Tales and Novels, Vol. V by Maria Edgeworth

M >> Maria Edgeworth >> Tales and Novels, Vol. V

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The call of the house, which brought Vivian to town, brought Lord
Glistonbury also to attend his duty in the house of peers: with his
lordship's family came Mr. Russell, whom Vivian went to see, as soon and
as often as he could. Russell heard, with satisfaction, the indignant
eloquence with which his friend spoke; and only wished that these
sentiments might last, and that fashion might never lead him to imitate
or to tolerate fools, whom he now despised.

"In the mean time, tell me how you go on yourself," said Vivian; "how do
you like your situation here, and your pupil, and all the Glistonbury
family? Let me behind the scenes at once; for, you know, I see them only
on the stage."

Russell replied, in general terms, that he had hopes Lord Lidhurst would
turn out well, and that therefore he was satisfied with his situation;
but avoided entering into particulars, because he was a confidential
person in the family. He thought that a preceptor and a physician were,
in some respects, bound, by a similar species of honour, to speak
cautiously of the maladies of their patients, or the faults of their
pupils. Admitted into the secrets of families, they should never make
use of the confidence reposed in them, to the disadvantage of any by
whom they are trusted. Russell's strictly honourable reserve upon this
occasion was rather provoking to Vivian, who, to all his questions,
could obtain only the dry answer of--"Judge for yourself."--The nature
of a town life, and the sort of intercourse which capital cities afford,
put this very little in Vivian's power. The obligations he was under to
Lord Glistonbury for assistance at the election made him anxious to show
his lordship respect and attention; and the sort of intimacy which that
election had brought on was, to a certain degree, kept up in town. Lady
Mary Vivian was constantly one at Lady Glistonbury's card parties; and
Vivian was frequently at his lordship's dinners. Considering the
coldness and formality of Lady Glistonbury's manners, she was
particularly attentive to Lady Mary Vivian; and our hero was continually
an attendant upon the ladies of the Glistonbury family to all public
places. This was by no means disagreeable to him, as they were persons
of _high consideration_; and they were sure of drawing into their circle
the very best company. Lady Mary Vivian observed that it was a great
advantage to her son to have such a house as Lord Glistonbury's open to
him, to go to whenever he pleased. Besides the advantage to his morals,
her ladyship was by no means insensible to the gratification her pride
received from her son's living in such high company. The report which
had been raised in the country during the election, that Mr. Vivian was
going to be married to Lady Sarah Lidhurst, now began to circulate in
town. This was not surprising, since a young man in London, of any
fortune or notoriety, can hardly dance three or four times successively
with the same young lady, cannot even sit beside her, and converse with
her in public half a dozen times, without its being reported that he is
going to be married to her. Of this, Vivian, during his noviciate in
town, was not perhaps sufficiently aware: he was soon surprised at being
asked, by almost every one he met, when his marriage with Lady Sarah
Lidhurst was to take place. At first he contented himself with laughing
at these questions, and declaring that there was no truth in the report:
but his asseverations were not to be believed; they were attributed to
motives of discretion: he was told by his companions, that he kept his
own counsel very well; but they all knew _the thing was to be_: he was
congratulated upon his good fortune in making such an excellent match;
for though, as they said, he would have but little money with Lady
Sarah, yet the connexion was so great, that he was the luckiest fellow
upon earth. The degree of importance which the report gave him among the
young men of his acquaintance, and the envy he excited, amused and
gratified his vanity. The sort of conversation he was now in the
constant habit of hearing, both from young and old, in all companies,
about the marriages of people in the fashionable world, where fortune,
and rank, and _connexion_, were always the first things spoken of or
considered, began insensibly to influence Vivian's mode of speaking, if
not of judging. Before he mixed in this society, he knew perfectly well
that these were the principles by which _people of the world_ are
guided; but whilst he had believed this only on hearsay, it had not
appeared to him so entirely true and so important as when he saw and
heard it himself. The effect of the opinions of a set of fine people,
now he was actually in their society, and whilst all other society was
excluded from his perception, was very different from what he had
imagined it might be, when he was in the country or at college. To do
our hero justice, however, he was sensible of this _aberration_ in his
own mind, he had sense enough to perceive from what causes it arose, and
steadiness sufficient to adhere to the judgements he had previously and
deliberately formed. He did not in material points change his opinion of
his mistress; he thought her far, far superior to all he saw and heard
amongst the belles who were most admired in the fashionable world; but,
at the same time, he began to agree with his mother's former wish, that
Selina, added to all other merits, had the advantage of high birth and
connexions, or at least, of belonging to a certain class of high
company. He determined that, as soon as she should be his wife, he would
have her introduced to the very _first society_ in town: he pleased his
imagination with anticipating the change that would be made in her
appearance, by the addition of certain elegancies of the mode: he
delighted in thinking of the sensation she would produce, and the
respect that would be paid to her as Mrs. Vivian, surrounded as he would
take care that she should be, with all those external signs of wealth
and fashion, which command immediate and universal homage from the great
and little world.

