Tales and Novels, Vol. V by Maria Edgeworth

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

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"Ma'am, she happened not to be absolutely disagreeable to me to-day."

"Oh! well! then she may not happen to be disagreeable to you to-morrow,
or the next day, or ever again!--And, as to the fancy for her sister,
when all hope is over, you know love soon dies of itself."

So ended the conversation.--The next morning, at an unusual hour, Lord
Glistonbury made his appearance at Castle Vivian, with an air of great
vexation and embarrassment: he endeavoured to speak of trivial topics;
but, one after another, these subjects dropped. Then Lady Mary, who saw
that he was anxious to speak to her son, soon took occasion to withdraw,
not without feeling some curiosity, and forming many conjectures, as to
the object his lordship might have in view in this conference.

Lord Glistonbury's countenance exhibited, in quick alternation, a look
of absolute determination and of utter indecision. At length, with
abrupt effort, he said, "Vivian, have you seen the papers to-day?"

"The newspapers?--yes!--no!--They are on the table--I did not look at
them--Is there any thing extraordinary?"

"Yes, faith!--extraordinary, very extraordinary!--But it is not here--it
is not there--this is not the right paper--it is not in your paper.
That's extraordinary, too"--(then feeling in both pockets)--"I was a
fool not to bring it with me--May be I have it--Yes, here it is!--Not
public news, but private."

Vivian was all expectation, for he imagined that something about Lady
Julia was coming. Lord Glistonbury, who, in his commerce with public
men, had learned the art of paying in words, to gain time when in danger
of a bankruptcy of ideas, went on, stringing sentences together, without
much meaning, whilst he was collecting his thoughts and studying the
countenance of his auditor.

"You recollect my suggestions the last time I had the honour of speaking
to you on a particular subject. I confess, Mr. Lidhurst's conduct does
not meet my ideas of propriety; but other persons are free to form what
judgment they think fit upon the occasion. I shall submit the matter to
you, Mr. Vivian, feeling myself called upon to come forward immediately
to explain it to your satisfaction; and I do not fear to commit myself,
by stating at once my sentiments, and the light in which it strikes me;
for there must be some decision shown, somehow or other, and on some
side or other.----Decision is all in all in public business, as the
great Bacon or somebody says--and nobody knows that better than
Marmaduke."

Here his lordship grew warm, and quitting his parliamentary cant,
assumed his familiar style.

"Gad! he has stolen a march upon us--out-generalled us--but, in my
private opinion, not in the handsomest style possible--Hey,
Vivian?--Hey?"

"My dear lord, I have not heard the fact yet," said Vivian.

"Oh! the fact is simply--Look here, he has without my encouragement or
concurrence--and, indeed, as he very well knew, contrary to my
approbation and wishes--gone, and declared himself candidate for this
county; and here's his fine flourishing, patriotic, damned advertisement
in the paper--'To the gentlemen, clergy, and freeholders of the
county.'----Gad! how it startled me this morning! When I first saw it I
rubbed my eyes, and could hardly believe it was Marmaduke. Though I
pique myself on knowing a man's style at the first line, yet I could not
have believed it was his, unless I had seen his name at full length in
these great abominable characters--'John Marmaduke Lidhurst.'--
'Glastonbury Castle!' too--as if I had countenanced the thing, or had
promised my support; when he knew, that but yesterday I was arguing the
point with him in my study, and told him I was engaged to you. Such an
ungentlemanlike trick!--for you know it reduces me to the dilemma of
supporting a man who is only my friend, against my nearest relation by
blood, which, of course, would have an odd and awkward appearance in
the eyes of the world!"

Vivian expressed much concern for his lordship's difficulties; but
observed that the world would be very unjust if it blamed him, and he
was sure his lordship had too much decision of character.

"But, independently of the world," interrupted his lordship, "even in
our own family, amongst all the Lidhursts and their remotest connexions,
there would be quite a league formed against me; and these family
quarrels are ugly affairs; for though our feudal times are done away,
party clanships have succeeded to feudal clanships; and we chiefs of
parties must keep our followers in good humour, or we are nothing _in
the _field_--I should say _in the house_--Ha! ha! ha!----I laugh, but
it is a very serious business; for Marmaduke Lidhurst would be, in
private or public, an impracticable enemy. Marmaduke's a fellow capable
of inextinguishable hatred; and he is everywhere, and knows every body,
of all the clubs, a rising young man, who is listened to, and who would
make his story credited. And then, with one's nephew, one can't settle
these things in _an honourable way_--these family quarrels must be
arranged amicably, not honourably; and that's the difficulty: the laws
of honour are dead letters in these cases, and the laws of the land do
not reach these niceties of feeling.----But of the most important fact
you are still to be apprised."

