The theatre at Falconer-court was not very spacious, but it was
elegantly fitted up, extremely well lighted, and had a good effect.
There was a brilliant audience, an excellent band of music, and the
whole had a gay and festive appearance.
The Percy family, as they came from a great distance, were late. The
house was crowded. Mrs. Falconer was obliged to seat Mrs. Percy and
her daughters with the Lady Arlingtons on a bench upon the stage: a
conspicuous situation, which had been reserved for their ladyships.
Every eye instantly turned upon the beautiful Caroline. She bore the
gaze of public admiration with a blushing dignity, which interested
every body in her favour. Count Altenberg, who had anxiously expected
the moment of her arrival, was, however, upon his guard. Knowing that
he was watched by Mrs. Falconer’s friends, he was determined that his
secret thoughts should not be seen. One involuntary glance he gave, but
immediately withdrew his eye, and continued his conversation with the
gentleman next to him. After a few moments had elapsed, he could indulge
himself in looking at Caroline unobserved, for the gaze of public
admiration is as transient as it is eager. It is surprising how short a
time any face, however beautiful, engages numbers who meet together to
be seen.
The audience were now happily full of themselves, arranging their
seats, and doing civilities to those of their friends who were worthy of
notice.
“Lady Trant! won’t your ladyship sit in the front row?”
“I’m vastly well, thank you.”
“Lady Kew, I am afraid you won’t see over my head.”
“Oh! I assure you--perfectly--perfectly.”
“Colonel Spandrill, I’ll trouble you--my shawl.”
“Clay, lend me your opera-glass.--How did you leave all at Bath?”
“I’m so glad that General Petcalf’s gout in his stomach did not
carry him off--for young Petcalf could not have acted, you know,
to-night.--Mrs. Harcourt is trying to catch your eye, Lady Kew.”
All those who were new to the theatre at Falconer-court, or who were not
intimate with the family, were in great anxiety to inform themselves
on one important point, before the prologue should begin. Stretching to
those who were, or had the reputation of being, good authorities,
they asked in whispers, “Do you know if there is to be any clapping of
hands?--Can you tell me whether it is allowable to say any thing?”
It seems that at some private theatres loud demonstrations of applause
were forbidden. It was thought more genteel to approve and admire
in silence,--thus to draw the line between professional actors and
actresses, and gentlemen and lady performers. Upon trial, however, in
some instances, it had been found that the difference was sufficiently
obvious, without marking it by any invidious distinction. Young and old
amateurs have acknowledged, that the silence, however genteel, was
so dreadfully awful, that they preferred even the noise of vulgar
acclamations.
The cup of flattery was found so sweet, that objections were no longer
made to swallowing it in public.
The overture finished, the prologue, which was written by Mr. Seebright,
was received with merited applause. And, after a buzz of requests and
promises for copies, the house was silent--the curtain drew up, and the
first appearance of Zara, in the delicate sentimental blue satin, was
hailed with plaudits, long and loud--plaudits which were reiterated at
the end of her first speech, which was, indeed, extremely well recited.
Count Altenberg leaned forward, and seemed to listen with delight; then
stood up, and several times renewed his plaudits; at first, with an
appearance of timidity, afterwards, with decision and energy. Miss
Georgiana Falconer really acted uncommonly well, so that he could
without flattery applaud; and if he did exaggerate a little in the
expression of his admiration, he deemed it allowable. He had another
object: he was absolutely determined to see whether or not Caroline was
capable of the mean passions which had disgusted him in her rival. He
reflected that he had seen her only when she was triumphant; and he was
anxious to know how she would appear in different circumstances. Of
her high intellectual endowments he could not doubt; but temper is not
always a blessing given to the fair, or even to the wise. It may seem
strange that a gallant man should think of a beauty’s temper; and,
probably, if Count Altenberg had considered Caroline only as a beauty,
he would not have troubled himself to make, on this point, any severe
and dangerous scrutiny.
The play went on--Zara sustaining the interest of the scene. She was but
feebly supported by the sulky Selima, and the other parts were but ill
performed. The faults common to unpractised actors occurred: one of
Osman’s arms never moved, and the other sawed the air perpetually, as if
in pure despite of Hamlet’s prohibition. Then, in crossing over, Osman
was continually entangled in Zara’s robe; or, when standing still, she
was obliged to twitch her train thrice before she could get it from
beneath his leaden feet. When confident that he could repeat a speech
fluently, he was apt to turn his back upon his mistress; or, when he
felt himself called upon to listen to his mistress, he would regularly
turn his back upon the audience. But all these are defects permitted
by the licence of a private theatre, allowable by courtesy to
gentlemen-actors; and things went on as well as could be expected. Osman
had not his part by heart, but still Zara covered all deficiencies: and
Osman did no worse than other Osmans had done before him, till he came
to the long speech, beginning with,
“The sultans, my great ancestors, bequeath’d
Their empire to me, but their tastes they gave not.”
Powerful prompting got him through the first six lines decently enough,
till he came to
--“wasting tenderness in wild profusion,
I might look down to my surrounded feet,
And bless contending beauties,”
At this he bungled sadly--his hearing suddenly failing as well as his
memory, there was a dead stop. In vain the prompter, the scene-shifter,
the candle-snuffer, as loud as they could, and much louder than they
ought, reiterated the next sentence,
“I might speak,
Serenely slothful.”
It was plain that Osman could not speak, nor was he “serene.” He had
begun, as in dangers great he was wont, to kick his left ankle-bone
rapidly with his right heel; and through the pomp of Osman’s oriental
robes and turban young Petcalf stood confessed. He threw back an angry
look at the prompter--Zara terrified, gave up all for lost--the two Lady
Arlingtons retreated behind the scenes to laugh--the polite audience
struggled not to smile. Count Altenberg at this moment looked
at Caroline, who, instead of joining in the laugh, showed by her
countenance and manner the most good-natured sympathy.
