Mr. and Mrs. Percy accepted of Lord Oldborough’s invitation. They found
apartments prepared for them at Clermont-park, and servants ready
to attend, with the officious promptitude with which a great man’s
domestics usually wait upon those who are supposed to stand high in
their master’s favour.
During his illness Lord Oldborough had always breakfasted in his own
room; but his lordship appeared at the breakfast-table the morning after
the ball, ready to receive his guests. Nothing could be more gracious,
more polite, more kind, than his reception of Mr. Percy and his family.
From the moment he was introduced to the wife and daughters of his
friend, he seemed to throw aside the reserve and coldness of his
manner--to forget at once the statesman and the minister, the affairs
of Europe and the intrigues of the cabinet--to live entirely for the
present moment and the present company. The company consisted of the
Percy family, Count Altenberg, and Mr. Temple. It was a common practice
with Lord Oldborough to set conversation a-going, then to become silent,
and to retire to his own thoughts--he would just throw the ball, and
leave others to run for it. But now he condescended at least to join in
the pursuit, though apparently without ambition to obtain distinction in
the race. After breakfast he showed the ladies into his library; and, as
he was himself disabled, requested Mr. Temple to take down such books or
prints as he thought most worthy of their attention. Literature had been
neglected, perhaps undervalued, by Lord Oldborough, since he had devoted
himself to politics; but he could at will recall the classical stores
of his youth; and on modern books his quick eye and ear, joined to his
strong and rapid judgment, enabled him to decide better than many who
make it the only business of their lives to read. Even Mr. Percy, who
knew him best, was surprised; and still more surprised was Mr. Temple,
who had seen him in varieties of company, some of the highest rank and
fashion both in wit and literature, where his lordship had appeared
either absent of mind or a silent listener; but he now exerted those
powers of conversation which he usually suffered to lie dormant. Instead
of waiting in proud expectation that those who were in his company
should prove their claims to his attention, he now produced his own
intellectual treasures; evidently not for the vanity of display, but to
encourage his guests to produce those talents which he seemed to take it
for granted that they possessed. It appeared to be his sole object, his
pride and pleasure, to pay attention to the wife and daughters of
his friend; and to show them and him to advantage to an illustrious
foreigner.
“Yes,” said he, apart to Count Altenberg, “I am proud to show you a
specimen of a cultivated independent country gentleman and his family.”
With his usual penetration, Lord Oldborough soon discerned the
characteristics of each of the ladies of this family--the good sense
and good breeding of Mrs. Percy, the wit and generous simplicity of
Rosamond, the magnanimity and the superior understanding of Caroline.
As instances of these different qualities appeared, his quick and
brightening eye marked his approbation, sometimes by a glance at Count
Altenberg, by a nod to Mr. Temple, or by a congratulatory smile as he
turned to Mr. Percy.
“I now comprehend,” said his lordship, “why Mr. Percy could never be
induced to take a part in public business. Ladies, you have done a
great injury to your country--you have made this gentleman too happy in
domestic life.”
Lord Oldborough spoke this in a tone of raillery, and with a smile--but
the smile was succeeded by a deep sigh, and a dark gloom of countenance.
At this moment one of his secretaries, Mr. Shaw, came in with papers
to be signed. The minister reappeared. Lord Oldborough’s mind turned
instantly to business; he withdrew to a table apart, sat down, and began
to look over the first paper that was laid before him. Mr. Percy rang
the bell, and something was said about not intruding on his lordship’s
time--he looked up: “Mr. Temple, you are free. Mr. Shaw shall finish
whatever letters it is necessary should be written this morning. You
shall have the pleasure of being with your friends. It is a pleasure you
deserve, sir, and can appreciate. Mrs. Percy expressed a wish to see
the grounds--you will show them to these ladies. I am a prisoner still,”
said his lordship, looking down at his gouty hand, “and always shall be
a prisoner,” added he, turning his eye upon the papers which Mr. Shaw
held.
The ladies, accompanied by Mr. Temple, and by Count Altenberg, went
out to walk. Mr. Percy stayed one moment to express his sense of the
extraordinary politeness and kindness with which Lord Oldborough had
honoured him and his family.
“You owe me no thanks, my dear sir. Kindness can be repaid only by
kindness. It is a species of debt, which in the course of my life I have
seldom been called upon to pay.”
This was said not in a voice either of sentiment or of compliment, but
rather in an austere tone, and with a stern countenance of conquered
emotion. Without looking at Mr. Percy, he received and answered the
farewell shake of the hand; his lips were instantly after strongly
compressed; and, taking up his pen, the man was again absorbed in the
minister.
Mr. Percy joined the party who were going to walk in the park. Count
Altenberg had been unusually silent in Lord Oldborough’s company: with
the becoming deference of a young man, in the presence of one superior
in age, and in high station, he had listened, eager to learn, instead
of impatient to talk. Attention of course now turned upon him, as the
stranger and the foreigner.
With the same perfect taste and good-breeding with which he knew how
to pay honour due, he received it, and appeared as much at his ease,
whether he was in the shade or the light, whether he was unnoticed or
the object of general attention. He had that air of self-possession,
which characterizes a person secure of his own resources, and not afraid
to produce his abilities.
The conversation turned at first upon the beauties of
nature--Clermont-park was one of the really magnificent places in
England which an Englishman may feel proud to show to a foreigner.
