Tales And Novels, Volume 1 by Maria Edgeworth
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Maria Edgeworth >> Tales And Novels, Volume 1
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37 E-text prepared by Anne Folland, Jonathan Ingram, Mary Meehan, and the
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TALES AND NOVELS, VOLUME I
MORAL TALES
BY
MARIA EDGEWORTH
PREFACE.
It has been somewhere said by Johnson, that merely to invent a story is
no small effort of the human understanding. How much more difficult
is it to construct stories suited to the early years of youth, and,
at the same time, conformable to the complicate relations of modern
society--fictions, that shall display examples of virtue, without
initiating the young reader into the ways of vice--narratives, written in
a style level to his capacity, without tedious detail, or vulgar idiom!
The author, sensible of these difficulties, solicits indulgence for such
errors as have escaped her vigilance.
In a former work the author has endeavoured to add something to the
increasing stock of innocent amusement and early instruction, which the
laudable exertions of some excellent modern writers provide for the
rising generation; and, in the present, an attempt is made to provide for
young people, of a more advanced age, a few Tales, that shall neither
dissipate the attention, nor inflame the imagination.
In a work upon education, which the public has been pleased to notice, we
have endeavoured to show that, under proper management, amusement and
instruction may accompany each other through many paths of literature;
whilst, at the same time, we have disclaimed and reprehended all attempts
to teach in play. Steady, untired attention is what alone produces
excellence. Sir Isaac Newton, with as much truth as modesty, attributed
to this faculty those discoveries in science, which brought the heavens
within the grasp of man, and weighed the earth in a balance. To inure the
mind to athletic vigour is one of the chief objects of good education;
and we have found, as far as our limited experience has extended, that
short and active exertions, interspersed with frequent agreeable
relaxation, form the mind to strength and endurance, better than
long-continued feeble study.
Hippocrates, in describing the robust temperament, tells us that the
_athletae_ prepare themselves for the _gymnasium_ by strong exertion,
which they continued till they felt fatigue; they then reposed till they
felt returning strength and aptitude for labour: and thus, by alternate
exercise and indulgence, their limbs acquire the firmest tone of health
and vigour. We have found, that those who have tasted with the keenest
relish the beauties of Berquin, Day, or Barbauld, pursue a demonstration
of Euclid, or a logical deduction, with as much eagerness, and with more
rational curiosity, than is usually shown by students who are nourished
with the hardest fare, and chained to unceasing labour.
"Forester" is the picture of an eccentric character--a young man who
scorns the common forms and dependencies of civilized society; and who,
full of visionary schemes of benevolence and happiness, might, by
improper management, or unlucky circumstances, have become a fanatic and
a criminal.
The scene of "The Knapsack" is laid in Sweden, to produce variety; and to
show that the rich and poor, the young and old, in all countries, are
mutually serviceable to each other; and to portray some of those virtues
which are peculiarly amiable in the character of a soldier.
"Angelina" is a female Forester. The nonsense of _sentimentality_ is here
aimed at with the shafts of ridicule, instead of being combated by
serious argument. With the romantic eccentricities of Angelina are
contrasted faults of a more common and despicable sort. Miss Burrage is
the picture of a young lady who meanly natters persons of rank; and who,
after she has smuggled herself into good company, is ashamed to
acknowledge her former friends, to whom she was bound by the strongest
ties of gratitude.
"Mademoiselle Panache" is a sketch of the necessary consequences of
imprudently trusting the happiness of a daughter to the care of those who
can teach nothing but accomplishments.
"The Prussian Vase" is a lesson against imprudence, and on exercise of
judgment, and an eulogium upon our inestimable trial by jury. This tale
is designed principally for young gentlemen who are intended for the bar.
"The Good Governess" is a lesson to teach the art of giving lessons.
In "The Good Aunt," the advantages which a judicious early education
confers upon those who are intended for public seminaries are pointed
out. It is a common error to suppose that, let a boy be what he may, when
sent to Eton, Westminster, Harrow, or any great school, he will be
moulded into proper form by the fortuitous pressure of numbers; that
emulation will necessarily excite, example lead, and opposition polish
him. But these are vain hopes: the solid advantages which may be attained
in these large nurseries of youth must be, in a great measure, secured by
previous domestic instruction.
