Tales and Novels, Vol. VII by Maria Edgeworth

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

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"Dear sir, I never pleaded my conscience on any occasion before--you know
that I am no puritan--but really on this point I have some conscience, and
I beg you not to press me farther. You have other sons; and if you cannot
spare Cunningham, that treasure of diplomacy!--there's John; surely you
might contrive to spare him for the church."

"Spare him I would, and welcome. But you know I could never get John into
orders."

"Why not, sir? John, I'll swear, would have no objection to the church,
provided you could get him a good fat living."

"But I am not talking of _his_ objections. To be sure he would make no
objection to a good fat living, nor would any body in his senses, except
yourself. But I ask you how I could possibly get your brother John into the
church? John's a dunce,--and you know it."

"Nobody better, sir: but are there no dunces in the church?--And as you are
so good as to think that I'm no wilder than my neighbours, you surely will
not say that my brother is more a dunce than his neighbours. Put him into
the hands of a clever grinder or crammer, and they would soon cram the
necessary portion of Latin and Greek into him, and they would get him
through the university for us readily enough; and a degree once obtained,
he might snap his fingers at Latin and Greek all the rest of his life. Once
in orders, and he might sit down upon his fat living, or lie down content,
all his days, only taking care to have some poor devil of a curate up and
about, doing duty for him."

"So I find you have no great scruples for your brother, whatever you may
have for yourself?"

"Sir, I am not the keeper of my brother's conscience--Indeed, if I were,
you might congratulate me in the words of Sir B. R. upon the possession of
a sinecure place."

"It is a pity, Buckhurst, that you cannot use your wit for yourself as well
as for other people. Ah! Buckhurst! Buckhurst! you will, I fear, do worse
in the world than any of your brothers; for wits are always _unlucky_:
sharp-sighted enough to every thing else, but blind, stone blind to their
own interest. Wit is folly, when one is talking of serious business."

"Well, my dear father, be _agreeable_, and I will not be witty.--In fact,
in downright earnest, the sum total of the business is, that I have a great
desire to go into the army, and I entreat you to procure me a commission."

"Then the sum total of the business is, that I will not; for I cannot
afford to purchase you a commission, and to maintain you in the army--"

"But by using interest, perhaps, sir," said Buckhurst.

"My interest must be all for your brother John; for I tell you I can do
nothing else for him but put him into the army.--He's a dunce.--I must get
him a commission, and then I have done with him."

"I wish I were a dunce," said Buckhurst, sighing; "for then I might go into
the army--instead of being forced into the church."

"There's no force upon your inclinations, Buckhurst," said his father in a
soft tone; "I only show you that it is impossible I should maintain you in
the army, and, therefore, beg you to put the army out of your head. And I
don't well see what else you could do. You have not application enough for
the bar, nor have I any friends among the attorneys except Sharpe, who,
between you and me, might take your dinners, and leave you without a brief
afterwards. You have talents, I grant," continued the commissioner, "and
if you had but application, and if your uncle the judge had not died last
year--"

"Oh, sir, he is dead, and we can't help it," interrupted Buckhurst. "And as
for me, I never had, and never shall have, any application: so pray put the
bar out of your mind."

"Very cavalier, indeed!--but I will make you serious at once, Buckhurst.
You have nothing to expect from my death--I have not a farthing to leave
you--my place, you know, is only for life--your mother's fortune is all in
annuity, and two girls to be provided for--and to live as we must live--up
to and beyond my income--shall have nothing to leave. Though you are my
eldest son, you see it is in vain to look to my death--so into the church
you must go, or be a beggar--and get a living or starve. Now I have done,"
concluded the commissioner, quitting his son; "and I leave you to think of
what has been said."