Count Altenberg politely and justly observed how different the country
seats of our nobility are from the ruinous and comfortless _chateaux_ of
most of the French nobility.
Clermont-park, however, was not new to the count. Commissioner Falconer
had the day after his arrival shown him every thing that was to be seen:
his attention, therefore, as they pursued their walk, was not so
much distracted by external objects as to prevent him from wishing to
converse. Finding that Mr. Percy had travelled, he spoke of Switzerland
and Italy; and, without any of the jargon of a connoisseur, showed that
he felt with sensibility and enthusiasm the beautiful and sublime. It
soon appeared that he had seen various countries, not merely with the
eye of a painter and a poet, but of a philosophical traveller, who
can allow for the differences of national taste, and discern how its
variations are influenced by climate, education, government, and local
circumstances. In his rapid panorama of foreign countries, he showed
variety of knowledge, and without illiberal prejudice against any
nation, an amiable predilection for his native country. Next to his own
country he preferred England, which, as he said, by the mother’s side,
he might call his own. She had early instilled into him an admiration
for our free constitution, and a love of our domestic habits; but he had
never before visited this country, and he was particularly desirous to
obtain an accurate knowledge of England, and of the manners and modes of
life of its inhabitants. He seemed thus eager to obtain information, not
merely to gratify a cursory or selfish curiosity, but with a view to the
future, and with a hope of doing permanent good. It was clear that he
was not only a philosophical but a benevolent traveller, to whom nothing
that concerns his fellow-creatures is foreign or indifferent. His
treasuring up all he had seen abroad, that could be useful at home,
reminded Caroline of Colonel Hungerford; but she observed that Count
Altenberg’s views were more enlarged; he was unbiassed by professional
habits; his sphere of action was higher; heir to extensive property,
with all the foreign rights of territorial dominion hereditarily his;
and with a probability of obtaining the political power of ministerial
station; plans, which in other circumstances might have been romantic,
with Count Altenberg’s prospects and abilities, were within the
bounds of sound judgment and actual practicability. But whatever
these intentions might be, they were only to be inferred from his
conversation; he scarcely spoke of himself, or of his own designs;
whatever he was led to say on such subjects, he seemed, immediately
after he had said it, to feel as an impropriety, not justified by the
slight interest which the acquaintance of a few hours could inspire.
He changed the conversation by asking some questions about a celebrated
English writer. In return for the information Mr. Percy gave him, he
spoke of some recent foreign publications--related several anecdotes of
literary foreigners. His anecdotes were interesting, because, in each,
there was something characteristic of the individual, or illustrative of
some general principle of human nature. To gratify Mr. Percy, the Count
spoke of some public events of which he had had means of obtaining
information. He had not neglected any of the opportunities he enjoyed,
and whether he talked of civil or military affairs, he showed the same
_efficient_ knowledge, and the same superior ability.
Caroline, leaning on her father’s arm, listened with a countenance full
of intelligence, animation, and sympathy; she looked alternately at the
Count and at her father, whose satisfaction she saw and enjoyed. Feeling
that he was appreciated by the father, inspired by the charms of the
daughter, and excited by the idea he had formed of her character,
Count Altenberg had indeed been uncommonly agreeable, entertaining, and
eloquent. During this walk, though Caroline said but little, yet that
little, to a man of the Count’s discernment, was sufficient to show good
judgment and great capacity. This increased the admiration and interest
which her beauty and manners, and all he had heard of her conduct,
created.
It is said to be one of the characteristics of genius, that it is able
quickly to discover and elicit genius, wherever it exists. It is certain
that with the celerity of intuition, of sympathy, or of practised
penetration, Count Altenberg perceived Caroline’s intellectual
superiority. He had been, at first, curious to discover whether her
mental qualifications were equal to her extraordinary personal beauty;
but he had soon forgotten his intention of trying her abilities, in
anxiety to convince her of his own. The whole turn and style of his
conversation now proved, more than any compliment could possibly
have shown, the high opinion he had of her understanding, and of the
elevation of her mind. A woman may always judge of the real estimation
in which she is held, by the conversation which is addressed to her.
All this time, where were Rosamond, Mrs. Percy, and Mr. Temple? Mr.
Temple had taken them to see a fine view; Mr. Percy proposed to sit down
and quietly wait their return; Caroline and the Count seemed to have no
objection to oblige him, and they placed themselves under a spreading
beech. They had not been seated many minutes, before they were
interrupted by the appearance of Commissioner Falconer, who came, by a
cross path, from the house.
“At last I have found you. What a prodigious walk you have taken!” cried
the commissioner, wiping his forehead. “But where’s Mrs. Percy and the
rest of your party? I have so walked to catch you--rode over on purpose
to pay my compliments to the ladies before they return home--and I come
chargé d’affaires from Mrs. Falconer to Mrs. Percy. I must see Mrs.
