Tales and Novels, Vol. VII by Maria Edgeworth

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

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"Affectionately yours,

"CAROLINE PERCY."

Caroline was right--Rosamond had made a great impression upon Mr. Gresham's
heart. His recollection of the difference between his age and Rosamond's,
and his consciousness of the want of the gaiety and attractions of youth,
rendered him extremely diffident, and for some time suppressed his passion,
at least delayed the declaration of his attachment. But Rosamond seemed
evidently to like his company and conversation, and she showed that degree
of esteem and interest for him which, he flattered himself, might be
improved into a more tender affection. He ventured to make his proposal--he
applied first to Mrs. Percy, and entreated that she would make known his
sentiments to her daughter.

When Mrs. Percy spoke to Rosamond, she was surprised at the very decided
refusal which Rosamond immediately gave. Both Mrs. Percy and Caroline were
inclined to think that Rosamond had not only a high opinion of Mr. Gresham,
but that she had felt a preference for him which she had never before shown
for any other person; and they thought that, perhaps, some refinement of
delicacy about accepting his large fortune, or some fear that his want of
high birth, and what are called good connexions, would be objected to by
her father and mother, might be the cause of this refusal. Mrs. Percy felt
extremely anxious to explain her own sentiments, and fully to understand
Rosamond's feelings. In this anxiety Caroline joined most earnestly; all
the kindness, sympathy, and ardent affection, which Rosamond had ever shown
for her, when the interests of her heart were in question, were strong
in Caroline's recollection, and these were now fully returned. Caroline
thought Mr. Gresham was too old for her sister; but she considered that
this objection, and all others, should yield to Rosamond's own opinion and
taste. She agreed with her mother in imagining that Rosamond was not quite
indifferent to his merit and to his attachment.

Mrs. Percy began by assuring Rosamond that she should be left entirely at
liberty to decide according to her own judgment and feelings. "You have
seen, my dear, how your father and I have acted towards your sister; and
you may be sure that we shall show you equal justice. Though parents are
accused of always rating 'a good estate above a faithful lover,' yet you
will recollect that Mr. Barclay's good estate did not induce us to press
his suit with Caroline. Mr. Gresham has a large fortune; and, to speak in
Lady Jane Granville's style, it must be acknowledged, my dear Rosamond,
that this would be a most advantageous match; but for this very reason we
are particularly desirous that you should determine for yourself: at the
same time, let me tell you, that I am a little surprised by the promptness
of your decision. Let me be sure that this negative is serious--let me
be sure that I rightly understand you, my love: now, when only your own
Caroline is present, tell me what are your objections to Mr. Gresham?"

Thanks for her mother's kindness; thanks repeated, with tears in her eyes,
were, for a considerable time, all the answer that could be obtained from
Rosamond. At length she said, "Without having any particular objection to a
person, surely, if I cannot love him, that is sufficient reason for my not
wishing to marry him."

Rosamond spoke these words in so feeble a tone, and with so much
hesitation, colouring at the same time so much, that her mother and sister
were still uncertain how they were to understand her _if_--and Mrs. Percy
replied, "Undoubtedly, my dear, _if_ you cannot love him; but that is the
question. Is it quite certain that you cannot?"

"Oh! quite certain--I believe."

"This certainty seems to have come very suddenly," said her mother,
smiling.

"What can you mean, mother?"

"I mean that you did not show any decided dislike to him, till within these
few hours, my dear."

"Dislike! I don't feel--I hope I don't show any dislike--lam sure I should
be very ungrateful. On the contrary, it would be impossible for any body,
who is good for any thing, to _dislike_ Mr. Gresham."

"Then you can neither like him nor dislike him?--You are in a state of
absolute indifference."

"That is, except gratitude--gratitude for all his kindness to Erasmus, and
for his partiality to me--gratitude I certainly feel."

"And esteem?"

"Yes; to be sure, esteem."

"And I think," continued her mother, "that before he committed this crime
of proposing for you, Rosamond, you used to show some of the indignation of
a good friend against those ungrateful people who used him so ill.

"Indignation! Yes," interrupted Rosamond, "who could avoid feeling
indignation?"

"And pity?--I think I have heard you express pity for poor Mr. Gresham."

"Well, ma'am, because he really was very much to be pitied--don't you think
so?"

"I do--and pity--" said Mrs. Percy, smiling.

"No, indeed, mother, you need not smile--nor you, Caroline; for the sort
of pity which I feel is not--it was merely pity by itself, plain pity:
why should people imagine and insist upon it, that more is felt than
expressed?"

