Tales and Novels, Vol. VII by Maria Edgeworth

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

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"I give you joy with all my heart," said Mr. Percy.

"But, my good sir, listen to me; your sons might have been in as
advantageous situations, if you had not been too proud to benefit by the
evidently favourable dispositions which Lord Oldborough shewed towards you
and yours."

"Too proud! No, my friend, I assure you, pride never influenced my
conduct--I acted from principle."

"So you are pleased to call it.--But we will not go back to the past--no
man likes to acknowledge he has been wrong. Let us, if you please, look to
the future. You know that you are now in a different situation from what
you were formerly, when you could afford to follow your principles or your
systems. Now, my dear sir, give me leave to tell you that it is your duty,
absolutely your duty, to make use of your interest for your sons. There
is not a man in England, who, if he chose it, might secure for his sons a
better patron than you could."

"I trust," replied Mr. Percy, "that I have secured for my sons what is
better than a good patron--a good education."

"Both are best," said Mr. Falconer. "Proud as you are, cousin Percy, you
must allow this, when you look round and see who rises, and how.--And now
we are by ourselves, let me ask you, frankly and seriously, why do not you
try to establish your sons by patronage?"

"Frankly and seriously, then, because I detest and despise the whole system
of patronage."

"That's very _strong_," said Mr. Falconer. "And I am glad for your sake,
and for the sake of your family, that nobody heard it but myself."

"If the whole world heard me," pursued Mr. Percy, "I should say just the
same. _Strong_--very strong!--I am glad of it; for (excuse me, you are
my relation, and we are on terms of familiarity) the delicate, guarded,
qualifying, trimming, mincing, pouncet-box, gentleman-usher mode of
speaking truth, makes no sort of impression. Truth should always be
strong--speaking or acting."

"Well, well, I beg your pardon; as strong let it be as you please, only let
it be cool, and then we cannot fail to understand one another. I think you
were going to explain to me why you detest and despise what you call the
system of patronage."

"Because I believe it to be ruinous to my country. Whenever the honours of
professions, civil, military, or ecclesiastical, are bestowed by favour,
not earned by merit--whenever the places of trust and dignity in a state
are to be gained by intrigue and solicitation--there is an end of generous
emulation, and consequently of exertion. Talents and integrity, in losing
their reward of glory, lose their vigour, and often their very existence.
If the affairs of this nation were guided, and if her battles were fought
by the corrupt, imbecile creatures of patronage, how would they be
guided?--how fought?--Woe be to the country that trusts to such rulers and
such defenders! Woe has been to every country that has so trusted!--May
such never be the fate of England!--And that it never may, let every honest
independent Englishman set his face, his hand, his heart against this base,
this ruinous system!--I will for one."

"For one!--alas!" said Mr. Falconer, with a sigh meant to be heard, and
a smile not intended to be seen, "what can one do in such a desperate
case?--I am afraid certain things will go on in the world for ever, whether
we benefit by them or not.--And if I grant that patronage is sometimes a
public evil, you must allow that it is often a private benefit."

"I doubt even that," said Mr. Percy; "for those young men who are brought
up to expect patronage in any profession--But," said Mr. Percy, checking
himself, "I forgot whom I am speaking to: I don't wish to say any thing
that can hurt your feelings, especially when you are so kind to come to see
me in adversity, and when you show so much interest in my affairs."

"Oh! pray go on, go on," said the commissioner, smiling, "you will not hurt
me, I assure you: consider I am too firm in the success of my system to be
easily offended on that point--go on!--Those young men who are brought up
to expect patronage in any profession--"

"Are apt to depend upon it too much," continued Mr. Percy, "and
consequently neglect to acquire knowledge. They know that things will be
passed over for them, and they think that they need not be assiduous,
because they are secure of being provided for, independently of their own
exertions; and if they have a turn for extravagance, they may indulge it,
because a place will set all to rights."

"And if they are provided for, and if they do get good places, are they not
well enough off?" said Mr. Falconer: "I'll answer for it, your sons would
think so."

Mr. Percy, with a look of proud humility, replied, "I am inclined to
believe that my sons would not think themselves _well off_, unless they
were distinguished by their own merit."

