Tales and Novels, Vol. VII by Maria Edgeworth

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

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"And lets me languish here in obscurity!" continued the enraged painter.
"Now I'll never put another stroke to his Dutch beauty's portrait, if I
starve--if I rot for it in jail! He a Mecaenas!"

The changes upon this abuse were rung repeatedly by this irritated genius,
his voice and palsied hand trembling with rage while he spoke, till he was
interrupted by a carriage stopping at the door.

"Here's the patron!" cried the Irishman, with an arch look. "Ay, it's the
patron, sure enough!"

Dr. Percy was going away, but O'Brien got between him and the door,
menacing his coat with his pallet-knife covered with oil--Erasmus stopped.

"I axe your pardon, but don't go," whispered he: "I wouldn't for the best
coat nor waistcoat ever I seen you went this minute, dear!"

Mr. Gresham was announced--a gentleman of a most respectable, benevolent,
prepossessing appearance, whom Erasmus had some recollection of having seen
before. Mr. Gresham recognized him instantly: he was the merchant whom
Erasmus had met at Sir Amyas Courtney's the morning when he offended Sir
Amyas about the made shell. After having spoken a few words to the painter
about the portrait, Mr. Gresham turned to Dr. Percy, and said, "I am
afraid, sir, that you lost a friend at court by your sincerity about a
shell."

Before Erasmus could answer--in less time than he could have thought it
possible to take off a stocking, a great bare leg--O'Brien's leg, came
between Mr. Gresham and Dr. Percy. "There's what lost him a rich friend any
way, and gained him a poor one, if that would do any good. There it is now!
This leg! God for ever bless him and reward him for it!"

Then with eloquence, emphasis, and action, which came from the heart, and
went to the heart, the poor fellow told how his leg had been saved, and
spoke of what Dr. Percy had done for him, in terms which Erasmus would
have been ashamed to hear, but that he really was so much affected with
O'Brien's gratitude, and thought it did so much honour to human nature,
that he could not stop him.--Mr. Gresham was touched also; and upon
observing this, Erasmus's friend, with his odd mixture of comedy and
pathos, ended with this exhortation, "And God bless you, sir! you're a
great man, and have many to my knowledge under a compliment to you, and
if you've any friends that are _lying_, or sick, if you'd recommend them
to send for _him_ in preference to any other of the doctors, it would
be a charity to themselves and to me; for I will never have peace else,
thinking how I have been a hinderance to him. And a charity it would be to
themselves, for what does the sick want but to be cured? and there's the
man will do that for them, as two witnesses here present can prove--that
jantleman, if he would spake, and myself."

Erasmus now peremptorily stopped this scene, for he began to feel for
himself, and to be ashamed of the ridicule which his puffing friend, in
his zeal, was throwing upon him. Erasmus said that he had done nothing for
O'Brien except placing him in St. George's Hospital, where he had been
admirably well attended. Mr. Gresham, however, at once relieved his wounded
delicacy, and dispelled all fears and anxiety, by the manner in which
he spoke and looked. He concluded by inviting Dr. Percy to his house,
expressing with much cordiality a wish to be more intimately acquainted
with a young gentleman, of whose character he had accidentally learned more
good than his modesty seemed willing to allow should be known.

O'Brien's eyes sparkled; he rubbed his hands, but restrained himself lest
Dr. Percy should be displeased. When Erasmus went away, O'Brien followed
him down stairs, begging his honour's pardon--if he had said any thing
wrong or unbecoming, it was through ignorance.

It was impossible to be angry with him.

We extract from Erasmus's letter to his mother the following account of his
first visit to Mr. Gresham.

"When I went to see Mr. Gresham, I was directed to an unfashionable part
of the town, to one of the dark old streets of the city; and from all
appearance I thought I was going to grope my way into some strange dismal
den, like many of the ancient houses in that quarter of the town. But,
to my surprise, after passing through a court, and up an unpromising
staircase, I found myself in a spacious apartment. The darkness changed
to light, the smoke and din of the city to retirement and fresh air. A
near view of the Thames appeared through large windows down to the floor,
balconies filled with flowers and sweet shrubs!--It was an Arabian scene
in London. Rosamond, how you would have been delighted! But I have not
yet told you that there was a young and beautiful lady sitting near the
balcony, and her name is Constance: that is all I shall tell you about
the young lady at present. I must go on with Mr. Gresham, who was in his
picture-gallery--yes, picture-gallery--and a very fine one it is. Mr.
Gresham, whose fortune is one of those of which only English merchants
can form any adequate idea, makes use of it in a manner which does honour
to his profession and to his country: he has patronized the arts with a
munificence not unworthy of the Medici.