Buckhurst thought and thought; but still his interest and his conscience
were at variance, and he could not bring himself either to be virtuous or
vicious enough to comply with his father's wishes. He could not decide to
go into the church merely from interested motives--from that his conscience
revolted; he could not determine to make himself fit to do credit to
the sacred profession--against this his habits and his love of pleasure
revolted. He went to his brother John, to try what could be done with him.
Latin and Greek were insuperable objections with John; besides, though
he had a dull imagination in general, John's fancy had been smitten with
one bright idea of an epaulette, from which no considerations, fraternal,
political, moral, or religious, could distract his attention.--His genius,
he said, was for the army, and into the army he would go.--So to his
genius, Buckhurst, in despair, was obliged to leave him.--The commissioner
neglected not to push the claim which he had on Colonel Hauton, and he
chose his time so well, when proper people were by, and when the colonel
did not wish to have the squire, and the horse-whip, and the duel, brought
before the public, that he obtained, if not a full acknowledgment of
obligation, a promise of doing any thing and every thing in his power
for his friend Buckhurst. Any thing and every thing were indefinite,
unsatisfactory terms; and the commissioner, bold in dealing with the
timid temper of the colonel, though he had been cautious with the
determined character of the uncle, pressed his point--named the living of
Chipping-Friars--showed how well he would be satisfied, and how well he
could represent matters, if the promise were given; and at the same time
made it understood how loudly he could complain, and how disgraceful his
complaints might prove to the Oldborough family, if his son were treated
with ingratitude. The colonel particularly dreaded that he should be
suspected of want of spirit, and that his uncle should have the transaction
laid before him in this improper point of view. He pondered for a few
moments, and the promise for the living of Chipping-Friars was given. The
commissioner, secure of this, next returned to the point with his son, and
absolutely insisted upon his--going into orders. Buckhurst, who had tried
wit and raillery in vain, now tried persuasion and earnest entreaties; but
these were equally fruitless: his father, though an easy, good-natured man,
except where his favourite plans were crossed, was peremptory, and, without
using harsh words, he employed the harshest measures to force his son's
compliance. Buckhurst had contracted some debts at the university, none of
any great consequence, but such as he could not pay immediately.--The bets
he had laid and lost upon High-Blood were also to be provided for; debts
of honour claimed precedency, and must be directly discharged. His father
positively refused to assist him, except upon condition of his compliance
with his wishes; and so far from affording him any means of settling with
his creditors, it has been proved, from the commissioner's _private_
answers to some of their applications, that he not only refused to pay
a farthing for his son, but encouraged the creditors to threaten him in
the strongest manner with the terrors of law and arrest. Thus pressed
and embarrassed, this young man, who had many honourable and religious
sentiments and genuine feelings, but no power of adhering to principle or
reason, was miserable beyond expression one hour--and the next he became
totally forgetful that there was any thing to be thought of but the
amusement of the moment. Incapable of coming to any serious decision, he
walked up and down his room talking, partly to himself, and partly, for
want of a better companion, to his brother John.

"So I must pay Wallis to-morrow, or he'll arrest me; and I must give my
father an answer about the church to-night--for he writes to the bishop,
and will wait no longer. Oh! hang it.' hang it, John! what the devil shall
I do? My father won't pay a farthing for me, unless I go into the church!"

"Well, then, why can't you go into the church!" said John: "since you are
through the university, the worst is over."

"But I think it so wrong, so base--for money--for emolument! I cannot
do it. I am not fit for the church--I know I shall disgrace it," said
Buckhurst, striking his forehead: "I cannot do it--I can not--it is against
my conscience."

John stopped, as he was filling his shooting-pouch, and looked at
Buckhurst (his mouth half open) with an expression of surprise at these
demonstrations of sensibility. He had some sympathy for the external
symptoms of pain which he saw in his brother, but no clear conception of
the internal cause.

"Why, Buckhurst," said he, "if you cannot do it, you can't, you know,
Buckhurst: but I don't see why you should be a disgrace to the church more
than another, as my father says. If I were but through the university, I
had as lieve go into the church as not--that's all I can say. And if my
genius were not for the military line, there's nothing I should relish
better than the living of Chipping-Friars, I'm sure. The only thing that I
see against it is, that that paralytic incumbent may live many a year: but,
then, you get your debts paid now by only going into orders, and that's a
great point. But if it goes against your conscience--you know best--if you
can't, you can't."

"After all, I can't go to jail--I can't let myself be arrested--I can't
starve--I can't be a beggar," said Buckhurst; "and, as you say, I should
be so easy if these cursed debts were paid--and if I got this living of
nine hundred a year, how comfortable I should be! Then I could marry, by
Jove! and I'd propose directly for Caroline Percy, for I'm confoundedly in
love with her--such a sweet tempered, good creature!--not a girl so much
admired! Colonel Hauton, and G----, and P----, and D----, asked me, 'Who is
that pretty girl?'--She certainly is a very pretty girl."

