Tales and Novels, Vol. VII by Maria Edgeworth

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

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"None, none," said Mrs. Percy.

"There, father!" cried Godfrey, in an exulting tone; "and sensibility is
the foundation of every thing that is most amiable and charming, of every
grace, of every virtue in woman."

"Yes," said Mr. Percy, "and perhaps of some of their errors and vices.
It depends upon how it is governed, whether sensibility be a curse or a
blessing to its possessor, and to society."

"A curse!" cried Godfrey; "yes, if a woman be doomed--"

"Come, come, my dear Godfrey," interrupted Mr. Percy, "do not let us talk
any more upon the subject just now, because you are too much interested to
reason coolly."

Rosamond then took her turn to talk of what was uppermost in her
thoughts--Buckhurst Falconer, whom she alternately blamed and pitied,
accused and defended; sometimes rejoicing that Caroline had rejected his
suit, sometimes pitying him for his disappointment, and repeating that with
such talents, frankness, and generosity of disposition, it was much to be
regretted that he had not that rectitude of principle, and steadiness of
character, which alone could render him worthy of Caroline. Then passing
from compassion for the son to indignation against the father, she
observed, "that Commissioner Falconer seemed determined to counteract all
that was good in his son's disposition, that he actually did every thing in
his power to encourage Buckhurst in a taste for dissipation, as it seemed
on purpose to keep him in a state of dependence, and to enslave him to the
_great_.

"I hope, with all my heart, I hope," continued Rosamond, "that Buckhurst
will have sense and steadiness enough to refuse; but I heard his father
supporting that foolish Colonel Hauton's persuasions, and urging his poor
son to go with those people to Cheltenham. Now, if once he gets into that
extravagant, dissipated set, he will be ruined for ever!--Adieu to all
hopes of him. He will no more go to the bar than I shall--he will think
of nothing but pleasure; he will run in debt again, and then farewell
principle, and with principle, farewell all hopes of him. But I think he
will have sense and steadiness enough to resist his father, and to refuse
to accompany this profligate patron, Colonel Hauton.--Godfrey, what is your
opinion? Do you think Buckhurst will go?"

"I do not know," replied Godfrey: "in his place I should find it very easy,
but in my own case, I confess, I should feel it difficult, to refuse, if I
were pressed to join a party of pleasure with Miss Hauton."

CHAPTER V.

Godfrey Percy went in the morning to inquire after the health of his fair
partner: this was only a common civility. On his way thither he overtook
and joined a party of gentlemen, who were also going to Clermont-park.
They entered into conversation, and talked of the preceding night--one of
the gentlemen, an elderly man, who had not been at the ball, happened to
be acquainted with Miss Hauton, and with her family. Godfrey heard from
him all the particulars respecting Lady Anne Hauton, and was thrown into
a melancholy reverie by learning that Miss Hauton had been educated by
this mother, and had always lived with her till her ladyship's death,
which happened about two years before this time.--After receiving this
intelligence, Godfrey heard little more of the conversation that passed
till he reached Clermont-park.--A number of young people were assembled
in the music-room practising for a concert.--Miss Hauton was at the
piano-forte when he entered the room: she was sitting with her back to the
door, surrounded by a crowd of amateurs; she did not see him--he stood
behind listening to her singing. Her voice was delightful; but he was
surprised, and not pleased, by the choice of her songs: she was singing,
with some other high-bred young ladies, songs which, to use the gentlest
expression, were rather too _anacreontic_--songs which, though sanctioned
by fashion, were not such as a young lady of taste would prefer, or such
as a man of delicacy would like to hear from his sister or his wife. They
were nevertheless highly applauded by all the audience, except by Godfrey,
who remained silent behind the young lady. In the fluctuation of the crowd
he was pressed nearer and nearer to her chair. As she finished singing a
fashionable air, she heard a sigh from the person behind her.

"That's your favourite, I think?" said she, turning round, and looking up.
"Mr. Percy! I--I thought it was Mr. Falconer." Face, neck, hands, suddenly
blushed: she stooped for a music-book, and searched for some time in that
attitude for she knew not what, whilst all the gentlemen officiously
offered their services, and begged only to know for what book she was
looking.

"Come, come, Maria," cried Colonel Hauton, "what the d---- are you
about?--Can't you give us another of these? You can't be better. Come,
you're keeping Miss Drakelow."

"Go on, Miss Drakelow, if you please, without me."

"Impossible. Come, come, Maria, what the deuce are you at?"