"My dear," said Mrs. Percy, "I do not insist upon your feeling more than
you really do; but let us see--you are in a state of absolute indifference,
and yet you feel esteem, indignation, pity--how is this, Rosamond? How can
this be?"

"Very easily, ma'am, because by absolute indifference, I mean--Oh! you know
very well what I mean--absolute indifference as to--"

"Love, perhaps, is the word which you cannot pronounce this morning."

"Now, mother! Now, Caroline! You fancy that I love him. But, supposing
there were any _if_ in the case on my side, tell me only _why_ I should
refuse him?"

"Nay, my dear, that is what we wait to hear from you," said Mrs. Percy.

"Then I will tell you why," said Rosamond: "in the first place, Mr. Gresham
has a large fortune, and I have none. And I have the greatest horror of the
idea of marrying for money, or of the possibility of its being suspected
that I might do so."

"I thought that was the fear!" cried Caroline: "but, my dear Rosamond, with
your generous mind, you know it is quite impossible that you should marry
from interested motives."

"Absolutely impossible," said her mother. "And when you are sure of your
own mind, it would be weakness, my dear, to dread the suspicions of others,
even if such were likely to be formed."

"Oh! do not, my dearest Rosamond," said Caroline, taking her sister's
hand, pressing it between hers, and speaking in the most urgent, almost
supplicating tone, "do not, generous as you are, sacrifice your happiness
to mistaken delicacy!"

"But," said Rosamond, after a moment's silence, "but you attribute more
than I deserve to my delicacy and generosity: I ought not to let you think
me so much better than I really am. I had some other motives: you will
think them very foolish--very ridiculous--perhaps wrong; but you are so
kind and indulgent to me, mother, that I will tell you all my follies. I do
not like to marry a man who is not a hero--you are very good not to laugh,
Caroline."

"Indeed, I am too seriously interested at present to laugh," said Caroline.

"And you must be sensible," continued Rosamond, "that I could not, by any
effort of imagination, or by any illusion of love, convert a man of Mr.
Gresham's time of life and appearance, with his wig, and sober kind of
understanding, into a hero."

"As to the wig," replied Mrs. Percy, "you will recollect that both Sir
Charles Grandison and Lovelace wore wigs; but, my dear, granting that a man
cannot, in these days, be a hero in a wig, and granting that a hero cannot
or should not have a sober understanding, will you give me leave to ask,
whether you have positively determined that none but heroes and heroines
should live, or love, or marry, or be happy in this mortal world?"

"Heaven forbid!" said Rosamond, "particularly as I am not a heroine."

"And as only a few hundred millions of people in the world are in the same
condition," added Mrs. Percy.

"And those perhaps, not the least happy of human beings," said Caroline.
"Be that as it may, I think it cannot be denied that Mr. Gresham has, in a
high degree, one of the qualities which ought to distinguish a hero."

"What?" said Rosamond, eagerly.

"Generosity," replied Caroline; "and his large fortune puts it in his power
to show that quality upon a scale more extended than is usually allowed
even to the heroes of romance."

"True--very true," said Rosamond, smiling: "generosity might make a hero of
him if he were not a merchant--a merchant!--a Percy ought not to marry a
merchant."

"Perhaps, my dear," said Mrs. Percy, "you don't know that half, at least,
of all the nobility in England have married into the families of merchants;
therefore, in the opinion of half the nobility of England, there can be
nothing discreditable or derogatory in such an alliance."

"I know, ma'am, such things are; but then you will allow they are usually
done for money, and that makes the matter worse. If the sons of noble
families marry the daughters of mercantile houses, it is merely to repair
the family fortune. But a nobleman has great privileges. If he marry
beneath himself, his low wife is immediately raised by her wedding-ring to
an equality with the high and mighty husband--her name is forgotten in her
title--her vulgar relations are left in convenient obscurity: the husband
never thinks of taking notice of them; and the wife, of course, may let
it alone if she pleases. But a woman, in our rank of life, must bear her
husband's name, and must also bear all his relations, be they ever so
vulgar. Now, Caroline, honestly--how should you like this?"

"Honestly, not at all," said Caroline; "but as we cannot have every thing
we like, or avoid every thing we dislike, in life, we must balance the
good against the evil, when we are to make our choice: and if I found
certain amiable, estimable qualities in a character, I think that I might
esteem, love, and marry him, even though he had a vulgar name and vulgar
connexions. I fairly acknowledge, however, that it must be something
superior in the man's character which could balance the objection to
vulgarity in my mind."