"She certainly is," repeated John. "This devil of a fellow never cleans my
gun."

"Not regularly handsome, neither," pursued Buckhurst; "but, as Hauton says,
fascinating and new; and a new face in public is a great matter. Such a
fashionable-looking figure, too--though she has not _come out_ yet; dances
charmingly--would dance divinely, if she would let herself out; and she
sings and plays like an angel, fifty times better than our two precious
sisters, who have been _at it_ from their cradles, with all the Signor
_Squalicis_ at their elbows. Caroline Percy never exhibits in public: the
mother does not like it, I suppose."

"So I suppose," said John. "Curse this flint!--flints are growing worse
and worse every day--I wonder what in the world are become of all the good
flints there used to be!"

"Very unlike our mother, I am sure," continued Buckhurst. "There are
Georgiana and Bell at all the parties and concerts as regularly as any of
the professors, standing up in the midst of the singing men and women,
favouring the public in as fine a bravura style, and making as ugly faces
as the best of them. Do you remember the Italian's compliment to Miss
* * * * *?--I vish, miss, I had your _assurance_.'"

"Very good, ha!--very fair, faith!" said John. "Do you know what I've done
with my powder horn?"

"Not I--put it in the oven, may be, to dry," said Buckhurst. "But as I was
saying of my dear Caroline--_My_ Caroline! she is not mine yet."

"Very true," said John.

"Very true! Why, John, you are enough to provoke a saint!"

"I was agreeing with you, I thought," said John.

"But nothing is so provoking as always agreeing with one--and I can tell
you, Mr. Verytrue, that though Caroline Percy is not mine yet, I have
nevertheless a little suspicion, that, such even as I am, she might readily
be brought to love, honour, and obey me."

"I don't doubt it, for I never yet knew a woman that was not ready enough
to be married," quoth John. "But this is not the right ramrod, after all."

"There you are wrong, John, on the other side," said Buckhurst; "for I can
assure you, Miss Caroline Percy is not one of your young ladies who would
marry any body. And even though she might like me, I am not at all sure
that she would marry me--for obedience to the best of fathers might
interfere."

"There's the point," said John; "for thereby hangs the fortune; and it
would be a _deuced_ thing to have the girl without the fortune."

"Not so _deuced_ a thing to me as you think," said Buckhurst, laughing;
"for, poor as I am, I can assure you the fortune is not my object--I am not
a mercenary dog."

"By-the-bye," cried John, "now you talk of dogs, I wish to Heaven above,
you had not given away that fine puppy of mine to that foolish old man, who
never was out a shooting in his days--the dog's just as much thrown away as
if you had drowned him. Now, do you know, if I had had _the making_ of that
puppy--"

"Puppy!" exclaimed Buckhurst: "is it possible you can be thinking of
a puppy, John, when I am talking to you of what is of so much
consequence?--when the whole happiness of my life is at stake?"

"Stake!--Well, but what can I do more!" said John: "have not I been
standing here this half hour with my gun in my hand this fine day,
listening to you prosing about I don't know what?"

"That's the very thing I complain of--that you do not know what: a pretty
brother!" said Buckhurst.

John made no further reply, but left the room sullenly, whistling as he
went.