"My complaining genius, the painter, who had abused his patron so much, was
there with his portrait, which, notwithstanding his vow never to touch it
again, he had finished, and brought home, and with it the sprawling Venus:
he was now extremely angry with Mr. Gresham for declining to purchase this
chef-d'oeuvre. With the painter was a poet equally vain and dissatisfied.

"I admired the mildness with which Mr. Gresham bore with their ill-humour
and vanity.--After the painter and poet, to my satisfaction, had departed,
I said something expressive of my pity for patrons who had to deal with the
irritable race. He mildly replied, that he thought that a man, surrounded
as he was with all the comforts and luxuries of life, should have
compassion, and should make allowance for genius struggling with poverty,
disease, and disappointment. He acknowledged that he had met with much
ingratitude, and had been plagued by the pretensions, expectations,
and quarrels of his tribe of poets and painters. 'For a man's own
happiness,' said he, 'the trade of a patron is the most dreadful he can
follow--gathering samphire were nothing to it.'

"Pray tell my father this, because it opens a new view, and new
confirmation of his opinions--I never spent a more agreeable day than this
with Mr. Gresham. He converses well, and has a variety of information,
which he pours forth liberally, and yet without the slightest ostentation:
his only wish seems to be to entertain and inform those to whom he
speaks--he has no desire to shine. In a few hours we went over a world of
literature. I was proud to follow him, and he seemed pleased that I could
sometimes anticipate--I happened to know as well as he did the history of
the two Flamels, and several particulars of the Jesuits in Paraguay.

"My father often told us, when we were boys, that there is no knowledge,
however distant it seems from our profession, that may not, some time or
other, be useful; and Mr. Gresham, after he had conversed sufficiently with
me both on literature and science, to discover that I was not an ignorant
pretender, grew warm in his desire to serve me. But he had the politeness
to refrain from saying any thing directly about medicine; he expressed only
an increased desire to cultivate my acquaintance, and begged that I would
call upon him at any hour, and _give him the pleasure of my conversation,
whenever I had time_.

"The next morning he called upon me, and told me that he was desired to ask
my advice for a sick partner of his, to whom, if I would accompany him, he
would immediately introduce me. Who and what this partner is, and of what
disease he is dying, if you have any curiosity to know, you shall hear in
my next, this frank will hold no more--except love, light as air, to all at
home.

"Dear mother, affectionately yours,

"E. PERCY"

CHAPTER XVI.

Now for the visit to Hungerford Castle--a fine old place in a beautiful
park, which excelled many parks of greater extent by the uncommon size
of its venerable oaks. In the castle, which was sufficiently spacious to
accommodate with ease and perfect comfort the _troops of friends_ which its
owner's beneficent character drew round her, there were apartments that
usually bore the name of some of those persons who were considered as the
most intimate friends of the family. The Percys were of this number. They
found their own rooms ready, the old servants of the house rejoicing to see
them again, and eager in offering their services. Many things showed that
they had been thought of, and expected; yet there was nothing that could
remind them that any change had taken place in their fortune: no formal
or peculiar civilities from the mistress of the house, from her daughter,
or nieces--neither more nor less attention than usual; but by every thing
that marked old habits of intimacy and confidence, the Percys were, as if
undesignedly and necessarily, distinguished from other guests.

Of these the most conspicuous was the Lady Angelica Headingham.--Her
ladyship had lately come to a large estate, and had consequently produced a
great sensation in the fashionable world. During the early part of her life
she had been much and injudiciously restrained. The moment the pressure was
taken off, the spirit boiled with surprising rapidity: immediately Lady
Angelica Headingham shone forth a beauty, a bel-esprit, and a patroness;
and though she appeared as it were _impromptu_ in these characters, yet,
to do her justice, she supported them with as much spirit, truth, and
confidence, as if she had been in the habit of playing them all her life,
and as if she had trod the fashionable stage from her teens. There was
only one point in which, perhaps, she erred: from not having been early
accustomed to flattery, she did not receive it with quite sufficient
_nonchalance_. The adoration paid to her in her triple capacity by crowds
of worshippers only increased the avidity of her taste for incense, to
receive which she would now and then stoop lower than became a goddess. She
had not yet been suspected of a real partiality for any of her admirers,
though she was accused of giving each just as much encouragement as was
necessary to turn his head. Of these admirers, two, the most eager and
earnest in the pursuit, had followed her ladyship to the country, and were
now at Hungerford Castle--Sir James Harcourt and Mr. Barclay.

