Читать книгу: «The History of Sir Charles Grandison, Volume 4 (of 7)», страница 12

My sisters, and their lords, will do honour to my promise in my absence. Lady L–, Lady G–, let me recommend to you Lady Beauchamp as more than a common visiting acquaintance. Do you, sir, to Mr. Beauchamp, see it cultivated.

Mr. Beauchamp is an agreeable, and, when Sir Charles Grandison is not in company, a handsome and genteel man. I think, my dear, that I do but the same justice that every body would do, in this exception. He is cheerful, lively, yet modest, and not too full of words. One sees both love and respect in every look he casts upon his friend; and that he is delighted when he hears him speak, be the subject what it will.

He once said to Lord W–, who praised his nephew to him, as he does to everybody near him; The universal voice, my lord, is in his favour wherever he goes. Every one joins almost in the same words, in different countries, allowing for the different languages, that for sweetness of manners, and manly dignity, he hardly ever had his equal.

Sir Charles was then engaged in talk with his Emily; she before him; he standing in an easy genteel attitude, leaning against the wainscot, listening, smiling, to her prattle, with looks of indulgent love, as a father might do to a child he was fond of; while she looked back every now and then towards me, so proud, poor dear! of being singled out by her guardian.

She tript to me afterwards, and, leaning over my shoulder, as I sat, whispered—I have been begging of my guardian to use his interest with you, madam, to take me down with you to Northamptonshire.

And what is the result?

She paused.

Has he denied your request?

No, madam.

Has he allowed you to go, my dear, if I comply, turning half round to her with pleasure.

She paused, and seemed at a loss. I repeated my question.

Why, no, he has not consented neither—But he said such charming things, so obliging, so kind, both of you, and of me, that I forgot my question, though it was so near my heart: but I will ask him again.

And thus, Lucy, can he decline complying, and yet send away a requester so much delighted with him, as to forget what her request was.

Miss Grandison—Lady G–, I would say—singled me out soon after—This Beauchamp is really a very pretty fellow, Harriet.

He is an agreeable man, answered I.

So I think. She said no more of him at that time.

Between dinner and tea, at Lady L–'s motion, they made me play on the harpsichord; and after one lesson, they besought Sir Charles to sing to my playing. He would not, he said, deny any request that was made him on that day.

He sung. He has a mellow manly voice, and great command of it.

This introduced a little concert. Mr. Beauchamp took the violin; Lord L– the bass-viol; Lord G– the German flute; and most of the company joined in the chorus. The song was from 'Alexander's Feast:' the words;

Happy, happy, happy pair!

None but the good deserves the fair:

Sir Charles, though himself equally brave and good, preferring the latter word to the former.

Lady L– had always insisted upon dancing at her sister's wedding. We were not company enough for country dances: but music having been ordered, and the performers come, it was insisted upon that we should have a dance, though we were engaged in a conversation that I thought infinitely more agreeable.

Lord G– began by dancing a minuet with his bride: she danced charmingly: but on my telling her so afterwards, she whispered me, that she should have performed better, had she danced with her brother. Lord G– danced extremely well.

Lord L– and Lady Gertrude, Mr. Beauchamp and Mrs. Reeves, Mr. Reeves and Lady L– danced all of them very agreeably.

The earl took me out: but we had hardly done, when, asking pardon for disgracing me, as he too modestly expressed himself; he, and all but my cousins and Emily, called out for Sir Charles to dance with me.

I was abashed at the general voice calling upon us both: but it was obeyed.

He deserved all the praises that Miss Gran—Lady G–, I would say, gave him in her letter to me.

Lord bless me, my dear, this man is every thing! But his conversation has ever been among the politest people of different nations.

Lord W– wished himself able, from his gout, to take out Miss Jervois.

The bridegroom was called upon by Sir Charles: and he took out the good girl, who danced very prettily. I fancied, that he chose to call out Lord G– rather than Mr. Beauchamp. He is the most delicate and considerate of men.

Sir Charles was afterwards called upon by the bride herself: and she danced then with a grace indeed! I was pleased that she could perform so well at her own wedding.

Supper was not ready till twelve. Mr. Reeves's coach came about that hour; but we got not away till two.

Perhaps the company would not have broke up so soon, had not the bride been perverse, and refused to retire.

Was she not at home? she asked Lady L–, who was put upon urging her: and should she leave her company?

She would make me retire with her. She took a very affectionate leave of me.