"Very well, my dear," said Rosamond, "do you be a martyr to vulgarity and
philosophy, if you like it--but excuse me, if you please. Since you, who
have so much strength of mind, fairly acknowledge that this objection is
barely to be overcome by your utmost efforts, do me the favour, do me the
justice, not to expect from me a degree of civil courage quite above my
powers."

Caroline, still believing that Rosamond was only bringing forward all the
objections that might be raised against her wishes, replied, "Fortunately,
my dear Rosamond, you are not called upon for any such effort of
philosophy, for Mr. Gresham is not vulgar, nor is even his name vulgar, and
he cannot have any vulgar relations, because he has no relations of any
description--I heard him say, the other day, that he was a solitary being."

"That is a comfort," said Rosamond, laughing; "that is a great thing in his
favour; but if he has not relations, he has connexions. What do you think
of those horrible Pantons? This instant I think I see old Panton cooling
himself--wig pushed back--waistcoat unbuttoned--and protuberant Mrs.
Panton with her bay wig and artificial flowers. And not the Pantons only,
but you may be sure there are hordes of St. Mary Axe cockneys, that
would pour forth upon _Mrs. Gresham_, with overwhelming force, and with
partnership and old-acquaintance-sake claims upon her public notice and
private intimacy. Come, come, my dear Caroline, don't speak against your
conscience--you know you never could withstand the hordes of _vulgarians_."

"These vulgarians in buckram," said Caroline, "have grown from two to two
hundred in a trice, in your imagination, Rosamond: but consider that old
Panton, against whom you have such an invincible horror, will, now that
he has quarrelled with Erasmus, probably very soon eat himself out of the
world; and I don't see that you are bound to Mr. Gresham's dead partner's
widow--is this your only objection to Mr. Gresham?"

"My only objection! Oh, no! don't flatter yourself that in killing old
Panton you have struck off all my objections. Independently of vulgar
relations or connexions, and the disparity of age, my grand objection
remains. But I will address myself to my mother, for you are not a good
person for judging of prejudices--you really don't understand them, my dear
Caroline; one might as well talk to Socrates. You go to work with logic,
and get one between the horns of a wicked dilemma directly--I will talk to
my mother; she understands prejudices."

"Your mother thanks you," said Mrs. Percy, smiling, "for your opinion of
her understanding."

"My mother is the most indulgent of mothers, and, besides, the most candid,
and therefore I know she will confess to me that she herself cherishes
a little darling prejudice in favour of birth and family, a _leetle_
prejudice--well covered by good-nature and politeness--but still a secret,
invincible antipathy to low-born people."

"To low-bred people, I grant."

"Oh, mother! you are _upon your candour_--my dear mother, not only low-bred
but low-born: confess you have a--what shall I call it?--an _indisposition_
towards low-born people."

"Since you put me upon my candour," said Mrs. Percy, "I am afraid I must
confess that I am conscious of a little of the aristocratic weakness you
impute to me."

"Impute!--No imputation, in my opinion," cried Rosamond. "I do not think it
any weakness."

"But I do," said Mrs. Percy--"I consider it as a weakness; and bitterly
should I reproach myself, if I saw any weakness, any prejudice of mine,
influence my children injuriously in the most material circumstance of
their lives, and where their happiness is at stake. So, my dear Rosamond,
let me intreat--"

"Oh! mother, don't let the tears come into your eyes; and, without any
intreaties, I will do just as you please."

"My love," said Mrs. Percy, "I have no pleasure but that you should please
yourself and judge for yourself, without referring to any prepossession of
mine. And lest your imagination should deceive you as to the extent of my
aristocratic prejudices, let me explain. The _indisposition_, which I have
acknowledged I feel towards low-born people, arises, I believe, chiefly
from my taking it for granted that they cannot be thoroughly well-bred. I
have accidentally seen examples of people of inferior birth, who, though
they had risen to high station, and though they had acquired, in a certain
degree, polite manners, and had been metamorphosed by fashion, to all
outward appearance, into perfect gentry, yet betrayed some marks of their
origin, or of their early education, whenever their passions or their
interests were touched: then some awkward gesture, some vulgar expression,
some mean or mercenary sentiment, some habitual contraction of mind,
recurred."

"True, true, most true!" said Rosamond. "It requires two generations,
at least, to wash out the stain of vulgarity: neither a gentleman nor a
gentlewoman can be made in less than two generations; therefore I never
will marry a low-born man, if he had every perfection under the sun."