Sir James Harcourt was remarkably handsome and fashionable--completely a
man of the world, and a courtier: who, after having ruined his fortune by
standing for government two contested county elections, had dangled year
after year at court, living upon the hope and promise of a pension or a
place, till his creditors warning him that they could wait no longer, he
had fallen in love with Lady Angelica Headingham. Her ladyship's other
admirer, Mr. Barclay, was a man of considerable fortune, of good family,
and of excellent sense and character. He had arrived at that time of life
when he wished to settle to the quiet enjoyment of domestic happiness; but
he had seen so much misery arise from unfortunate marriages among some of
his particular friends, that he had been afraid of forming any attachment,
or, at least, engagement. His acquaintance with fashionable life had still
further rendered him averse from matrimony; and from love he had defended
himself with infinite caution, and escaped, till in an unlucky moment
he had met with Lady Angelica. Against his better judgment, he had been
captivated by her charms and talents: his reason, however, still struggled
with his passion--he had never actually declared his love; but the lady
knew it probably better than he did, and her caprice and coquetry cost him
many an agonizing hour. All which he bore with the silence and patience of
a martyr.

When the Percy family saw Lady Angelica for the first time, she was in all
her glory--fresh from a successful toilette, conscious of renovated powers,
with an accumulated spirit of animation, and inspired by the ambition to
charm a new audience. Though past the bloom of youth, she was a handsome
showy woman, with the air of one who requires and receives admiration.
Her attitudes, her action, and the varied expression she threw into her
countenance, were more than the occasion required, and rather too evidently
designed to interest or to fascinate. She was surrounded by a group of
gentlemen; Sir James Harcourt, Mr. Barclay, Mr. Seebright, a young poet;
Mr. Grey, a man of science; and others--_personnages muets_. Arduous as was
the task, Lady Angelica's various powers and indefatigable exertion proved
capable of keeping each of these different minds in full play, and in high
admiration.

Beauties are always curious about beauties, and wits about wits. Lady
Angelica had heard that one of the Miss Percys was uncommonly handsome.
Quick as eye could glance, her ladyship's passed by Mrs. Percy and Rosamond
as they entered the room, fixed upon Caroline, and was satisfied. There was
beauty enough to alarm, but simplicity sufficient to remove all fears of
rivalship. Caroline entered, without any prepared grace or practised smile,
but merely as if she were coming into a room. Her two friends, the Lady
Pembrokes, instantly placed her between them, her countenance expressing
just what she felt, affectionate pleasure at seeing them.

"A sweet pretty creature, really!" whispered Lady Angelica, to her admirer
in waiting, Sir James Harcourt.

"Ye--ye--yes; but nothing _marquante_," replied Sir James.

Mr. Barclay's eye followed, and fixed upon Caroline, with a degree of
interest. The room was so large, and they were at such a distance from
Caroline, who was now occupied in listening to her friends, that Lady
Angelica could continue her observations without fear of being overheard.

"There is something so interesting in that air of simplicity!" pursued her
ladyship, addressing herself to Mr. Barclay. "Don't you think there is a
wonderful charm in simplicity? 'Tis a pity it can't last: it is like those
delicate colours which always catch the eye the moment they are seen,
by which I've been taken in a hundred times, and have now forsworn for
ever--treacherous colours that fade, and fly even while you look at them."

"That is a pity," said Mr. Barclay, withdrawing his eyes from Caroline.

"A thousand pities," said Lady Angelica. "Perhaps, in the country, this
delicate charm might possibly, and with infinite care and caution, last a
few years, but in town it would not last a season."

"True--too true," said Mr. Barclay.

"For which reason," pursued Lady Angelica, "give me something a little more
durable, something that can stand what it must meet with in the world:
fashion, for instance, though not half so charming till we are used to it;
or knowledge, though often dearly bought; or genius, though doubly taxed
with censure; or wit, though so hard to be had genuine--any thing is better
than a faded charm, a has-been-pretty simplicity."

