Tales and Novels, Vol. VII by Maria Edgeworth

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

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In the mean time Miss Georgiana Falconer, in high spirits, intoxicated with
vanity, was persuaded that the Count had returned to his senses; and so
little did she know of his character, or of the human heart, as to expect
that a declaration of love would soon follow this public profession of
admiration. Such was the confusion of her ideas, that she was confident
Zara was on the point of becoming Countess of Altenberg.

After the play was over, and a thousand compliments had been paid and
received, most of the company called for their carriages. The house emptied
fast: there remained only a select party, who were to stay supper. They
soon adjourned to the green-room to repeat their tribute of applause to the
actors. High in the midst stood Miss Georgiana Falconer, receiving incense
from & crowd of adorers. As Count Altenberg approached, she assumed a
languishing air of softness and sensibility. The Count said all that could
reasonably be expected, but his compliments did not seem quite to satisfy
the lady. She was in hopes that he was going to say something more to her
taste, when French Clay pressed forward, which he did with an air neither
French nor English. He protested that he could not have conceived it
possible for the powers of any actress upon earth to interest him for the
English Zara; "but you, madam," said he, "have done the impossible; and now
I should die content, if I could see your genius do justice to Zaire. How
you would shine in the divine original, when you could do such wonders for
a miserable translation!"

Several gentlemen, and among others Mr. Percy, would not allow that the
English translation deserved to be called miserable. "The wrong side of
the tapestry we cannot expect should be quite equal to the right side."
said he: "Voltaire pointed out a few odds and ends here and there, which
disfigured the work, and required to be cut off; but upon the whole, if
I recollect, he was satisfied with the piece, and complimented Mr. Hill
upon having preserved the general design, spirit, and simplicity of the
original."

"Mere politeness in M. de Voltaire!" replied French Clay; "but, in effect,
Zaire is absolutely incapable of any thing more than being _done into_
English. For example, will any body have the goodness to tell me," said he,
looking round, and fixing his look of appeal on Miss Caroline Percy, "how
would you translate the famous '_Zaire!--vous pleurez!_"

"Is not it translated," said Caroline, "by 'Zara! you weep?'"

"Ah! _pardonnez moi!_" cried French Clay, with a shrug meant to be French,
but which English shoulders could not cleverly execute--"_Ah! pardonnez!_
to my ears now that says nothing."

"To our feelings it said a great deal just now," said Caroline, looking
at Zara in a manner which was lost upon her feelings, but not upon Count
Altenberg's.

"Ah! indubitably I admit," cried Mr. Clay, "_la beaute est toujours dans
son pays_, and tears fortunately need no translation; but when we come
to words, you will allow me, ma'am, that the language of fine feeling is
absolutely untranslateable, _untransfusible_."

Caroline seemed to wish to avoid being drawn forward to farther discussion,
but Mr. Clay repeated, in a tone of soft condescension, "Your silence
flatters me with the hope, ma'am, that we agree?"

Caroline could not submit to this interpretation of her silence, and
blushing, but without being disconcerted, she answered, that she had always
heard, and believed, it was the test of true feeling, as of true wit, that
it can be easily understood, and that its language is universal.

"If I had ever doubted that truth," said Count Altenberg, "I should have
been convinced of it by what I have seen and heard this night."

Miss Georgiana Falconer bowed her head graciously to the Count, and smiled,
and sighed. Lady Frances Arlington and Rosamond smiled at the same moment,
for they perceived by the universal language of the eye, that what Count
Altenberg said was not intended for the lady who took it so decidedly to
herself. This was the second time this night that Miss Georgiana Falconer's
vanity had appropriated to herself a compliment in which she had no share.
Yet, even at this moment, which, as she conceived, was a moment of triumph,
while she was encircled by adorers, while the voice of praise yet vibrated
in her ears, she felt anguish at perceiving the serenity of her rival's
countenance; and, however strange it may appear, actually envied Caroline
for not being envious.

Mrs. Falconer, skilled in every turn of her daughter's temper, which she
was now obliged to follow and humour, or dexterously to counteract, lest it
should ruin all schemes for her establishment, saw the cloud gathering on
Zara's brow, and immediately fixed the attention of the company upon the
beauty of her dress and the fine folds of her velvet train. She commenced
lamentations on the difference between English and French velvets. French
Clay, as she had foreseen, took up the word, and talked of _velvets_ till
supper was announced.