These Tales have been written to illustrate the opinions delivered in
"Practical Education." As their truth has appeared to me to be confirmed
by increasing experience, I sat down with pleasure to write this
preface for my daughter. It is hoped that the following stories will
afford agreeable relaxation from severer studies, and that they will be
thought--what they profess to be--_Moral_ Tales.
R.L. EDGEWORTH
CONTENTS.
FORESTER
THE PRUSSIAN VASE
THE GOOD AUNT
ANGELINA; OR, L'AMIE INCONNUE
THE GOOD FRENCH GOVERNESS
MADEMOISELLE PANACHE
THE KNAPSACK
FORESTER
Forester was the son of an English gentleman, who had paid some attention
to his education, but who had some singularities of opinion, which
probably influenced him in his conduct toward his children.
Young Forester was frank, brave, and generous, but he had been taught to
dislike politeness so much, that the common forms of society appeared to
him either odious or ridiculous; his sincerity was seldom restrained by
any attention to the feelings of others. His love of independence was
carried to such an extreme, that he was inclined to prefer the life of
Robinson Crusoe in his desert island, to that of any individual in
cultivated society. His attention had been early fixed upon the follies
and vices of the higher classes of people; and his contempt for selfish
indolence was so strongly associated with the name of gentleman, that he
was disposed to choose his friends and companions from amongst his
inferiors: the inequality between the rich and the poor shocked him; his
temper was enthusiastic as well as benevolent; and he ardently wished to
be a man, and to be at liberty to act for himself, that he might reform
society, or at least his own neighbourhood. When he was about nineteen
years old, his father died, and young Forester was sent to Edinburgh, to
Dr. Campbell, the gentleman whom his father had appointed his guardian.
In the choice of his mode of travelling his disposition appeared. The
stage-coach and a carrier set out nearly at the same time from Penrith.
Forester, proud of bringing his principles immediately into action, put
himself under the protection of the carrier, and congratulated himself
upon his freedom from prejudice. He arrived at Edinburgh in all the glory
of independence, and he desired the carrier to set him down at Dr.
Campbell's door.
"The doctor is not at home," said the footman, who opened the door.
"He _is_ at home," exclaimed Forester with indignation; "I see him at the
window."
"My master is just going to dinner, and can't see any body now," said the
footman; "but if you will call again at six o'clock, maybe he may see
you, my good lad."
"My name is Forester--let me in," said Forester, pushing-forwards.
"Forester!--Mr. Forester!" said the footman; "the young gentleman that
was expected in the coach to-day?" Without deigning to give the footman
any explanation, Forester took his own portmanteau from the carrier; and
Dr. Campbell came down-stairs just when the footman was officiously
struggling with the young gentleman for his burden. Dr. Campbell
received his pupil very kindly; but Forester would not be prevailed upon
to rub his shoes sufficiently upon the mat at the bottom of the stairs,
or to change his disordered dress before he made his appearance in the
drawing-room. He entered with dirty shoes, a threadbare coat, and hair
that looked as if it never had been combed; and he was much surprised by
the effect which his singular appearance produced upon the risible
muscles of some of the company.
"I have done nothing to be ashamed of," said he to himself; but,
notwithstanding all his efforts to be and to appear at ease, he was
constrained and abashed. A young laird, Mr. Archibald Mackenzie, seemed
to enjoy his confusion with malignant, half-suppressed merriment, in
which Dr. Campbell's son was too good-natured, and too well-bred, to
participate. Henry Campbell was three or four years older than Forester,
and _though_ he looked like a gentleman, Forester could not help being
pleased with the manner in which he drew him into conversation. The
secret magic of politeness relieved him insensibly from the torment of
false shame.
"It is a pity this lad was bred up a gentleman," said Forester to
himself, "for he seems to have some sense and goodness."
Dinner was announced, and Forester was provoked at being interrupted in
an argument concerning carts and coaches, which he had begun with Henry
Campbell. Not that Forester was averse to eating, for he was at this
instant ravenously hungry: but eating in company he always found equally
repugnant to his habits and his principles. A table covered with a clean
table-cloth; dishes in nice order; plates, knives, and forks, laid at
regular distances, appeared to our young Diogenes absurd superfluities,
and he was ready to exclaim, "How many things I do not want!" Sitting
down to dinner, eating, drinking, and behaving like other people,
appeared to him difficult and disagreeable ceremonies. He did not
perceive that custom had rendered all these things perfectly easy to
every one else in company; and as soon as he had devoured his food his
own way, he moralized in silence upon the good sense of Sancho Panza, who
preferred eating an egg behind the door to feasting in public; and he
recollected his favourite traveller Le Vaillant's[1] enthusiastic
account of his charming Hottentot dinners, and of the disgust that he
afterwards felt, on the comparison of European etiquette and African
_simplicity_.