Zara, recovering her presence of mind, swept across the stage in such a
manner as to hide from view her kicking sultan; and as she passed, she
whispered the line to him so distinctly, that he caught the sound, left
off kicking, went on with his speech, and all was well again. Count
Altenberg forgot to join in the cheering plaudits, he was so much
charmed at that instant by Caroline’s smile.
Fortunately for Zara, and for the audience, in the next scenes the
part of Lusignan was performed by a gentleman who had been well used to
acting--though he was not a man of any extraordinary capacity, yet, from
his _habit of the boards_, and his being perfect in his part, he now
seemed quite a superior person. It was found unaccountably easier to act
with this son of labour than with any other of the gentlemen-performers,
though they were all natural geniuses.
The moment Zara appeared with Lusignan, her powers shone forth--nothing
spoiled the illusion, the attention of the audience was fixed, their
interest was sustained, their feelings touched. The exercise of the fan
ceased in the front rows, glasses of lemonade were held untasted,
and nobody consulted the play-bill. Excited by success, sympathy, and
applause the most flattering, Zara went on with increasing éclat.
Meanwhile the Percy family, who were quite intent upon the play, began
to find their situation disagreeable from some noise behind the
scenes. A party of ladies, among whom was Lady Frances Arlington, stood
whispering so loud close to Caroline that their voices were heard by her
more distinctly than those of the actors. Lady Frances stood half hid
between the side scenes, holding a little white dog in her arms.
“Hush!” cried her ladyship, putting her fingers on her lips--her
companions became silent instantly. The house was now in profound
attention. Zara was in the midst of her favourite speech,
“Would you learn more, and open all my heart?
Know then that, spite of this renew’d injustice,
I do not--cannot--wish to love you less;
--That long before you look’d so low as Zara,
She gave her heart to Osman.”
At the name of _Osman_, the dog started and struggled--Lady Frances
appeared to restrain him, but he ran on the stage--leaped up on
Zara--and at the repetition of the name of _Osman_ sat down on his hind
legs, begged with his fore-paws, and began to whine in such a piteous
manner that the whole audience were on the brink of laughter--Zara, and
all her attendants and friends, lost their presence of mind.
Caroline sprang forward quite across the stage, caught the dog in her
arms, and carried him off. Count Altenberg, no longer master of himself,
clapped his hands, and the whole house resounded with applause.
Miss Georgiana Falconer misunderstood the cause of the plaudits,
imagined that she was _encored_, cast down her eyes, and, as soon as
there was silence, advanced and recommenced her speech, of which Count
Altenberg did not hear one word.
This malicious trick had been contrived by Lady Frances Arlington, to
revenge herself on Miss Georgiana Falconer for having prevented her
from taking a part in the play. Her ladyship had, in the course of the
rehearsals, privately drilled her dog to answer to the name of Osman,
when that name was pronounced in Zara’s tragic tone. The dog had been
kept out of the way till Zara was in the midst of that speech in which
she calls repeatedly on the name of Osman. This trick had been so well
contrived, that all but those who were in the secret imagined that the
appearance of the dog at this unlucky moment had been accidental. The
truth began indeed to be soon whispered in confidence.
But to return to Count Altenberg. At the commencement of the play, when
the idea of trying Caroline’s temper had occurred to him, he had felt
some anxiety lest all the high expectations he had formed, all the
bright enchantment, should vanish. In the first act, he had begun by
joining timidly in the general applause of Zara, dreading lest Caroline
should not be blessed with that temper which could bear the praises of a
rival “with unwounded ear.” But the count applauded with more confidence
in the second act; during the third was quite at his ease; and in the
fifth could not forgive himself for having supposed it possible that
Caroline could be liable to any of the foibles of her sex.
In the mean time Miss Georgiana Falconer, in high spirits, intoxicated
with vanity, was persuaded that the Count had returned to his senses;
and so little did she know of his character, or of the human heart,
as to expect that a declaration of love would soon follow this public
profession of admiration. Such was the confusion of her ideas, that she
was confident Zara was on the point of becoming Countess of Altenberg.
After the play was over, and a thousand compliments had been paid and
received, most of the company called for their carriages. The house
emptied fast: there remained only a select party, who were to stay
supper. They soon adjourned to the green-room to repeat their tribute of
applause to the actors. High in the midst stood Miss Georgiana
Falconer, receiving incense from a crowd of adorers. As Count Altenberg
approached, she assumed a languishing air of softness and sensibility.
The Count said all that could reasonably be expected, but his
compliments did not seem quite to satisfy the lady. She was in hopes
that he was going to say something more to her taste, when French Clay
pressed forward, which he did with an air neither French nor English. He
protested that he could not have conceived it possible for the powers of
any actress upon earth to interest him for the English Zara; “but
you, madam,” said he, “have done the impossible; and now I should die
content, if I could see your genius do justice to Zaïre. How you would
shine in the divine original, when you could do such wonders for a
miserable translation!”
Several gentlemen, and among others Mr. Percy, would not allow that the
English translation deserved to be called miserable. “The wrong side of
the tapestry we cannot expect should be quite equal to the right side.”
said he: “Voltaire pointed out a few odds and ends here and there, which
disfigured the work, and required to be cut off; but upon the whole, if
I recollect, he was satisfied with the piece, and complimented Mr. Hill
upon having preserved the general design, spirit, and simplicity of the
original.”
“Mere politeness in M. de Voltaire!” replied French Clay; “but, in
effect, Zaïre is absolutely incapable of any thing more than being _done
into_ English. For example, will any body have the goodness to tell me,”
said he, looking round, and fixing his look of appeal on Miss Caroline
Percy, “how would you translate the famous ‘_Zaïre!--vous pleurez!_”
“Is not it translated,” said Caroline, “by ‘Zara! you weep?’”