Marriage, Lucy, is an awful rite. It is supposed to be a joyful solemnity: but, on the woman's side, it can be only so when she is given to the man she loves above all the men in the world; and, even to her, the anniversary day, when doubt is turned into certainty, must be much happier than the day itself.

What a victim must that woman look upon herself to be, who is compelled, or even over-persuaded, to give her hand to a man who has no share in her heart? Ought not a parent or guardian, in such a circumstance, especially if the child has a delicate, an honest mind, to be chargable with all the unhappy consequences that may follow from such a cruel compulsion?

But this is not the case with Miss Grandison. Early she cast her eye on an improper object. Her pride convinced her in time of the impropriety. And this, as she owns, gave her an indifference to all men.

She hates not Lord G–. There is no man whom she prefers to him. And in this respect, may perhaps, be upon a par with eight women out of twelve, who marry, and yet make not bad wives.

As she played with her passion till she lost it, she may be happy, if she will: and since she intended to be, some time or other, Lady G–, her brother was kind in persuading her to shorten her days of coquetting and teasing, and allow him to give her to Lord G– before he went abroad.

LETTER XXI
MISS BYRON.—IN CONTINUATION WEDNESDAY, APRIL 12

Dr. Bartlett was so good as to breakfast with my cousins and me this morning. He talks of setting out for Grandison-hall on Saturday or Monday next. We have settled a correspondence; and he gives me hope, that he will make me a visit in Northamptonshire. I know you will all rejoice to see him.

Emily came in before the doctor went. She brought me the compliments of the bride, and Lord W–, with their earnest request, that I would dine with them. Sir Charles was gone, she said, to make a farewell visit to the Danby set; but would be at home at dinner.

It would be better for me, I think, Lucy, to avoid all opportunities of seeing him: Don't you think so?—There is no such thing as seeing him with indifference. But, so earnestly invited, how could I deny; especially as my cousins were inclinable to go?

Miss Jervois whispered me at parting. I never before, said she, had an opportunity to observe the behaviour of a new-married couple to each other: but is it customary, madam, for the bride to be more snappish, as the bridegroom is more obliging?

Lady G– is very naughty, my dear, if she so behaves, as to give you reason to ask this question.

She does: and, upon my word, I see more obedience where it was not promised, than where it was. Dear madam, is not what is said at church to be thought of afterwards? But why did not the doctor make her speak out? What signified bowing, except a woman was so bashful that she could not speak?

The bowing, my dear, is an assent. It is as efficacious as words. Lord G– only bowed, you know. Could you like to be called upon, Emily, to speak out?

Why, no. But then I would be very civil and good-natured to my husband, if it were but for fear he should be cross to me: but I should think it my duty as well Sweet innocent!

She went away, and left the doctor with me.

When our hearts are set upon a particular subject, how impertinent, how much beside the purpose, do we think every other! I wanted the doctor to talk of Sir Charles Grandison: but as he fell not into the subject, and as I was afraid he would think me to be always leading him into it, if I began it, I suffered him to go away at his first motion: I never knew him so shy upon it, however.

Sir Charles returned to dinner. He has told Lady L–, who afterwards told us, that he had a hint from Mr. Galliard, senior, that if he were not engaged in his affections, he was commissioned to make him a very great proposal in behalf of one of the young ladies he had seen the Thursday before; and that from her father.

Surely, Lucy, we may pronounce without doubt, that we live in an age in which there is a great dearth of good men, that so many offers fall to the lot of one. But, I am thinking, 'tis no small advantage to Sir Charles, that his time is so taken up, that he cannot stay long enough in any company to suffer them to cast their eyes on other objects, with distinction. He left the numerous assembly at Enfield, while they were in the height of their admiration of him. Attention, love, admiration, cannot be always kept at the stretch. You will observe, Lucy, that on the return of a long-absent dear friend, the rapture lasts not more than an hour: gladdened, as the heart is, the friend received, and the friends receiving, perhaps in less than that time, can sit down quietly together, to hear and to tell stories, of what has happened to either in the long regretted absence. It will be so with us, Lucy, when I return to the arms of my kind friends: and now, does not Sir Charles's proposed journey to Italy endear his company to us?

The Earl of G–, Lady Gertrude, and two agreeable nieces of that nobleman's, were here at dinner. Lady G– behaved pretty well to her lord before them: but I, who understood the language of her eyes, saw them talk very saucily to him, on several occasions. My lord is a little officious in his obligingness; which takes off from that graceful, that polite frankness, which so charmingly, on all occasions, distinguishes one happy man, who was then present. Lord G– will perhaps appear more to advantage in that person's absence.

