Tales And Novels, Volume 1 by Maria Edgeworth

M >> Maria Edgeworth >> Tales And Novels, Volume 1

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Herbert was reading a passage, which Mad. de Rosier had marked for him,
in Xenophon's Cyropaedia. With her explanations, it might have been
intelligible to him. Herbert read the account of Cyrus's judgment upon
the two boys, who had quarrelled about their great and little coats, much
to his mother's satisfaction, because he had understood every word of it,
except the word _constituted_.

"_Constituted judge_--what does that mean, mamma?"

"Made a judge, my dear: go on."

"I saw a judge once, mamma, in a great wig--had Cyrus a wig, when he was
con--const!--made a judge?"

Isabella and Mrs. Harcourt laughed at this question; and they endeavoured
to explain the difference between a Persian and an English judge.

Herbert with some difficulty separated the ideas, which he had so firmly
associated, of a judge and a great wig; and when he had, or thought he
had, an abstract notion of a judge, he obeyed his mother's repeated
injunctions of "Go on--go on." He went on, after observing that what came
next was not marked by Mad. de Rosier for him to read.

Cyrus's mother says to him: _"Child, the same things are not accounted
just with your grandfather here, and yonder in Persia."_ At this sentence
Herbert made a dead stop; and, after pondering for some time, said, "I
don't understand what Cyrus's mother meant--what does she mean by
_accounted just_?--_Accounted_, Matilda, I thought meant only about
casting up sums?"

"It has another meaning, my dear," Matilda mildly began.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, spare me!" exclaimed Mrs. Harcourt; "do not let
me hear all the meanings of all the words in the English language.
Herbert may look for the words that he does not understand, in the
dictionary, when he has done reading. Go on, now, pray; for," added she,
looking at her watch, "you have been half an hour reading half a page:
this would tire the patience of Job."

Herbert, perceiving that his mother was displeased, began in the same
instant to be frightened; he hurried on as fast as he could, without
understanding one word more of what he was reading; his precipitation was
worse than his slowness: he stumbled over the words, missed syllables,
missed lines, made the most incomprehensible nonsense of the whole; till,
at length, Mrs. Harcourt shut the book in despair, and soon afterward
despatched Herbert, who was also in despair, to bed. At this catastrophe,
Favoretta looked very grave, and a general gloom seemed to overspread the
company.

Mrs. Harcourt was mortified at the silence that prevailed, and made
several ineffectual attempts to revive the freedom and gaiety of
conversation:--"Ah!" said she to herself, "I knew it would be so;--they
cannot be happy without Mad. de Rosier."

Isabella had taken up a book. "Cannot you read for our entertainment,
Isabella, my dear, as well as for your own?" said her mother: "I assure
you, I am as much interested always in what you read to me, as Mad. de
Rosier herself can be."

"I was just looking, mamma, for some lines, that we read the other day,
which Mad. de Rosier said she was sure you would like. Can you find them,
Matilda? You know Mad. de Rosier said that mamma would like them, because
she has been at the opera."

"I have been at a great many operas," said Mrs. Harcourt, dryly; "but I
like other things as well as operas--and I cannot precisely guess what
you mean by _the_ opera--has it no name?"

"Medea and Jason, ma'am."

"The _ballet_ of Medea and Jason. It's a very fine thing, certainly; but
one has seen it so often. Read on, my dear."

Isabella then read a passage, which, notwithstanding Mrs. Harcourt's
inclination to be displeased, captivated her ear, and seized her
imagination.

"Slow out of earth, before the festive crowds,
On wheels of fire, amid a night of clouds,
Drawn by fierce fiends, arose a magic car,
Received the queen, and, hov'ring, flamed in air.
As with raised hands the suppliant traitors kneel,
And fear the vengeance they deserved to feel;

"Thrice, with parch'd lips, her guiltless babes she press'd,
And thrice she clasp'd them to her tortured breast.
Awhile with white uplifted eyes she stood,
Then plunged her trembling poniards in their blood.
Go, kiss your sire! go, share the bridal mirth!
She cried, and hurl'd their quiv'ring limbs on earth.
Rebellowing thunders rock the marble tow'rs,
And red-tongucd lightnings shoot their arrowy show'rs:
Earth yawns!--the crashing ruin sinks!--o'er all
Death with black hands extends his mighty pall."