“Ah! _pardonnez moi!_” cried French Clay, with a shrug meant to be
French, but which English shoulders could not cleverly execute--“_Ah!
pardonnez!_ to my ears now that says nothing.”
“To our feelings it said a great deal just now,” said Caroline, looking
at Zara in a manner which was lost upon her feelings, but not upon Count
Altenberg’s.
“Ah! indubitably I admit,” cried Mr. Clay, “_la beauté est toujours dans
son pays_, and tears fortunately need no translation; but when we come
to words, you will allow me, ma’am, that the language of fine feeling is
absolutely untranslateable, _untransfusible_.”
Caroline seemed to wish to avoid being drawn forward to farther
discussion, but Mr. Clay repeated, in a tone of soft condescension,
“Your silence flatters me with the hope, ma’am, that we agree?”
Caroline could not submit to this interpretation of her silence, and
blushing, but without being disconcerted, she answered, that she had
always heard, and believed, it was the test of true feeling, as of
true wit, that it can be easily understood, and that its language is
universal.
“If I had ever doubted that truth,” said Count Altenberg, “I should have
been convinced of it by what I have seen and heard this night.”
Miss Georgiana Falconer bowed her head graciously to the Count, and
smiled, and sighed. Lady Frances Arlington and Rosamond smiled at the
same moment, for they perceived by the universal language of the eye,
that what Count Altenberg said was not intended for the lady who took it
so decidedly to herself. This was the second time this night that Miss
Georgiana Falconer’s vanity had appropriated to herself a compliment
in which she had no share. Yet, even at this moment, which, as she
conceived, was a moment of triumph, while she was encircled by adorers,
while the voice of praise yet vibrated in her ears, she felt anguish at
perceiving the serenity of her rival’s countenance; and, however strange
it may appear, actually envied Caroline for not being envious.
Mrs. Falconer, skilled in every turn of her daughter’s temper, which she
was now obliged to follow and humour, or dexterously to counteract,
lest it should ruin all schemes for her establishment, saw the cloud
gathering on Zara’s brow, and immediately fixed the attention of the
company upon the beauty of her dress and the fine folds of her velvet
train. She commenced lamentations on the difference between English and
French velvets. French Clay, as she had foreseen, took up the word, and
talked of _velvets_ till supper was announced.
When Mrs. Falconer attended Lady Trant and Lady Kew to their rooms,
a nocturnal conference was held in Lady Trant’s apartment, where, of
course, in the most confidential manner, their ladyships sat talking
over the events of the day, and of some matters too interesting to be
spoken of in general society. They began to congratulate Mrs. Falconer
upon the impression which Zara had made on Count Altenberg; but the wily
mother repressed their premature felicitations. She protested she was
positively certain that the person in question had _now_ no thoughts of
Georgiana, such as their ladyships’ partiality to her might lead them
to suppose; and now, when the business was over, she might venture to
declare that nothing could have persuaded her to let a daughter of hers
marry a foreigner. She should have been sorry to give offence to such an
amiable and well-informed young nobleman; and she really rejoiced that,
if her sentiments had been, as no doubt by a person of his penetration
they must have been, discovered, Count Altenberg had taken the hint
without being offended: indeed, she had felt it a point of conscience to
let the truth be seen time enough, to prevent his coming to a downright
proposal, and having the mortification of an absolute refusal. Other
mothers, she knew, might feel differently about giving a daughter to
a foreigner, and other young ladies might feel differently from her
Georgiana. Where there was so great an establishment in prospect, and
rank, and fashion, and figure, to say nothing of talents, it could
hardly be expected that such temptations should be resisted in a
_certain family_, where it was so very desirable, and indeed necessary,
to get a daughter married without a portion. Mrs. Falconer declared that
on every account she should rejoice, if things should happen to turn
out so. The present object was every way worthy, and charming. She was
a young lady for whom, even from the little she had seen of her, she
confessed she felt uncommonly interested--putting relationship out of
the question.
Thus having with able generalship secured a retreat for herself and for
her daughter, Mrs. Falconer retired to rest.
Early the next morning one of Lord Oldborough’s grooms brought a note
for Mr. Percy. Commissioner Falconer’s confidential servant took the
note immediately up to his master’s bedchamber, to inquire whether it
would be proper to waken Mr. Percy to give it to him, or to make the
groom wait till Mr. Percy should come down to breakfast.
The commissioner sat up in his bed, rubbed his eyes, read the direction
of the note, many times turned and returned it, and desired to see the
man who brought it. The groom was shown in.
“How is my lord’s gout?”
“Quite well, sir: my lord was out yesterday in the park--both a
horseback and afoot.”
“I am very happy to hear it. And pray, did any despatches come last
night from town, can you tell, sir?”
“I really can’t particularly say, sir--I was out with the horses.”
“But about this note?” said the commissioner.
The result of the cross-examination that followed gave reason to believe
that the note contained an invitation to breakfast, because he had heard
Mr. Rodney, my lord’s own gentleman, tell the man whose business it was
to attend at breakfast, that my lord would breakfast in his own room,
and expected a friend to breakfast with him.
“A friend--Hum! Was there no note to me?--no message?”
“None, sir--as I know.”
“Very extraordinary.” Mr. Falconer inclined to keep the man till
breakfast-time, but he would not be kept--he had orders to return with
an answer immediately; and he had been on the fidgets all the time the
commissioner had been detaining him; for Lord Oldborough’s messengers
could not venture to delay. The note was consequently delivered to Mr.
Percy immediately, and Mr. Percy went to breakfast at Clermont-park. The
commissioner’s breakfast was spoiled by the curiosity this invitation
excited, and he was obliged to chew green tea for the heartburn with
great diligence. Meantime the company were all talking the play over
and over again, till at last, when even Zara appeared satiated with the
subject, the conversation diverged a little to other topics. Unluckily
French Clay usurped so large a portion of attention, that Count
Altenberg’s voice was for some time scarcely heard--the contrast was
striking between a really well-bred polished foreigner, and a man who,
having kept bad company abroad, and having formed himself on a few bad
models, presented an exaggerated imitation of those who were ridiculous,
detested, or unknown, in good society at Paris; and whom the nation
would utterly disclaim as representatives of their morals or manners.