Miss Hauton, afraid to refuse her brother, afraid to provoke the comments
of the company, began to sing, or rather to attempt to sing--her voice
faltered; she cleared her throat, and began again--worse still, she was out
of tune: she affected to laugh. Then, pushing back her chair, she rose,
drew her veil over her face, and said, "I have sung till I have no voice
left.--Does nobody walk this morning?"

"No, no," said Colonel Hauton; "who the deuce would be _bored_ with being
broiled at this time of day? Miss Drakelow--Miss Chatterton, give us some
more music, I beseech you; for I like music better in a morning than at
night--the mornings, when one can't go out, are so confoundedly long and
heavy."

The young ladies played, and Miss Hauton seated herself apart from the
group of musicians, upon a _bergere_, leaning on her hand, in a melancholy
attitude. Buckhurst Falconer followed and sat down beside her, endeavouring
to entertain her with some witty anecdote.

She smiled with effort, listened with painful attention, and the moment the
anecdote was ended, her eyes wandered out of the window. Buckhurst rose,
vacated his seat, and before any of the other gentlemen who had gathered
round could avail themselves of that envied place, Miss Hauton, complaining
of the intolerable heat, removed nearer to the window, to an ottoman,
one half of which was already so fully occupied by a large dog of her
brother's, that she was in no danger from any other intruder. Some of the
gentlemen, who were not blessed with much sagacity, followed, to talk to
her of the beauty of the dog which she was stroking; but to an eulogium
upon its long ears, and even to a quotation from Shakspeare about dewlaps,
she listened with so vacant an air, that her followers gave up the point,
and successively retired, leaving her to her meditations. Godfrey, who had
kept aloof, had in the mean time been looking at some books that lay on a
reading table.--_Maria Hauton_ was written in the first page of several of
them.--All were novels--some French, and some German, of a sort which he
did not like.

"What have you there, Mr. Percy?" said Miss Hauton.--"Nothing worth your
notice, I am afraid. I dare say you do not like novels."

"Pardon me, I like some novels very much."

"Which?" said Miss Hauton, rising and approaching the table.

"All that are just representations of life and manners, or of the human
heart," said Godfrey, "provided they are--"

"Ah! the human heart!" interrupted Miss Hauton: "the heart only can
understand the heart--who, in modern times, can describe the human heart?"

"Not to speak of foreigners--Miss Burney--Mrs. Inchbald--Mrs. Opie," said
Godfrey.

"True; and yet I--and yet--" said Miss Hauton, pausing and sighing.

"And yet that was not what I was thinking of," she should have said, had
she finished her sentence with the truth; but this not being convenient,
she left it unfinished, and began a new one, with "Some of these novels are
sad trash--I hope Mr. Godfrey Percy will not judge of my taste by them:
that would be condemning me for the crimes of my bookseller, who will send
us down everything new that comes out."

Godfrey disclaimed the idea of condemning or blaming Miss Hauton's taste:
"he could not," he said, "be so presumptuous, so impertinent."

"So then," said she, "Mr. Godfrey Percy is like all the rest of his sex,
and I must not expect to hear the truth from him."--She paused--and looked
at a print which he was examining.--"I would, however, rather have him
speak severely than think hardly of me."

"He has no right to speak, and certainly no inclination to think hardly of
Miss Hauton," replied Godfrey gravely, but with an emotion which he in vain
endeavoured to suppress. To change the conversation, he asked her opinion
about a figure in the print. She took out her glass, and stooped to look
quite closely at it.--"Before you utterly condemn me," continued she,
speaking in a low voice, "consider how fashion silences one's better taste
and feelings, and how difficult it is when all around one--"

Miss Chatterton, Miss Drakelow, and some officers of their suite came up at
this instant; a deputation, they said, to bring Miss Hauton back, to favour
them with another song, as she must now have recovered her voice.

"No--no--excuse me," said she, smiling languidly; "I beg not to be pressed
any more. I am really not well--I absolutely cannot sing any more this
morning. I have already sung so much--_too much_," added she, when the
deputation had retired, so that the last words could be heard only by him
for whom they were intended.

Though Miss Hauton's apologizing thus for her conduct, and making a
young gentleman, with whom she was but just acquainted, the judge of her
actions, might be deemed a still farther proof of her indiscretion, yet
the condescension was so flattering, and it appeared such an instance of
ingenuous disposition, that Godfrey was sensibly touched by it. He followed
the fair Maria to her ottoman, from which she banished Pompey the Great, to
make room for him. The recollection of his father's warning words, however,
came across Godfrey's mind; he bowed an answer to a motion that invited him
to the dangerous seat, and continued standing with an air of safe respect.