When Mrs. Falconer attended Lady Trant and Lady Kew to their rooms, a
nocturnal conference was held in Lady Trant's apartment, where, of course,
in the most confidential manner, their ladyships sat talking over the
events of the day, and of some matters too interesting to be spoken of
in general society. They began to congratulate Mrs. Falconer upon the
impression which Zara had made on Count Altenberg; but the wily mother
repressed their premature felicitations. She protested she was positively
certain that the person in question had _now_ no thoughts of Georgiana,
such as their ladyships' partiality to her might lead them to suppose; and
now, when the business was over, she might venture to declare that nothing
could have persuaded her to let a daughter of hers marry a foreigner. She
should have been sorry to give offence to such an amiable and well-informed
young nobleman; and she really rejoiced that, if her sentiments had been,
as no doubt by a person of his penetration they must have been, discovered,
Count Altenberg had taken the hint without being offended: indeed, she had
felt it a point of conscience to let the truth be seen time enough, to
prevent his coming to a downright proposal, and having the mortification
of an absolute refusal. Other mothers, she knew, might feel differently
about giving a daughter to a foreigner, and other young ladies might feel
differently from her Georgiana. Where there was so great an establishment
in prospect, and rank, and fashion, and figure, to say nothing of talents,
it could hardly be expected that such temptations should be resisted in a
_certain family_, where it was so very desirable, and indeed necessary, to
get a daughter married without a portion. Mrs. Falconer declared that on
every account she should rejoice, if things should happen to turn out so.
The present object was every way worthy, and charming. She was a young lady
for whom, even from the little she had seen of her, she confessed she felt
uncommonly interested--putting relationship out of the question.

Thus having with able generalship secured a retreat for herself and for her
daughter, Mrs. Falconer retired to rest.

Early the next morning one of Lord Oldborough's grooms brought a note for
Mr. Percy. Commissioner Falconer's confidential servant took the note
immediately up to his master's bedchamber, to inquire whether it would be
proper to waken Mr. Percy to give it to him, or to make the groom wait till
Mr. Percy should come down to breakfast.

The commissioner sat up in his bed, rubbed his eyes, read the direction of
the note, many times turned and returned it, and desired to see the man who
brought it. The groom was shown in.

"How is my lord's gout?"

"Quite well, sir: my lord was out yesterday in the park--both a horseback
and afoot."

"I am very happy to hear it. And pray, did any despatches come last night
from town, can you tell, sir?"

"I really can't particularly say, sir--I was out with the horses."

"But about this note?" said the commissioner.

The result of the cross-examination that followed gave reason to believe
that the note contained an invitation to breakfast, because he had heard
Mr. Rodney, my lord's own gentleman, tell the man whose business it was
to attend at breakfast, that my lord would breakfast in his own room, and
expected a friend to breakfast with him.

"A friend--Hum! Was there no note to me?--no message?"

"None, sir--as I know."

"Very extraordinary." Mr. Falconer inclined to keep the man till
breakfast-time, but he would not be kept--he had orders to return with
an answer immediately; and he had been on the fidgets all the time the
commissioner had been detaining him; for Lord Oldborough's messengers
could nut venture to delay. The note was consequently delivered to Mr.
Percy immediately, and Mr. Percy went to breakfast at Clermont-park. The
commissioner's breakfast was spoiled by the curiosity this invitation
excited, and he was obliged to chew green tea for the heartburn with great
diligence. Meantime the company were all talking the play over and over
again, till at last, when even Zara appeared satiated with the subject,
the conversation diverged a little to other topics. Unluckily French Clay
usurped so large a portion of attention, that Count Altenberg's voice was
for some time scarcely heard--the contrast was striking between a really
well-bred polished foreigner, and a man who, having kept bad company
abroad, and having formed himself on a few bad models, presented an
exaggerated imitation of those who were ridiculous, detested, or unknown,
in good society at Paris; and whom the nation would utterly disclaim
as representatives of their morals or manners. At this period of their
acquaintance with Count Altenberg, every circumstance which drew out his
character, tastes, and opinions, was interesting to the Percy family
in general, and in particular to Caroline. The most commonplace and
disagreeable characters often promoted this purpose, and thus afforded
means of amusement, and materials for reflection. Towards the end of
breakfast, the newspapers were brought in--the commissioner, who had
wondered frequently what could make them so late, seized upon the
government-paper directly, which he pocketed, and retired, after handing
other newspapers to Count Altenberg and to the Mr. Clays. English Clay,
setting down his well-sugared cup of tea, leaving a happily-prepared morsel
of ham and bread and butter on his plate, turned his back upon the ladies;
and comfortably settling himself with his arm over his chair, and the light
full upon London news, began to read to himself. Count Altenberg glanced
at _Continental News_, as he unfolded his paper, but instantly turned to
_Gazette Extraordinary_, which he laid before Mrs. Falconer. She requested
him, if it was not too much trouble, to read it aloud. "I hope my foreign
accent will not make it unintelligible," said he; and without farther
preface, or considering how he was to appear himself, he obeyed. Though
he had not a perfectly English accent, he showed that he had a thoroughly
English heart, by the joy and pride he took in reading an account of a
great victory.