At this period of their acquaintance with Count Altenberg, every
circumstance which drew out his character, tastes, and opinions,
was interesting to the Percy family in general, and in particular
to Caroline. The most commonplace and disagreeable characters often
promoted this purpose, and thus afforded means of amusement, and
materials for reflection. Towards the end of breakfast, the newspapers
were brought in--the commissioner, who had wondered frequently what
could make them so late, seized upon the government-paper directly,
which he pocketed, and retired, after handing other newspapers to
Count Altenberg and to the Mr. Clays. English Clay, setting down his
well-sugared cup of tea, leaving a happily-prepared morsel of ham and
bread and butter on his plate, turned his back upon the ladies; and
comfortably settling himself with his arm over his chair, and the light
full upon London news, began to read to himself. Count Altenberg glanced
at _Continental News_, as he unfolded his paper, but instantly turned
to _Gazette Extraordinary_, which he laid before Mrs. Falconer. She
requested him, if it was not too much trouble, to read it aloud. “I hope
my foreign accent will not make it unintelligible,” said he; and without
farther preface, or considering how he was to appear himself, he obeyed.
Though he had not a perfectly English accent, he showed that he had a
thoroughly English heart, by the joy and pride he took in reading an
account of a great victory.
English Clay turned round upon his chair, and setting his arms a-kimbo,
with the newspaper still fast in his hand, and his elbow sticking out
across Lady Anne Arlington, sat facing the count, and listening to him
With a look of surprise. “Why, d----m’me, but you’re a good fellow,
after all!” exclaimed he, “though you are not an Englishman!”
“By the mother’s side I am, sir,” replied Count Altenberg. “I may boast
that I am at least half an Englishman.”
“Half is better than the whole,” said French Clay, scornfully.
“By the Lord, I could have sworn his mother, or some of his blood, was
English!” cried English Clay. “I beg your pardon, ma’am--‘fraid I
annoy your ladyship?” added he, perceiving that the Lady Anne haughtily
retreated from his offending elbow.
Then sensible of having committed himself by his sudden burst of
feeling, he coloured all over, took up his tea, drank as if he wished
to hide his face for ever in the cup, recovered his head with mighty
effort, turned round again to his newspaper, and was cold and silent as
before. His brother meanwhile was, or affected to be, more intent upon
some _eau sucrée_, that he was preparing for himself, than upon the
fate of the army and navy of Spain or England. Rising from the breakfast
table, he went into the adjoining room, and threw himself at full length
upon a sofa; Lady Frances Arlington, who detested politics, immediately
followed, and led the way to a work-table, round which the ladies
gathered, and formed themselves in a few minutes into a committee of
dress, all speaking at once; Count Altenberg went with the ladies out
of the breakfast-room, where English Clay would have been happy to have
remained alone; but being interrupted by the entrance of the servants,
he could not enjoy peaceable possession, and he was compelled also to
follow:--getting as far as he could from the female committee, he took
Petcalf into a window to talk of horses, and commenced a history of the
colts of Regulus, and of the plates they had won.
French Clay, rising from the sofa, and adjusting his cravat at a
looking-glass, carelessly said, addressing himself to Count Altenberg,
“I think, M. le Comte, I heard you say something about public feelings.
Now, I do not comprehend precisely what is meant by public feelings; for
my part, I am free to confess that I have none.”
“I certainly must have expressed myself ill,” replied Count Altenberg;
“I should have said, love of our country.”
Mrs. Percy, Rosamond, and Caroline, escaped from the committee of dress,
were now eagerly listening to this conversation.
“And if you had, M. le Comte, I might, _en philosophe_, have been
permitted to ask,” replied French Clay, “what is love of our country,
but a mere _prejudice_? and to a person of an _emancipated_ mind, that
word prejudice says volumes. Assuredly M. le Comte will allow, and must
_feel well_, that no prejudice ever was or can be useful to mankind.”
The Count fully admitted that utility is the best human test by which
all sentiment, as well as every thing else, can be tried: but he
observed that Mr. Clay had not yet proved love of our country to be a
useless or pernicious principle of action: and by his own argument, if
it can be proved to be useful, it should not be called, in the invidious
sense of the word, a prejudice.
“True--but the labour of the proof fortunately rests with you, M. le
Comte.”
Count Altenberg answered in French, speaking very rapidly. “It is a
labour saved me fortunately, by the recorded experience of all history,
by the testimony of the wisest and the best in all countries, ancient
and modern--all agree in proclaiming love of our country to be one of
the most powerful, most permanent motives to good and great actions; the
most expansive, elevating principle--elevating without danger--expansive
without waste; the principle to which the legislator looks for the
preservative against corruption in states--to which the moralist turns
for the antidote against selfishness in individuals. Recollect, name any
great character, ancient or modern--is not love of his country one of
his virtues? Can you draw--can you conceive a great character--a great
or a good character, or even a safe member of society without it? A man
hangs loose upon society, as your own Burke says--”
“Ah! M. le Comte!” cried Clay, shrinking with affected horror, “I
repent--I see what I have brought upon myself; after Burke will come
Cicero; and after Cicero all Rome, Carthage, Athens, Lacedemon. Oh!
spare me! since I was a schoolboy, I could never _suffer_ those names.
Ah! M. le Comte, de grâce!--I know I have put myself _in the case_ to be
buried alive under a load of quotations.”
The Count, with that good humour which disappoints ridicule, smiled, and
checked his enthusiasm.
“Is there not a kind of enthusiasm,” said Mrs. Percy, “which is as
necessary to virtue as to genius?”