"Nay, my dear, that is too strong," said Mrs. Percy. "Hear me, my dearest
Rosamond. I was going to tell you, that my experience has been so limited,
that I am not justified in drawing from it any general conclusion. And
even to the most positive and rational general rules you know there are
exceptions."

"That is a fine general softening clause," said Rosamond; "but now
positively, mother, would you have ever consented to marry a merchant?"

"Certainly, my dear, if your father bad been a merchant, I should have
married him," replied Mrs. Percy.

"Well, I except my father. To put the question more fairly, may I ask, do
you wish that your daughter should marry a merchant?"

"As I endeavoured to explain to you before, _that_ depends entirely upon
what the merchant is, and upon what my daughter feels for him."

Rosamond sighed.

"I ought to observe, that merchants are now quite in a different class from
what they were at the first rise of commerce in these countries," continued
her mother. "Their education, their habits of thinking, knowledge, and
manners, are improved, and, consequently, their _consideration_, their rank
in society is raised. In our days, some of the best informed, most liberal,
and most respectable men in the British dominions are merchants. I could
not therefore object to my daughter's marrying a merchant; but I should
certainly inquire anxiously what sort of a merchant he was. I do not mean
that I should inquire whether he was concerned in this or that branch of
commerce, but whether his mind were free from every thing mercenary and
illiberal. I have done so with respect to Mr. Gresham, and I can assure
you solemnly, that Mr. Gresham's want of the advantage of high birth is
completely counterbalanced in my opinion by his superior qualities. I see
in him a cultivated, enlarged, generous mind. I have seen him tried, where
his passions and his interests have been nearly concerned, and I never
saw in him the slightest tincture of vulgarity in manner or sentiment:
therefore, my dear daughter, if he has made an impression on your heart,
do not, on my account, conceal or struggle against it; because, far from
objecting to Mr. Gresham for a son-in-law, I should prefer him to any
gentleman or nobleman who had not his exalted character."

"There!" cried Caroline, with a look of joyful triumph, "there! my dear
Rosamond, now your heart must be quite at ease!"

But looking at Rosamond at this moment, she saw no expression of joy or
pleasure in her countenance; and Caroline was now convinced that she had
been mistaken about Rosamond's feelings.

"Really and truly, mother, you think all this?"

"Really and truly, my dear, no motive upon earth would make me disguise my
opinions, or palliate even my prejudices, when you thus consult me, and
depend upon my truth. And now that I have said this much, I will say no
more, lest I should bias you on the other side: I will leave you to your
own feelings and excellent understanding."

Rosamond's affectionate heart was touched so by her mother's kindness,
that she could not for some minutes repress her tears. When she recovered
her voice, she assured her mother and Caroline, with a seriousness and an
earnest frankness which at once convinced them of her truth, that she had
not the slightest partiality for Mr. Gresham; that, on the contrary, his
age was to her a serious objection. She had feared that her friends might
wish for the match, and that being conscious she had no other objection
to make to Mr. Gresham except that she could not love him, she had
hesitated for want of a better reason, when her mother first began this
cross-examination.

Relieved by this thorough explanation, and by the conviction that her
father, mother, and sister, were perfectly satisfied with her decision,
Rosamond was at ease as far as she herself was concerned. But she still
dreaded to see Mr. Gresham again. She was excessively sorry to have given
him pain, and she feared not a little that in rejecting the lover she
should lose the friend.

Mr. Gresham, however, was of too generous a character to cease to be the
friend of the woman he loved, merely because she could not return his
passion: it is wounded pride, not disappointed affection, that turns
immediately from love to hatred.

Rosamond was spared the pain of seeing Mr. Gresham again at this time,
for he left the Hills, and set out immediately for London, where he was
recalled by news of the sudden death of his partner. Old Mr. Panton had
been found dead in his bed, after having supped inordinately the preceding
night upon eel-pie. It was indispensably necessary that Mr. Gresham should
attend at the opening of Panton's will, and Mrs. Panton wrote to represent
this in urgent terms. Mr. Henry was gone to Amsterdam; he had, for some
time previously to the death of Mr. Panton, obtained the partnership's
permission to go over to the Dutch merchants, their correspondents in
Amsterdam, to fill a situation in their house, for which his knowledge of
the Dutch, French, and Spanish languages eminently qualified him.

When Mr. Henry had solicited this employment, Mr. Gresham had been
unwilling to part with him, but had yielded to the young man's earnest
entreaties, and to the idea that this change would, in a lucrative point of
view, be materially for Mr. Henry's advantage.