"To be sure," said Mr. Falconer, correcting himself; "of course I mean that
too: but a young man can never distinguish himself, you know, so well as
when his merit is raised to a conspicuous situation."

"Or disgrace himself so effectually, as when he is raised to a situation
for which he is unprepared and unfit."

The commissioner's brow clouded--some unpleasant reflection or apprehension
seemed to cross his mind. Mr. Percy had no intention of raising any; he
meant no allusion to the commissioner's sons--he hastened to turn what he
had said more decidedly upon his own.

"I have chosen for my sons, or rather they have chosen for themselves,"
continued he, "professions which are independent of influence, and in which
it could be of little use to them. Patrons can be of little advantage to a
lawyer or a physician. No judge, no attorney, can push a lawyer up, beyond
a certain point--he may rise like a rocket, but he will fall like the
stick, if he be not supported by his own inherent powers. Where property or
life is at stake, men will not compliment or even be influenced by great
recommendations--they will consult the best lawyer, and the best physician,
whoever he may be. I have endeavoured to give my Alfred and Erasmus such an
education as shall enable them honestly to work their own way to eminence."

"A friend's helping hand is no bad thing," said Mr. Falconer, "in that hard
and slippery ascent."

"As many friends, as many helping hands, in a fair way, as you please,"
said Mr. Percy: "I by no means would inculcate the anti-social, absurd,
impossible doctrine, that young men, or any men, can or ought to be
independent of the world. Let my sons make friends for themselves, and
enjoy the advantage of mine. I object only to their becoming dependent,
wasting the best years of their lives in a miserable, debasing servitude to
patrons--to patrons, who at last may perhaps capriciously desert them at
their utmost need."

Again, without designing it, Mr. Percy wakened unpleasant recollections in
the mind of the commissioner.

"Ah! there you touch a tender string with me," said Mr. Falconer, sighing.
"I have known something of that in my life. Lord N---- and Mr. G---- did
indeed use me shamefully ill. But I was young then, and did not choose my
friends well. I know more of the world now, and have done better for my
sons--and shall do better, I trust, for myself. In the mean time, my dear
Mr. Percy, let us think of your affairs. Such a man as you should not be
lost here on a farm amongst turnips and carrots. So Lord Oldborough says
and thinks--and, in short, to come to the point at once, I was not sounding
you from idle curiosity respecting patronage, or from any impertinent
desire to interfere with your concerns; but I come, commissioned by Lord
Oldborough, to make an offer, which, I am persuaded, whatever theoretical
objections might occur," said the commissioner, with a significant smile,
"Mr. Percy is too much a man of practical sense to reject. Lord Oldborough
empowers me to say, that it is his wish to see his government supported
and strengthened by men of Mr. Percy's talents and character; that he is
persuaded that Mr. Percy would speak well in parliament; that if Mr. Percy
will join _us_, his lordship will bring him into parliament, and give
him thus an opportunity of at once distinguishing himself, advancing his
family, repairing the injustice of fortune, and serving his country."

Commissioner Falconer made this offer with much pomposity, with the air of
a person sure that he is saying something infinitely flattering, and at the
same time with a lurking smile on his countenance, at the idea of the ease
and certainty with which this offer would induce Mr. Percy to recant all
he had said against patrons and patronage. He was curious to hear how the
philosopher would change his tone; but, to his surprise, Mr. Percy did not
alter it in the least.

He returned his respectful and grateful acknowledgments to Lord Oldborough,
but begged leave totally to decline the honour intended him; he could not,
he said, accept it consistently with his principles--he could not go into
parliament with a view to advance himself or to provide for his family.

The commissioner interrupted to _qualify_, for he was afraid he had spoken
too broadly, and observed that what he had said was quite confidential.

Mr. Percy understood it so, and assured him there was no danger that it
should be repeated. The commissioner was then in a state to listen again
quietly.

Mr. Percy said, that when he was rich, he had preferred domestic happiness
to ambition, therefore he had never stood for the county to which he
belonged; that now he was poor, he felt an additional reason for keeping
out of parliament, that he might not put himself in a situation to be
tempted--a situation where he must spend more than he could afford, and
could only pay his expenses by selling his conscience.

