The History of Sir Charles Grandison, Volume 4 (of 7)
Dr. Bartlett was not present: he was making a kind visit to my cousins Reeves. When he came in, the debate was referred to him. He entered into it with her, with so much modesty, good sense, propriety, and steadiness, that at last the perverse creature gave way: but hardly would neither, had he not assured her, that her brother would be entirely against her; and that he himself must be excused performing the sacred office, but in a sacred place. She has set her heart on the doctor's marrying her.
The Earl of G– and Lady Gertrude, as also Lord and Lady L–, went away, not dissatisfied with Charlotte's compliance: she is the most ungraciously graceful young woman I ever knew in her compliances. But Lord G– was to pay for all: she and I had got together in the study: in bolted Lord G–, perhaps with too little ceremony. She coloured— Hey-day, sir! Who expected you? His countenance immediately fell. He withdrew precipitately. Fie, Charlotte! said I, recollect yourself—and rising, stept to the door, My lord—calling after him.
He came back; but in a little ferment—I hoped, I hoped, madam, as you were not in your own apartment, that I might, that I might have been—
Wherever ladies are by themselves, it is a lady's apartment, my lord, said she, with a haughtiness that sat better on her features, than they would upon almost any other woman's.
He looked, as if he knew not whether he should stay or go. Sit down, my lord, said I; we are not particularly engaged. He came nearer, his hat under his arm, bowing to her, who sat as stately as a princess on her throne: but yet looked disobliged. You give yourself pretty airs, my lord—don't you?
Pretty airs, madam!—Pretty airs!—By my soul, I think, madam—And with such a glow in your face, madam—Taking his laced hat from under his arm, and, with an earnest motion, swinging it backwards and forwards, as unknowing what he did—
What, sir, am I to be buffetted, sir?—
He put his hat under his arm again—Buffetted, madam!—Would to Heaven—
What has Heaven to do with your odd ways, Lord G–?
I beg pardon for intruding, madam—But I thought—
That you had a privilege, sir—But marriage itself, sir, shall not give you a privilege to break into my retirements. You thought, sir—You could not think—So much the worse if you did—
If I have really offended—I will be more circumspect for the future—I beg pardon, madam—Miss Byron, I hope, will forgive me too.
He was going, in great discomposure, and with an air of angry humility.
Charlotte, whispered I, don't be silly—
Come, come, now you have broke in upon us, you may stay—But another time, when you know me to be retired with a friend so dear to me, let it enter into your head, that no third person, unsent for, can be welcome.
Poor man!—How he loves her!—His countenance changed at once to the humble placid: he looked as if he had rather be in fault than she.
Oh! how little did she make him look!
But he has often, as well as in this instance, let her see her power over him. I am afraid she will use it. I now see it is and will be his misfortune that she can vex him without being vexed herself: and what may he expect, who can be treated with feigned displeasure, which, while it seems to be in earnest to him, will be a jest to his wife?
I was very angry with her, when we were alone; and told her, that she would be an enemy, I was afraid, of her own happiness. But she only laughed at me: Happiness, my dear! said she: that only is happiness which we think so. If I can be as happy in my way, as you can be in yours, shall I not pursue it? Your happiness, child, is in the still life. I love not a dead calm: now a tempest, now a refreshing breeze, I shall know how to enjoy the difference—My brother will not be here to turn jest into earnest; as might perhaps be the effect of his mediation—But, heigh-ho, Harriet! that the first week were over, and I had got into my throne!
She ended with an Italian air, contrasted with another heigh-ho; and left me for a few moments.
Poor Lord G–! said I, looking after her.
She returned soon. Poor Lord G–! repeated she: those were the piteous words you threw after me—But if I should provoke him, do you think he would not give me a cuff, or so?—You know he can't return joke for joke; and he must revenge himself some way—If that should be the case, Poor Charlotte, I hope you would say—
Not if you deserved it.
Deserve a cuff, Harriet!—Well, but I am afraid I shall.
Remember next Tuesday, Charlotte!—You must vow obedience—Will you break your vow?—This is not a jesting matter.
True, Harriet. And that it is not, was perhaps one of the reasons that made me disinclined to go to so solemn a place as the church with Lord G–. Don't you think it one with those who insist upon being married in their own chamber?