Percy--Oh! here she is, coming down the hill--ay, from the _point
of view_--Mercy! how you have walked: I am not equal to the _grand
tour_--it kills me. But I am so sorry I was not here time enough to do
the honours of Clermont-park, as Lord Oldborough is confined. Who has
Mrs. Percy for her cicerone? Ha! Mr. Temple--I thought he was always so
busy--deputed by Lord Oldborough--really!--Hum--I hope Lord Oldborough
did not conceive that there was any want of _empressement_ on my part--I
should have been here a full hour sooner, but that my ladies were so
late at breakfast after sitting up--and I thought your ladies might have
been fatigued too--but Miss Caroline Percy, I see, fresh as a rose--”
The commissioner then, as if half in jest, half in earnest, paid
Caroline a profusion of compliments upon her appearance the preceding
night--numbered on his fingers the conquests she had made, and the
hearts she had broken. Mrs. Percy, Rosamond, and Mr. Temple came up; and
as soon as they had expressed their raptures on the beauty of this view,
the commissioner presented his note from Mrs. Falconer to Mrs. Percy,
to which, he said, he was most anxious to be the bearer of a favourable
answer, as he knew that he should otherwise be ill-received at home,
and the disappointment would be great. The note contained a pressing
invitation to a play, which the young people at Falconer-court had it in
contemplation to represent. Whether it was to be Zara or Cato, they had
not yet positively decided--for Cato they were in terrible distress for
a Marcia--could Miss Caroline Percy be prevailed upon to try Marcia? She
would look the part so well, and, no doubt, act it so well. Or if she
preferred Zara, Miss Georgiana Falconer would, with pleasure, take the
part of the confidante. Dresses in great forwardness, Turkish or Roman,
convertible, in a few hours’ notice--should wait Miss Percy’s decision.
“Well, my dear Caroline, what say you?” cried Mrs. Percy.
Caroline was going to answer.
“No, no, don’t answer yet,” interrupted the commissioner: “let me add,
what I find Mrs. Falconer took it for granted I would say, that there
can be no possible difficulty or inconvenience about the goings and
comings, and horses and carriages, and beds, and all that sort of
thing--for our horses and carriages can have nothing to do whilst the
ladies are rehearsing--shall attend you any day--any hour--and beds
we can contrive: so, I beseech you, let none of these vulgar sublunary
considerations deprive us of a Zara or a Marcia--But say, which shall it
be?--Which character, my charming cousin, will you do us the honour and
pleasure to take?”
Count Altenberg advanced a step, full of eager expectation. When he
heard Caroline pronounce, with great politeness, a refusal, for the
first moment he looked disappointed, but the next seemed satisfied and
pleased. It would have highly gratified and interested him to have seen
Caroline act either the sublime or the tender heroine, but he preferred
seeing her support her own character with modest dignity.
Commissioner Falconer pleaded and pressed in vain; Caroline was steady
in her refusal, though the manner of it was so gentle, that every
instant he thought he should vanquish her reluctance. At length he
turned from the ladies to the gentlemen for assistance.
“Mr. Temple, I am sure you will join my entreaties--Count Altenberg--”
Count Altenberg “would not presume to ask a favour, which had been
refused to the commissioner and to Mrs. Falconer.” Caroline understood,
and gave him credit for his politeness.
“Then, if I must give up this point,” said the commissioner, “at least
do not let me return disappointed in every respect--let me hope that you
will all favour us with your company at our play.”
This invitation was accepted with many thanks.
“And, remember, you must not run away from us that night,” added
the commissioner. “Mrs. Falconer will have reason to be jealous of
Clermont-park, if she finds that it draws our friends and relations away
from Falconer-court.”
The carriage, which had been ordered to the great gate of the park, was
now waiting there, and the commissioner took leave of his relations,
with many shakes of the hand and many expressions of regret. Count
Altenberg continued talking to Caroline till the last moment; and after
he had handed her into the carriage, as he took leave of Mr. Percy,
he said that he had to thank him and his family for some of the most
agreeable among the many agreeable hours he had passed since he came to
England.
On their way home, this happy family-party eagerly talked over every
thing and every body that had interested them--first and chiefly they
spoke of Count Altenberg. Caroline said how often, during their walk,
she had regretted her mother’s and sister’s absence. She recollected
and reminded her father of some of the striking circumstances they had
heard, and Mr. Percy and she repeated so many curious and interesting
anecdotes, so many just observations and noble sentiments, that Mrs.
Percy and Rosamond were quite charmed with the Count. Rosamond, however,
was surprised by the openness and ease with which Caroline praised and
talked of this gentleman.
“I will say nothing,” thought she; “for I am determined to be prudent
this time. But certainly here is no danger that her love should unsought
be won. Only this I may and must think, that Caroline cannot, without
affectation, avoid seeing that she has made a conquest.”
Mistaken again, Rosamond--Caroline had neither seen nor suspected it.
Count Altenberg’s gratitude for the hospitality shown to his countrymen
at the time of the shipwreck, his recent acquaintance with her brother
Alfred, and all he had heard of her father from the grateful tenants at
Percy-hall, accounted, as Caroline justly thought, for the eagerness he
had shown to be introduced to her family. His conversing so much with
her, she thought, was natural, as he was a stranger to most of the
company, and had some subjects of conversation in common with her and
her family. Caroline was not apt to imagine admiration in every word
or look; she was not expert in construing every compliment into a
declaration or an innuendo of love.
His conversation, during their walk, had been perfectly free from all
compliment. It had been on subjects so interesting, that she had been
carried on without having had time to think of love. A good and great
character had opened to her view, and she had been so absorbed in
sympathy, that though she had thought of nothing but Count Altenberg,
she had never thought of him with any reference to herself.
The morning after their return home, Count Altenberg came to the Hills,
accompanied by Mr. Temple. They stayed till it was late; for the Count
seemed to forget the hour of the day, till reminded of it by Mr. Temple.