The commissioner was silent with astonishment for some moments after Mr.
Percy ceased speaking. He had always thought his good cousin a singular
man, but he had never thought him a wrongheaded fool till this moment. At
first he was somewhat vexed, for Mr. Percy's sake and for the sake of his
sons, that he refused such an offer; for the commissioner had some of the
feelings of a relation, but more of the habits of a politician, and these
last, in a few moments, reconciled him to what he thought the ruin of his
cousin's prospects in life. Mr. Falconer considered, that if Mr. Percy were
to go into parliament to join their party, and to get near Lord Oldborough,
he might become a dangerous rival. He pressed the matter, therefore, no
longer with urgency, but only just sufficient to enable him to report to
Lord Oldborough that he had executed his commission, but had found Mr.
Percy _impracticable_.

CHAPTER XIII.

However sincere the general pity and esteem for the Percy family, they did
not escape the common lot of mortality; they had their share of blame, as
well as of condolence, from their friends and acquaintance. Some discovered
that all the misfortunes of the family might have been avoided, if they had
listened to good advice; others were quite clear that the lawsuit would
have been decided in Mr. Percy's favour, if he had employed their solicitor
or their barrister; or, in short, if every step of the suit had been
directed differently.

Commissioner Falconer now joined the band of reproaching friends. He did
not blame Mr. Percy, however, for the conduct of the lawsuit, for of that
he confessed himself to be no judge, but he thought he understood the right
way of advancing a family in the world; and on this subject he now took a
higher tone than he had formerly felt himself entitled to assume. Success
gives such rights--especially over the unfortunate. The commissioner said
loudly in all companies, that he had hoped his relation, Mr. Percy, who
certainly was a man of talents, and he was convinced well-intentioned,
would not have shown himself so obstinately attached to his peculiar
opinions--especially to his strange notions of independence, which must
disgust, ultimately, friends whom it was most the interest of his family to
please; that he doubted not that the young men of the Percy family bitterly
regretted that their father would not avail himself of the advantages of
his connexions, of the favourable dispositions, and, to his knowledge,
most _condescending_ offers that had been made to him--offers which, the
commissioner said, he must term really condescending, when he considered
that Mr. Percy had never paid the common court that was expected by a
minister. Other circumstances, too, enhanced the favour: offence had
undoubtedly been given by the ill-timed, injudicious interference of
Captain Godfrey Percy about regimental business--some Major Gascoigne--yet,
notwithstanding this, a certain person, whose steadiness in his friendships
the commissioner declared he could never sufficiently admire, had not, for
the son's errors, changed his favourable opinion or disposition towards the
father.

Mr. Falconer concluded, with a sigh, "There are some men whom the best of
friends cannot serve--and such we can only leave to their fate."

The commissioner now considering Mr. Percy as a person so obstinately odd
that it was unsafe for a rising man to have any thing more to do with
him, it was agreed in the Falconer family, that it was necessary to let
the Percys drop--gently, without making any noise. Mrs. Falconer and her
daughters having always resided in London during the winter, and at some
watering place in summer, knew scarcely any thing of the female part of the
Percy family. Mrs. Falconer had occasionally met Mrs. Percy, but the young
ladies, who had not yet been in town, she had never seen since they were
children. Mrs. Falconer now considered this as a peculiarly fortunate
circumstance, because she should not be blamed for _cutting_ them, and
should escape all the _unpleasantness_ of breaking off an intimacy with
relations.

The commissioner acceded to all his lady's observations, and easily shook
off that attachment, which he had professed for so many years, perhaps
felt, for his _good cousin Percy_--perhaps felt, we say: because we really
believe that he was attached to Mr. Percy while that gentleman was in
prosperity. There are persons who have an exclusive sympathy with the
prosperous.

There was one, however, who, in this respect, felt differently from
the rest of the family. Buckhurst Falconer, with a generous impulse of
affection and gratitude, declared that he would not desert Mr. Percy or any
of the family in adversity; he could never forget how kind they had been
to him when he was in distress. Buckhurst's resentment against Caroline
for her repeated refusals suddenly subsided; his attachment revived with
redoubled force. He protested that he loved her the better for having lost
her fortune, and he reiterated this protestation more loudly, because his
father declared it was absurd and ridiculous. The son persisted, till the
father, though not subject to make violent resolutions, was wrought to
such a pitch as to swear, that if Buckhurst should be fool enough to think
seriously of a girl who was now a beggar, he would absolutely refuse his
consent to the match, and would never give his son a shilling.