I believe great people, said I, think they must not do right things in the common way: that seems to me to be one of their fantastic reasons: but the vow is the vow, Charlotte: God is every where.
Now you are so serious, Harriet, it is time to have done with the subject.
I have no sleep in my eyes; and must go on. What keeps me more wakeful is, my real concern for this naughty Miss Grandison, and my pity for Lord G–; for the instance I have given you of her petulance is nothing to what I have seen: but I thought, so near the day, she would have changed her behaviour to him. Surely, the situation her brother is in, without any fault of his own, might convince her, that she need not go out of her path to pick up subjects for unhappiness.
Such a kittenish disposition in her, I called it; for it is not so much the love of power that predominates in her mind, as the love of playfulness: and when the fit is upon her, she regards not whether it is a china cup, or a cork, that she pats and tosses about. But her sport will certainly be the death of Lord G–'s happiness. Pity that Sir Charles, who only has power over her, is obliged to go abroad so soon! But she has principles: Lady Grandison's daughter, Sir Charles Grandison's sister, must have principles. The solemnity of the occasion; the office; the church; the altar;—must strike her: The vow—Will she not regard the vow she makes in circumstances so awful? Could but my Lord G– assume dignity, and mingle raillery with it, and be able to laugh with her, and sometimes at her, she would not make him her sport: she would find somebody else: A butt she must have to shoot at: but I am afraid he will be too sensible of her smartness: and she will have her jest, let who will suffer by it.
Some of the contents of your last are very agreeable to me, Lucy. I will begin in earnest to think of leaving London. Don't let me look silly in your eyes, my dear, when I come. It was not so very presumptuous in me (was it?) to hope—When all his relations—When he himself—Yet what room for hope did he, could he, give me? He was honest; and I cheated myself: but then all you, my dearest friends, encouraged the cheat: nay, pointed my wishes, and my hopes, by yours, before I had dared (shall I say, or condescended?) to own them to myself.
You may let that Greville know, if you please, that there is no room for his If's, nor, of consequence, any for his menaces. You may own, that I shall soon be in Northamptonshire. This may prevent his and Fenwick's threatened journey to town.
But, Lucy, though my heart has been ever dutifully, as I may say, open to the venerable domestic circle; though it would not have been an honest heart, could it, circumstanced as I was, have concealed itself from Lady D–; and must have been an impenetrable one indeed, if it could have been disguised to the two sisters here—yet, I beseech you, my dear, almost on my knees I beseech you, let not the audacious, the insulting Greville, have ground given him to suspect a weakness in your Harriet, which indelicate minds know not how to judge of delicately. For sex-sake, for example-sake, Lucy, let it not be known, to any but the partial, friendly few, that our grand-mamma Shirley's child, and aunt Selby's niece, has been a volunteer in her affections. How many still more forward girls would plead Mrs. Shirley's approbation of the hasty affection, without considering the circumstances, and the object! So the next girl that run away to a dancing-master, or an ensign, would reckon herself one of Harriet's school.
Poor Mr. Orme! I am sorry he is not well. It is cruel in you, Lucy, at this time, to say, (so undoubtingly,) that his illness is owing to his love of me. You knew that such a suggestion would pain me. Heaven restore Mr. Orme!
But I am vexed, as it cannot be to purpose, that Sir Charles Grandison and I have been named together, and talked of, in your neighbourhood!—He will be gone abroad. I shall return to Northamptonshire: and shall look so silly! So like a refused girl!
'Every body gives me to him, you say'—So much the worse. I wonder what business this every body has to trouble itself about me.
One consolation, however, I shall have in my return; and that is, in my Nancy's recovered health; which was so precarious when I set out for London.
But I shall have nothing to entertain you with when I am with you: Sir Charles Grandison, Lord and Lady L–, Lady G–, (as now in three or four days she will be), my dear Miss Jervois, Dr. Bartlett, will be all my subject. And have I not exhausted that by pen and ink? O no! The doctor promises to correspond with me; and he makes no doubt but Sir Charles will correspond with him, as usual.