One day, when Vivian was absorbed in these pleasing reveries, Russell
startled him with this question: "When are you to be married to Lady
Sarah Lidhurst?"

"From you such a question!" said Vivian.

"Why not from me? It is a question that every body asks of me, because I
am your intimate friend; and I should really be obliged to you, if you
would furnish me with an answer, that may give me an air of a little
more consequence than that which I have at present, being forced to
answer, 'I don't know.'"

"You don't know! but why do not you answer, 'Never!' as I do," said
Vivian, "to all the fools who ask me the same question?"

"Because they say that is your answer, and only _a come off_."

"I can't help it--Is it my fault if they won't believe the truth?"

"Why, people are apt to trust to appearances in these cases; and if
appearances are contrary to your assertions, you should not wonder that
you are not believed."

"Well, time will show them their mistake!" said Vivian.--But I don't
know what appearances you mean.--What appearances are against me?--I
never in my life saw a woman I was less disposed to like--whom it would
be more impossible for me to love--than Lady Sarah Lidhurst; and I am
sure I never gave her, or any of her family, the least reason to imagine
I had a thought of her."

"Very likely; yet you are at Lord Glistonbury's continually, and you
attend her ladyship to all public places. Is this the way, do you think,
to put a stop to the report that has been raised?"

"I care not whether it stops or goes on," said Vivian.--"How!--Don't I
know it is false?--That's enough for me."

"It may embarrass you yet," said Russell.

"Good Heavens!--Can you, who know me so well, Russell, fancy me so weak
as to be embarrassed by such a report? Look--I would rather put this
hand into that fire and let it be burned off, than offer it to Lady
Sarah Lidhurst."

"Very likely.--I don't doubt you think so," said Russell.

"And I would do so," said Vivian.

"Possibly.--Yet you might be embarrassed nevertheless, if you found that
you had raised expectations which you could not fulfil; and if you found
yourself accused of having jilted this lady, if all her friends were to
say you had used her very ill.--I know your nature, Vivian; these things
would disquiet you very much: and is it not better to prevent them?"

"But neither Lady Sarah nor her friends blame me: I see no signs in the
family of any of the thoughts or feelings you suppose."

"Ladies--especially young and fashionable ladies--do not always show
their thoughts or feelings," said Russell.

"Lady Sarah Lidhurst has no thoughts or feelings," said Vivian, "any
more than an automaton. I'll answer for her--I am sure I can do her the
justice to proclaim, that she has always, from the first moment I saw
her till this instant, conducted herself towards me with the same
petrified and petrifying propriety."

"I do not know what _petrified propriety_ exactly means," said Russell:
"but let it mean what it may, it is nothing to the present purpose; for
the question is not about the propriety of Lady Sarah Lidhurst's
conduct, but of yours. Now, allowing you to call her ladyship a
petrifaction, or an automaton, or by whatever other name you please,
still, I apprehend, that she is in reality a human creature, and a
woman; and I conceive it is the duty of a man of honour or honesty not
to deceive her."

"I would not deceive her, or any woman living, upon any account," said
Vivian. "But how is it possible I can deceive her, when I tell you I
never said a word about love or gallantry, or any thing like it, to her
in my life?"

"But you know language is conventional, especially in gallantry,"
said Russell.

"True; but I'll swear the language of my looks has been unequivocal, if
that is what you mean."

"Not exactly: there are certain signs by which the world JUDGES in these
cases--if a gentleman is seen often with the same lady in public."