Buckhurst immediately wrote to Caroline a passionate declaration of the
constancy and ardour of his attachment, and entreated her permission to
wait upon her immediately.

"Do not sacrifice me," said Buckhurst, "to idle niceties. That I have many
faults, I am conscious; but none, I trust, for which you ought utterly to
condemn me--none but what you can cure. I am ready to be every thing which
you approve. Give me but leave to hope. There is no sacrifice I will not
make to facilitate, to expedite our union. I have been ordained, one living
I possess, and that which Colonel Hauton has promised me will soon come
into my possession. Believe me, I was decided to go into the church by my
attachment--to my passion for you, every scruple, every consideration gave
way. As to the rest, I shall never be deterred from following the dictates
of my heart by the opposition of ambitious parents. Caroline, do not
sacrifice me to idle niceties--I know I have the misfortune not to please
your brother Alfred: to do him justice, he has fairly told me that he does
not think me worthy of _his sister Caroline_. I forgive him, I admire him
for the pride with which he pronounces the words, _my sister Caroline_. But
though she may easily find a more faultless character, she will never find
a warmer heart, or one more truly--more ardently attached."

There was something frank, warm, and generous in this letter, which pleased
Rosamond, and which, she said, justified her good opinion of Buckhurst.
Indeed, the great merit of being ardently attached to her sister Caroline
was sufficient, in Rosamond's eyes, to cover a multitude of sins: and the
contrast between his warmth at this moment, and the coldness of the rest of
his family, struck her forcibly. Rosamond thought that Alfred had been too
severe in his judgment, and observed, that it was in vain to look with a
lantern all over the world for a faultless character--a monster. It was
quite sufficient if a woman could find an honest man--that She was sure
Buckhurst had no faults but what love would cure.

"But love has not cured him of any yet," said Caroline.

"Try marriage," said Rosamond, laughing.

Caroline shook her head. "Consider at what expense that trial must be
made."

At the first reading of Buckhurst's letter Caroline had been pleased with
it; but on a second perusal, she was dissatisfied with the passage about
his parents, nor could she approve of his giving up what he now called his
_scruples_, to obtain a competence for the woman he professed to adore.
She knew that he had been leading a dissipated life in town; that he
must, therefore, be less fit than he formerly was to make a good husband,
and still less likely to make a respectable clergyman. He had some right
feeling, but no steady principle, as Caroline observed. She was grateful
for the constancy of his attachment, and for the generosity he showed in
his whole conduct towards her; nor was she insensible to the urgency with
which Rosamond pleaded in his favour: but she was firm in her own judgment;
and her refusal, though expressed in the terms that could best soften the
pain it must give, was as decided as possible.

Soon after her letter had been sent, she and Rosamond had taken a longer
walk one evening than usual, and, eager in conversation, went on so far
in this wild unfrequented part of the country, that when they saw the sun
setting, they began to fear they should not reach home before it was dark.
They wished to find a shorter way than that by which they went, and they
looked about in hopes of seeing some labourer (some _swinked hedger_)
returning from his work, or a cottage where they could meet with a
guide.--But there was no person or house within sight. At last Caroline,
who had climbed upon a high bank in the lane where they were walking, saw a
smoke rising between some trees at a little distance; and toward this spot
they made their way through another lane, the entrance to which had been
stopped up with furze bushes. They soon came within sight of a poor-looking
cottage, and saw a young woman walking very slowly with a child in her
arms. She was going towards the house, and did not perceive the young
ladies till they were close to her. She turned suddenly when they
spoke--started--looked frightened and confused; the infant began to cry,
and hushing it as well as she could, she answered to their questions with
a bewildered look, "I don't know indeed--I can't tell--I don't know any
thing, ladies--ask at the cottage, yonder." Then she quickened her pace,
and walked so fast to the house, that they could hardly keep up with her.
She pushed open the hatch door, and called "Dorothy! Dorothy, come out."
But no Dorothy answered.--The young woman seemed at a loss what to do; and
as she stood hesitating, her face, which had at first appeared pale and
emaciated, flushed up to her temples. She looked very handsome, but in
ill-health.