English Clay turned round upon his chair, and setting his arms a-kimbo,
with the newspaper still fast in his hand, and his elbow sticking out
across Lady Anne Arlington, sat facing the count, and listening to him With
a look of surprise. "Why, d----m'me, but you're a good fellow, after all!"
exclaimed he, "though you are not an Englishman!"

"By the mother's side I am, sir," replied Count Altenberg. "I may boast
that I am at least half an Englishman."

"Half is better than the whole," said French Clay, scornfully.

"By the Lord, I could have sworn his mother, or some of his blood, was
English!" cried English Clay. "I beg your pardon, ma'am--'fraid I annoy
your ladyship?" added he, perceiving that the Lady Anne haughtily retreated
from his offending elbow.

Then sensible of having committed himself by his sudden burst of feeling,
he coloured all over, took up his tea, drank as if he wished to hide his
face for ever in the cup, recovered his head with mighty effort, turned
round again to his newspaper, and was cold and silent as before. His
brother meanwhile was, or affected to be, more intent upon some _eau
sucree_, that he was preparing for himself, than upon the fate of the army
and navy of Spain or England. Rising from the breakfast table, he went into
the adjoining room, and threw himself at full length upon a sofa; Lady
Frances Arlington, who detested politics, immediately followed, and led the
way to a work-table, round which the ladies gathered, and formed themselves
in a few minutes into a committee of dress, all speaking at once; Count
Altenberg went with the ladies out of the breakfast-room, where English
Clay would have been happy to have remained alone; but being interrupted
by the entrance of the servants, he could not enjoy peaceable possession,
and he was compelled also to follow:--getting as far as he could from the
female committee, he took Petcalf into a window to talk of horses, and
commenced a history of the colts of Regulus, and of the plates they had
won.

French Clay, rising from the sofa, and adjusting his cravat at a
looking-glass, carelessly said, addressing himself to Count Altenberg, "I
think, M. le Comte, I heard you say something about public feelings. Now, I
do not comprehend precisely what is meant by public feelings; for my part,
I am free to confess that I have none."

"I certainly must have expressed myself ill," replied Count Altenberg; "I
should have said, love of our country."

Mrs. Percy, Rosamond, and Caroline, escaped from the committee of dress,
were now eagerly listening to this conversation.

"And if you had, M. le Comte, I might, _en philosophe_, have been permitted
to ask," replied French Clay, "what is love of our country, but a mere
_prejudice_? and to a person of an _emancipated_ mind, that word prejudice
says volumes. Assuredly M. le Comte will allow, and must _feel well_, that
no prejudice ever was or can be useful to mankind."

The Count fully admitted that utility is the best human test by which all
sentiment, as well as every thing else, can be tried: but he observed
that Mr. Clay had not yet proved love of our country to be a useless or
pernicious principle of action: and by his own argument, if it can be
proved to be useful, it should not be called, in the invidious sense of the
word, a prejudice.

"True--but the labour of the proof fortunately rests with you, M. le
Comte."