[Footnote 1: Le Vaillant's Travels in Africa, vol. i. p. 114.]
"Thank God, the ceremony of dinner is over," said Forester to Henry
Campbell, as soon as they rose from table.
All these things, which seemed mere matter of course in society, appeared
to Forester strange ceremonies. In the evening there were cards for those
who liked cards, and there was conversation for those who liked
conversation. Forester liked neither; he preferred playing with a cat;
and he sat all night apart from the company in a corner of a sofa. He
took it for granted that the conversation could not be worth his
attention, because he heard Lady Catherine Mackenzie's voice amongst
others; he had conceived a dislike, or rather a contempt for this lady,
because she showed much of the pride of birth and rank in her manners.
Henry Campbell did not think it necessary to punish himself for her
ladyship's faults, by withdrawing from entertaining conversation; he knew
that his father had the art of managing the frivolous subjects started in
general company, so as to make them lead to amusement and instruction;
and this Forester would probably have discovered this evening, had he not
followed his own thoughts, instead of listening to the observations of
others. Lady Catherine, it is true, began with a silly history of her
hereditary antipathy for pickled cucumbers; and she was rather tiresome
in tracing the genealogy of this antipathy through several generations of
her ancestry; but Dr. Campbell said "that he had heard, from an ingenious
gentleman of her ladyship's family, that her ladyship's grandfather, and
several of his friends, nearly lost their lives by pickled cucumbers;"
and thence the doctor took occasion to relate several curious
circumstances concerning the effects of different poisons.
Dr. Campbell, who plainly saw both the defects and the excellent
qualities of his young ward, hoped that, by playful raillery, and by
well-timed reasoning, he might mix a sufficient portion of good sense
with Forester's enthusiasm, might induce him gradually to sympathize in
the pleasures of cultivated society, and might convince him that virtue
is not confined to any particular class of men; that education, in the
enlarged sense of the word, creates the difference between individuals
more than riches or poverty. He foresaw that Forester would form a
friendship with his son, and that this attachment would cure him of his
prejudices against _gentlemen_, and would prevent him from indulging his
taste for vulgar company. Henry Campbell had more useful energy, though
less apparent enthusiasm, than his new companion: he was always employed;
he was really independent, because he had learned how to support himself
either by the labours of his head or of his hands; but his independence
did not render him unsociable; he was always ready to sympathize with the
pleasures of his friends, and therefore he was beloved: following his
father's example, he did all the good in his power to those who were in
distress; but he did not imagine that he could reform every abuse in
society, or that he could instantly new-model the universe. Forester
became, in a few days, fond of conversing, or rather of holding long
arguments, with Henry; but his dislike to the young laird, Archibald
Mackenzie, hourly increased. Archibald and his mother, Lady Catherine
Mackenzie, were relations to Mrs. Campbell, and they were now upon a
visit at her house. Lady Catherine, a shrewd woman, fond of precedence,
and fully sensible of the importance that wealth can bestow, had
sedulously inculcated into the mind of her son all the maxims of worldly
wisdom which she had collected in her intercourse with society; she had
inspired him with family pride, but at the same time had taught him to
pay obsequious court to his superiors in rank or fortune: the art of
rising in the world, she knew, did not entirely depend upon virtue or
ability; she was consequently more solicitous about her son's manners
than his morals, and was more anxious that he should form high
connexions, than that he should apply to the severe studies of a
profession. Archibald was nearly what might be expected from his
education, alternately supple to his superiors, and insolent to his
inferiors: to insinuate himself into the favour of young men of rank and
fortune, he affected to admire extravagance; but his secret maxims of
parsimony operated even in the midst of dissipation. Meanness and pride
usually go together. It is not to be supposed that young Forester had
such quick penetration, that he could discover the whole of the artful
Archibald's character in the course of a few days' acquaintance; but he
disliked him for good reasons, because he was a laird, because he had
laughed at his first entree, and because he was learning to dance.