What can the unusually tender friendship be called which he professed for me, and, as I may say, claimed in return from me? I know that he has no notion of the love called Platonic. Nor have I: I think it, in general, a dangerous allowance; and, with regard to our sex, a very unequal one; since, while the man has nothing to fear, the woman has every thing, from the privileges that may be claimed, in an acknowledged confidence, especially in presence. Miss Grandison thus interprets what he said, and strengthens her opinion by some of Dr. Bartlett's late intimations, that he really loves me; but not being at liberty to avow his love, he knew not what to say; and so went as near to a declaration as was possible to do in his circumstances.
But might I not expect, from such a profession of friendship in Sir Charles, an offer of correspondence in absence? And if he made the offer, ought I to decline it? Would it not indicate too much on my side, were I to do so?—And does it not on his, if he make not the offer? He corresponds with Mrs. Beaumont: nobody thinks that any thing can be meant by that correspondence on either side; because Mrs. Beaumont must be at least forty; Sir Charles but six or seven and twenty: but if he makes not the request to Harriet, who is but little more than twenty; what, after such professions of a friendship so tender, will be inferred from his forbearance?
But I shall puzzle myself, and you too, Lucy, if I go on with this sort of reasoning; because I shall not know how to put all I mean into words. Have I not already puzzled you? I think my expression is weak and perplexed—But this offered and accepted friendship between two persons not indelicate, must be perplexing; since he is the only young man in the world, from whom a woman has no dishonour to fear.—Ah, Lucy!—It would be vanity in me, would it not? to suppose that he had more to fear from Harriet, than she has from him; as the virtue of either, I hope, is not questionable? But the event of his Italian visit will explain and reconcile every thing.
I will encourage a drowsy fit that seems to be stealing upon me. If I have not written with the perspicuity I always aim at, allow, Lucy, for the time of night; for spirits not high; and for the subject, that having its delicacies, as well as uncertainties, I am not able to write clearly upon it.
LETTER XIX
MISS BYRON.—IN CONTINUATION SATURDAY NIGHT, APRIL 9
Sir Charles is already returned: he arrived at Windsor on Friday morning; but found that Lord W– had set out the afternoon of the day before, for the house of his friend Sir Joseph Lawrence, which is but fifteen miles from Mansfield-house.
Upon this intelligence, Sir Charles, wanting to return to town as soon as he could, followed him to the knight's: and having time enough himself to reach Mansfield-house that night, he, by his uncle's consent, pursued his journey thither; to the great joy of the family; who wished for his personal introduction of my lord to Miss Mansfield.
My lord arrived by breakfast-time, unfatigued, and in high spirits: staid at Mansfield-house all day; and promised so to manage, as to be in town to-morrow, in order to be present at his niece's nuptials on Tuesday.
As for Sir Charles, he made the Mansfield family happy in his company the whole Friday evening; inquiring into their affairs relating to the oppression they lay under; pointing out measures for redress; encouraging Miss Mansfield; and informing the brothers, that the lawyers he had consulted on their deeds, told him, that a new trial might be hoped for; the result of which, probably, would be a means to do them justice, so powerfully protected and assisted as they would now be; for new lights had broke in upon them, and they wanted but to recover a deed, which they understood was in the hands of two gentlemen, named Hartley, who were but lately returned from the Indies. Thus prepared, the Mansfields also were in high spirits, the next morning; and looked, Sir Charles said, on each other, when they met, as if they wanted to tell each other their agreeable dreams.
Sir Charles, in his way, had looked in upon Sir Harry Beauchamp, and his lady. He found Sir Harry in high spirits, expecting the arrival of his son; who was actually landed from Calais, having met there his father's letter, allowing him to return to England, and wishing in his own, and in Lady Beauchamp's name, his speedy arrival.
Sir Charles's impatience to see his friend, permitted him only to breakfast with my lord and the Mansfields; and to know the opinion each party formed of the other, on this first interview; and then he set out to Sir Harry Beauchamp's. What an activity!—Heaven reward him with the grant of his own wishes, whatever they be, and make him the happiest of men!
My lord is greatly taken with the lady, and her whole family. Well he may, Sir Charles says. He blessed him, and called himself blessed in his sister's son, for his recommendation of each to the other. The lady thinks better of him, as her mother owned to Sir Charles, than she thought she should, from report.
