason we are particularly desirous that you
should determine for yourself: at the same time, let me tell you, that I
am a little surprised by the promptness of your decision. Let me be sure
that this negative is serious--let me be sure that I rightly understand
you, my love: now, when only your own Caroline is present, tell me what
are your objections to Mr. Gresham?”
Thanks for her mother’s kindness; thanks repeated, with tears in her
eyes, were, for a considerable time, all the answer that could be
obtained from Rosamond. At length she said, “Without having any
particular objection to a person, surely, if I cannot love him, that is
sufficient reason for my not wishing to marry him.”
Rosamond spoke these words in so feeble a tone, and with so much
hesitation, colouring at the same time so much, that her mother and
sister were still uncertain how they were to understand her _if_--and
Mrs. Percy replied, “Undoubtedly, my dear, _if_ you cannot love him; but
that is the question. Is it quite certain that you cannot?”
“Oh! quite certain--I believe.”
“This certainty seems to have come very suddenly,” said her mother,
smiling.
“What can you mean, mother?”
“I mean that you did not show any decided dislike to him, till within
these few hours, my dear.”
“Dislike! I don’t feel--I hope I don’t show any dislike--I am sure I
should be very ungrateful. On the contrary, it would be impossible for
any body, who is good for any thing, to _dislike_ Mr. Gresham.”
“Then you can neither like him nor dislike him?--You are in a state of
absolute indifference.”
“That is, except gratitude--gratitude for all his kindness to Erasmus,
and for his partiality to me--gratitude I certainly feel.”
“And esteem?”
“Yes; to be sure, esteem.”
“And I think,” continued her mother, “that before he committed this
crime of proposing for you, Rosamond, you used to show some of the
indignation of a good friend against those ungrateful people who used
him so ill.
“Indignation! Yes,” interrupted Rosamond, “who could avoid feeling
indignation?”
“And pity?--I think I have heard you express pity for poor Mr. Gresham.”
“Well, ma’am, because he really was very much to be pitied--don’t you
think so?”
“I do--and pity--” said Mrs. Percy, smiling.
“No, indeed, mother, you need not smile--nor you, Caroline; for the sort
of pity which I feel is not--it was merely pity by itself, plain pity:
why should people imagine and insist upon it, that more is felt than
expressed?”
“My dear,” said Mrs. Percy, “I do not insist upon your feeling more
than you really do; but let us see--you are in a state of absolute
indifference, and yet you feel esteem, indignation, pity--how is this,
Rosamond? How can this be?”
“Very easily, ma’am, because by absolute indifference, I mean--Oh! you
know very well what I mean--absolute indifference as to--”
“Love, perhaps, is the word which you cannot pronounce this morning.”
“Now, mother! Now, Caroline! You fancy that I love him. But, supposing
there were any _if_ in the case on my side, tell me only _why_ I should
refuse him?”
“Nay, my dear, that is what we wait to hear from you,” said Mrs. Percy.
“Then I will tell you why,” said Rosamond: “in the first place, Mr.
Gresham has a large fortune, and I have none. And I have the greatest
horror of the idea of marrying for money, or of the possibility of its
being suspected that I might do so.”
“I thought that was the fear!” cried Caroline: “but, my dear Rosamond,
with your generous mind, you know it is quite impossible that you should
marry from interested motives.”
“Absolutely impossible,” said her mother. “And when you are sure of
your own mind, it would be weakness, my dear, to dread the suspicions of
others, even if such were likely to be formed.”
“Oh! do not, my dearest Rosamond,” said Caroline, taking her sister’s
hand, pressing it between hers, and speaking in the most urgent,
almost supplicating tone, “do not, generous as you are, sacrifice your
happiness to mistaken delicacy!”
“But,” said Rosamond, after a moment’s silence, “but you attribute more
than I deserve to my delicacy and generosity: I ought not to let you
think me so much better than I really am. I had some other motives: you
will think them very foolish--very ridiculous--perhaps wrong; but you
are so kind and indulgent to me, mother, that I will tell you all my
follies. I do not like to marry a man who is not a hero--you are very
good not to laugh, Caroline.”