"I hope you will have the goodness to express to Mrs. Percy how much I
felt her kindness to me last night, when--when I wanted it so much. There
is something so soothing, so gentle, so indulgent about Mrs. Percy, so
_loveable!_"

"She is very good, very indulgent, indeed," said Godfrey, in a tone of
strong affection,--"very _loveable_--that is the exact word."

"I fear it is not English," said Miss Hauton.

"_Il merite bien de l'etre_," said Godfrey.

A profound silence ensued.--Colonel Hauton came up to this pair, while they
were still silent, and with their eyes fixed upon the ground.

"D----d agreeable you two seem," cried the colonel.--"Buckhurst, you have
always so much to say for yourself, do help your cousin here: I'm sure I
know how to pity him, for many a time the morning after a ball, I've been
with my partner in just as bad a quandary--without a word to throw to a
dog."

"Impossible, surely, colonel, when you had such a fine animal as this,"
said Godfrey, caressing Pompey, who lay at his feet. "Where did you get
this handsome dog?"

The colonel then entered into the history of Pompey the Great. "I was
speaking," said Miss Hauton, "to Mr. Godfrey Percy of his family--relations
of yours, Mr. Falconer, are not they? He has another sister, I think, some
one told me, a beautiful sister, Caroline, who was not at the ball last
night?"

"Yes," said Buckhurst, who looked at this instant also to the dog for
assistance--"Pompey!--Pompey!--poor fellow!"

"Is Miss Caroline Percy like her mother?"

"No."

"Like her father--or her brother?"

"Not particularly--Will you honour me with any commands for town?--Colonel,
have you any?--I'm just going off with Major Clay," said Buckhurst.

"Not you, indeed," cried the colonel; "your father has made you over to me,
and I won't give you leave of absence, my good fellow.--You're under orders
for Cheltenham to-morrow, my boy--No reply, sir--no arguing with your
commanding officer. You've no more to do, but to tell Clay to go without
you."

"And now," continued the colonel, returning to Godfrey Percy, after
Buckhurst had left the room, "what hinders you from making one of our
party? You can't do better. There's Maria and Lady Oldborough were both
wishing it at breakfast--Maria, can't you say something?"

Maria's eyes said more than the colonel could have said, if he had spoken
for ever.

"But perhaps Mr. Godfrey Percy may have other engagements," said she, with
a timid persuasive tone, which Godfrey found it extremely difficult to
resist.

"Bellamy! where the d----l do you come from?--Very glad to see you, faith!"
cried the colonel, going forward to shake hands with a very handsome man,
who had just then entered the room. "Maria," said Colonel Hauton, turning
to his sister, "don't you know Bellamy?--Bellamy," repeated he, coming
close to her, whilst the gentleman was paying his compliments to Lady
Oldborough, "Captain Bellamy, with whom you used to waltz every night, you
know, at--what's the name of the woman's?"

"I never waltzed with him but once--or twice, that I remember," said Miss
Hauton, "and then because you insisted upon it."

"I!--Well, I did very right if I did, because you were keeping all the
world waiting, and I knew you intended to do it at last--so I thought you
might as well do it at first. But I don't know what's the matter with you
this morning--we must drive a little spirit into you at Cheltenham."

Captain Bellamy came up to pay his respects, or rather his compliments, to
Miss Hauton: there was no respect in his manner, but the confidence of one
who had been accustomed to be well received.

"She has not been well--fainted last night at a ball--is _hipped_
this morning; but we'll get her spirits up again when we have her at
Cheltenham--We shall be a famous dashing party! I have been beating up for
recruits all day--here's one," said Colonel Hauton, turning to Godfrey
Percy.

"Excuse me," said Godfrey, "I am engaged--I am obliged to join my regiment
immediately." He bowed gravely to Miss Hauton--wished her a good morning;
and, without trusting himself to another look, retreated, saying to
himself,

"Sir, she's yours--You have brushed from the grape its soft blue;
From the rosebud you've shaken its tremulous dew:
What you've touched you may take.--Pretty waltzer, adieu!"