"Indeed!" cried Vivian.

"Yes, you have not yet heard Marmaduke's master-stroke of policy!"

"No!--What is it, my lord?--I am all attention--pray explain it to me."

"But there's the delicacy--there's the difficulty!--No, no, no.--Upon my
soul, I cannot name it!" cried Lord Glistonbury. "It revolts my
feelings--all my feelings--as a man, as a gentleman, as a father. Upon
my honour, as a peer, I would speak if I could; but, for the soul of me,
I cannot."

"You know, my dear lord," said Vivian, "there can be no delicacies or
difficulties with me; your lordship has done me the honour to live
always on such a footing of intimacy with me, that surely there is not
any thing you cannot say to me!"

"Why, that's true," said Lord Glistonbury, quitting his affected air of
distress, and endeavouring to throw off his real feeling of
embarrassment: "you are right, my dear Vivian! we are certainly upon
terms of such intimacy, that I ought not to be so scrupulous. But there
are certain things, a well-born, well-bred man--in short, it would look
so like--But, in fact, I am driven to the wall, and I must defend myself
as well as I can against this nephew of mine--I know it will look like
the most horrible thing upon earth, like what I would rather be
decapitated than do--I know it will look, absolutely, as if I came here
to ask you to marry my daughter,--which, you know, is a thing no
gentleman could have the most remotely in his contemplation; but, since
I am so pressed, I must tell you the exact truth, and explain to you,
however difficult, Marmaduke's master-stroke----he has proposed for
Lady Sarah; and has had the assurance to ask me whether there is or is
not any truth in certain reports which he is pleased to affirm have gone
abroad--Heaven knows how or why!----And he urges me--the deep dog! for
his cousin's sake, to contradict those reports, in the only effectual
manner, by a temporary cessation of the intimate intercourse between
Castle Vivian and Glistonbury Castle, whilst Lady Sarah remains
unmarried; or, if our master politician would speak plainly, till he has
married her himself.----At any rate, I have spoken frankly, Vivian,
hey? you'll allow; and I am entitled both to a candid interpretation of
my motives, and to equal frankness of reply."

Whilst his lordship had been speaking, compassion, gratitude, vanity,
rivalship, honour, Lady Mary Vivian's conversation, Lady Julia's letter,
then again the _connexion_, the earldom in future, the present triumph
or disappointment about the election, the insolent intrusion of Mr.
Lidhurst, the cruelty of abandoning a lady who was in love with him, the
dishonour, the impossibility of receding after _certain reports_; all
these ideas, in rapid succession, pressed on Vivian's mind: and his
decision was in consequence of the feelings and of the embarrassment of
the moment. His reply to Lord Glistonbury was a proposal for Lady Sarah,
followed by as many gallant protestations as his presence of mind could
furnish. He did not very well know what he said, nor did Lord
Glistonbury scrupulously examine whether he had the air and accent of a
true lover, nor did his lordship inquire what had become of Vivian's
late love for Lady Julia; but, quite content that the object should be
altered, the desire the same, he relieved Vivian by exclaiming, "Come,
come, all this sort of thing Lady Sarah herself must hear; and I've a
notion--but I can keep a secret. You'll return with me directly to
Glistonbury. Lady Glistonbury will be delighted to see you; and I shall
be delighted to see Marmaduke's face, when I tell him you have actually
proposed for Sarah--for now I must tell you all. Our politician
calculated upon the probability that you would not decide, you see, to
make a proposal at once, that would justify me to the world in
supporting my son-in-law against my nephew. As to the choice of the
son-in-law, Sarah settles that part of the business herself, you know;
for, when two proposals are made, both almost equally advantageous, in
the common acceptation of the word, I am too good a father not to leave
the decision to my daughter. So you see we understand one another
perfectly, and will make Marmaduke, too, understand us perfectly,
contrary to his calculations, hey, hey?----Mr. Politician, your
advertisement must be withdrawn, I opine, in the next paper--hey,
Vivian? my dear Vivian!"

With similar loquacity, Lord Glistonbury continued, in the fulness of
his heart, all the way they went together to Glistonbury Castle;
which was agreeable to Vivian, at least by saving him from all
necessity of speaking.