Caroline, in her own family, at her home, pleased Count Altenberg
particularly. The interest he felt about her increased, and he
afterwards took or made frequent opportunities of calling at the Hills:
his conversation was generally addressed to Mr. Percy, but he observed
Caroline with peculiar attention--and Rosamond was confirmed in her
opinion. A few weeks passed in this manner, while the play was preparing
at Falconer-court. But before we go to the play, let us take a peep
behind the scenes, and inquire what is and has been doing by the
Falconer family. Even they who are used to the ennui subsequent
to dissipation, even they who have experienced the vicissitudes
of coquetry, the mortifications of rivalship, and the despair of
disappointed vanity, can scarcely conceive the complication of
disagreeable ideas and emotions with which Miss Georgiana Falconer awoke
the morning after the magnificent ball.
The image of her beautiful rival disturbed her morning dreams, and
stood before her fancy the moment she opened her eyes. Wakening, she
endeavoured to recollect and compare all that had passed the preceding
night; but there had been such tumult in her mind, that she had only a
vague remembrance of the transactions: she had a confused idea that the
Count was in love, and that he was not in love with her: she had fears
that, during the heat of competition, she had betrayed unbecoming
emotion; but gradually, habitual vanity predominated; her hopes
brightened; she began to fancy that the impression made by her rival
might be easily effaced, and that they should see no more of the fair
phantom. That branch of the Percy family, she recollected, were to be
considered only as decayed gentry; and she flattered herself that they
would necessarily and immediately sink again into that obscurity from
which her mother’s ill-fated civility had raised them. Her mother,
she knew, had invited these Percys against her will, and would be
particularly careful on account of Sir Robert Percy (and Arabella) not
to show them any further attention. Thus things would, in a day or two,
fall again into their proper train. “No doubt the Count will call this
morning, to know how we do after the ball.”
So she rose, and resolved to dress herself with the most becoming
negligence.
Very different was the result of her experienced mother’s reflections.
Mrs. Falconer saw that her daughter’s chance of the Count was now
scarcely worth considering; that it must be given up at once, to avoid
the danger of utter ruin to other speculations of a more promising kind.
The mother knew the unmanageable violence of her daughter’s temper: she
had seen her Georgiana expose herself the preceding night at the ball
to her particular friends, and Mrs. Falconer knew enough of the world
to dread reports originating from particular friends; she dreaded, also,
that on some future similar occasion, the young lady’s want of command
over her jealousy should produce some terribly ridiculous scene,
confirm the report that she had an unhappy passion for Count Altenberg,
stigmatize her as a forlorn maiden, and ruin her chance of any other
establishment. In this instance she had been misled by her own and her
daughter’s vanity. It was mortifying, to be sure, to find that she had
been wrong; and still more provoking to be obliged to acknowledge
that Mr. Falconer was right; but in the existing circumstances it was
absolutely necessary, and Mrs. Falconer, with a species of satisfaction,
returned to her former habits of thinking, and resumed certain
old schemes, from which the arrival of the Count had diverted her
imagination. She expected the two Mr. Clays at Falconer-court the next
day. Either of them, she thought, might be a good match for Georgiana.
To be sure, it was said that French Clay had gaming debts to a large
amount upon his hands--this was against him; but, in his favour, there
was the chance of his elder brother’s dying unmarried, and leaving him
Clay-hall. Or, take it the other way, and suppose English Clay to be
made the object--he was one of the men who professedly have a horror
of being taken in to marry; yet no men are more likely “to run into the
danger to avoid the apprehension.” Suppose the worst, and that neither
of the Clays could be worked to any good purpose, Mrs. Falconer had
still in reserve that _pis aller_ Petcalf, whose father, the good
general, was at Bath, with the gout in his stomach; and if he should
die, young Petcalf would pop into possession of the general’s lodge in
_Asia Minor_ [Footnote: A district in England so called.]: not so fine a
place, to be sure, nor an establishment so well appointed as Clay-hall;
but still with a nabob’s fortune a great deal might be done--and
Georgiana might make Petcalf throw down the lodge and build. So at the
worst she might settle very comfortably with young Petcalf, whom
she could manage as she pleased, provided she never let him see her
_penchant_ for Count Altenberg. Mrs. Falconer determined to turn
the tables dexterously, and to make it appear that the Count admired
Georgiana, but saw she could not be induced to leave England. “We must,”
said she to herself, “persuade English Clay that I would not for any
consideration give my daughter to a foreigner.”
In consequence of these plans and reflections, Mrs. Falconer began
her new system of operations, by writing that note full of superfluous
civility to Mrs. Percy, with which Commissioner Falconer had been
charged: the pressing Caroline to play Zara or Marcia, the leaving
to her the choice of dresses and characters, the assurance that Miss
Georgiana Falconer would take the confidante’s part with pleasure, were
all strokes of Mrs. Falconer’s policy. By these means she thought
she could most effectually do away all suspicion of her own or her
daughter’s jealousy of Miss Caroline Percy. Mrs. Falconer foresaw
that, in all probability, Caroline would decline acting; but if she had
accepted, Mrs. Falconer would have been sincerely pleased, confident,
as she was, that Caroline’s inferiority to her Georgiana, who was an
accomplished actress, would be conspicuously manifest.
As soon as Mrs. Percy’s answer, and Caroline’s refusal, arrived, Mrs.