From this moment he mentioned Miss Hauton's name no more in his own family.
His whole mind now seemed, and not only seemed, but was, full of military
thoughts. So quickly in youth do different and opposite trains of ideas and
emotions succeed to each other; and so easy it is, by a timely exercise
of reason and self-command, to prevent a _fancy_ from becoming a passion.
Perhaps, if his own happiness alone had been in question, Godfrey might not
have shown precisely the same prudence; but on this occasion his generosity
and honour assisted his discretion. He plainly saw that Miss Hauton was
not exactly a woman whom he could wish to make his wife--and he was too
honourable to trifle with her affections. He was not such a coxcomb as to
imagine that, in the course of so slight an acquaintance, he could have
made any serious impression on this young lady's heart: yet he could not
but perceive that she had distinguished him from the first hour he was
introduced to her; and he was aware that, with her extreme sensibility, and
an unoccupied imagination, she might rapidly form for him an attachment
that might lead to mutual misery.

Mr. Percy rejoiced in his son's honourable conduct, and he was particularly
pleased by Godfrey's determining to join his regiment immediately. Mr.
Percy thought it advantageous for the eldest son of a man of fortune to be
absent for some years from his home, from his father's estate, tenants, and
dependents, to see something of the world, to learn to estimate himself
and others, and thus to have means of becoming a really respectable,
enlightened, and useful country gentleman--not one of those booby squires,
born only to consume the fruits of the earth, who spend their lives in
coursing, shooting, hunting, carousing [Footnote: See an eloquent address
to country gentlemen, in Young's Annals of Agriculture, vol. i., last
page.], "who eat, drink, sleep, die, and rot in oblivion." He thought it
in these times the duty of every young heir to serve a few years, that he
might be as able, as willing, to join in the defence of his country, if
necessary. Godfrey went, perhaps, beyond his father's ideas upon this
subject, for he had an ardent desire to go into the army as a profession,
and almost regretted that his being an eldest son might induce him to
forego it after a few campaigns.

Godfrey did not enter into the army from the puerile vanity of wearing a
red coat and an epaulette; nor to save himself the trouble of pursuing his
studies; nor because he thought the army a _good lounge_, or a happy escape
from parental control; nor yet did he consider the military profession as a
mercenary speculation, in which he was to calculate the chance of getting
_into the shoes_, or over the head, of Lieutenant A---- or Captain B----.
He had higher objects; he had a noble ambition to distinguish himself. Not
in mere technical phrase, or to grace a bumper toast, but in truth, and
as a governing principle of action, he felt zeal for the interests of the
service. Yet Godfrey was not without faults; and of these his parents, fond
as they were of him, were well aware.

Mrs. Percy, in particular, felt much anxiety, when the moment fixed for
his departure approached; when she considered that he was now to mix with
companions very different from those with whom he had hitherto associated,
and to be placed in a situation where calmness of temper and prudence would
be more requisite than military courage or generosity of disposition.

"Well, my dear mother," cried Godfrey, when he came to take leave, "fare
you well: if I live, I hope I shall distinguish myself; and if I fall--

'How sleep the brave, who sink to rest!'"

"God bless you, my dear son!" said his mother. She seemed to have much
more to say, but, unable at that moment to express it, she turned to her
husband, who knew all she thought and felt.

"My dear Godfrey," said his father, "I have never troubled you with much
advice; but now you are going from me, let me advise you to take care that
the same enthusiasm which makes you think your own country the best country
upon earth, your own family the best family in that country, and your own
regiment the best regiment in the service, all which is becoming a good
patriot, a good son, and a good soldier, should go a step--a dangerous step
farther, and should degenerate into party spirit, or what the French call
_esprit-de-corps_."

"The French!" cried Godfrey. "Oh! hang the French! Never mind what the
French call it, sir."

"And degenerating into party-spirit, or what is called _esprit-de-corps_,"
resumed Mr. Percy, smiling, "should, in spite of your more enlarged views
of the military art and science, and your knowledge of all that Alexander
and Caesar, and Marshal Saxe and Turenne, and the Duke of Marlborough and
Lord Peterborough, ever said or did, persuade you to believe that your
brother officers, whoever they may be, are the greatest men that ever
existed, and that their opinions should rule the world, or at least should
govern you."

"More than all the rest, I fear, my dear Godfrey," interposed Mrs. Percy,
"that, when you do not find the world so good as you imagine it to be, you
will, by quarrelling with it directly, make it worse to you than it really
is. But if you discover that merit is not always immediately rewarded or
promoted, do not let your indignation, and--shall I say it--impatience
of spirit, excite you to offend your superiors in station, and, by these
means, retard your own advancement."

"Surely, if I should be treated with injustice, you would not have me bear
it patiently?" cried Godfrey, turning quickly.

"In the first place, stay till it happens before you take fire," said his
father; "and, in the next place, remember that patience, and deference to
his superiors, form an indispensable part of a young soldier's merit."