THE SKELETON.
About a week after our hero's arrival at Dr. Campbell's, the doctor was
exhibiting some chemical experiments, with which Henry hoped that his
young friend would be entertained; but Forester had scarcely been five
minutes in the laboratory, before Mackenzie, who was lounging about the
room, sneeringly took notice of a large hole in his shoe. "It is easily
mended," said the independent youth; and he immediately left the
laboratory, and went to a cobbler's, who lived in a narrow lane, at the
back of Dr. Campbell's house. Forester had, from his bed-chamber window,
seen this cobbler at work early every morning; he admired his industry,
and longed to be acquainted with him. The good-humoured familiarity of
Forester's manner pleased the cobbler, who was likewise diverted by the
eagerness of _the young gentleman_ to mend his own shoe. After spending
some hours at the cobbler's stall, the shoe was actually mended, and
Forester thought that his morning's work was worthy of admiration. In a
court (or, as such places are called in Edinburgh, a close) near the
cobbler's, he saw some boys playing at ball: he joined them; and, whilst
they were playing, a dancing-master with his hair powdered, and who
seemed afraid of spattering his clean stockings, passed through the
court, and interrupted the ball players for a few seconds. The boys, as
soon as the man was out of hearing, declared that he passed through
_their_ court regularly twice a day, and that he always kicked their
marbles out of the ring. Without staying to weigh this evidence
scrupulously, Forester received it with avidity, and believed all that
had been asserted was true, because the accused was a dancing-master;
from his education he had conceived an antipathy to dancing-masters,
especially to such as wore silk stockings, and had their heads well
powdered. Easily fired at the idea of any injustice, and eager to redress
the grievances of _the poor,_ Forester immediately concerted with these
boys a scheme to deliver them from what he called the insolence of the
dancing-master, and promised that he would compel him to go round by
another street.
In his zeal for the liberty of his new companions, our hero did not
consider that he was infringing upon the liberties of a man who had never
done him any injury, and over whom he had no right to exercise any
control.
Upon his return to Dr. Campbell's, Forester heard the sound of a violin;
and he found that his enemy, M. Pasgrave, the dancing-master, was
attending Archibald Mackenzie: he learnt, that he was engaged to give
another lesson the next evening; and the plans of the confederates in
the ball-alley were arranged accordingly. In Dr. Campbell's room Forester
remembered to have seen a skeleton in a glass case; he seized upon it,
carried it down to his companions, and placed it in a niche in the
wall, on the landing-place of a flight of stone stairs down which the
dancing-master was obliged to go. A butcher's son (one of Forester's new
companions) he instructed to stand at a certain hour behind the skeleton,
with two rushlights, which he was to hold up to the eye-holes in the
skull.
The dancing-master's steps were heard approaching at the expected hour;
and the boys stood in ambush to enjoy the diversion of the sight. It was
a dark night; the fiery eyes of the skeleton glared suddenly upon the
dancing-master, who was so terrified at the spectacle, and in such haste
to escape, that his foot slipped, and he fell down the stone steps: his
ankle was sprained by the fall, and he was brought to Dr. Campbell's.
Forester was shocked at this tragical end of his intended comedy. The
poor man was laid upon a bed, and he writhed with pain. Forester, with
vehement expressions of concern, explained to Dr. Campbell the cause of
this accident, and he was much touched by the dancing-master's good
nature, who, between every twinge of pain, assured him that he should
soon be well, and endeavoured to avert Dr. Campbell's displeasure.
Forester sat beside the bed, reproaching himself bitterly; and he was yet
more sensible of his folly, when he heard, that the boys, whose part he
had hastily taken, had frequently amused themselves with playing
mischievous tricks upon this inoffensive man, who declared, that he had
never purposely kicked their marbles out of the ring, but had always
implored them to make way for him with all the civility in his power.
Forester resolved, that before he ever again attempted to do justice, he
would, at least, hear both sides of the question.
THE ALARM.
Forester would willingly have sat up all night with M. Pasgrave, to
foment his ankle from time to time, and, if possible, to assuage the
pain: but the man would not suffer him to sit up, and about twelve
o'clock he retired to rest. He had scarcely fallen asleep, when his door
opened, and Archibald Mackenzie roused him, by demanding, in a peremptory
tone, how he could sleep when the whole family were frightened out of
their wits by his pranks?