Some apology to the lovers of romance may be expected for this abrupt
transition from the affairs of the heart to the affairs of the
counting-house--but so it is in real life. We are sorry, but we cannot help
it--we have neither sentiments nor sonnets, ready for every occasion.

CHAPTER XXII.

LETTER FROM ALFRED.

_This appears to have been written some months after the vacation spent at
the Hills_.

'Oh! thoughtless mortals, ever blind to fate,
Too soon dejected, and too soon elate.'

"You remember, I am sure, my dear father, how angry we were some time ago
with that man, whose name I never would tell you, the man whom Rosamond
called Counsellor _Nameless_, who snatched a _good point_ from me in
arguing Mr. Hauton's cause. This very circumstance has been the means of
introducing me to the notice of three men, all eminent in their profession,
and each with the same inclination to serve me, according to their
respective powers--a solicitor, a barrister, and a judge. Solicitor
Babington (by-the-by, pray tell Rosamond in answer to her question whether
there is an honest attorney, that there are no such things as _attorneys_
now in England--they are all turned into solicitors and agents, just as
every _shop_ is become a _warehouse_, and every _service_ a _situation_),
Babington the solicitor employed against us in that suit a man who knows,
without practising them, all the tricks of the trade, and who is a
thoroughly honest man. He saw the trick that was played by _Nameless_, and
took occasion afterwards to recommend me to several of his own clients.
Upon the strength of this _point_ briefs appeared on my table day after
day--two guineas, three guineas, five guineas! comfortable sight! But far
more comfortable, more gratifying, the kindness of Counsellor Friend: a
more benevolent man never existed. I am sure the profession of the law has
not contracted his heart, and yet you never saw or can conceive a man more
intent upon his business. I believe he eats, drinks, and sleeps upon law:
he has the reputation, in consequence, of being one of the soundest of our
lawyers--the best opinion in England. He seems to make the cause of every
client his own, and is as anxious as if his private property depended on
the fate of each suit. He sets me a fine example of labour, perseverance,
professional enthusiasm and rectitude. He is one of the very best friends
a young lawyer like me could have; he puts me in the way I should go,
and keeps me in it by showing that it is not a matter of chance, but of
certainty, that this is the right road to fortune and to fame.

"Mr. Friend has sometimes a way of paying a compliment as if he were making
a reproach, and of doing a favour as a matter of course. Just now I met
him, and apropos to some observations I happened to make on a cause in
which he is engaged, he said to me, as if he were half angry, though I knew
he was thoroughly pleased, 'Quick parts! Yes, so I see you have: but take
care--in your profession 'tis often "Most haste, worst speed;" not but what
there are happy exceptions, examples of lawyers, who have combined judgment
with wit, industry with genius, and law with eloquence. But these instances
are rare, very rare; for the rarity of the case, worth studying. Therefore
dine with me to-morrow, and I will introduce you to one of these
exceptions.'

"The person in question, I opine, is the lord chief justice--and Friend
could not do me a greater favour than to introduce me to one whom, as you
know, I have long admired in public, and with whom, independently of any
professional advantage, I have ardently wished to be acquainted.

"I have been told--I cannot tell you what--for here's the bell-man. I don't
wonder 'the choleric man' knocked down the postman for blowing his horn in
his ear.

"Abruptly yours,

"ALFRED PERCY."

Alfred had good reason to desire to be acquainted with this lord chief
justice. Some French writer says, "_Qu'il faut plier les grandes ailes de
l'eloquence pour entrer dans un salon._" The chief justice did so with
peculiar ease. He possessed perfect conversational _tact_, with great
powers of wit, humour, and all that felicity of allusion, which an
uncommonly recollective memory, acting on stores of varied knowledge, can
alone command. He really conversed; he did not merely tell stories, or
make bonmots, or confine himself to the single combat of close argument,
or the flourish of declamation; but he alternately followed and led,
threw out and received ideas, knowing how to listen full as well as how
to talk, remembering always Lord Chesterfield's experienced maxim, "That
it is easier to hear than to talk yourself into the good opinion of your
auditors." It was not, however, from policy, but from benevolence, that the
chief justice made so good a hearer. It has been said, and with truth, that
with him a _good point_ never passed unnoticed in a public court, nor was
a _good thing_ ever lost upon him in private company. Of the number of his
own good things fewer are in circulation than might be expected. The best
conversation, that which rises from the occasion, and which suits the
moment, suffers most from repetition. Fitted precisely to the peculiar time
and place, the best things cannot bear transplanting.