"Ah! my dear," said Mrs. Percy, looking up at her son anxiously, "if, even
at this instant, even with us, even at the bare imagination of injustice,
you take offence, I fear--I very much fear--" said she, laying her hand
upon his arm.

"My dearest mother," said Godfrey, in a softened tone, taking his mother's
hand in the most respectful and tender manner, "fear nothing for me. I will
be as patient as a lamb, rather than be a source of anxiety to you."

"And now, my good friends, fare ye well!" said Godfrey, turning to take
leave of his sisters.

The young soldier departed. His last words, as he got upon his horse, were
to Caroline. "Caroline, you will be married before I return."

But to descend to the common affairs of life. Whilst all these visits and
balls, coquettings and separations, had been going on, the Dutch carpenters
had been repairing the wreck; and, from time to time, complaints had been
made of them by Mr. Percy's old steward. The careful steward's indignation
was first excited by their forgetting every night to lock a certain gate,
with the key of which they had been entrusted. Then they had wasted his
master's timber, and various tools were missing--they had been twice as
long as they ought to have been in finishing their work, and now, when the
wind was fair, the whole ship's crew impatient to sail, and not above half
a day's work wanting, the carpenters were smoking and drinking, instead
of putting their hands to the business. The Dutch carpenter, who was
at this moment more than half intoxicated, answered the steward's just
reproaches with much insolence. Mr. Percy, feeling that his hospitality
and good-nature were encroached upon and abused, declared that he would no
longer permit the Dutchmen to have the use of his house, and ordered his
steward to see that they quitted it immediately.

These men, and all belonging to them, consequently left the place in a
few hours; whatever remained to be done to the vessel was finished that
evening, and she sailed, to the great joy of her whole crew, and of Mr.
Percy's steward, who, when he brought the news of this event to his master,
protested that he was as glad as if any body had given him twenty golden
guineas, that he had at last got safely rid of these ill-mannered drunken
fellows, who, after all his master had done for them, never so much
as said, "thank you," and who had wasted and spoiled more by their
carelessness than their heads were worth.

Alas! he little knew at that moment how much more his master was to lose by
their carelessness, and he rejoiced too soon at having got _rid_ of them.

In the middle of the night the family were alarmed by the cry of fire!--A
fire had broken out in the outhouse, which had been lent to the Dutchmen;
before it was discovered, the roof was in a blaze; the wind unfortunately
blew towards a hay-rick, which was soon in flames, and the burning hay
spread the fire to a considerable distance, till it caught the veranda at
the east wing of the dwelling-house. One of the servants, who slept in that
part of the house, was awakened by the light from the burning veranda, but
by the time the alarm was given, and before the family could get out of
their rooms, the flames had reached Mr. Percy's study, which contained his
most valuable papers. Mr. Percy, whose voice all his family, in the midst
of their terror and confusion, obeyed, directed with great presence of
mind what should be done by each. He sent one to open a cistern of water
at the top of the house, and to let it flow over the roof, another to tear
down the trellis next the part that was on fire; others he despatched for
barrows-full of wet mortar from a heap which was in a back yard near the
house; others he stationed in readiness to throw the mortar where it was
most needful to extinguish the flames, or to prevent their communicating
with the rest of the building. He went himself to the place where the fire
raged with the greatest violence, whilst his wife and daughters were giving
out from the study the valuable papers, which, as he directed, were thrown
in one heap on the lawn, at a sufficient distance from the house to prevent
any danger of their being burnt--most of them were in tin cases that were
easily removed--the loose papers and books were put into baskets, and
covered with wet blankets, so that the pieces of the burning trellis,
which fell upon them as they were carried out, did them no injury. It was
wonderful with what silence, order, and despatch, this went on whilst three
females, instead of shrieking and fainting, combined to do what was useful
and prudent. In spite of all Mr. Percy's exertions, however, the flames
burst in from the burning trellis through one of the windows of the study,
before the men could tear down the shutters and architraves, as he had
ordered. The fire caught the wood-work, and ran along the book-shelves on
one side of the wall with terrible rapidity, so that the whole room was,
in a few minutes, in a blaze--they were forced to leave it before they had
carried out many of the books. Some old papers remained in the presses,
supposed to be duplicates, and of no consequence. This whole wing of
the house they were obliged to abandon to the flames, but the fire was
stopped in its progress at last, and the principal part of the mansion was
preserved by wet mortar, according to Mr. Percy's judicious order, by the
prompt obedience, and by the unanimity, of all who assisted.