Falconer went to her daughter Georgiana’s apartment, who was giving
directions to her maid, Lydia Sharpe, about some part of Zara’s dress.
“My dear,” said Mrs. Falconer, looking carelessly at the dress, “you
won’t want a very expensive dress for Zara.”
“Indeed, ma’am, I shall,” cried Georgiana: “Zara will be nothing, unless
she is well dressed.”
“Well, my dear, you must manage as well as you can with Lydia Sharpe.
Your last court-dress surely she can make do vastly well, with a little
alteration to give it a Turkish air.”
“Oh! dear me, ma’am!--a little alteration!” cried Lydia: “no alteration
upon the face of Heaven’s earth, that I could devise from this till
Christmas, would give it a Turkish air. You don’t consider, nor
conceive, ma’am, how _skimping_ these here court-trains are now--for say
the length might answer, its length without any manner of breadth, you
know, ma’am--look, ma’am, a mere strip!--only two breadths of three
quarters bare each--which gives no folds in nature, nor drapery, nor
majesty, which, for a Turkish queen, is indispensably requisite, I
presume.”
“Another breadth or two would make it full enough, and cotton velvet
will do, and come cheap,” said Mrs. Falconer.
“Cotton velvet!” cried Miss Georgiana. “I would not wear cotton
velvet--like the odious, shabby Miss Chattertons, who are infamous for
it.”
“But on the stage, what eye could detect it, child?” said Mrs. Falconer.
“Eye, ma’am! no, to be sure, at that distance: but the first touch to
any body that understands velvets would betray it--and them that is on
the stage along with Miss Georgiana, or behind the scenes, will detect
it. And I understood the ladies was to sup in their dresses, and on such
an occasion I presumed you would like Miss Georgiana to have an entire
_cap a pie_ new dress, as the Lady Arlingtons and every body has seen
her appear in this, and has it by heart, I may say--and the Count too,
who, of course, will expect, to see Zara spick and span--But I leave it
all to your own better judgment, ma’am--I am only just mentioning--”
“All I know is, that the play will be nothing unless it is well
dressed,” cried Miss Georgiana; “and I never will play Zara in old
trumpery.”
“Well, my dear, there’s your amber satin, or your pink, or your green,
or your white, or--I am sure you have dresses enough. Lydia, produce
them, and let me see.”
Lydia covered the bed with various finery; but to every dress that was
produced some insuperable objection was started by the young lady or by
her maid.
“I remember you had a lavender satin, that I do not see here,
Georgiana,” said Mrs. Falconer.
“The colour did not become me, ma’am, and I sold it to Lydia.”
_Sold! gave_, perhaps some innocent reader may suspect that the young
lady meant to say.--No: this buying and selling of finery now goes on
frequently between a certain class of fashionable maids and mistresses;
and some young ladies are now not ashamed to become old clothes-women.
“Vastly well,” said Mrs. Falconer, smiling; “you have your own ways and
means, and I am glad of it, for I can tell you there is no chance of my
getting you any money from your father; I dare not speak to him on that
subject--for he was extremely displeased with me about Mrs. Sparkes’
last bill: so if you want a new dress for Zara, you and Lydia Sharpe
must settle it as well as you can between you. I will, in the mean time,
go and write a note, while you make your bargain.”
“Bargain! Me, ma’am!” cried Lydia Sharpe, as Mrs. Falconer left the
room; “I am the worst creature extant at bargaining, especially with
ladies. But any thing I can do certainly to accommodate, I shall, I’m
sure, be happy.”
“Well, then,” said Miss Georgiana, “if you take this white satin off my
hands, Lydia, I am sure I shall be happy.”
“I have no objection, ma’am--that is, I’m in duty bound to make no
manner of objections,” said Lydia, with a very sentimental air, hanging
her head aside, and with one finger rubbing her under-lip slowly, as she
contemplated the white satin, which her young mistress held up for sale.
“I am really scrupulous--but you’re sensible, Miss Georgiana, that
your white satin is so all frayed with the crape sleeves. Lady Trant
recommended--”
“Only a very little frayed.”
“But in the front breadth, ma’am; you know that makes a world of
difference, because there’s no hiding, and with satin no turning--and
not a bit neither to new body.”
“The body is perfectly good.”
“I beg pardon for observing, but you know, ma’am, you noticed yourself
how it was blacked and soiled by wearing under your black lace last
time, and that you could not wear it again on that account.”
“I!--but _you_--”
“To be sure, ma’am, there’s a great deal of difference between I and
you: only when one comes to bargaining--”
She paused, seeing wrath gathering black and dire in her young lady’s
countenance; before it burst, she changed her tone, and continued, “All
I mean to say, ma’am, is, that white satin being a style of thing I
could not pretend to think of wearing in any shape myself, I could
only take it to part with again, and in the existing circumstances, I’m
confident I should lose by it. But rather than disoblige, I’ll take it
at whatever you please.”
“Nay, I don’t please about the matter, Lydia; but I am sure you had
an excellent bargain of my lavender satin, which I had only worn but
twice.”
“Dear heart!--La, ma’am! if you knew what trouble I had with Mrs.