"So!" said Vivian to himself, "the die is cast, and I have actually
proposed for Lady Sarah Lidhurst!--Who would have expected this two
years ago?--I would not have believed it, if it had been foretold to me
even two months ago. But it is a very--a very suitable match, and it
will please the friends of both parties; and Lady Sarah is certainly
very estimable, and capable of very strong attachment; and I like her,
that is, I liked her yesterday very much--I really like her."

Upon those mixed motives, between convenience and affection, from which,
Dr. Johnson says, most people marry, our hero commenced his courtship of
the Lady Sarah Lidhurst. As the minds of both parties on the subject are
pretty well known to our readers, it would be cruel to fatigue them with
a protracted description of the formalities of courtship. It is
sufficient to say, that my Lord Glistonbury had the satisfaction of
seeing his nephew disappointed.

CHAPTER XIV.

"And the marriage was solemnized with much pomp and magnificence, and
every demonstration of joy."

Novelists and novel readers are usually satisfied when they arrive at
this happy catastrophe; their interest and curiosity seldom go any
farther: but, in real life, marriage is but the beginning of domestic
happiness or misery.

Soon after the celebration of Vivian's nuptials, an event happened which
interrupted all the festivities at Glistonbury, and which changed the
bridal pomp to mourning. Lady Glistonbury, who had been much fatigued by
the multitude of wedding-visits she was obliged to receive and return,
had another stroke of the palsy, which, in a few hours, terminated
fatally. Thus, the very event which Vivian had dreaded, as the probable
consequence of his refusal to marry her daughter, was, in fact,
accelerated by the full accomplishment of her wishes. After the loss of
her mother, Lady Sarah Vivian's whole soul seemed to be engrossed by
fondness for her husband. In public, and to all eyes but Vivian's, her
ladyship seemed much the same person as formerly: but, in private, the
affection she expressed for him was so great, that he frequently asked
himself whether this could be the same woman, who, to the rest of the
world, and in every other part of her life, appeared so cold and
inanimate. On a very few occasions her character, before her marriage,
had, "when much enforced, given out a hasty spark, and straight was cold
again;" but now she permitted the steady flame to burn without
restraint. Duty and passion had now the same object. Before marriage,
her attachment had been suppressed, even at the hazard of her life; she
had no idea that the private demonstrations of unbounded love from a
married woman to her husband could be either blameable or dangerous: she
believed it to be her duty to love her husband as much as she possibly
could.--Was not he her husband? She had been taught that she should
neither read, speak, nor think of love; and she had been so far too much
restricted on this subject, that, absolutely ignorant and unconscious
even of her danger, she now pursued her own course without chart or
compass. Her injudicious tenderness soon imposed such restraint upon her
husband, as scarcely any lover, much less any husband, could have
patiently endured. She would hardly ever suffer him to leave her.
Whenever he went out of the house, she exacted from him a promise that
he would _be back again_ at a certain hour; and if he were even a few
minutes later than his appointment, he had to sustain her fond
reproaches. Even though he stayed at home all day, she was uneasy if he
quitted the room where she sat; and he, who by this time understood,
through all her exterior calmness, the symptoms of her internal
agitation, saw by her countenance that she was wretched if he seemed
interested in the conversation of any other person, especially of any
other woman.

One day when Vivian, after spending the morning _tete-a-tete_ with Lady
Sarah, signified to her his intention of dining abroad, she repeated her
fond request that he would be sure to come home early, and that he would
tell her at what o'clock exactly she might expect to see him again. He
named an hour at hazard, to free himself from her importunate anxiety;
but he could not help saying, "Pshaw!" as he ran down stairs; an
exclamation which fortunately reached only the ears of a groom, who was
thinking of nothing but the tops of his own boots. Vivian happened to
meet some agreeable people where he dined: he was much pressed to stay
to supper; he yielded to entreaty, but he had the good-natured attention
to send home his servant, to beg that Lady Sarah and his mother would
not sit up for him. When he returned, he found all the family in bed
except Lady Sarah, who was sitting up waiting for him, with her watch in
her hand. The moment he appeared, she assailed him with tender
reproaches, to which he answered, "But why would you sit up when I begged
you would not, my dear Lady Sarah?"

She replied by a continuity of fond reproach; and among other things she
said, but without believing it to be true, "Ah! I am sure you would have
been happier if you had married my sister Julia, or _that_ Miss Sidney!"