French Clay shook his head. He was sorry to differ from a lady; as a
gallant man, he knew he was wrong, but as a philosopher he could not
patronize enthusiasm. It was the business, he apprehended, of philosophy
to correct and extinguish it.
“I have heard it said,” interposed Rosamond, “that it is a favourite
maxim of law, that the extreme of justice is the extreme of
injustice--perhaps this maxim may be applied to philosophy as well as to
law.”
“Why extinguish enthusiasm?” cried Caroline. “It is not surely the
business of philosophy to extinguish, but to direct it. Does not
enthusiasm, well directed, give life and energy to all that is good and
great?”
There was so much life and energy in Caroline’s beautiful countenance,
that French Clay was for a moment silenced by admiration.
“After all,” resumed he, “there is one slight circumstance, which
persons of feeling should consider, that the evils and horrors of war
are produced by this very principle, which some people think so useful
to mankind, this famous love of our country.”
Count Altenberg asked, whether wars had not more frequently arisen from
the unlawful fancies which princes and conquerors are apt to take for
the territories of their neighbours, than from the legitimate love of
their own country?
French Clay, hurried by a smile he saw on Rosamond’s lips, changed his
ground again for the worse, and said he was not speaking of wars, of
foreign conquests, but of defensive wars, where foolish people, from an
absurd love of their own country, that is, of certain barren mountains,
of _a few acres of snow_, or of collections of old houses and churches,
called capital cities, will expose themselves to fire, flame, and
famine, and will stand to be cut to pieces inchmeal, rather than to
submit to a conqueror, who might, ten to one, be a more civilized or
cleverer sort of a person than their own rulers; and under whom they
might enjoy all the luxuries of life--changing only the name of their
country for some other equally well-sounding name; and perhaps adopting
a few new laws, instead of what they might have been in the habit from
their childhood of worshipping, as a wittenagemote, or a diet, or a
constitution. “For my part,” continued French Clay, “I have accustomed
myself to go to the bottom of things. I have _approfondied_. I have not
suffered my understanding to be paralysed--I have made my own analysis
of happiness, and find that your legislators, and moralists, and
patriots, would juggle me out of many solid physical comforts, by
engaging me to fight for enthusiasms which do me no manner of good.”
Count Altenberg’s countenance had flushed with indignation, and cooled
with contempt, several times during Mr. Clay’s speech. Beginning in a
low composed voice, he first answered, whatever pretence to reason it
contained, in the analysis of human happiness, he observed, Mr. Clay had
bounded his to physical comforts--this was reducing civilized man below
even the savage, and nearly to the state of brutes. Did Mr. Clay
choose to leave out all intellectual pleasures--all the pleasures of
self-complacency, self-approbation, and sympathy? But, supposing that
he was content to bound his happiness, inelegant and low, to such narrow
limits, Count Altenberg observed, he did not provide for the security
even of that poor portion. If he were ready to give up the liberty or
the free constitution of the country in which he resided, ready to live
under tyrants and tyranny, how could he be secure for a year, a day,
even an hour, of his epicurean paradise?
Mr. Clay acknowledged, that, “in this point of view, it might be awkward
to live in a conquered country; but if a man has talents to make himself
agreeable to the powers that be, and money in his purse, _that_ can
never touch him, _chacun pour soi--et honi soit qui mal y pense_.”
“Is it in England!--Oh! can it be in England, and from an Englishman,
that I hear such sentiments!” exclaimed Count Altenberg. “Such I have
heard on the continent--such we have heard the precursors of the ruin,
disgrace, destruction of the princes and nations of Europe!”
Some painful reflections or recollections seemed to absorb the Count for
a few moments.
“_Foi d’honnête homme et de philosophe_,” French Clay declared, that,
for his own part, he cared not who ruled or how, who was conqueror, or
what was conquered, provided champagne and burgundy were left to him by
the conqueror.
Rosamond thought it was a pity Mr. Clay was not married to the lady who
said she did not care what revolutions happened, as long as she had her
roast chicken, and her little game at cards.
“Happen what will,” continued French Clay, “I have two hundred thousand
pounds, well counted--as to the rest, it is quite indifferent to me,
whether England be called England or France; for,” concluded he, walking
off to the committee of dress, “after all I have heard, I recur to my
first question, what is country--or, as people term it, _their native
land_?”
The following lines came full into Caroline’s recollection as French
Clay spoke:
“Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself has said,
This is my own, my native land?
Whose heart has ne’er within him burn’d,
As home his footsteps he hath turn’d,
From wandering on a foreign strand?
If such there he, go, mark him well;
High though his titles, proud his fame,
Boundless his wealth, as wish can claim,
Despite these titles, power and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living shall forfeit fair renown,
And doubly dying shall go down
To the vile dust from whence he sprung.
Unwept, unhonour’d, and unsung.”
Caroline asked Count Altenberg, who seemed well acquainted with English
literature, if he had ever read Scott’s Lay of the Last Minstrel?
The Count smiled, and replied,
“‘Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself has said’
any of those beautiful lines?”
Caroline, surprised that the Count knew so well what had passed in her
mind, blushed.
At this moment Mrs. Falconer returned, and throwing a reconnoitring
glance round the room to see how the company had disposed of themselves,
was well pleased to observe French Clay leaning on the back of
Georgiana’s chair, and giving her his opinion about some artificial
flowers. The ladies had been consulting upon the manner in which the
characters in “Love in a Village,”--or, “The Lord of the Manor,” should
be dressed, and Miss Arabella Falconer had not yet completely determined
which piece or which dress she preferred. She was glad that the Percys
had been kept from this committee, because, as they were not to be asked
to the entertainment, it was a subject she could not discuss before
them. Whenever they had approached the table, the young ladies had
talked only of fashions in general; and now, as Mrs. Percy and Caroline,
followed by Count Altenberg, joined them, Mrs. Falconer put aside a
volume of plays, containing “The Lord of the Manor,” &c.; and, taking
up another book, said something about the immortal bard to English
Clay, who happened to be near her. He replied, “I have every edition of
Shakspeare that ever was printed or published, and every thing that ever
was written about him, good, bad, or indifferent, at Clay-hall. I made
this a principle, and I think every Englishman should do the same.