Left to his own cogitations, Buckhurst fell into a reverie upon the charms
of Caroline Percy, and upon the probable pleasure of dancing with her at
the race-ball; after this, he recurred to the bitter recollection, that he
must decide about his debts, and the church. A bright idea came into his
mind, that he might have recourse to Mr. Percy, and, perhaps, prevail upon
him to persuade his father not to force him to a step which he could not
reconcile either to his conscience or his inclination.--No sooner thought
than done.--He called for his horse and rode as hard as he could to
Percy-hall.--When a boy he had been intimate in the Percy family; but
he had been long absent at school and at the university; they had seen
him only during the vacations, and since his late return to the country.
Though Mr. Percy could not entirely approve of his character, yet he
thought there were many good points about Buckhurst; the frankness and
candour with which he now laid his whole mind and all his affairs open
to him--debts--love--fears--hopes--follies--faults--without reserve or
extenuation, interested Mr. Percy in his favour.--Pitying his distress,
and admiring the motives from which he acted, Mr. Percy said, that though
he had no right to interfere in Mr. Falconer's family affairs, yet that
he could, and would, so far assist Buckhurst, as to lend him the money
for which he was immediately pressed, that he might not be driven by
necessity to go into that profession, which ought to be embraced only from
the highest and purest motives. Buckhurst thanked him with transports
of gratitude for this generous kindness, which was far beyond his
expectations, and which, indeed, had never entered into his hopes. Mr.
Percy seized the moment when the young man's mind was warmed with good
feelings, to endeavour to bring him to serious thoughts and rational
determinations about his future life. He represented, that it was
unreasonable to expect that his father should let him go into the army,
when he had received an education to prepare himself for a profession, in
which his literary talents might be of advantage both to himself and his
family; that Mr. Falconer was not rich enough to forward two of his sons
in the army; that if Buckhurst, from conscientious motives, declined the
provision which his father had in view for him in the church, he was bound
to exert himself to obtain an independent maintenance in another line
of life; that he had talents which would succeed at the bar, if he had
application and perseverance sufficient to go through the necessary
drudgery at the commencement of the study of the law.

Here Buckhurst groaned.--But Mr. Percy observed that there was no other way
of proving that he acted from conscientious motives respecting the church;
for otherwise it would appear that he preferred the army only because
he fancied it would afford a life of idleness and pleasure.--That this
would also be his only chance of winning the approbation of the object of
his affections, and of placing himself in a situation in which he could
marry.--Buckhurst, who was capable of being strongly influenced by good
motives, especially from one who had obliged him, instantly, and in the
most handsome manner, acknowledged the truth and justice of Mr. Percy's
arguments, and declared that he was ready to begin the study of the law
directly, if his father would consent to it; and that he would submit to
any drudgery rather than do what he felt to be base and wrong. Mr. Percy,
at his earnest request, applied to Mr. Falconer, and with all the delicacy
that was becoming, claimed the right of relationship to speak of Mr.
Falconer's family affairs, and told him what he had ventured to do about
Buckhurst's debts; and what the young man now wished for himself.--The
commissioner looked much disappointed and vexed.

"The bar!" cried he: "Mr. Percy, you don't know him as well as I do. I will
answer for it, he will never go through with it--and then he is to change
his profession again!--and all the expense and all the trouble is to fall
on me!--and I am to provide for him at last!--In all probability, by the
time Buckhurst knows his own mind, the paralytic incumbent will be dead,
and the living of Chipping-Friars given away.--And where am I to find nine
hundred a year, I pray you, at a minute's notice, for this conscientious
youth, who, by that time, will tell me his scruples were all nonsense, and
that I should have known better than to listen to them? Nine hundred a year
does not come in a man's way at every turn of his life; and if he gives it
up now, it is not my fault--let him look to it."

Mr. Percy replied, "that Buckhurst had declared himself ready to abide
by the consequences, and that he promised he would never complain of the
lot he had chosen for himself, much less reproach his father for his
compliance, and that he was resolute to maintain himself at the bar."

"Yes: very fine.--And how long will it be before he makes nine hundred a
year at the bar?"

Mr. Percy, who knew that none but worldly considerations made any
impression upon this father, suggested that he would have to maintain
his son during the life of the paralytic incumbent, and the expense of
Buckhurst's being at the bar would not probably be greater; and though it
might be several years before he could make nine hundred, or, perhaps,
one hundred a year at the bar, yet that if he succeeded, which, with
Buckhurst's talents, nothing but the want of perseverance could prevent, he
might make nine thousand a year by the profession of the law--more than in
the scope of human probability, and with all the patronage his father's
address could procure, he could hope to obtain in the church.

"Well, let him try--let him try," repeated the commissioner, who, vexed as
he was, did not choose to run the risk of disobliging Mr. Percy, losing a
good match for him, or undergoing the scandal of its being known that he
forced his son into the church.

For obtaining this consent, however reluctantly granted by the
commissioner, Buckhurst warmly thanked Mr. Percy, who made one condition
with him, that he would go up to town immediately to commence his studies.