I begin to think, Lucy, that those who set out for happiness are most likely to find it, when they live single till the age of fancy is over. Those who marry while it lasts, are often disappointed of that which they propose so largely to themselves: while those who wed for convenience, and deal with tolerable honesty by each other, are at a greater certainty. Tolerable, I repeat, since, it seems, we are to expect that both parties will turn the best side of the old garment outward. Hence arises consolation to old maidens, and cautions against precipitation— Expatiate, my dear, on this fruitful subject: I would, were I at leisure.
Sir Charles says that he doubts not, but Lord W– will be as happy a man as he wishes to be, in less than a month.
The deuse is in this brother of mine, whispered Miss Grandison, to me, for huddling up of marriages! He don't consider, that there may be two chances for one, that his honest folks may in half a year's time, bless him the contrary way.
Sir Charles told us, that he had desired Lord W– to give out every where (that the adversaries of the Mansfield family might know it) his intended alliance; and that he and his nephew were both determined to procure a retrospection of all former proceedings.
Sir Charles got to Sir Harry Beauchamp's a little before his friend arrived. Sir Harry took him aside at his alighting, and told him, that Lady Beauchamp had had clouds on her brow all the day, and he was afraid, would not receive his son with the graciousness that once he hoped for from her: but, that he left him to manage with her. She never, said he, had so high an opinion either of man or woman as she has of you.
Sir Charles addressed himself to her, as not doubting her goodness upon the foot of their former conversation; and praised her for the graces that however appeared but faintly in her countenance, till his compliments lighted them up, and made them shine full out in it. He told her, that his sister and Lord G– were to be married on the following Tuesday. He himself, he said, should set out for Paris on Friday after: but hoped to see a family intimacy begun between his sisters and Lady Beauchamp; and between their lords, and Sir Harry, and Mr. Beauchamp. He applauded her on the generosity of her intentions, as declared to him in their former conference; and congratulated her on the power she had, of which she made so noble an use, of laying, at the same time, an obligation on the tenderest of husbands, and the most deserving of sons: whose duty to her he engaged for.
All this set her in high good humour; and she took to herself, and bridled upon it, to express myself in Charlotte's manner, the praises and graces this adroit manager gave her, as if they were her unquestionable due.
This agreeable way they were all in, Sir Harry transported with his lady's goodness, when Mr. Beauchamp arrived.
The young gentleman bent his knee to his stepmother, as well as to his father, and thanked her for the high favours his father had signified to him by letter, that he owed to her goodness. She confirmed them; but, Sir Charles observed, with an ostentation that shewed she thought very highly of her own generosity.
They had a very cheerful evening. Not one cloud would hang on Lady Beauchamp's brow, though once or twice it seemed a little overshadowed, as Mr. Beauchamp displayed qualities for which his father was too ready to admire him. Sir Charles thought it necessary to caution Sir Harry on this subject; putting it in this light, that Lady Beauchamp loved her husband so well, that she would be too likely to dread a rivalry in his affections from a son so very accomplished. Sir Harry took the hint kindly.
Mr. Beauchamp was under a good deal of concern at Sir Charles's engagements to leave England so soon after his arrival; and asked his father's leave to attend him. Sir Harry declared, that he could not part with him. Sir Charles chid his friend, and said, it was not quite so handsome a return as might have been expected from his Beauchamp, to the joyful reception he had met with from his father, and Lady Beauchamp. But she excused the young gentleman, and said, she wondered not, that any body who was favoured with his friendship, should be unwilling to be separated from him.
Sir Charles expresses great satisfaction in Mr. Beauchamp's being arrived before his departure, that he may present to us, himself, a man with whom he is sure we shall all be delighted, and leave him happy in the beloved society which he himself is obliged to quit.
A repining temper, Lucy, would consider only the hardship of meeting a long-absent friend, just to feel the uneasiness of a second parting: but this man views every thing in a right light. When his own happiness is not to be attained, he lays it out of his thoughts, and, as I have heretofore observed, rejoices in that of others. It is a pleasure to see how Sir Charles seems to enjoy the love which Dr. Bartlett expresses for this friend of them both.