“Indeed, I am too seriously interested at present to laugh,” said
Caroline.
“And you must be sensible,” continued Rosamond, “that I could not, by
any effort of imagination, or by any illusion of love, convert a man of
Mr. Gresham’s time of life and appearance, with his wig, and sober kind
of understanding, into a hero.”
“As to the wig,” replied Mrs. Percy, “you will recollect that both Sir
Charles Grandison and Lovelace wore wigs; but, my dear, granting that a
man cannot, in these days, be a hero in a wig, and granting that a hero
cannot or should not have a sober understanding, will you give me leave
to ask, whether you have positively determined that none but heroes
and heroines should live, or love, or marry, or be happy in this mortal
world?”
“Heaven forbid!” said Rosamond, “particularly as I am not a heroine.”
“And as only a few hundred millions of people in the world are in the
same condition,” added Mrs. Percy.
“And those perhaps, not the least happy of human beings,” said Caroline.
“Be that as it may, I think it cannot be denied that Mr. Gresham has, in
a high degree, one of the qualities which ought to distinguish a hero.”
“What?” said Rosamond, eagerly.
“Generosity,” replied Caroline; “and his large fortune puts it in his
power to show that quality upon a scale more extended than is usually
allowed even to the heroes of romance.”
“True--very true,” said Rosamond, smiling: “generosity might make a
hero of him if he were not a merchant--a merchant!--a Percy ought not to
marry a merchant.”
“Perhaps, my dear,” said Mrs. Percy, “you don’t know that half, at
least, of all the nobility in England have married into the families of
merchants; therefore, in the opinion of half the nobility of England,
there can be nothing discreditable or derogatory in such an alliance.”
“I know, ma’am, such things are; but then you will allow they are
usually done for money, and that makes the matter worse. If the sons of
noble families marry the daughters of mercantile houses, it is merely
to repair the family fortune. But a nobleman has great privileges. If
he marry beneath himself, his low wife is immediately raised by her
wedding-ring to an equality with the high and mighty husband--her name
is forgotten in her title--her vulgar relations are left in convenient
obscurity: the husband never thinks of taking notice of them; and the
wife, of course, may let it alone if she pleases. But a woman, in our
rank of life, must bear her husband’s name, and must also bear all his
relations, be they ever so vulgar. Now, Caroline, honestly--how should
you like this?”
“Honestly, not at all,” said Caroline; “but as we cannot have every
thing we like, or avoid every thing we dislike, in life, we must balance
the good against the evil, when we are to make our choice: and if I
found certain amiable, estimable qualities in a character, I think that
I might esteem, love, and marry him, even though he had a vulgar name
and vulgar connexions. I fairly acknowledge, however, that it must
be something superior in the man’s character which could balance the
objection to vulgarity in my mind.”
“Very well, my dear,” said Rosamond, “do you be a martyr to vulgarity
and philosophy, if you like it--but excuse me, if you please. Since
you, who have so much strength of mind, fairly acknowledge that this
objection is barely to be overcome by your utmost efforts, do me the
favour, do me the justice, not to expect from me a degree of civil
courage quite above my powers.”
Caroline, still believing that Rosamond was only bringing forward
all the objections that might be raised against her wishes, replied,
“Fortunately, my dear Rosamond, you are not called upon for any such
effort of philosophy, for Mr. Gresham is not vulgar, nor is even his
name vulgar, and he cannot have any vulgar relations, because he has no
relations of any description--I heard him say, the other day, that he
was a solitary being.”
“That is a comfort,” said Rosamond, laughing; “that is a great thing in
his favour; but if he has not relations, he has connexions. What do you
think of those horrible Pantons? This instant I think I see old Panton
cooling himself--wig pushed back--waistcoat unbuttoned--and protuberant
Mrs. Panton with her bay wig and artificial flowers. And not the Pantons
only, but you may be sure there are hordes of St. Mary Axe cockneys,
that would pour forth upon _Mrs. Gresham_, with overwhelming force, and
with partnership and old-acquaintance-sake claims upon her public notice
and private intimacy. Come, come, my dear Caroline, don’t speak against
your conscience--you know you never could withstand the hordes of
_vulgarians_.”