_Your_ Mr. Voltaire,” added this polite Englishman, turning to Count
Altenberg, “made a fine example of himself by _dashing_ at _our_
Shakspeare?”
“Undoubtedly, Voltaire showed he did not understand Shakspeare, and
therefore did not do him justice,” replied Count Altenberg. “Even
Voltaire had some tinge of national prejudice, as well as other men. It
was reserved for women to set us, in this instance, as in many others,
an example at once of superior candour and superior talent.”
English Clay pulled up his boots, and, with a look of cool contempt,
said, “I see you are a lady’s man, monsieur.”
Count Altenberg replied, that if a lady’s man means an admirer of the
fair sex, he was proud to feel that he deserved that compliment; and
with much warmth he pronounced such a panegyric upon that sex, without
whom “_le commencement de la vie est sans secours, le milieu sans
plaisir, et la fin sans consolation_,” that even Lady Anne Arlington
raised her head from the hand on which it reclined, and every female eye
turned upon him with approbation.
“Oh! what a lover he will make, if ever he is in love,” cried Lady
Frances Arlington, who never scrupled saying any thing that came into
her head. “I beg pardon, I believe I have said something very shocking.
Georgiana, my dear, I protest I was not thinking of--But what
a disturbance I have made amongst all your faces, ladies--and
_gentlemen_,” repeated her ladyship, looking archly at the Count, whose
face at this moment glowed manifestly; “and all because gentlemen
and ladies don’t mind their grammar and their tenses. Now don’t you
recollect--I call upon Mrs. Falconer, who really has some presence
of--countenance--I call upon Mrs. Falconer to witness that I said ‘if;’
and, pray comprehend me, M. le Comte, else I must appear excessively
rude, I did not mean to say any thing of the present or the past, but
only of the future.”
The Count, recovering his presence of mind, and _presence_ of
_countenance_, turned to a little Cupid on the mantel-piece; and,
playfully doing homage before it, repeated,
“Qui que tu sois voici ton maître,
Il l’est, le fut--ou le doit être.”
“Oh! charming--oh! for a translation!” cried Mrs. Falconer, glad to turn
the attention from Georgiana:--“Lady Frances--ladies some of you, Miss
Percy, here’s my pencil.”
Here they were interrupted by Mr. Percy’s return from Lord Oldborough’s.
The commissioner followed Mr. Percy into the room, and asked, and was
answered, a variety of questions about despatches from town; trying,
but, in vain, to find out what had been going forward. At last he ended
with a look of absence, and a declaration that he was quite happy to
hear that Lord Oldborough had _so_ completely got rid of his gout.
“Completely,” said Mr. Percy; “and he desires me to tell you, that it
will be necessary for him to return to town in a few days.”
“In a few days!” cried the commissioner.
“In a few days!” repeated several voices, in different tones.
“In a few days!--Gracious Heaven! and what will become of ‘the Lord of
the Manor!’” cried Miss Falconer.
“Gently, my Arabella! never raise your voice so high--you, who are a
musician,” said Mrs. Falconer, “and so sweet a voice as you have--in
general. Besides,” added she, drawing her apart, “you forget that you
should not speak of ‘the Lord of the Manor’ before the Percys, as they
are not to be asked.”
“To be sure. Pray keep your temper, Bell, if you can, for a minute,”
whispered Miss Georgiana; “you see they have rung for the carriage.”
Mrs. Falconer began to entreat Mrs. Percy would not be in a hurry to run
away; but to her great joy the carriage came to the door.
At parting with Count Altenberg, Mr. Percy said that he regretted that
they were so soon to lose his company in this part of the world. “We,
who live so much retired, shall feel the loss particularly.”
The Count, evidently agitated, only said, in a low voice, “We are not
parting yet--we shall meet again--I hope--do you ever go to London?”
“Never.”
“At all events, we _must_ meet again,” said the Count.
The ladies had all collected at the open windows, to see the departure
of the Percys; but Miss Georgiana Falconer could learn nothing from the
manner in which the Count handed Caroline into the carriage. It did not
appear even that he spoke to her.
On his return, the Miss Falconers, and the Lady Arlingtons, were of
course talking of those who had just left the house. There was at first
but one voice in praise of Caroline’s beauty and talents, elegance,
and simplicity of manner. Mrs. Falconer set the example; Lady Frances
Arlington and Miss Georgiana Falconer extolled her in the highest
terms--one to provoke, the other not to appear provoked.
“La!” said Lady Frances, “how we may mistake even the people we know
best--Georgiana, can you conceive it? I never should have guessed, if
you had not told me, that Miss Caroline Percy was such a favourite of
yours. Do you know now, so little penetration have I, I should have
thought that you rather disliked her?”
“You are quite right, my dear Lady Frances,” cried Mrs. Falconer; “I
give you credit for your penetration: _entre nous_, Miss Caroline Percy
is no favourite of Georgiana.”
Georgiana actually opened her eyes with astonishment, and thought her
mother did not know what she was saying, and that she certainly did not
perceive that Count Altenberg was in the room.
“Count Altenberg, is this the book you are looking for?” said the young
lady, pronouncing Count Altenberg’s name very distinctly, to put her
mother on her guard.
Mrs. Falconer continued precisely in the same tone. “Georgiana does
justice, I am sure, to Miss Percy’s merit and charms; but the truth is,
she does not like her, and Georgiana has too much frankness to conceal
it; and now come here, and I will tell you the reason.” In a half
whisper, but perfectly intelligible to every one in the room, Mrs.