Sir Charles addressed himself to me, on several occasions, in so polite, in so tender a manner, that every one told me afterwards, they are sure he loves me. Dr. Bartlett at the time, as he sat next me, whispered, on the regret expressed by all on losing him so soon—Ah, madam!—I know, and pity, my patron's struggles!—Struggles, Lucy! What could the doctor mean by this whisper to me? But I hope he guesses not at mine! If he does, would he have whispered his pity of Sir Charles to me?—Come, Lucy, this is some comfort, however; and I will endeavour to be brave upon it, that I may not, by my weakness, lessen myself in the doctor's good opinion.
It was agreed for Charlotte, (whose assent was given in these words—'Do as you will—or, rather, as my brother will—What signifies opposing him?') that the nuptials shall be solemnized, as privately as possible, at St. George's church. The company is to drop in at different doors, and with as few attendants as may be. Lord W–, the Earl of G–, and Lady Gertrude, Lord and Lady L–, Miss Jervois, and your Harriet, are to be present at the ceremony. I was very earnest to be excused, till Miss Grandison, when we were alone, dropt down on one knee, and held up her hands, to beg me to accompany her. Mr. Everard Grandison, if he can be found, is to be also there, at Sir Charles's desire.
Dr. Bartlett, as I before hinted, at her earnest request, is to perform the ceremony. Sir Charles wished it to be at his own parish-church: but Miss Grandison thought it too near to be private. He was indifferent, as to the place, he said—So it was at church; for he had been told of the difficulty we had to get Charlotte to desist from having it performed in her chamber; and seemed surprised.—Fie, Charlotte! said he—An office so solemn!—Vows to receive and pay, as in the Divine Presence—
She was glad, she told me, that she had not left that battle to be fought with him.
MONDAY, APRIL 10Lord W– is come. Lord and Lady L– are here. They, and Miss Grandison, received him with great respect. He embraced his nieces in a very affectionate manner. Sir Charles was absent. Lord W– is in person and behaviour a much more agreeable man than I expected him to be. Nor is he so decrepit with the gout, as I had supposed. He is very careful of himself, it seems. This world has been kind to him; and I fancy he makes a great deal of a little pain, for want of stronger exercises to his patience; and so is a sufferer by self-indulgence. Had I not been made acquainted with his free living, and with the insults he bore from Mrs. Giffard, with a spirit so poor and so low, I should have believed I saw not only the man of quality, but the man of sense, in his countenance. I endeavoured, however, as much as I could, to look upon him as the brother of the late Lady Grandison. Had he been worthy of that relation, how should I have reverenced him!
But whatever I thought of him, he was highly taken with me. He particularly praised me for the modesty which he said was visible in my countenance. Free-livers, Lucy, taken with that grace in a woman, which they make it their pride to destroy! But all men, good and bad, admire modesty in a woman: And I am sometimes out of humour with our sex, that they do not as generally like modesty in men. I am sure that this grace, in Sir Charles Grandison, is one of his principal glories with me. It emboldens one's heart, and permits one to behave before him with ease; and, as I may say, with security, in the consciousness of a right intention.
But what were Lord W–'s praises of his nephew! He called him, the glory of his sex, and of human nature. How the cheeks of the dear Emily glowed at the praises given to her guardian!—She was the taller for them: when she moved, it was on tiptoe; stealing as it were, across the floor, lest she should lose any thing that was said on a subject so delightful to her.
My lord was greatly pleased with her too. He complimented her as the beloved ward of the best of guardians. He lamented, with us, the occasion that called his nephew abroad. He was full of his own engagements with Miss Mansfield, and declared that his nephew should guide and govern him as he pleased in every material case, respecting either the conduct of his future life, or the management and disposition of his estate; declaring, that he had made his will, and, reserving only his lady's jointure, and a few legacies, had left every thing to him.
How right a thing, even in policy, is it, my dear, to be good and generous.
I must not forget, that my lord wished with all his soul, that was his expression, that he might have the honour of giving to his nephew my hand in marriage.
I could feel myself blush. I half-suppressed a sigh: I would have wholly suppressed it, if I could. I recovered the little confusion, his too plainly expressed wish gave me, by repeating to myself the word CLEMENTINA.
This Charlotte is a great coward. But I dare not tell her so, for fear of a retort. I believe I should be as great a one in her circumstances, so few hours to one of the greatest events of one's life! But I pretend not to bravery: yet hope, that in the cause of virtue or honour I should be found to have a soul.