Vivian sighed deeply; but the next instant, conscious that he had
sighed, and afraid of giving his wife pain, he endeavoured to turn the
course of her thoughts to some other subject. In vain. Poor Lady Sarah
said no more, but felt this exquisitely, and with permanent anguish.
Thus her imprudence reverted upon herself, and she suffered in
proportion to her pride and to her fondness. By such slight
circumstances is the human heart alienated from love! Struggling to be
free, the restive little deity ruffles and impairs his plumage, and
seldom recovers a disposition to tranquillity. Vivian's good-nature had
induced him for some time to submit to restraint; but if, instead of
weakly yielding to the fond importunity of his wife--if, instead of
tolerating the insipidity of her conversation and the narrowness of her
views, he had with real energy employed her capacity upon suitable
objects, he might have made her attachment the solace of his life.
Whoever possesses the heart of a woman, who has common powers of
intellect, may improve her understanding in twelve months more than
could all the masters, and lectures, and courses of philosophy, and
abridgments, and _documenting_ in the universe. But Vivian had not
sufficient resolution for such an undertaking: he thought only of
avoiding to give or to feel present pain; and the consequences were,
that the evils he dreaded every day increased.

Vivian's mother saw the progress of conjugal discontent with anguish
and remorse.

"Alas!" said she to herself, "I was much to blame for pressing this
match. My son told me he could never love Lady Sarah Lidhurst. It would
have been better far to have broken off a marriage at the church-door
than to have forced the completion of such an ill-assorted union. My
poor son married chiefly from a principle of honour; his duty and
respect for my opinion had also great weight in his decision; and I have
sacrificed his happiness to my desire that he should make what the world
calls a splendid alliance. I am the cause of all his misery; and Heaven
only knows where all this will end!"

In her paroxysm of self-reproach, and her eagerness to _set things to
rights_ between her daughter-in-law and her son, she only made matters
worse. She spoke with all the warmth and frankness of her own character
to Lady Sarah, beseeching her to speak with equal openness, and to
explain the cause of the _alteration_ in Vivian.

"I do not know what you mean, madam, by alteration in Mr. Vivian!"

"Is not there some disagreement between you, my dear?"

"There is no disagreement whatever, madam, as far as I know, between Mr.
Vivian and me--we agree perfectly," said Lady Sarah.

"Well, the _misunderstanding_!"

"I do not know of any _misunderstanding_, madam. Mr. Vivian and I
understand one another perfectly."

"The _coolness_, then--Oh! what word shall I use!--Surely, my dear Lady
Sarah, there is some _coolness_--something wrong?"

"I am sure, madam, I do not complain of any coolness on Mr. Vivian's
part. Am I to understand that he complains to your ladyship of any
thing wrong on mine? If he does, I shall think it my duty, when he
points out the particulars, to make any alteration he may desire in my
conduct and manners."

"Complain!--My son!--He makes no _complaints_, my dear. You
misunderstand me. My son does not complain that any thing is wrong on
your part."

"Then, madam, if no complaints are made on either side, all is as it
should be, I presume, at present; and if in future I should fail in any
point of duty, I shall hold myself obliged to your ladyship if you will
then act as my monitor."

Hopeless of penetrating Lady Sarah's sevenfold fence of pride, the
mother flew to her son, to try what could be done with his open and
generous mind. He expressed a most earnest and sincere wish to make his
wife happy. Conscious that he had given her exquisite pain, he
endeavoured to make atonement by the sacrifices which he thought would
be most grateful to her. He refrained often from company and
conversation that was agreeable to him, and would resign himself for
hours to her society. It was fortunate for Lady Julia Lidhurst that, by
continuing with her good uncle the bishop, she did not see the
consequences of the union which she had so strenuously advised. The
advice of friends is often highly useful to prevent an imprudent match;
but it seldom happens that marriages turn out happily which have been
made from the opinion of others rather than from the judgment and
inclinations of the parties concerned; for, let the general reasons on
which the advice is grounded be ever so sensible, it is scarcely
possible that the adviser can take in all the little circumstances of
taste and temper, upon which so much of the happiness or misery of
domestic life depends. Besides, people are much more apt to repent of
having been guided by the judgment of another than of having followed
their own; and this is most likely to be the case with the weakest
minds. Strong minds can decide for themselves, not by the opinions but
by the reasons that are laid before them: weak minds are influenced
merely by opinions; and never, either before or after their decision,
are firm in abiding by the preponderating reasons.