Sparkes, the dress-maker, about it, because of the coffee-stain--And
I vow to my stars I am ashamed to mention it; but Mrs. Scrags, Lady
Trant’s woman, and both the Lady Arlingtons’ maids, can vouch for the
truth of it. I did not make a penny, but lost, ma’am, last year, by you
and Miss Bell; that is, not by you nor Miss Bell, but by all I bought,
and sold to disadvantage; which, I am morally certain, you would not
have permitted, had you known of it, as I told Mrs. Scrags, who was
wondering and pitying of me: my young ladies, Mrs. Scrags, says I--”
“No matter,” interrupted Georgiana; “no matter what you said to Mrs.
Scrags, or Mrs. Scrags to you--but tell me at once, Lydia, what you can
afford to give me for these three gowns.”
“I afford to give!” said Lydia Sharpe. “Well, the times is past, to be
sure, and greatly changed, since ladies used to give, but now it’s their
maids must give--then, suppose--let’s see, ma’am--for the three, the
old white satin, and the amber satin, and the black lace--why, ma’am,
if you’d throw me the pink crape into the bargain, I don’t doubt but I
could afford to give you nine guineas, ma’am,” said the maid.
“Then, Lydia Sharpe, you will never have them, I promise you,” cried the
mistress: “Nine guineas! how can you have the assurance to offer me such
a sum? As if I had never bought a gown in my life, and did not know the
value or price of any thing! Do you take me for a fool?”
“Oh! dear no, miss--I’m confident that you know the value and price
to the uttermost penny--but only you forget that there’s a difference
betwixt the buying and selling price for ladies; but if you please,
ma’am--I would do any thing to oblige and accommodate you--I will
consult the Lady Arlingtons’ women, Miss Flora, and Miss Prichard, who
is judges in this line--most honourable appraisers; and if they praise
the articles, on inspection, a shilling higher, I am sure I shall submit
to their jurisdiction--if they say ten guineas, ma’am, you shall
have it, for I love to be at a word and a blow--and to do every thing
genteel: so I’ll step and consult my friends, ma’am, and give you my
ultimatum in half an hour.”
So saying, whilst her young mistress stood flushed and swelling with
pride and anger, which, however, the sense of her own convenience and
interest controlled, the maid swept up the many coloured robes in her
arms, and carried them up the back stairs, to hold her consultation with
her friends, the most honourable of appraisers.
“Well, my dear,” said Mrs. Falconer, returning as she heard the maid
quit the room, “have you driven your bargain for the loan? Have you
raised the supplies?”
“No, indeed, ma’am--for Lydia is grown a perfect Jew. She may well
say she is related to Sharpe, the attorney--she is the keenest, most
interested creature in the world--and grown very saucy too.”
“Like all those people, my dear; but one can’t do without them.”
“But one can change them.”
“But, to use their own language, one is not sure of bettering
oneself--and then their wages are to be paid--and all one’s little
family secrets are at their mercy.”
“It’s very provoking--it is very provoking!” repeated Miss Georgiana,
walking up and down the room. “Such an extortioner!--for my amber satin,
and my white satin, and my black lace, and my pink crape, only nine
guineas! What do you think of that, ma’am?”
“I think, my dear, you pay a prodigious premium for ready money; but
nine guineas will dress Zara decently, I dare say, if that’s your
object.”
“Nine guineas! ma’am,” cried Miss Georgiana, “impossible! I can’t act at
all--so there’s an end of the matter.”
“Not an end of the matter quite,” said Mrs. Falconer, coolly; “for in
that case I must look out for another Zara.”
“And where will you find one, ma’am?”
“The Lady Arlingtons have both fine figures--and, I dare say, would
either of them oblige me.”
“Not they. Lady Anne, with her indolence and her languor--a lady who
looks as if she was saying, ‘Quasha, tell Quaco to tell Fibba to pick up
this pin that lies at my foot;’ do you think she’d get a part by heart,
ma’am, to oblige you--or that she could, if she would, act Zara?--No
more than she could fly!”
“But her sister, Lady Frances, would and could,” said Mrs. Falconer.
“She is quick enough, and I know she longs to try Zara.”
“Longs!--Lord, ma’am, she longs for fifty things in a
minute!--Quick!--Yes, but don’t depend on her, I advise you; for she
does not know, for two seconds together, what she would have or what she
would do.”
“Then I have resource in one who, I am persuaded, will not disappoint me
or any body else,” said Mrs. Falconer.
“Whom can you mean, ma’am?”
“Miss Caroline Percy. Count Altenberg put it into my head: he observed
that she would look the character remarkably well--and I will write to
her directly.”
Without power of articulating, Miss Georgiana Falconer fixed her eyes
upon her mother for some moments.
“You think I have lost my senses this morning--I thought, and I am
afraid so did many other people, that you had lost yours last night.
Another such scene, your friends the Lady Arlingtons for spectators,
you are ridiculous, and, of course, undone for life in the fashionable
world--establishment, and every thing else that is desirable,
irrevocably out of the question. I am surprised that a girl of your
understanding and really polished manners, Georgiana, should, the moment
any thing crosses or vexes you, show no more command of temper, grace,
or dignity, than the veriest country girl. When things go wrong, do you
see me lose all presence of mind; or rather, do you ever see me change a
muscle of my countenance?”
“The muscles of some people’s countenance, ma’am, I suppose, are
differently made from others--mine will change with my feelings, and
there is no remedy, for my feelings unfortunately are uncommonly acute.”
“That is a misfortune, indeed, Georgiana; but not without remedy, I
trust. If you will take my advice--”
“Were you ever in love, ma’am?”