"When it comes to _that_, it is lamentable, indeed," said Mr. Barclay. He
seemed to wish to say something more in favour of simplicity, but to be
overpowered by wit.

Sir James shrugged his shoulders, and protested that simplicity had
something too _fade_ in it, to suit his taste.

All this time, where was Colonel Hungerford? He had been expected to arrive
this day; but a letter came to tell his mother, that he was detained by
indispensable military business, and that, he feared, he could not for
some weeks have the pleasure of being at home. Every one looked and felt
disappointed.

"So," thought Rosamond, "we shall be gone before he comes, and he will not
see Caroline!"

"So!" said Lady Angelica, to herself, "he will not see me."

Rosamond was somewhat comforted for her disappointment, by observing that
Caroline was not quite lost upon Mr. Barclay, pre-occupied though he was
with his brilliant mistress. She thought he seemed to notice the marked
difference there was in their manner of passing the day.

Lady Angelica, though she would sometimes handle a pencil, touch the harp,
or take up a book, yet never was really employed. Caroline was continually
occupied. In the morning, she usually sat with Rosamond and the two Lady
Pembrokes, in a little room called _the Oriel_, which opened into the great
library. Here in happy retirement Caroline and Rosamond looked over Mrs.
Hungerford's select library, and delighted to read the passages which
had been marked with approbation. At other times, without disturbing
the rest of the company, or being disturbed by them, Caroline enjoyed
the opportunity of cultivating her talents for music and painting, with
the assistance of her two friends, who eminently excelled in these
accomplishments.

All this time Lady Angelica spent in talking to show her wit, or lounging
to show her grace. Now and then her ladyship condescended to join the young
people, when they went out to walk, but never unless they were attended by
gentlemen. The beauties of nature have come into fashion of late, and Lady
Angelica Headingham could talk of bold outlines, and sublime mountains, the
charming effects of light and shade, fine _accidents_, and rich foliage,
spring verdure and autumnal tints,--whilst Caroline could enjoy all these
things, without expecting to be admired for admiring them. Mrs. Mortimer
was planting a new shrubbery, and laying out a ride through the park.
Caroline took an unaffected interest in all her plans, whilst Lady Angelica
was interested only in showing how much she remembered of Price, and
Repton, and Knight. She became too hot or too cold, or she was tired to
death, the moment she ceased to be the principal object of attention. But
though her ladyship was thus idle by day, she sometimes worked hard by
night--hard as Butler is said to have toiled in secret, to support the
character of an idle universal genius, who knows every thing without
studying any thing. From dictionaries and extracts, abridgments and
_beauties_ of various authors, here, and there, and every where, she picked
up shining scraps, and often by an ostentation of superficial knowledge
succeeded in appearing in conversation to possess a vast extent of
literature, and to be deeply skilled in matters of science, of which she
knew nothing, and for which she had no taste.

Mr. Seebright, the poet, was easily duped by this display: he expressed
the most flattering astonishment, and pronounced her ladyship to be an
universal genius. He looked up to Lady Angelica for patronage. He was
so weak, or so ignorant of the world, as to imagine that the patronage
of a fashionable literary lady of high rank would immediately guide the
opinion of the public, and bring a poet forward to fortune and fame. With
these hopes he performed his daily, hourly duty of admiration to his fair
patroness, with all possible zeal and assiduity; but it was observed by
Rosamond that, in conversation, whenever Mr. Seebright had a new idea or
a favourite allusion to produce, his eye involuntarily turned first to
Caroline; and though he professed, on all points of taste and criticism,
to be implicitly governed by Lady Angelica Headingham, there was "a small
still voice" to which he more anxiously listened.

As to Mr. Grey, the roan of science--he soon detected Lady Angelica's
ignorance; smiled in silence at her blunders, and despised her for her
_arts of pretence_. In vain, to win his suffrage, she produced the letters
of various men of note and talent with whom she was in correspondence; in
vain she talked of all the persons of rank who were her relations or dear
friends:--she should be so happy to introduce him to this great man, or to
mention him to that great lady; she should be so proud, on her return to
town, to have Mr. Grey at her _esprit parties_; she would have such and
such celebrated characters to meet him, and would have the pleasure and
honour of introducing him to every person worth knowing in town.