Mr. Beauchamp was also present. He is indeed an agreeable, a modest young man. He appeared to great advantage, as well in his conversation, as by his behaviour: and not the less for subscribing in both to the superiority of his friend; who, nevertheless, endeavoured to draw him out as the first man.

After dinner, Lady L–, Lady G–, and I, found an opportunity to be by ourselves for one half hour. Lady G– asked Lady L– what she intended to do with the thousand pounds with which Lord W– had so generously presented her?—Do with it, my dear!—What do you think I intend to do with it?—It is already disposed of.

I'll be hanged, said Lady G–, if this good creature has not given it to her husband.

Indeed, Charlotte, I have. I gave it to him before I slept.

I thought so! She laughed—And Lord L– took it! Did he?

To be sure he did. I should otherwise have been displeased with him.

Dear, good soul!—And so you gave him a thousand pounds to take part of it back from him, by four or five paltry guineas at a time, at his pleasure?

Lord L– and I, Charlotte, have but one purse. You may not perhaps, know how we manage it?

Pray, good, meek, dependent creature! how do you manage it?

Thus, Charlotte: My lord knows that his wife and he have but one interest; and from the first of our happy marriage, he would make me take one key, as he has another, of the private drawer, where his money and money-bills lie. There is a little memorandum-book in the drawer, in which he enters on one page, the money he receives; on the opposite, the money he takes out: and when I want money, I have recourse to my key. If I see but little in the drawer, I am the more moderate; or, perhaps, if my want is not urgent, defer the supplying of it till my lord is richer: but, little or much, I minute down the sum, as he himself does; and so we know what we are about; and I never put it out of my lord's power, by my unseasonable expenses, to preserve that custom of his, for which he is as much respected, as well served; not to suffer a demand to be twice made upon him where he is a debtor.

Good soul!—And, pray, don't you minute down, too, the use to which you put the money you take out?

Indeed I often do: always, indeed, when I take out more than five guineas at one time: I found my lord did so: and I followed the example of my own accord.

Happy pair! said I.—O Lady G–, what a charming example is this!—I hope you'll follow it.

Thank you, Harriet, for your advice. Why, I can't but say, that this is one pretty way of coaxing each other into frugality: but don't you think, that where an honest pair are so tender of disobliging, and so studious of obliging each other, that they seem to confess that the matrimonial good understanding hangs by very slender threads?

And do not the tenderest friendships, said I, hang by as slender? Can delicate minds be united to each other but by delicate observances?

Why thou art a good soul, too, Harriet!—And so you would both have me make a present to Lord G– of my thousand pounds before we have chosen our private drawer; before he has got two keys made to it?

Let him know, Charlotte, what Lord L– and I do, if you think the example worth following—And then—

Ay, and then give him my thousand pounds for a beginning, Lady L–?

But see you not that this proposal should come from him, not from me?—

And should we not let each other see a little of each other's merits first?

See, first, the merits of the man you have married, Charlotte!

Yes, Lady L–. But yesterday married, you know. Can there be a greater difference between any two men in the world, than there often is between the same man, a lover, and a husband?—And now, my generous advisers, be pleased to continue silent. You cannot answer me fairly. And besides, wot ye not the indelicacy of an early present, which you are not obliged to make?

We were both silent, each expecting the other to answer the strange creature.

She laughed at us both. Soft souls, and tender! said she, let me tell you, that there is more indelicacy in delicacy, than you very delicate people are aware of.

You, Charlotte, said Lady L–, have odder notions than any body else.

Had you been a man, you would have been a sad rake.

A rake, perhaps, I might have been; but not a sad one, Lady L–.

Lady G– can't help being witty, said I: it is sometimes her misfortune, sometimes ours, that she cannot: however, I highly approve of the example set by Lord L–, and followed by Lady L–.

And so do I, Harriet. And when Lord G– sets the example, I shall— consider of it. I am not a bad economist. Had I ten thousand pounds in my hands, I would not be extravagant: had I but one hundred, I would not be mean. I value not money but as it enables me to lay an obligation, instead of being under the necessity of receiving one. I am my mother's daughter, and brother's sister; and yours, Lady L–, in this particular; and yours too, Harriet: different means may be taken to arrive at the same end. Lord G– will have no reason to be dissatisfied with my prudence in money-matters, although I should not make him one of my best courtesies, as if—as if—(and she laughed; but checking herself)—I were conscious—again she laughed—that I had signed and sealed to my absolute dependence on his bounty.