"Absurd, troublesome, ridiculous signs, which would put a stop to all
society; which would prevent a man from conversing with a woman,
either in public or private; and must absolutely preclude one sex
from obtaining any real knowledge of the characters and dispositions
of the other."

"I admit all you say--I feel the truth of it--I wish this were changed
in society; it is a great inconvenience, a real evil," said Russell:
"but an individual cannot alter a custom; and, as you have not, by your
own account, any particular interest in becoming more intimately
acquainted with the character and disposition of Lady Sarah Lidhurst,
you will do well not to expose yourself to any inconvenience on her
account, by neglecting common received forms and opinions."

"Well! well!--say no more about it," said Vivian, impatiently; "spare me
all farther logic and morality upon this subject, and I'll do what you
please--only tell me what you would have me do."

"Gradually withdraw yourself for some time from this house, and the
report will die away of itself."

"Withdraw myself!--that would be very hard upon me!" cried Vivian;
"for this house is the most agreeable house in town to me;--because
you live in it, in the first place; and then, though the women are as
stiff as pokers, one is always sure of meeting all the pleasant and
clever men at Glistonbury's good dinner. Let me tell you, good
dinners, and good company, and good conversation, and good music, make
altogether a very pleasant house, which I should be confoundedly sorry
to be forced to give up."

"I don't doubt it," said Russell; "but we must often give up more even
than this for the sake of acting with consistency and honour; we must
sacrifice the less to the greater good; and it is on these occasions
that people show strength or weakness of mind."

Vivian felt the justice of his friend's observations--resolved to follow
his advice--and to withdraw himself gradually from the Glistonbury
circle. He had not, however, steadiness enough to persist in this
resolution; one engagement linked on another; and he would soon,
probably, have relapsed into his habit of being continually of their
parties, if accident had not for a time suspended this intimacy, by
leading him into another, which seemed to him still more attractive.

Among the men of talents and political consequence whom he met at Lord
Glistonbury's was Mr. Wharton, whose conversation particularly pleased
Vivian, and who now courted his acquaintance with an eagerness which
was peculiarly flattering. Vivian knew him only as a man of great
abilities; with his real character he was not acquainted. Wharton had
prepossessing manners, and wit sufficient whenever he pleased to make
the worse appear the better reason. In private or in public debate he
had at his command, and could condescend to employ, all sorts of arms,
and every possible mode of annoyance, from the most powerful artillery
of logic to the lowest squib of humour. He was as little nice in the
company he kept as in the style of his conversation. Frequently
associating with fools, and willing even to be thought one, he made
alternately his sport and advantage of the weakness and follies of
mankind. Wharton was philosophically, politically, and fashionably
profligate. After having ruined his private fortune by unbounded
extravagance, he lived on--nobody knew how--in careless profusion. In
public life he made a distinguished figure; and seemed, therefore, to
think himself raised above the necessity of practising any of the minor
virtues of economy, prudence, or justice, which common people find
essential to their well-being in society. Far from attempting to
conceal, he gloried in his faults; for he knew full well, that as long
as he had the voice of numbers with him, he could bully, or laugh, or
shame plain reason and rigid principle out of countenance. It was his
grand art to represent good sense as stupidity, and virtue as
hypocrisy. Hypocrisy was, in his opinion, the only vice which merited
the brand of infamy; and from this he took sufficient care to prove, or
at least to proclaim, himself free. Even whilst he offended against the
decencies of life, there seemed to be something frank and graceful in
his manner of throwing aside all disguise. There appeared an air of
superior liberality in his avowing himself to be governed by that
absolute selfishness, which other men strive to conceal even from their
own hearts. He dexterously led his acquaintance to infer that he would
prove as much better than his professions, as other people are often
found to be worse than theirs. Where he wished to please, it was
scarcely possible to escape the fascination of his manner; nor did he
neglect any mode of courting popularity. He knew that a good table is
necessary to attract even men of wit; and he made it a point to have
the very best cook, and the very best wines. He paid his cook, and his
cook was the only person he did pay, in ready money. His wine-merchant
he paid in words--an art in which he was a professed and yet a
successful adept, as hundreds of living witnesses were ready to attest.
But though Wharton could cajole, he could not attach his
fellow-creatures--he had a party, but no friend. With this distribution
of things he was perfectly satisfied; for he considered men only as
beings who were to be worked to his purposes; and he declared that,
provided he had power over their interests and their humours, he cared
not what became of their hearts. It was his policy to enlist young men
of talents or fortune under his banners; and consequently Vivian was an
object worthy of his attention. Such was the disorder of Wharton's
affairs, that either ready money or political power was necessary to
his existence. Our hero could, at the same time, supply his
extravagance and increase his consequence. Wharton thought that he
could borrow money from Vivian, and that he might command his vote in
parliament; but, to the accomplishment of these schemes, there were two
obstacles--Vivian was attached to an amiable woman, and was possessed
of an estimable friend. Wharton had become acquainted with Russell at
Lord Glistonbury's; and, in many arguments which they had held on
public affairs, had discovered that Russell was not a man who ever
preferred the expedient to the right, nor one who could be bullied or
laughed out of his principles. He saw also that Russell's influence
over Vivian was so great, that it supplied him with that strength of
mind in which Vivian was naturally deficient; and, if our hero should
marry such a woman as Miss Sidney, Wharton foresaw that he should have
no chance of succeeding in his designs; therefore his first objects
were, to detach Vivian from his friend Russell and from Selina. One
morning he called upon Vivian with a party of his friends, and found
him writing.