Count Altenberg answered in French, speaking very rapidly. "It is a labour
saved me fortunately, by the recorded experience of all history, by the
testimony of the wisest and the best in all, countries, ancient and
modern--all agree in proclaiming love of our country to be one of the
most powerful, most permanent motives to good and great actions; the most
expansive, elevating principle--elevating without danger--expansive without
waste; the principle to which the legislator looks for the preservative
against corruption in states--to which the moralist turns for the antidote
against selfishness in individuals. Recollect, name any great character,
ancient or modern--is not love of his country one of his virtues? Can you
draw--can you conceive a great character--a great or a good character, or
even a safe member of society without it? A man hangs loose upon society,
as your own Burke says--"

"Ah! M. le Comte!" cried Clay, shrinking with affected horror, "I repent--I
see what I have brought upon myself; after Burke will come Cicero; and
after Cicero all Rome, Carthage, Athens, Lacedemon. Oh! spare me! since I
was a schoolboy, I could never _suffer_ those names. Ah! M. le Comte, de
grace!--I know I have put myself _in the case_ to be buried alive under a
load of quotations."

The Count, with that good humour which disappoints ridicule, smiled, and
checked his enthusiasm.

"Is there not a kind of enthusiasm," said Mrs. Percy, "which is as
necessary to virtue as to genius?"

French Clay shook his head. He was sorry to differ from a lady; as a
gallant man, he knew he was wrong, but as a philosopher he could not
patronize enthusiasm. It was the business, he apprehended, of philosophy to
correct and extinguish it.

"I have heard it said," interposed Rosamond, "that it is a favourite maxim
of law, that the extreme of justice is the extreme of injustice--perhaps
this maxim may be applied to philosophy as well as to law."

"Why extinguish enthusiasm?" cried Caroline. "It is not surely the business
of philosophy to extinguish, but to direct it. Does not enthusiasm, well
directed, give life and energy to all that is good and great?"

There was so much life and energy in Caroline's beautiful countenance, that
French Clay was for a moment silenced by admiration.

"After all," resumed he, "there is one slight circumstance, which persons
of feeling should consider, that the evils and horrors of war are produced
by this very principle, which some people think so useful to mankind, this
famous love of our country."

Count Altenberg asked, whether wars had not more frequently arisen from
the unlawful fancies which princes and conquerors are apt to take for the
territories of their neighbours, than from the legitimate love of their own
country?

French Clay, hurried by a smile he saw on Rosamond's lips, changed his
ground again for the worse, and said he was not speaking of wars, of
foreign conquests, but of defensive wars, where foolish people, from an
absurd love of their own country, that is, of certain barren mountains, of
_a few acres of snow_, or of collections of old houses and churches, called
capital cities, will expose themselves to fire, flame, and famine, and will
stand to be cut to pieces inchmeal, rather than to submit to a conqueror,
who might, ten to one, be a more civilized or cleverer sort of a person
than their own rulers; and under whom they might enjoy all the luxuries
of life--changing only the name of their country for some other equally
well-sounding name; and perhaps adopting a few new laws, instead of what
they might have been in the habit from their childhood of worshipping, as
a wittenagemote, or a diet, or a constitution. "For my part," continued
French Clay, "I have accustomed myself to go to the bottom of things.
I have _approfondied_. I have not suffered my understanding to be
paralysed--I have made my own analysis of happiness, and find that your
legislators, and moralists, and patriots, would juggle me out of many solid
physical comforts, by engaging me to fight for enthusiasms which do me no
manner of good."

Count Altenberg's countenance had flushed with indignation, and cooled
with contempt, several times during Mr. Clay's Speech. Beginning in a
low composed voice, he first answered, whatever pretence to reason it
contained, in the analysis of human happiness, he observed, Mr. Clay
had bounded his to physical comforts--this was reducing civilized man
below even the savage, and nearly to the state of brutes. Did Mr. Clay
choose to leave out all intellectual pleasures--all the pleasures of
self-complacency, self-approbation, and sympathy? But, supposing that he
was content to bound his happiness, inelegant and low, to such narrow
limits, Count Altenberg observed, he did not provide for the security even
of that poor portion. If he were ready to give up the liberty or the free
constitution of the country in which he resided, ready to live under
tyrants and tyranny, how could he be secure for a year, a day, even an
hour, of his epicurean paradise?

Mr. Clay acknowledged, that, "in this point of view, it might be awkward
to live in a conquered country; but if a man has talents to make himself
agreeable to the powers that be, and money in his purse, _that_ can never
touch him, _chacun pour soi--et honi soit qui mal y pense_."

"Is it in England!--Oh! can it be in England, and from an Englishman, that
I hear such sentiments!" exclaimed Count Altenberg. "Such I have heard on
the continent--such we have heard the precursors of the ruin, disgrace,
destruction of the princes and nations of Europe!"