Falconer went on--“Georgiana’s favourite brother, Buckhurst--did you
never hear it? In days of yore, there was an attachment--Buckhurst, you
know, is very ardent in his attachments--desperately in love he was--and
no wonder. But at that time he was nobody--he was unprovided for, and
the young lady had a good fortune then--her father would have him go to
the bar--against the commissioner’s wishes. You know a young man will
do any thing if he is in love, and is encouraged--I don’t know how the
thing went on, or off, but Buckhurst found himself disappointed at last,
and was so miserable about it! ready to break his heart! you would have
pitied him! Georgiana was so sorry for him, that she never could forgive
the young lady--though I really don’t imagine, after all, she was to
blame. But sisters will feel for their brothers.”
Georgiana, charmed to find this amiable mode of accounting for her
dislike to Caroline, instantly pursued her mother’s hint, and
frankly declared that she never could conceal either her likings or
dislikings--that Miss Caroline Percy might have all the merit upon
earth, and she did not doubt but she had; yet she never could forgive
her for jilting Buckhurst--no, never! never! It might be unjust, but she
owned that it was a prepossession she could not conquer.
“Why, indeed, my dear young lady, I hardly know how to blame you,” cried
Lady Trant; “for certainly a jilt is not a very amiable character.”
“Oh! my dear Lady Trant, don’t use such a word--Georgiana!--Why will you
be so warm, so very unguarded, where that darling brother is concerned?
You really--Oh! my dear Lady Trant, this must not go farther--and
positively the word jilt must never be used again; for I’m confident it
is quite inapplicable.”
“I’d not swear for that,” cried Lady Trant; “for, now I recollect, at
Lady Angelica Headingham’s, what was it we heard, my dear Lady Kew,
about her coquetting with that Mr. Barclay, who is now going to be
married to Lady Mary Pembroke, you know?”
“Oh! yes, I did hear something, I recollect--but, at the time, I never
minded, because I did not know, then, who that Miss Caroline Percy
was--true, true, I recollect it now. And all, you know, we heard about
her and Sir James Harcourt--was there not something there? By all
accounts, it is plain she is not the simple country beauty she
looks--practised!--practised! you see.”
Miss Georgiana Falconer’s only fear was, that Count Altenberg might not
hear Lady Kew, who had lowered her voice to the note of mystery. Mrs.
Falconer, who had accomplished her own judicious purpose, of accounting
for Georgiana’s dislike of Miss Caroline Percy, was now afraid that her
dear friends would overdo the business; she made many efforts to stop
them, but once upon the scent of scandal, it was no easy matter to
change the pursuit.
“You seem to have found something that has caught your attention
delightfully, Count Altenberg,” said Mrs. Falconer; “how I envy any one
who is completely _in_ a book--what is it?”
“Johnson’s preface to Shakspeare.”
Miss Georgiana Falconer was vexed, for she recollected that Miss
Caroline Percy had just been speaking of it with admiration.
Mrs. Falconer wondered how it could have happened that she had never
read it.
Lady Kew persevered in her story. “Sir James Harcourt, I know, who is
the most polite creature in the whole world, and who never speaks an
ill word of any body, I assure you, said of Miss Caroline Percy in my
hearing--what I shall not repeat. Only this much I must tell you, Mrs.
Falconer--Mrs. Falconer!--She won’t listen because the young lady is
a relation of her own--and we are very rude; but truth is truth,
notwithstanding, you know. Well, well, she may talk of Miss Percy’s
beauty and abilities--very clever she is, I don’t dispute; but this I
may say, that Mrs. Falconer must never praise her to me for simplicity
of character.”
“Why, no,” said Miss Georgiana; “one is apt to suppose that a person
who has lived all her life in the country must, of course, have great
simplicity. But there is a simplicity of character, and a simplicity of
manner, and they don’t always go together. Caroline Percy’s manner is
fascinating, because, you know, it is what one does not meet with every
day in town--that was what struck my poor brother--that and her great
talents, which can make her whatever she pleases to be: but I am greatly
afraid she is not quite the _ingenuous_ person she looks.”
Count Altenberg changed colour, and was putting down his book suddenly,
when Mrs. Falconer caught it, and stopping him, asked how far he had
read.
Whilst he was turning over the leaves, Lady Trant went on, in her
turn--“With all her _practice_, or her _simplicity_, whichever it may
be--far be it from me to decide which--I fancy she has met with her
match, and has been disappointed in her turn.”
“Really!” cried Georgiana, eagerly: “How! What! When!--Are you certain?”
“Last summer--Oh! I have it from those who know the gentleman well. Only
an affair of the heart that did not end happily: but I am told she
was very much in love. The family would not hear of it--the
mother, especially, was averse: so the young gentleman ended by
marrying--exceedingly well--and the young lady by wearing the willow,
you know, a decent time.”
“Oh! why did you never tell me this before?” said Miss Georgiana.
“I protest I never thought of it, till Lady Kew brought it to my
recollection, by talking of Lady Angelica Headingham, and Sir James
Harcourt, and all that.”
“But who was the gentleman?”
“That’s a secret,” replied Lady Trant.
“A secret!--A secret!--What is it? What is it?” cried Lady Frances
Arlington, pressing into the midst of the party; for she was the most
curious person imaginable.
Then heads joined, and Lady Trant whispered, and Lady Frances exclaimed
aloud, “Hungerford?--Colonel Hungerford!”
“Fie! fie! Lady Frances,” cried Georgiana--and “Fie! fie! you are a
pretty person to keep a secret,” cried Lady Trant: “I vow I’ll never
trust your ladyship with a secret again--when you publish it in this
way.”
“I vow you will,” said Lady Frances. “Why, you all know, in your hearts,
you wish to publish it--else why tell it--especially to me? But all this
time I am not thinking in the least about the matter, nor was I when I
said _Hungerford_--I was and am thinking of my own affairs. What did I
do with the letter I received this morning? I had it here--no, I hadn’t
it--yes, I had--Anne!--Anne!--Lady Anne! the duchess’s letter: I gave it
to you; what did you do with it?”