With all due civility Mr. Grey declined these offers. There were few
persons the pleasure or honour of whose company could compensate to him for
the loss of his time, or equal the enjoyment he had in his own occupations;
and those few he was so happy to have for his friends, he did not wish
to form new acquaintance--he never went to _conversaziones_--he was much
obliged to her ladyship, but he did not want to be _mentioned_ to great
men or great women. The nature of his fame was quite independent of
fashion.--In this respect men of science have much the advantage of men of
taste. Works of taste may, to a certain degree, be _cried up_ or _cried
down_ by fashion. The full-fledged bard soars superior, and looks down at
once upon the great and little world; but the young poet, in his first
attempts to rise, is often obliged, or thinks himself obliged, to have his
wing impelled by patronage.

With all her resources, however, both of patronage and of _bel-esprit_,
Lady Angelica was equally surprised and mortified to find herself foiled at
her own arms, by a girl whom nobody knew. She changed her manoeuvres--she
thought she could show Miss Caroline Percy, that, whatever might be her
abilities, her knowledge, or her charms, these must all submit to the
superior power of fashion. Caroline having lived in the country, could not
know much of the world of fashion. This was a world from which she thought
she could move every other at pleasure. Her conversation was no longer of
books, of which all of equal talents were competent to form a judgment; but
her _talk_ was now of persons, with whom no one who had not lived in the
great world could pretend to be acquainted, of whom they could not presume
to judge. Her ladyship tried in vain to draw Mrs. Hungerford and Mrs.
Mortimer to her aid; they were too well-bred to encourage this exclusive
and unprofitable conversation. But her ladyship knew that she could be
sufficiently supported by Sir James Harcourt! He prided himself upon
knowing and being known to _every body_, that is, _any body_, in London;
he had an inexhaustible fund of town and court anecdote. What an auxiliary
for Lady Angelica! But though their combined operations were carried
on with consummate skill, and though the league offensive was strictly
kept with every demonstration of mutual amity that could excite jealousy
or express contempt for rival powers; yet the ultimate purpose was not
gained--Caroline was not mortified, and Mr. Barclay was not jealous; at
least, he was not sufficiently jealous to afford a clear triumph.

One morning, when she had been playing off all her graces, while Sir James
admired her in every Proteus form of affectation, Mr. Barclay, as she
thought, evidently pained by her coquetry, retired from the sofa, where
she sat, and went to Mrs. Hungerford's table, where he took up a book and
began to read. Lady Angelica spared no art to distract his attention:
she contrived for herself an employment, which called forth continual
exclamations of admiration, joy, despair, which at first made Mr. Barclay
turn to see by what they could be caused; but when he found that they were
occasioned only by the rise or fall of a house of cards which she was
building, he internally said, "Pshaw!" and afterwards kept his eyes fixed
upon his book. Sir James continued to serve the fair architect with the
frail materials for her building--her _Folly_, as she called it--and for
his services he received much encouragement of smiles, and many marked
commendations. Mrs. Hungerford called upon Mr. Barclay to read a favourite
poem.

Mr. Barclay read remarkably well, and soon fixed the attention of all the
company, except that of Lady Angelica and her knight, Sir James Harcourt,
whom she detained in her service. She could not be so flagrantly rude as
to interrupt the reader by audible exclamations, but by dumb-show, by a
variety of gestures and pretty looks of delight at every fresh story added
to her card edifice, and at every motion of terror lest her tower should
fall, her ladyship showed Mr. Barclay that she was not listening to that
which she knew he was particularly desirous that she should hear.

The moment the reader's voice ceased, Lady Angelica approached the table.
"Ten millions of pardons!" said she, drawing some cards from beneath Miss
Caroline Percy's elbow, which rested on them. "Unpardonable wretch that I
am, to have disturbed such a reverie--and such an attitude! Mr. Barclay,"
continued her ladyship, "now if you have leisure to think of me, may I
trouble you for some of your little cards for the attic of my dear Folly?"

Mr. Barclay coolly presented the cards to her ladyship: then looked out of
the window, observed that his horse was at the door, and was following Mr.
Percy out of the room, when Lady Angelica, just as Mr. Barclay passed, blew
down her tower, and exclaimed, "There's an end of my folly--of one of my
follies, I mean: I wish I could blow them all away so easily."