"They are admirable lines, indeed!" exclaimed Mrs. Harcourt.

"I knew, mamma, you would like them," said Isabella; "and I'm sure I wish
I had seen the ballet too."

"You were never at an opera," said Mrs. Harcourt, after Isabella had
finished reading; "should you, either of you, or both, like to go with me
to-night to the opera?"

"To-night, ma'am!" cried Isabella, in a voice of joy.

"To-night, mamma!" cried Matilda, timidly; "but you were not well this
morning."

"But I am very well, now, my love; at least quite well enough to go out
with you--let me give you some pleasure. Ring for Grace, my dear
Matilda," added Mrs. Harcourt, looking at her watch, "and do not let us
be sentimental, for we have not a moment to lose--we must prevail upon
Grace to be as quick as lightning in her operations."

Grace was well disposed to be quick--she was delighted with what she
called _the change of measures_;--she repeated continually, in the midst
of their hurried toilette--

"Well, I am so glad, young ladies, you're going out with your _mamma_, at
last--I never saw my mistress look so well as she does to-night."

Triumphant, and feeling herself to be a person of consequence, Grace was
indefatigably busy, and Mrs. Harcourt thought that her talkative zeal was
the overflowing of an honest heart.

After Mrs. Harcourt, with Isabella and Matilda, were gone to the opera,
Favoretta, who had been sent to bed by her mother, because she was in the
way when they were dressing, called to Grace to beg that she would close
the shutters in her room, for the moon shone upon her bed, and she could
not go to sleep.

"I wish mamma would have let me sit up a little longer," said Favoretta,
"for I am not at all sleepy."

"You always go to bed a great deal earlier, you know, miss," said Grace,
"when your governess is at home; I would let you get up, and come down to
tea with me, for I'm just going to take my late dish of tea, to rest
myself, only I dare not let you, because--"

"Because what?"

"Because, miss, you remember how you served me about the queen-cake."

"But I do not want you to give me any queen-cake; I only want to get up
for a little while," said Favoretta.

"Then get up," said Grace: "but don't make a noise, to waken Master
Herbert."

"Do you think," said Favoretta, "that Herbert would think it wrong?"

"Indeed, I don't think at all about what he thinks," said Mrs. Grace,
tossing back her head, as she adjusted her dress at the glass; "and, if
you think so much about it, you'd better lie down again."

"Oh! I can't lie down again," said Favoretta; "I have got my shoes
on--stay for me, Grace--I'm just ready."

Grace, who was pleased with an opportunity of indulging this little girl,
and who flattered herself that she should regain her former power over
Favoretta's undistinguishing affections, waited for her most willingly.
Grace drank her _late_ dish of tea in her mistress's dressing-room, and
did every thing in her power to humour "her sweet Favoretta."

Mrs. Rebecca, Mrs. Fanshaw's maid, was summoned; she lived in the next
street. She was quite overjoyed, she said, at entering the room, to see
Miss Favoretta--it was an age since she had a sight or a glimpse of her.

We pass over the edifying conversation of those two ladies--Miss
Favoretta was kept awake, and in such high spirits by flattery, that she
did not perceive how late it was--she begged to stay up a little longer,
and a little longer.

Mrs. Rebecca joined in these entreaties, and Mrs. Grace could not refuse
them; especially as she knew that the coach would not go for Mad. de
Rosier till after her mistress's return from the opera.

The coachman had made this arrangement for his own convenience, and had
placed it entirely to the account of his horses.