"Be pleased, ladies," said she, with diffidence, and trembling from head to
foot, "be pleased to sit down and rest, ladies. One will be in directly who
knows the ways--I am a stranger in these parts."

As soon as she had set the chairs, she was retiring to an inner room, but
her child, who was pleased with Caroline's face as she smiled and nodded at
him, stretched out his little hands towards her.

"Oh! let my sister give him a kiss," said Rosamond. The mother stopped,
yet appeared unwilling. The child patted Caroline's cheek, played with her
hair, and laughed aloud. Caroline offered to take the child in her arms,
but the mother held him fast, and escaped into the inner room, where they
heard her sobbing violently. Caroline and Rosamond looked at one another in
silence, and left the cottage by tacit consent, sorry that they had given
pain, and feeling that they had no right to intrude further. "We can go
home the same way that we came," said Caroline, "and that is better than to
trouble any body."

"Certainly," said Rosamond: "yet I should like to know something more
about this poor woman if I could, without--If we happened to meet Dorothy,
whoever she is."

At this instant they saw an old woman come from a copse near the cottage,
with a bundle of sticks on her back and a tin can in her hand: this was
Dorothy. She saved them all the trouble and delicacy of asking questions,
for there was not a more communicative creature breathing. She in the first
place threw down her faggots, and offered her service to guide the young
ladies home; she guessed they belonged to the family that was newly come
to settle at the Hills, which she described, though she could not tell the
name. She would not be denied the pleasure of showing them the shortest and
safest way, and the only way by which they could get home before it was
night-fall. So they accepted her kind offer, and she trudged on, talking as
she went.

"It is a weary thing, ladies, to live in this lone place, where one does
not see a soul to speak to from one month's end to another--especially to
me that has lived afore now in my younger days in Lon'on. But it's as God
pleases! and I wish none had greater troubles in this world than I--You
were up at the house, ladies? There within at my little place--ay--then
you saw the greatest and the only great trouble I have, or ever had in
this life.--Did not you, ladies, see the young woman with the child in her
arms?--But may be you did not mind Kate, and she's nothing now to look at,
quite faded and gone, though she's only one month past nineteen years of
age. I am sure I ought to know, for I was at her christening, and nursed
her mother. She's of very good parentage, that is, of a farmer's family,
that _has_, as well as his neighbours, that lives a great way off, quite on
the other side of the country. And not a year, at least not a year and a
half ago, I remember Kate Robinson dancing on the green at Squire Burton's
there with the rest of the girls of the village, and without compare the
prettiest and freshest, and most blithsome and innocent of them all. Ay,
she was innocent then, none ever more so, and she had no care, but all
looking kind upon her in this world, and fond parents taking pride in
her--and now look at her what she is! Cast off by all, shamed, and
forgotten, and broken-hearted, and lost as much as if she was in her grave.
And better she was in her grave than as she is."

The old woman now really felt so much that she stopped speaking, and she
was silent for several minutes.

"Ah! dear ladies," said she, looking up at Rosamond and Caroline, "I see
you have kind hearts within you, and I thank you for pitying poor Kate."

"I wish we could do any thing to serve her," said Caroline.

"Ah! miss, that I am afraid you can't--that's what I am afraid none can
now." The good woman paused and looked as if she expected to be questioned.
Caroline was silent, and the old woman looked disappointed.

"We do not like to question you," said Rosamond, "lest we should ask what
you might not like to answer, or what the young woman would be sorry that
you should answer."

"Why, miss, that's very considerate in you, and only that I know it would
be for her benefit, I am sure I would not have said a word--but here I
have so very little to give her, and that little so coarse fare to what
she been used to, both when she was at service, and when she was with her
own people, that I be afraid, weak as she be grown now, she won't do. And
though I have been a good nurse in my day, I think she wants now a bit
better doctor than I be--and then if she could see the minister, to take
the weight off her heart, to make her not fret so, to bid her look up
above for comfort, and to raise her with the hope and trust that God will
have more mercy upon her than her father and mother do have; and to make
her--hardest of all!--forget him that has forsaken her and her little one,
and been so cruel--Oh! ladies, to do all that, needs a person that can
speak to her better and with more authority than I can."