“These vulgarians in buckram,” said Caroline, “have grown from two to
two hundred in a trice, in your imagination, Rosamond: but consider that
old Panton, against whom you have such an invincible horror, will, now
that he has quarrelled with Erasmus, probably very soon eat himself out
of the world; and I don’t see that you are bound to Mr. Gresham’s dead
partner’s widow--is this your only objection to Mr. Gresham?”
“My only objection! Oh, no! don’t flatter yourself that in killing old
Panton you have struck off all my objections. Independently of vulgar
relations or connexions, and the disparity of age, my grand objection
remains. But I will address myself to my mother, for you are not a good
person for judging of prejudices--you really don’t understand them, my
dear Caroline; one might as well talk to Socrates. You go to work with
logic, and get one between the horns of a wicked dilemma directly--I
will talk to my mother; she understands prejudices.”
“Your mother thanks you,” said Mrs. Percy, smiling, “for your opinion of
her understanding.”
“My mother is the most indulgent of mothers, and, besides, the most
candid, and therefore I know she will confess to me that she herself
cherishes a little darling prejudice in favour of birth and family,
a _leetle_ prejudice--well covered by good-nature and politeness--but
still a secret, invincible antipathy to low-born people.”
“To low-bred people, I grant.”
“Oh, mother! you are _upon your candour_--my dear mother, not only
low-bred but low-born: confess you have a--what shall I call it?--an
_indisposition_ towards low-born people.”
“Since you put me upon my candour,” said Mrs. Percy, “I am afraid I must
confess that I am conscious of a little of the aristocratic weakness you
impute to me.”
“Impute!--No imputation, in my opinion,” cried Rosamond. “I do not think
it any weakness.”
“But I do,” said Mrs. Percy--“I consider it as a weakness; and bitterly
should I reproach myself, if I saw any weakness, any prejudice of mine,
influence my children injuriously in the most material circumstance
of their lives, and where their happiness is at stake. So, my dear
Rosamond, let me intreat--”
“Oh! mother, don’t let the tears come into your eyes; and, without any
intreaties, I will do just as you please.”
“My love,” said Mrs. Percy, “I have no pleasure but that you should
please yourself and judge for yourself, without referring to any
prepossession of mine. And lest your imagination should deceive you
as to the extent of my aristocratic prejudices, let me explain. The
_indisposition_, which I have acknowledged I feel towards low-born
people, arises, I believe, chiefly from my taking it for granted that
they cannot be thoroughly well-bred. I have accidentally seen examples
of people of inferior birth, who, though they had risen to high station,
and though they had acquired, in a certain degree, polite manners,
and had been metamorphosed by fashion, to all outward appearance, into
perfect gentry, yet betrayed some marks of their origin, or of their
early education, whenever their passions or their interests were
touched: then some awkward gesture, some vulgar expression, some mean or
mercenary sentiment, some habitual contraction of mind, recurred.”
“True, true, most true!” said Rosamond. “It requires two generations,
at least, to wash out the stain of vulgarity: neither a gentleman nor a
gentlewoman can be made in less than two generations; therefore I never
will marry a low-born man, if he had every perfection under the sun.”
“Nay, my dear, that is too strong,” said Mrs. Percy. “Hear me, my
dearest Rosamond. I was going to tell you, that my experience has been
so limited, that I am not justified in drawing from it any general
conclusion. And even to the most positive and rational general rules you
know there are exceptions.”
“That is a fine general softening clause,” said Rosamond; “but now
positively, mother, would you have ever consented to marry a merchant?”
“Certainly, my dear, if your father had been a merchant, I should have
married him,” replied Mrs. Percy.
“Well, I except my father. To put the question more fairly, may I ask,
do you wish that your daughter should marry a merchant?”
“As I endeavoured to explain to you before, _that_ depends entirely upon
what the merchant is, and upon what my daughter feels for him.”
Rosamond sighed.