Mrs. Grace depended, rather imprudently, upon the coachman's arrangement;
for Mad. de Rosier, finding that the coach did not call for her at the
hour she had appointed, sent for a chair, and returned home, whilst
Grace, Mrs. Rebecca, and Favoretta, were yet in Mrs. Harcourt's
dressing-room.

Favoretta was making a great noise, so that they did not hear the knock
at the door.

One of the housemaids apprised Mrs. Grace of Mad. de Rosier's arrival.
"She's getting out of her chair, Mrs. Grace, in the hall."

Grace started up, put Favoretta into a little closet, and charged her not
to make the least noise _for her life_.--Then, with a candle in her hand,
and a treacherous smile upon her countenance, she sallied forth to the
head of the stairs, to light Mad. de Rosier.--"Dear ma'am! my mistress
will be _so_ sorry the coach didn't go for you in time;--she found
herself better after you went--and the two young ladies are gone with her
to the opera."

"And where are Herbert and Favoretta?"

"In bed, ma'am, and asleep, hours ago.--Shall I light you, ma'am, this
way, to your room?"

"No," said Mad. de Rosier; "I have a letter to write: and I'll wait in
Mrs. Harcourt's dressing-room till she comes home."

"Very well, ma'am. Mrs. Rebecca, it's only Mad. de Rosier.--Mad. de
Rosier, it's only Rebecca, Mrs. Fanshaw's maid, ma'am, who's here very
often when my mistress is at home, and just stepped out to look at the
young ladies' drawings, which my mistress gave me leave to show her the
first time she drank tea with me, ma'am."

Mad. de Rosier, who thought all this did not concern her in the least,
listened to it with cold indifference, and sat down to write her letter.

Grace fidgeted about the room, as long as she could find any pretence for
moving any thing into or out of its place; and, at length, in no small
degree of anxiety for the prisoner she had left in the closet, quitted
the dressing-room.

As Mad. de Rosier was writing, she once or twice thought that she heard
some noise in the closet; she listened, but all was silent; and she
continued to write, till Mrs. Harcourt, Isabella, and Matilda, came home.

Isabella was in high spirits, and began to talk, with considerable
volubility, to Mad. de Rosier about the opera.

Mrs. Harcourt was full of apologies about the coach; and Matilda rather
anxious to discover what it was that had made a change in her mother's
manner towards Mad. de Rosier.

Grace, glad to see that they were all intent upon their own affairs,
lighted their candles expeditiously, and stood waiting, in hopes that
they would immediately leave the room, and that she should be able to
release her prisoner.

Favoretta usually slept in a little closet within Mrs. Grace's room, so
that she foresaw no difficulty in getting her to bed.

"I heard!--did not _you_ hear a noise, Isabella?" said Matilda.

"A noise!--No; where?" said Isabella, and went on talking alternately to
her mother and Mad. de Rosier, whom she held fast, though they seemed
somewhat inclined to retire to rest.

"Indeed," said Matilda, "I did hear a noise in that closet."

"Oh dear, Miss Matilda," cried Grace, getting between Matilda and the
closet, "it's nothing in life but a mouse."

"A mouse, where?" said Mrs. Harcourt.

"Nowhere, ma'am," said Grace; "only Miss Matilda was hearing noises, and
I said they must be mice."

"There, mamma! there! that was not a mouse, surely!" said Matilda. "It
was a noise louder, certainly, than any mouse could make."

"Grace is frightened," said Isabella, laughing.

Grace, indeed, looked pale and terribly frightened.

Mad. de Rosier took a candle, and walked directly to the closet.

"Ring for the men," said Mrs. Harcourt.

Matilda held back Mad. de Rosier; and Isabella, whose head was now just
recovered from the opera, rang the bell with considerable energy.

"Dear Miss Isabella, don't ring so;--dear ma'am, don't be frightened, and
I'll tell you the whole truth, ma'am," said Grace to her mistress; "it's
nothing in the world to frighten any body--it's only Miss Favoretta,
ma'am."