“La! it is somewhere, I suppose,” said Lady Anne, raising her head, and
giving a vague look round the room.
Lady Frances made every one search their work-boxes, writing-boxes, and
reticules; then went from table to table, opening and shutting all the
drawers.
“Frances!--If you would not fly about so! What can it signify?”
expostulated Lady Anne. But in vain; her sister went on, moving every
thing and every body in the room, displacing all the cushions of all the
chairs in her progress, and, at last, approached Lady Anne’s sofa, with
intent to invade her repose.
“Ah! Frances!” cried Lady Anne, in a deprecating tone, with a gesture of
supplication and anguish in her eyes, “do let me rest!”
“Never, till I have the letter.”
With the energy of anger and despair Lady Anne made an effort to reach
the bell-cord--but it missed--the cord swung--Petcalf ran to catch it,
and stumbled over a stool--English Clay stood still and laughed--French
Clay exclaimed, “_Ah! mon Dieu! Cupidon!_”
Count Altenberg saved Cupid from falling, and rang the bell.
“Sir,” said Lady Anne to the footman, “I had a letter--some time this
morning, in my hand.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“I want it.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Pray, sir, tell somebody to tell Pritchard, to tell Flora, to go up
stairs to my dressing-room, sir, to look every where for’t; and let it
be brought to my sister, Lady Frances, if you please, sir.”
“No, no, sir, don’t do any thing about the matter, if you please--I will
go myself,” said Lady Frances.
Away the lady ran up stairs, and down again, with the letter in her
hand.
“Yes! exactly as I thought,” cried she; “my aunt does say, that Mrs.
Hungerford is to be down to-day--I thought so.”
“Very likely,” said Lady Anne; “I never thought about it.”
“But, Anne, you must think about it, for my aunt desires we should go
and see her directly.”
“I can’t go,” said Lady Anne--“I’ve a cold--your going will do.”
“Mrs. Falconer, my dear Mrs. Falconer, will you go with me to-morrow to
Hungerford Castle?” cried Lady Frances, eagerly.
“Impossible! my dear Lady Frances, unfortunately quite impossible. The
Hungerfords and we have no connexion--there was an old family quarrel--”
“Oh! never mind family quarrels and connexions--you can go, and I am
sure it will be taken very well--and you know you only go with me. Oh!
positively you must--now there’s my good dear Mrs. Falconer--yes, and
order the carriage this minute for to-morrow early,” said Lady Frances,
in a coaxing yet impatient tone.
Mrs. Falconer adhered to its being absolutely impossible.
“Then, Anne, you must go.”
No--Anne was impenetrable.
“Then I’ll go by myself,” cried Lady Frances, pettishly--“I’ll take
Pritchard with me, in our own carriage, and I’ll speak about it
directly--for go I must and will.”
“Now, Frances, what new fancy is this for Mrs. Hungerford? I am sure you
used not to care about her,” said Lady Anne.
“And I dare say I should not care about her now,” replied Lady Frances,
“but that I am dying to see an old pair of shoes she has.”
“An old pair of shoes!” repeated Lady Anne, with a look of unutterable
disdain.
“An old pair of shoes!” cried Mrs. Falconer, laughing.
“Yes, a pair of blue damask shoes as old as Edward the Fourth’s
time--with chains from the toe to the knee, you know--or do you know,
Count Altenberg? Miss Percy was describing them--she saw Colonel
Hungerford put them on--Oh! he must put them on for me--I’ll make him
put them on, chains and all, to-morrow.”
“Colonel Hungerford is on his way to India by this time,” said Georgiana
Falconer, drily.
“May I ask,” said Count Altenberg, taking advantage of the first pause
in the conversation--“may I ask if I understood rightly, that Mrs.
Hungerford, mother of Colonel Hungerford, lives in this neighbourhood,
and is coming into the country to-morrow?”
“Yes--just so,” said Lady Frances.
What concern can it be of his? thought Miss Georgiana Falconer, fixing
her eyes upon the Count with alarmed curiosity.
“I knew Colonel Hungerford abroad,” continued the Count, “and have a
great regard for him.”
Lady Kew, Lady Trant, and Miss Georgiana Falconer, exchanged looks.
“I am sorry that he is gone to India,” said Mrs. Falconer, in a
sentimental tone; “it would have been so pleasant to you to have renewed
an acquaintance with him in England.”
Count Altenberg regretted the absence of his friend, the colonel;
but, turning to Lady Frances, he congratulated himself upon having an
opportunity of presenting his letters of introduction, and paying his
respects to Mrs. Hungerford, of whom he had heard much from foreigners
who had visited England, and who had been charmed with her, and with her
daughter, Mrs. Mortimer--his letters of introduction had been addressed
to her town residence, but she was not in London when he was there.
“No, she was at Pembroke,” said Lady Kew.
I’m sure I wish she were there still, thought Miss Georgiana.
“But, after all, Lady Frances, is the duchess sure that Mrs. Hungerford
is actually come to the country?--May be, she is still in town.”
“I shall have the honour of letting your ladyship know; for, if Lord
Oldborough will permit, I shall certainly go, very soon, to pay my
respects at Hungerford Castle,” said Count Altenberg.
The prescient jealousy of Miss Georgiana Falconer boded ill of this
visit to Hungerford Castle. A few days afterwards a note was received
from Count Altenberg, returning many thanks to Mr. and Mrs. Falconer for
the civilities he had received from them, paying all proper compliments
to Zara, announcing his intention of accepting an invitation to stay
some time at Mrs. Hungerford’s, and taking a polite leave of the
Falconer family.
Here was a death-blow to all Georgiana’s hopes! But we shall not stay to
describe her disappointment, or the art of her mother in concealing it;
nor shall we accompany Mrs. Falconer to town, to see how her designs
upon the Clays or Petcalf prospered. We must follow Count Altenberg to
Hungerford Castle.