“Properly--when every thing was settled for my marriage; but not
improperly, or it might never have come to my wedding-day. Headstrong
child! listen to me, or you will never see that day with Count
Altenberg.”
“Do you mean, ma’am, to ask Miss Caroline Percy to play Zara?”
“I will answer no question, Georgiana, till you have heard me
patiently.”
“I only hope, ma’am, you’ll put it in the play-bill--or, if you don’t,
I will--Zara, Miss Caroline Percy--by particular desire of Count
Altenberg.”
“Whatever I do, you may hope and be assured, Georgiana, shall be
properly done,” cried Mrs. Falconer, rising with dignity; “and, since
you are not disposed to listen to me, I shall leave you to your own
inventions, and go and write my notes.”
“La, mamma! dear mamma! _dear’st_ mamma!” cried the young lady, throwing
her arms round her mother, and stopping her. “You that never change
a muscle of your countenance, how hasty you are with your own
Georgiana!--sit down, and I’ll listen patiently!”
Mrs. Falconer seated herself, and Miss Georgiana prepared to listen
patiently, armed with a piece of gold fringe, which she rolled and
unrolled, and held in different lights and varied festoons whilst her
mother spoke, or, as the young lady would say, lectured. Mrs. Falconer
was too well aware of the impracticableness of her daughter’s temper
to tell her upon this occasion the whole truth, even if her own habits
would have permitted her to be sincere. She never mentioned to Georgiana
that she had totally given up the scheme of marrying her to Count
Altenberg, and that she was thoroughly convinced there was no chance of
her winning him; but, on the contrary, she represented to the young lady
that the Count had only a transient fancy for Miss Caroline Percy, which
would never come to any serious proposal, unless it was opposed; that
in a short time they should go to town, and the Count, of course, would
return with Lord Oldborough: then the game would be in her own hands,
provided, in the mean time, Georgiana should conduct herself with
prudence and temper, and let no creature see or suspect any sort of
anxiety; for that would give such an advantage against her, and such a
triumph to Caroline and her friends, who, as Mrs. Falconer said, were,
no doubt, all on the watch to “interpret,” or misinterpret, “motions,
looks, and eyes.” “My dear,” concluded the mother, “your play is to show
yourself always easy and happy, whatever occurs; occupied with
other things, surrounded by other admirers, and encouraging them
properly--properly of course to pique the jealousy of your Count.”
“My Count!” said Georgiana, with half a smile; “but Miss--You say this
fancy of his will pass away--but when? When?”
“You young people always say, ‘_but when?_’ you have no idea of looking
forward: a few months, a year, more or less, what does it signify?
Georgiana, are you in such imminent danger of growing old or ugly?”
Georgiana turned her eyes involuntarily towards the glass, and smiled.
“But, ma’am, you were not in earnest then about getting another Zara.”
“The offer I made--the compliments I paid in the note I wrote this
morning, were all necessary to cover your mistakes of the night.”
“Made! Wrote!” cried the young lady, with terror in her voice and eyes:
“Good Heavens! mother, what have you done?”
“I had no doubt at the time I wrote,” continued Mrs. Falconer, coolly,
“I had no other idea, but that Miss Caroline Percy would decline.”
“Oh! ma’am,” cried Georgiana, half crying, then stamping with passion,
“Oh! ma’am, how could you imagine, or affect to imagine, that that girl,
that odious girl, who was born to be my plague, with all her affected
humility, would decline?--Decline!--no, she will be transported to come
sweeping in, in gorgeous tragedy--Zara! Marcia! If the whole family can
beg or borrow a dress for her, we are undone--that’s our only chance.
Oh! mother, what possessed you to do this?”
“Gently, pretty Passionate, and trust to my judgment in future,” putting
into her daughter’s hands Mrs. Percy’s note.
“Miss Caroline Percy--sorry--out of her power!--Oh! charming!--a fine
escape!” cried Georgiana, delighted. “You may be sure it was for want of
the dress, though, mamma.”
“No matter--but about yours, my dear?”
“Oh! yes, ma’am--my dress; that’s the only difficulty now.”
“I certainly wish you, my darling, to appear well, especially as all the
world will be here: the two Clays--by-the-bye, here’s their letter--they
come to-morrow--and in short the whole world; but, as to money, there’s
but one way of putting your father into good-humour enough with you to
touch upon that string.”
“One way--well, if there be one way--any way.”
“Petcalf!”
“Oh! Petcalf is my abhorrence--”
“There is the thing! He was speaking to your father seriously about you,
and your father sounded me: I said you would never agree, and he was
quite displeased--that and Mrs. Sparkes’ bill completely overset him.
Now, if you had your wish, Georgiana--what would be your taste, child?”
“My wish! My taste!--Oh! that would be for a delicate, delicate, soft,
sentimental blue satin, with silver fringe, looped with pearl, for my
first act; and in my last--”
“Two dresses! Oh! you extravagant! out of all possibility.”
“I am only wishing, telling you my taste, dear mamma. You know there
must be a change of dress, in the last act, for Zara’s nuptials--now for
my wedding dress, mamma, my taste would be
‘Shine out, appear, be found, my lovely Zara,’
in bridal white and silver. You know, ma’am, I am only supposing.”
“Well then, supposition for supposition,” replied Mrs. Falconer:
“supposing I let your father hope that you are not _so_ decided to abhor
poor Petcalf--”
“Oh! dear mamma, I am so persecuted about that Petcalf! and compared
with Count Altenberg, my father must be blind, or think me an idiot.”