"Favoretta!" exclaimed every body at once, except Mad. de Rosier, who
instantly opened the closet door, but no Favoretta appeared.

"Favoretta is not here," said Mad. de Rosier.

"Then I'm undone!" exclaimed Grace; "she must have got out upon the
leads." The leads were, at this place, narrow, and very dangerous.

"Don't scream, or the child is lost," said Mad. de Rosier.

Mrs. Harcourt sank down into an arm-chair. Mad. de Rosier stopped
Isabella, who pressed into the closet.

"Don't speak, Isabella--Grace, go into the closet--call Favoretta--hear
me, quietly," said Mad. de Rosier, steadily, for Mrs. Grace was in such
confusion of mind, that she was going to call upon the child, without
waiting to hear what was said to her.--"Hear me," said Mad. de Rosier,
"or _you are_ undone--go into the closet without making any bustle--call
Favoretta, gently; she will not be frightened, when she hears only your
voice."

Grace did as she was ordered, and returned from the closet in a few
instants, with Favoretta. Grace instantly began an exculpatory speech,
but Mrs. Harcourt, though still trembling, had sufficient firmness to
say, "Leave us, Grace, and let me hear the truth from the child."

Grace left the room. Favoretta related exactly what had happened, and
said that when she heard all their voices in the dressing-room, and when
she heard Matilda say there's a noise, she was afraid of being discovered
in the closet, and had crept out through a little door, with which she
was well acquainted, that opened upon the leads.

Mrs. Harcourt now broke forth into indignant exclamations against Grace.
Mad. de Rosier gently pacified her, and hinted that it would be but just
to give her a fair hearing in the morning.

"You are always yourself! always excellent!" cried Mrs. Harcourt; "you
have saved my child--we none of us had any presence of mind, but
yourself."

"Indeed, mamma, I _did_ ring the bell, however," said Isabella.

With much difficulty those who had so much to say, submitted to Mad. de
Rosier's entreaty of "Let us talk of it in the morning." She was afraid
that Favoretta, who was present, would not draw any salutary moral from
what might be said in the first emotions of joy for her safety. Mad. de
Rosier undressed the little girl herself, and took care that she should
not be treated as a heroine just escaped from imminent danger.

The morning came, and Mrs. Grace listened, with anxious ear, for the
first sound of her mistress's bell--but no bell rang; and, when she heard
Mrs. Harcourt walking in her bedchamber, Grace augured ill of her own
fate, and foreboded the decline and fall of her empire.

"If my mistress can get up and dress herself without me, it's all over
with me," said Grace; "but I'll make one trial." Then she knocked with
her most obliging knock at her mistress's door, and presented herself
with a Magdalen face--"Can I do any thing for you, ma'am?"

"Nothing, I thank you, Grace. Send Isabella and Matilda."

Isabella and Matilda came, but Mrs. Harcourt finished dressing herself in
silence, and then said--

"Come with me, my dear girls, to Mad. de Rosier's room. I believe I had
better ask her the question that I was going to ask you. Is she up?"

"Yes, but not dressed," said Matilda; "for we have been reading to her."

"And talking to her," added Isabella; "which, you know, hinders people
very much, mamma, when they are dressing."

At Mad. de Rosier's door they found Herbert, with his slate in his hand,
and his sum ready cast up.

"May I bring this little man in with me?" said Mrs. Harcourt to Mad. de
Rosier--"Herbert, shake hands with me," continued his mother: "I believe
I was a little impatient with you and your Cyrus last night; but you must
not expect that every body should be as good to you as this lady has
been;" leading him up to Mad. de Rosier.

"Set this gentleman's heart at ease, will you?" continued she, presenting
the slate, upon which his sum was written, to Mad. de Rosier. "He looks
the picture, or rather the reality, of honesty and good humour this
morning, I think. I am sure that he has not done any thing that he is
ashamed of."