“I ought to observe, that merchants are now quite in a different class
from what they were at the first rise of commerce in these countries,”
continued her mother. “Their education, their habits of thinking,
knowledge, and manners, are improved, and, consequently, their
_consideration_, their rank in society is raised. In our days, some of
the best informed, most liberal, and most respectable men in the British
dominions are merchants. I could not therefore object to my daughter’s
marrying a merchant; but I should certainly inquire anxiously what sort
of a merchant he was. I do not mean that I should inquire whether he was
concerned in this or that branch of commerce, but whether his mind
were free from every thing mercenary and illiberal. I have done so
with respect to Mr. Gresham, and I can assure you solemnly, that
Mr. Gresham’s want of the advantage of high birth is completely
counterbalanced in my opinion by his superior qualities. I see in him
a cultivated, enlarged, generous mind. I have seen him tried, where his
passions and his interests have been nearly concerned, and I never
saw in him the slightest tincture of vulgarity in manner or sentiment:
therefore, my dear daughter, if he has made an impression on your heart,
do not, on my account, conceal or struggle against it; because, far from
objecting to Mr. Gresham for a son-in-law, I should prefer him to any
gentleman or nobleman who had not his exalted character.”
“There!” cried Caroline, with a look of joyful triumph, “there! my dear
Rosamond, now your heart must be quite at ease!”
But looking at Rosamond at this moment, she saw no expression of joy or
pleasure in her countenance; and Caroline was now convinced that she had
been mistaken about Rosamond’s feelings.
“Really and truly, mother, you think all this?”
“Really and truly, my dear, no motive upon earth would make me disguise
my opinions, or palliate even my prejudices, when you thus consult me,
and depend upon my truth. And now that I have said this much, I will say
no more, lest I should bias you on the other side: I will leave you to
your own feelings and excellent understanding.”
Rosamond’s affectionate heart was touched so by her mother’s kindness,
that she could not for some minutes repress her tears. When she
recovered her voice, she assured her mother and Caroline, with a
seriousness and an earnest frankness which at once convinced them of her
truth, that she had not the slightest partiality for Mr. Gresham; that,
on the contrary, his age was to her a serious objection. She had feared
that her friends might wish for the match, and that being conscious she
had no other objection to make to Mr. Gresham except that she could not
love him, she had hesitated for want of a better reason, when her mother
first began this cross-examination.
Relieved by this thorough explanation, and by the conviction that her
father, mother, and sister, were perfectly satisfied with her decision,
Rosamond was at ease as far as she herself was concerned. But she still
dreaded to see Mr. Gresham again. She was excessively sorry to have
given him pain, and she feared not a little that in rejecting the lover
she should lose the friend.
Mr. Gresham, however, was of too generous a character to cease to be the
friend of the woman he loved, merely because she could not return his
passion: it is wounded pride, not disappointed affection, that turns
immediately from love to hatred.
Rosamond was spared the pain of seeing Mr. Gresham again at this time,
for he left the Hills, and set out immediately for London, where he was
recalled by news of the sudden death of his partner. Old Mr. Panton
had been found dead in his bed, after having supped inordinately the
preceding night upon eel-pie. It was indispensably necessary that Mr.
Gresham should attend at the opening of Panton’s will, and Mrs.
Panton wrote to represent this in urgent terms. Mr. Henry was gone to
Amsterdam; he had, for some time previously to the death of Mr. Panton,
obtained the partnership’s permission to go over to the Dutch merchants,
their correspondents in Amsterdam, to fill a situation in their house,
for which his knowledge of the Dutch, French, and Spanish languages
eminently qualified him.
When Mr. Henry had solicited this employment, Mr. Gresham had been
unwilling to part with him, but had yielded to the young man’s earnest
entreaties, and to the idea that this change would, in a lucrative point
of view, be materially for Mr. Henry’s advantage.
Some apology to the lovers of romance may be expected for this
abrupt transition from the affairs of the heart to the affairs of the
counting-house--but so it is in real life. We are sorry, but we cannot
help it--we have neither sentiments nor sonnets, ready for every
occasion.