This Buckhurst faithfully promised to do, and only implored permission to
declare his attachment to Caroline.--Caroline was at this time not quite
eighteen, too young, her father said, to think of forming any serious
engagement, even were it with a person suited to her in fortune and in
every other respect.

Buckhurst declared that he had no idea of endeavouring even to obtain from
Miss Caroline Percy any promise or engagement.--He had been treated, he
said, too generously by her father, to attempt to take any step without his
entire approbation.

He knew he was not, and could not for many years, be in circumstances
that would enable him to support a daughter of Mr. Percy's in the station
to which she was, by her birth and fortune, entitled.--All he asked, he
repeated, was to be permitted to declare to her his passion.

Mr. Percy thought it was more prudent to let it be declared openly than
to have it secretly suspected; therefore he consented to this request,
trusting much to Buckhurst's honour and to Caroline's prudence.

To this first declaration of love Caroline listened with a degree of
composure which astonished and mortified her lover. He had flattered
himself that, at least, her vanity or pride would have been apparently
gratified by her conquest.--But there was none of the flutter of vanity in
her manner, nor any of the repressed satisfaction of pride. There were in
her looks and words only simplicity and dignity.--She said that she was at
present occupied happily in various ways, endeavouring to improve herself,
and that she should be sorry to have her mind turned from these pursuits;
she desired to secure time to compare and judge of her own tastes, and of
the characters of others, before she should make any engagement, or form an
attachment on which the happiness of her life must depend. She said she was
equally desirous to keep herself free, and to avoid injuring the happiness
of the man who had honoured her by his preference; therefore she requested
he would discontinue a pursuit, which she could not encourage him to hope
would ever be successful.--Long before the time when she should think it
prudent to marry, even if she were to meet with a character perfectly
suited to hers, she hoped that her cousin Buckhurst would be united to some
woman who would be able to return his affection.

The manner in which all this was said convinced Buckhurst that she spoke
the plain and exact truth. From the ease and frankness with which she had
hitherto conversed with him, he had flattered himself that it would not
be difficult to prepossess her heart in his favour; but now, when he saw
the same ease and simplicity unchanged in her manner, he was convinced
that he had been mistaken. He had still hopes that in time he might make
an impression upon her, and he urged that she was not yet sufficiently
acquainted with his character to be able to judge whether or not it would
suit hers. She frankly told him all she thought of him, and in doing
so impressed him with the conviction that she had both discerned the
merits and discovered the defects of his character: she gave him back a
representation of himself, which he felt to be exactly just, and yet which
struck him with all the force of novelty.

"It is myself," he exclaimed: "but I never knew myself till now."

He had such pleasure in hearing Caroline speak of him, that he wished even
to hear her speak of his faults--of these he would, however, have been
better pleased, if she had spoken with less calmness and indulgence.

"She is a great way from love as yet," thought Buckhurst. "It is
astonishing, that with powers and knowledge on all other subjects so far
above her age, she should know so little even of the common language of
sentiment; very extraordinary, that with so much kindness, and such an
amiable disposition, she should have so little sensibility."

The novelty of this insensibility, and of this perfect simplicity, so
unlike all he had observed in the manners and minds of other young ladies
to whom he had been accustomed, had, however, a great effect upon her
lover. The openness and unaffected serenity of Caroline's countenance at
this moment appeared to him more charming than any other thing he had ever
beheld in the most finished coquette, or the most fashionable beauty.

What a divine creature she will be a few years hence! thought he. The time
will come, when Love may waken this Psyche!--And what glory it would be to
me to produce to the world such perfection!

With these mixed ideas of love and glory, Buckhurst took leave of Caroline;
still he retained hope in spite of her calm and decided refusal. He knew
the power of constant attention, and the display of ardent passion, to win
the female heart. He trusted also in no slight degree to the reputation he
had already acquired of being a favourite with the fair sex.

CHAPTER IV.

Buckhurst Falconer returned to Percy-hall.

He came provided with something like an excuse--he had business--his father
had desired him to ask Mr. Percy to take charge of a box of family papers
for him, as he apprehended that, when he was absent from the country, his
steward had not been as careful of them as he ought to have been.