“Oh! between him and the Count there is no comparison, to be sure; but
I forgot to mention, that what your father builds upon is our poor
old friend the general’s death--Clay here, in a postscript, you see,
mentions the gout in his stomach--so I am afraid he is as good as gone,
as your father says, and then _The Lodge_ in _Asia Minor_ is certainly a
pretty place to sit down upon if one could do no better.”
“But, ma’am, the Count’s vast possessions and rank!”
“I grant you all that, my dear; but our present object is the
play--Zara’s royal robes cannot be had for nothing, you know--you never
listened to my infallible means of obtaining your wish: I think I can
engage that the commissioner will not refuse us, if you will empower
me to say to him, that by this time twelvemonth, if nothing better
offers--mind my _if_--Petcalf shall be rewarded for his constancy.”
“If--Oh! dear me! But before this time twelvemonth the Count--”
“Or one of the Clays might offer, and in that case, my _if_ brings you
off safe with your father.”
“Well, then, mamma, upon condition that you will promise me, upon your
word, you will lay a marked emphasis upon your _if_--I believe, for
Zara’s sake, I must--”
“I knew you would behave at last like a sensible girl,” said Mrs.
Falconer: “I’ll go and speak to your father directly.”
Mrs. Falconer thus fairly gained her point, by setting Georgiana’s
passion for dress against her passion for Count Altenberg; and having,
moreover, under false pretences, extorted from the young lady many
promises to keep her temper prudently, and to be upon the best terms
possible with her rival, the mother went away perfectly satisfied with
her own address.
The father was brought to perform his part, not without
difficulty--Carte blanche for Zara’s sentimental blue and bridal white
robes was obtained, silver fringe and pearls inclusive: the triumphant
Zara rang for the base confidante of her late distresses--Lydia Sharpe
re-entered, with the four dresses upon sale; but she and her guineas,
and the most honourable appraisers, all were treated with becoming
scorn--and as Lydia obeyed her young lady’s orders to replace her
clothes in her wardrobe, and never to think of them more, they suddenly
rose in value in her estimation, and she repented that she had been
quite so much of an extortioner. She knew the difference of her
mistress’s tone when disappointed or successful, and guessed that
supplies had been obtained by some means or other: “New dresses, I
smell, are the order of the day,” said Lydia Sharpe to herself; “but
I’ll engage she will want me presently to make them up: so I warrant
I won’t come down off my high horse till I see why--Miss Georgiana
Falconer, ma’am, I beg pardon--you are the mistress--I meant only to
oblige and accommodate when called upon--but if I’m not wanted, I’m not
wanted--and I hope ladies will find them that will be more abler and
willinger to serve them.”
So saying, half flouncing, half pouting, she retired. Her young
mistress, aware that Lydia’s talents and expeditious performance, as a
mantua-maker and a milliner, were essential to the appearance of Zara,
suppressed her own resentment, submitted to her maid’s insolence, and
brought her into humour again that night, by a present of the famous
white satin.
In due time, consequently, the Turkish dresses were in great
forwardness. Lest we should never get to the play, we forbear to relate
all the various frettings, jealousies, clashing vanities, and petty
quarrels, which occurred between the actresses and their friends, during
the getting up of this piece and its rehearsals. We need mention,
only that the seeds of irreconcileable dislike were sown at this time,
between the Miss Falconers and their dear friends, the Lady Arlingtons:
there was some difficulty made by Lady Anne about lending her diamond
crescent for Zara’s turban--Miss Georgiana could never forgive this;
and Lady Frances, on her part, was provoked, beyond measure, by an order
from the duke, her uncle, forbidding her to appear on the stage. She
had some reason to suspect that this order came in consequence of a
treacherous hint in a letter of Georgiana’s to Lady Trant, which went
round, through Lady Jane Granville to the duke, who otherwise, as Lady
Frances observed, “in the midst of his politics, might never have heard
a word of the matter.”
Mrs. Falconer had need of all her power over the muscles of her face,
and all her address, in these delicate and difficult circumstances. Her
daughter Arabella, too, was sullen--the young lady was subject to her
brother John’s fits of obstinacy. For some time she could not be brought
to undertake the part of Selima; and no other Selima was to be had.
She did not see why she should condescend to play the confidante for
Georgiana’s Zara--why she was to be sacrificed to her sister; and Sir
Robert Percy, her admirer, not even to be invited, because the other
Percys were to come.
Mrs. Falconer plied her well with flattery, through Colonel Spandrill;
and at last Arabella was pacified by a promise that the following week
“Love in a Village,” or “The Lord of the Manor,” should be acted, in
which she should choose her part, and in which her voice and musical
talents would be brought forward--and Sir Robert Percy and his friends
should be the principal auditors.
Recovered, or partly recovered, from her fit of the sullens, she was
prevailed upon to say she would try what she could do in Selima.
The parts were learnt by heart; the dresses, after innumerable
alterations, finished to the satisfaction of the heroes and heroines of
the drama.
Their quarrels, and the quarrels of their friends and of their servants,
male and female, were at last hushed to temporary repose, and--the
great, the important day arrived.
The preceding evening, Mrs. Falconer, as she sat quite exhausted in the
green-room, was heard to declare, she was so tired, that she would not
go through the same thing again, for one month, to be Queen of England.