Some painful reflections or recollections seemed to absorb the Count for a
few moments.

"_Foi d'honnete homme et de philosophe_," French Clay declared, that, for
his own part, he cared not who ruled or how, who was conqueror, or what
was conquered, provided champagne and burgundy were left to him by the
conqueror.

Rosamond thought it was a pity Mr. Clay was not married to the lady who
said she did not care what revolutions happened, as long as she had her
roast chicken, and her little game at cards.

"Happen what will," continued French Clay, "I have two hundred thousand
pounds, well counted--as to the rest, it is quite indifferent to me,
whether England be called England or France; for," concluded he, walking
off to the committee of dress, "after all I have heard, I recur to my first
question, what is country--or, as people term it, _their native land_?"

The following lines came full into Caroline's recollection as French Clay
spoke:

"Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself has said,
This is my own, my native land?
Whose heart has ne'er within him burn'd,
As home his footsteps he hath turn'd,
From wandering on a foreign strand?
If such there he, go, mark him well;
High though his titles, proud his fame,
Boundless his wealth, as wish can claim,
Despite these titles, power and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living shall forfeit fair renown,
And doubly dying shall go down
To the vile dust from whence he sprung.
Unwept, unhonour'd, and unsung."

Caroline asked Count Altenberg, who seemed well acquainted with English
literature, if he had ever read Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel?

The Count smiled, and replied,

"'Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself has said'

any of those beautiful lines?"

Caroline, surprised that the Count knew so well what had passed in her
mind, blushed.

At this moment Mrs. Falconer returned, and throwing a reconnoitring glance
round the room to see how the company had disposed of themselves, was well
pleased to observe French Clay leaning on the back of Georgiana's chair,
and giving her his opinion about some artificial flowers. The ladies had
been consulting upon the manner in which the characters in "Love in a
Village,"--or, "The Lord of the Manor," should be dressed, and Miss
Arabella Falconer had not yet completely determined which piece or which
dress she preferred. She was glad that the Percys had been kept from this
committee, because, as they were not to be asked to the entertainment,
it was a subject she could not discuss before them. Whenever they had
approached the table, the young ladies had talked only of fashions in
general; and now, as Mrs. Percy and Caroline, followed by Count Altenberg,
joined them, Mrs. Falconer put aside a volume of plays, containing "The
Lord of the Manor," &c.; and, taking up another book, said something about
the immortal bard to English Clay, who happened to be near her. He replied,
"I have every edition of Shakspeare that ever was printed or published, and
every thing that ever was written about him, good, bad, or indifferent, at
Clay-hall. I made this a principle, and I think every Englishman should do
the same. _Your_ Mr. Voltaire," added this polite Englishman, turning to
Count Altenberg, "made a fine example of himself by _dashing_ at _our_
Shakspeare?"

"Undoubtedly, Voltaire showed he did not understand Shakspeare, and
therefore did not do him justice," replied Count Altenberg. "Even Voltaire
had some tinge of national prejudice, as well as other men. It was reserved
for women to set us, in this instance, as in many others, an example at
once of superior candour and superior talent."

English Clay pulled up his boots, and, with a look of cool contempt, said,
"I see you are a lady's man, monsieur."

Count Altenberg replied, that if a lady's man means an admirer of the fair
sex, he was proud to feel that he deserved that compliment; and with much
warmth he pronounced such a panegyric upon that sex, without whom "_le
commencement de la vie est sans secours, le milieu sans plaisir, et la fin
sans consolation_," that even Lady Anne Arlington raised her head from
the hand on which it reclined, and every female eye turned upon him with
approbation.

"Oh! what a lover he will make, if ever he is in love," cried Lady Frances
Arlington, who never scrupled saying any thing that came into her head. "I
beg pardon, I believe I have said something very shocking. Georgiana, my
dear, I protest I was not thinking of--But what a disturbance I have made
amongst all your faces, ladies--and _gentlemen_," repeated her ladyship,
looking archly at the Count, whose face at this moment glowed manifestly;
"and all because gentlemen and ladies don't mind their grammar and their
tenses. Now don't you recollect--I call upon Mrs. Falconer, who really has
some presence of--countenance--I call upon Mrs. Falconer to witness that
I said 'if;' and, pray comprehend me, M. le Comte, else I must appear
excessively rude, I did not mean to say any thing of the present or the
past, but only of the future."