"Poetry!" cried Wharton, carelessly looking at what he had, been
writing, "poetry, I protest!--Ay, I know this poor fellow's in love; and
every man who is in love is a poet, 'with a woeful ditty to his
mistress's eyebrow.' Pray what colour may Miss Sidney's eyebrows
be?--she is really a pretty girl--I think I remember seeing her at some
races.--Why does she never come to town?--But of course she is not to
blame for that, but her fortune I suppose.--Marrying a girl without a
fortune is a serious thing in these expensive days; but you have fortune
enough for both yourself and your wife, so you may do as you please.
Well, I thank God, I have no fortune! If I had been a young man of
fortune I should have been the most unhappy rascal upon earth, for I
should have always suspected that every woman liked me for my wealth--I
should have had no pleasure in the smiles of an angel--angels, or their
mothers, are so venal now-a-days, and so fond of the pomps and vanities
of this wicked world!"

"I hope," said Vivian, laughing, "you don't include the whole sex in
your satire."

"No--there are exceptions--and every man has his angel of an exception,
as every woman has her star:--it is well for weak women when these stars
of theirs don't lead them astray; and well for weak men when these angel
exceptions before marriage don't turn out very women or devils
afterwards. But why do I say all this? because I am a suspicious
scoundrel--I know and can't help it. If other fellows of my standing in
this wicked world would but speak the truth, however, they would show as
much suspicion and more than I do. Bad as I am, and such as I am, you
see, and have the whole of me--nobody can say Wharton's a hypocrite;
that's some comfort. But, seriously, Vivian, I don't mean to laugh at
love and angels--I can just remember the time when I felt all your sort
of romance--but that is in the preterpluperfect tense with
me--completely past--ambition is no bad cure for love. My head is, at
this present moment, so full of this new bill that we are bringing into
parliament, that Cupid might empty his quiver upon me in vain.--Look!
here is an impenetrable shield!" added he, wrapping round him a thick
printed copy of an act of parliament. "Come, Vivian, you must come along
with us to the house,

'And, mix'd with men, a man you must appear.'"

Vivian felt much ashamed of having been detected in writing a sonnet,
especially as it afforded Wharton such a fine subject for raillery. He
accompanied the party to the House of Commons, where Wharton made a
brilliant speech. It gained universal applause. Vivian sympathized in
the general enthusiasm of admiration for Wharton's talents, accepted an
invitation to sup with him, and was charmed by his convivial powers.
From this day, he grew every hour more intimate with Wharton.

"I can enjoy," thought Vivian, "the pleasure of his society without
being influenced by his libertine example."

Lady Mary Vivian saw the rise and progress of this intimacy, and was not
insensible to its danger; yet she was gratified by seeing her son
distinguished by a man of Wharton's political consequence; and she
satisfied her conscience by saying, "He will bring my son forward in
public life; and, as to the rest, Charles has too good principles ever
to follow his example in private life."