Little Herbert's countenance glowed with pleasure at receiving such
praise from his mother; but he soon checked his pride, for he discovered
Favoretta, upon whom every eye had turned, as Mrs. Harcourt concluded her
speech.

Favoretta was sitting in the furthest corner of the room, and she turned
her face to the wall when Herbert looked at her; but Herbert saw that she
was in disgrace. "Your sum is quite right, Herbert," said Mad. de Rosier.

"Herbert, take your slate," said Matilda; and the young gentleman had at
length the politeness to relieve her outstretched arm.

"Send him out of the way," whispered Mrs. Harcourt.

"Go out of the room, Herbert, my dear," said Mad. de Rosier, who never
made use of artifices upon any occasion to get rid of children--"go out
of the room, Herbert, my dear: for we want to talk about something which
we do not wish that you should hear."

Herbert, though he was anxious to know what could be the matter with
Favoretta, instantly withdrew, saying, "Will you call me again when
you've done talking?"

"We can speak French," added Mad. de Rosier, looking at Favoretta, "since
we cannot trust that little girl in a room by herself; we must speak in a
language which she does not understand, when we have any thing to say
that we do not choose she should hear."

"After all this preparation," said Mrs. Harcourt, in French, "my little
mouse will make you laugh; it will not surprise or frighten you, Matilda,
quite so much as the mouse of last night. You must know that I have been
much disturbed by certain noises."

"More noises!" said Matilda, drawing closer, to listen.

"More noises!" said Mrs. Harcourt, laughing; "but the noises which
disturbed my repose were not heard in the dead of the night, just as the
clock struck twelve--the charming hour for being frightened out of one's
wits, Matilda: my noises were heard in broad daylight, about the time

'When lap-dogs give themselves the rousing shake.'

Was not there music and dancing here, early yesterday morning, when I had
the headache, Isabella?"

"Yes, mamma," said Isabella: "Herbert's dulcimer-boy was here! We call
him Herbert's dulcimer-boy, because Herbert gave him two buns the other
day;--the boy and his father came from gratitude, to play a tune for
Herbert, and we all ran and asked Mad. de Rosier to let him in."

"We did not know you had the headache, mamma," said Matilda, "till after
they had played several tunes, and we heard Grace saying something to
Herbert about racketing upon the stairs--he only ran up stairs once for
my music-book; and the moment Grace spoke to him, he came to us, and said
that you were not well; then Mad. de Rosier stopped the dulcimer, and we
all left off dancing, and we were very sorry Grace had not told us sooner
that you were ill: at that time it was ten--nearly eleven o'clock."

"Grace strangely misrepresented all this," said Mrs. Harcourt: "as she
gave her advice so late, I am sorry she gave it at all; she prevented you
and Isabella from the pleasure of going out with Mad. de Rosier."

"We prevented ourselves--Grace did not prevent us, I assure you, mamma,"
said Isabella, eagerly: "we wished to stay at home with you--Herbert and
Favoretta were only going to see the royal tiger."

"Then you did not stay at home by Mad. de Rosier's desire."

"No, indeed, madam," said Mad. de Rosier, who had not appeared in any
haste to justify herself; "your children always show you affection by
their own desire, never by mine: your penetration would certainly
discover the difference between attentions prompted by a governess, and
those which are shown by artless affection."

"My dear madam, say no more," said Mrs. Harcourt, holding out her hand:
"you are a real friend."

Mad. de Rosier now went to call Herbert, but on opening the door, Mrs.
Grace fell forward upon her face into the room; she had been kneeling
with her head close to the key-hole of the door; and, probably, the sound
of her own name, and a few sentences now and then spoken in English, had
so fixed her attention, that she did not prepare in time for her retreat.

"Get up, Grace, and walk in, if you please," said Mrs. Harcourt, with
much calmness; "we have not the least objection to your hearing our
conversation."