"Is the dancing-master worse? What's the matter?" exclaimed Forester in
great terror.
Archihald replied, that he was not talking or thinking about the
dancing-master, and desired Forester to make haste and dress himself, and
that he would then soon hear what was the matter.
Forester dressed himself as fast as he could, and followed Archibald
through a long passage, which led to a back staircase. "Do you hear the
noise?" said Archibald.
"Not I," said Forester.
"Well, you'll hear it plain enough presently," said Archibald: "follow me
down-stairs."
He followed, and was surprised, when he got into the hall, to find all
the family assembled. Lady Catherine had been awakened by a noise, which
she at first imagined to be the screaming of an infant. Her bedchamber
was on the ground floor, and adjoining to Dr. Campbell's laboratory, from
which the noise seemed to proceed. She awakened her son Archibald and
Mrs. Campbell; and, when she recovered her senses a little, she listened
to Dr. Campbell, who assured her, that what her ladyship thought was the
screaming of an infant was the noise of a cat: the screams of this cat
were terrible; and, when the light approached the door of the laboratory,
the animal flew at the door with so much fury, that nobody could venture
to open it. Every body looked at Forester, as if they suspected that he
had confined the cat, or that he was in some way or other the cause of
the disturbance. The cat, which, from his having constantly fed and
played with it, had grown extremely fond of him, used to follow him often
from room to room; and he now recollected, that it followed him the
preceding evening into the laboratory, when he went to replace the
skeleton. He had not observed whether it came out of the room again, nor
could he now conceive the cause of its yelling in this horrible manner.
The animal seemed to be mad with pain. Dr. Campbell asked his son whether
all the presses were locked. Henry said he was sure they were all locked.
It was his business to lock them every evening; and he was so exact, that
nobody doubted his accuracy.
Archibald Mackenzie, who all this time knew, or at least suspected the
truth, held himself in cunning silence. The preceding evening he, for
want of something to do, had strolled into the laboratory, and, with the
pure curiosity of idleness, peeped into the presses, and took the
stoppers out of several of the bottles. Dr. Campbell happened to come in,
and carelessly asked him if he had been looking in the presses; to which
question Archibald, though with scarcely any motive for telling a
falsehood, immediately replied in the negative. As the doctor turned his
head, Archibald put aside a bottle, which he had just before taken out of
the press; and, fearing that the noise of replacing the glass stopper
would betray him, he slipped it into his waistcoat pocket. How much
useless cunning! All this transaction was now fully present to
Archibald's memory: and he was well convinced that Henry had not seen the
bottle when he afterwards went to lock the presses; that the cat had
thrown it down; and that this was the cause of all the yelling that
disturbed the house. Archibald, however, kept his lips fast closed; he
had told one falsehood; he dreaded to have it discovered; and he hoped
the blame of the whole affair would rest upon Forester. At length the
animal flew with diminished fury at the door; its screams became feebler
and feebler, till, at last, they totally ceased. There was silence: Dr.
Campbell opened the door: the cat was seen stretched upon the ground,
apparently lifeless. As Forester looked nearer at the poor animal, he saw
a twitching motion in one of its hind legs; Dr. Campbell said, that it
was the convulsion of death. Forester was just going to lift up his cat,
when his friend Henry stopped his hand, telling him, that he would burn
himself, if he touched it. The hair and flesh of the cat on one side were
burnt away, quite to the bone. Henry pointed to the broken bottle, which,
he said, had contained vitriolic acid.
Henry in vain attempted to discover by whom the bottle of vitriolic acid
had been taken out of its place. Suspicion naturally fell upon Forester,
who, by his own account, was the last person in the room before the
presses had been locked for the night. Forester, in warm terms, asserted,
that he knew nothing of the matter. Dr. Campbell coolly observed, that
Forester ought not to be surprised at being suspected upon this occasion;
because every body had the greatest reason to suspect the person, whom
they had detected in one _practical joke,_ of planning another.
"Joke!" said Forester, looking down upon his lifeless favourite; "do you
think me capable of such cruelty? Do you doubt my truth?" exclaimed
Forester, haughtily. "You are unjust. Turn me out of your house this
instant. I do not desire your protection, if I have forfeited your
esteem."
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