Wharton had too much address to alarm Vivian's moral prejudices on a
first acquaintance. He contented himself with ridiculing only the
exaggeration of any of the virtues, still affecting to believe in
virtue, and to love it, wherever it could be found genuine. By the
success of his first petty attacks, he learned the power that ridicule
had over our hero's mind; and he did not fail to make use of it
continually. After having, as he perceived, succeeded in making Vivian
ashamed of his sonnet to Selina, and of appearing as a romantic lover,
he doubted not but in time he should make _true_ love itself ridiculous;
and Wharton thought it was now the moment to hazard another stroke, and
to commence his attack against friendship.

"Vivian, my good fellow! why do you let yourself be ruled by that modern
stoic in the form of Lord Lidhurst's tutor? I never saw any of these
cold moralists who were real, warm-hearted, good friends. I have a
notion I see more of Russell's play in the house where he has got than
he thinks I do; and I can form a shrewd guess why he was so zealous in
warning you of the report about Lady Sarah Lidhurst--he had his own snug
reasons for wanting you away--Oh, trust me for scenting out
self-interest, through all the doublings and windings of your cunning
moralist!"

Reddening with indignation at this attack upon his friend, Vivian warmly
replied, that Mr. Wharton ought to restrain his wit where the feelings
of friendship and the character of a man of honour were concerned; that
he did not, in the least, comprehend his insinuations with regard to
Russell; but that, for his own part, he had such firm reliance upon his
friend's attachment and integrity, that he was at any time ready to
pledge his own honour for Russell's, and to answer for it with his life.

"Spare your heroics, my dear Vivian!" cried Wharton, laughing; "for we
are not in the days of Pylades and Orestes;--yet, upon my soul, instead
of being as angry with you as you are with me, at this instant I like
you a thousand times the better for your enthusiastic credulity. For my
part, I have, ever since I lived in the world and put away childish
things, regretted that charming instinct of credulity, which experience
so fatally counteracts. I envy you, my dear boy!--as to the rest, you
know Russell's merits better than I do: I'll take him henceforward upon
trust from you."

"Thus Wharton, finding that he was upon dangerous ground, made a timely
retreat: the playful manner and open countenance with which he now
spoke, and the quick transition that he made to other subjects of
conversation, prevented Vivian from suspecting that any settled design
had been formed to detach him from Russell. From this time forward,
Wharton forbore raillery on love and friendship; and, far from seeming
desirous of interfering in Vivian's private concerns, appeared quite
absorbed in politics. Avowing, as he did, that he was guided solely by
his interest in public life, he laughed at Vivian for professing more
generous principles.

"I know," cried Wharton, "how to make use of a fine word, and to round a
fine sentence, as well as the best of you; but what a simpleton he must
be who is cheated by his own sophistry!--An artist, an enthusiastic
artist, who is generally half a madman, might fall in love with a statue
of his own making; but you never heard of a coiner, did you, who was
cheated by his own bad shilling? Patriotism and loyalty are counterfeit
coin; I can't be taken in by them at my time of day."

Vivian could not forbear to smile at the drollery and wit with which
this profligate defended his want of integrity; yet he sometimes
seriously and warmly asserted his own principles. Upon these occasions,
Wharton either overpowered him by a fine flow of words, or else listened
with the most flattering air of admiration, and silenced him by
compliments to his eloquence. Vivian thought that he was quite secure of
his own firmness; but the contagion of bad example sometimes affects the
mind imperceptibly; as certain noxious atmospheres steal upon the
senses, and excite the most agreeable sensations, while they secretly
destroy the principles of health and life. A day was fixed when a
question of importance was to come on in the House of Commons. Wharton
was extremely anxious to have Vivian's vote. Vivian, according to the
parliamentary phrase, _had not made up his mind_ on the subject. A heap
of pamphlets on the question lay uncut upon his table. Every morning he
resolved to read them, that he might form his judgment, and vote
according to his unbiassed opinion; but every morning he was interrupted
by some of the fashionable idlers whom his facility of temper had
indulged in the habit of haunting him daily. "Oh, Vivian! we are going
to such and such a place, and you _must_ come with us!" was a mode of
persuasion which he could not resist.

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