"Indeed, ma'am," said Grace, as soon as she had recovered her feet, "I'm
above listening to any body's conversations, except that when one hears
one's own name, and knows that one has enemies, it is but natural to
listen in one's own defence."

"And is that all you can do, Grace, in your own defence?" said Mrs.
Harcourt.

"It's not all I can _say_, ma'am," replied Grace, pushed to extremities;
and still with a secret hope that her mistress, _upon a pinch, would not
part with a favourite maid_: "I see I'm of no further use in the family,
neither to young or old--and new comers have put me quite out of favour,
and have your ear to themselves--so, if you please, ma'am, I had better
look out for another situation."

"If you please, Grace," said Mrs. Harcourt.

"I will leave the house this instant, if you think proper, ma'am."

"If you think proper, Grace," said her mistress, with immovable
philosophy.

Grace burst into tears: "I never thought it would come to this, Mrs.
Harcourt--_I_, that have lived so long such a favourite!--but I don't
blame you, madam; you have been the best and kindest of mistresses to me;
and, whatever becomes of me, to my dying words, I shall always give you
and the dear young ladies the best of characters."

"The character we may give _you_, Grace, is of rather more consequence."

"Every thing that I say and do," interrupted the sobbing Grace, "is
_vilified_ and misinterpreted by those who wish me ill. I--"

"You have desired to leave me, Grace; and my desire is that you should
leave me," said Mrs. Harcourt, with firmness. "Mad. de Rosier and I
strictly forbade you to interfere with any of the children in our
absence; you have thought proper to disregard these orders; and were you
to stay longer in my house, I perceive that you would teach my children
first to disobey, and afterward to deceive me."

Grace, little prepared for this calm decision, now in a frightened,
humble tone, began to make promises of reformation; but her promises and
apologies were vain; she was compelled to depart, and every body was glad
to have done with her.

Favoretta, young as she was, had already learned from this cunning
waiting-maid habits of deceit which could not be suddenly changed. Mad.
de Rosier attempted her cure, by making her feel, in the first place, the
inconveniences and the disgrace of not being trusted. Favoretta was
ashamed to perceive that she was the only person in the house who was
watched: and she was heartily glad when, by degrees, she had
opportunities allowed her of obtaining a character for truth, and all the
pleasures and all the advantages of confidence.

Things went on much better after the gnome-like influence of Mrs Grace
had ceased; but we must now hasten to introduce our readers to Mrs.
Fanshaw. Mrs. Fanshaw was a card-playing lady, who had been educated at a
time when it was not thought necessary for women to have any knowledge,
or any taste for literature. As she advanced in life, she continually
recurred to the maxims as well as to the fashions of her youth; and the
improvements in modern female education she treated as dangerous
innovations. She had placed her daughter at a boarding-school in London,
the expense of which was its chief recommendation; and she saw her
regularly at the Christmas and Midsummer holidays. At length, when Miss
Fanshaw was about sixteen, her prudent mother began to think that it was
time to take her from school, and to introduce her into the world. Miss
Fanshaw had learned to speak French passably, to read a _little_ Italian,
to draw _a little_, to play tolerably well upon the piano-forte, and to
dance as well as many other young ladies. She had been sedulously taught
a sovereign contempt of whatever was called _vulgar_ at the school where
she was educated; but, as she was profoundly ignorant of every thing but
the routine of that school, she had no precise idea of propriety; she
only knew what was thought vulgar or genteel at Suxberry House; and the
authority of Mrs. Suxberry (for that was the name of her schoolmistress)
she quoted as incontrovertible upon all occasions. Without reflecting
upon what was wrong or right, she decided with pert vivacity on all
subjects; and firmly believed that no one could know or could learn any
thing who had not been educated precisely as she had been. She considered
her mother as an inferior personage, destitute of genteel
accomplishments: her mother considered her as a model of perfection, that
could only have been rendered thus thoroughly accomplished by _the most
expensive masters_--her only fear was, that her dear Jane should be
rather too _learned_.

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