What a mad creature! said Lady L–: But, my Harriet, don't you think that she behaved pretty well to Lord G– at table?

Yes, answered I, as those would think who observe not her arch looks: but she gave me pain for her several times; and, I believe, her brother was not without his apprehensions.

He had his eyes upon you, Harriet, replied Lady G–, more earnestly than he had upon me, or any body else.

That's true, said Lady L–. I looked upon both him and you, my dear, with pity. My tears were ready to start more than once, to reflect how happy you two might be in each other, and how greatly you would love each other, were it not–

Not one word more on this subject, dear Lady L–! I cannot bear it. I thought my-self, that he often cast an eye of tenderness upon me. I cannot bear it. I am afraid of myself; of my justice—

His tender looks did not escape me, said Lady G–. Nor yet did my dear Harriet's. But we will not touch this string: it is too tender a one.

I, for my part, was forced, in order to divert myself, to turn my eyes on Lord G–. He got nothing by that. The most officious—

Nay, Lady G–, interrupted I, you shall not change the discourse at the expense of the man you have vowed to honour. I will be pained myself, by the continuation of the former subject, rather than that shall be.

Charming Harriet! said Lady L–. I hope your generosity will be rewarded. Yet tell me, my dear, can you wish Lady Clementina may be his?

I have no doubt but you wish her recovery; but can you wish her to be his?

I have debated the matter, my dear Lady L–, with myself. I am sorry it has admitted of debate: so excellent a creature! Such an honour to her sex! So nobly sincere! So pious!—But I will confess the truth: I have called upon justice to support me in my determination: I have supposed myself in her situation, her unhappy malady excepted: I have supposed her in mine: and ought I then to have hesitated to which to give the preference?—Yet—

What yet, most frank, and most generous of women? said Lady L–, clasping her arms about me: what yet—

Why, yet-Ah, ladies—Why, yet, I have many a pang, many a twitch, as I may call it!—Why is your brother so tender-hearted, so modest, so faultless!—Why did he not insult me with his pity? Why does he on every occasion shew a tenderness for me, that is more affecting than pity? And why does he give me a consequence that exalts, while it depresses me?

I turned my head aside to hide my emotion—Lady G– snatched my handkerchief from me; and wiped away a starting tear; and called me by very tender names.

Am I dear, continued I, to the heart of such a man? You think I am. Allow me to say, that he is indeed dear to mine: yet I have not a wish but for his happiness, whatever becomes of me.

Emily appeared at the door—May I come in, ladies?—I will come in!—My dear Miss Byron affected! My dear Miss Byron in tears!

Her pity, without knowing the cause, sprung to her eyes. She took my hand in both hers, and repeatedly kissed it!—My guardian asks for you. O with what tenderness of voice—Where is your Miss Byron, love? He calls every one by gentle names, when he speaks of you—His voice then is the voice of love—Love, said he to me! Through you, madam, he will love his ward—And on your love will I build all my merit. But you sigh, dear Miss Byron! you sigh—Forgive your prating girl!—You must not be grieved.

I embraced her. Grief, my dear, reaches not my heart at this time. It is the merit of your guardian that affects me.

God bless you, madam, for your gratitude to my guardian!

A Clementina and a Harriet! said Lady L–, two women so excellent!

What a fate is his! How must his heart be divided!

Divided, say you, Lady L–! resumed Lady G–. The man who loves virtue, for virtue's sake, loves it wherever he finds it: Such a man may distinguish more virtuous women than one: and if he be of a gentle and beneficent nature, there will be tenderness in his distinction to every one, varying only according to the difference of circumstance and situation.

Let me embrace you, my Charlotte! resumed Lady L–. for that thought. Don't let me hear, for a month to come, one word from the same lips, that may be unworthy of it.

You have Lord G– in your head, Lady L–: but never mind us. He must now and then be made to look about him. I'll take care to keep up my consequence with him, never fear: nor shall he have reason to doubt the virtue of his wife.

Virtue, my dear! said I: What is virtue only? She who will not be virtuous for virtue's sake, is not worthy to be called a woman: but she must be something more than virtuous for her husband's, nay, for her vow's sake. Complacency, obligingness—

Obedience too, I warrant—Hush, hush, my sweet Harriet! putting her hand before my mouth, we will behave as well as we can: and that will be very well, if nobody minds us. And now let us go down together.