No letters, no intelligence from home, except a malicious hint now and
then from her cousin Marmaduke, which she did not credit, gave her
reason to suspect that the pair whom she had contributed to unite were
not perfectly happy. So Lady Julia exulted in the success of her past
counsels, and indulged her generous romantic disposition in schemes for
forwarding a union between Russell and Selina, determining to divide her
fortune amongst the children of her friends. She concluded one of her
letters to Lady Sarah Vivian about this time with these words:--

"Could I but see _one other person_,--whom I must not name, rewarded for
his virtues, as you are, by happy love, I should die content, and would
write on my tomb:--

'Je ne fus point heureux, mais j'ai fait leur bonheur." [10]

Far removed from all romance and all generosity of sentiment, Lord
Glistonbury, in the mean time, went on very comfortably, without
observing any thing that passed in his family. Whatever uneasiness
obtruded upon his attention he attributed to one cause, anxiety
relative to the question on which his present thoughts were exclusively
fixed, viz. whether Lady Sarah's first child would be a boy or a girl.
"Heaven grant a boy!" said his lordship; "for then, you know, there's
an end of Marmaduke as heir-at-law!" Whenever his lordship saw a cloud
on the brows of Lady Mary, of Lady Sarah, or of Vivian, he had one
infallible charm for dispelling melancholy;--he stepped up close to the
patient, and whispered, "It will be a boy!--My life upon it, it will be
a boy!" Sometimes it happened that this universal remedy, applied at
random, made the patient start or smile; and then his lordship never
failed to add, with a nod of great sagacity, "Ah! you didn't know I
knew what you were thinking of!--Well! well! you'll see we shall cut
out Marmaduke yet."

With this hope of cutting out Marmaduke, Lord Glistonbury went on very
happily, and every day grew fonder of the son-in-law, who was the enemy
of his heir-at-law, or whom he considered as such. The easiness of
Vivian's temper was peculiarly agreeable to his lordship, who enjoyed
the daily pleasure of governing a man of talents which were far superior
to his own. This easiness of temper in our hero was much increased by
the want of motive and stimulus. He thought that he had now lost his
chance of happiness; he cared little for the more or less pain of each
succeeding day; and so passive was his listlessness, that to a
superficial observer, like Lord Glistonbury, it looked like the
good-nature of perfect content.--Poor Vivian!--In this wreck of his
happiness, one saving chance, however, yet remained. He had still a
public character; he was conscious of, having preserved unblemished
integrity as a member of the senate; and this integrity, still more
than his oratorical talents, raised him far above most of his
competitors, and preserved him not only in the opinion of others, but
in his own. When parliament met, he went to town, took a very handsome
house for Lady Sarah, determining to do all he could to oblige and
please the wife whom he could not love. Lady Sarah had complete power,
at home and abroad, of her time and her expenses: her dress, her
equipages, her servants, her whole establishment, were above Vivian's
fortune, and equal to her ladyship's birth and rank. She was mistress of
every thing but of his heart. The less he liked her, the more he
endeavoured to compensate for this involuntary fault, by allowing her
that absolute dominion, and that external splendour, which he thought
would gratify, and perhaps fill her mind. As for himself, he took refuge
in the House of Commons. There he forgot for a time domestic uneasiness,
and was truly animated by what so many affect--zeal for the good of his
country. He was proud to recollect, that the profligate Wharton had
failed in the attempt to laugh him out of his public virtue; he was
proud that Wharton's prophecies of his apostasy had never been
accomplished; that, as a public! character at least, he had fulfilled
the promise of his early youth, and was still worthy of himself, and of
that friend whom he had lost. He clung to this idea, as to the only hope
left him in life.

One night, in a debate on some question of importance, he made an
excellent speech, which was particularly well received by the house,
because it came from one who had an unblemished character. When Vivian
went into the coffee-room to refresh himself, after he had done
speaking, several of his acquaintance crowded round him, complimenting
him upon his success--he broke from them all! for he saw, advancing
towards him with a smile of approbation, the friend on whose
approbation he set a higher value than he did even on the applauses of
the house--the friend whose lost affection he had so long and so
bitterly regretted. Russell stretched out his hand--Vivian eagerly
seized it; and, before they had either of them spoken one word, they
both understood each other perfectly, and their reconciliation was
completely effected.

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