The History of Sir Charles Grandison, Volume 4 (of 7)

LETTER XXX

MISS BYRON.—IN CONTINUATION MONDAY NIGHT

My cousins and I, by invitation, supped with Lady G– this evening.

Lord and Lady L– were there; Lady Olivia also, and Lady Maffei.

I have set them all into a consternation, as they expressed themselves, by my declaration of leaving London on my return home early on Friday morning next. I knew, that were I to pass the whole summer here, I must be peremptory at last. The two sisters vow, that I shall not go so soon. They say, that I have seen so few of the town diversions—Town diversions, Lucy!—I have had diversion enough, of one sort!—But in your arms, my dear friends, I shall have consolation—And I want it.

I have great regrets, and shall have hourly more, as the day approaches, on the leaving of such dear and obliging friends: but I am determined.

My cousin's coach will convey me to Dunstable; and there, I know, I shall meet with my indulgent uncle, or your brother. I would not have it publicly known, because of the officious gentlemen in the neighbourhood.

Dr. Bartlett intended to set out for Grandison-hall to-morrow: but from the natural kindness of his heart he has suspended his journey to Thursday next. No consideration, therefore, shall detain me, if I am well.

My cousins are grieved: they did not expect that I would be a word and a blow, as they phrase it.

Lady Olivia expressed herself concerned, that she, in particular, was to lose me. She had proposed great pleasure, she said, in the parties she should make in my company. But, after what Emily told me, she appears to me as a Medusa; and were I to be thought by her a formidable rival, I might have as much reason to be afraid of the potion, as the man she loves of the poniard. Emily has kept the secret from every body but me. And I rely on the inviolable secrecy of all you, my friends.

Lord and Lady L– had designed to go to Colnebrook to-morrow, or at my day, having hopes of getting me with them: but now, they say, they will stay in town till they can see whether I am to be prevailed upon, or will be obdurate.

Lady Olivia inquired after the distance of Northamptonshire. She will make the tour of England, she says, and visit me there. I was obliged to say I should take her visit as an honour.

Wicked politeness! Of how many falsehoods dost thou make the people, who are called polite, guilty!

But there is one man in the world, who is remarkable for his truth, yet is unquestionably polite. He censures not others for complying with fashions established by custom; but he gives not in to them. He never perverts the meaning of words. He never, for instance, suffers his servants to deny him, when he is at home. If he is busy, he just finds time to say he is, to unexpected visiters; and if they will stay, he turns them over to his sisters, to Dr. Bartlett, to Emily, till he can attend them. But then he has always done so. Every one knows that he lives to his own heart, and they expect it of him; and when they can have his company, they have double joy in the ease and cheerfulness that attend his leisure: they then have him wholly. And he can be the more polite, as the company then is all his business.

Sir Charles might the better do so, as he came over so few months ago, after so long an absence; and his reputation for politeness was so well established, that people rather looked for rules from him, than a conformity to theirs.

His denials of complimenting Lady Olivia (though she was but just arrived in his native country, where she never was before) with the suspending of his departure for one week, or but for one day—Who but he could have given them? But he was convinced, that it was right to hasten away, for the sake of Clementina and his Jeronymo; and that it would have been wrong to shew Olivia, even for her own sake, that in such a competition she had consequence with him; and all her entreaties, all her menaces, the detested poniard in her hand, could not shake his steady soul, and make him delay his well-settled purpose.

LETTER XXXI

MISS BYRON.—IN CONTINUATION TUESDAY MORNING, APRIL 18

This naughty Lady G–! She is excessively to blame. Lord L– is out of patience with her. So is Lady L–. Emily says, she loves her dearly; but she does not love her ways. Lord G–, as Emily tells me, talks of coming to me; the cause of quarrel supposed to be not great: but trifles, insisted upon, make frequently the widest breaches. Whatever it be, it is between themselves: and neither cares to tell: but Lord and Lady L– are angry with her, for the ludicrous manner in which she treats him.

The misunderstanding happened after my cousin and I left them last night.

I was not in spirits, and declined staying to cards. Lady Olivia and her aunt went away at the same time. Whist was the game. Lord and Lady L–, Dr. Bartlett and Emily, were cast in. In the midst of their play, Lady G– came hurrying down stairs to them, warbling an air. Lord G– followed her, much disturbed. Madam, I must tell you, said he—Why MUST, my lord? I don't bid you.

Sit still, child, said she to Emily; and took her seat behind her—Who wins? Who loses?

Lord G– walked about the room—Lord and Lady L– were unwilling to take notice, hoping it would go off; for there had been a few livelinesses on her side at dinner-time, though all was serene at supper.

Dr. Bartlett offered her his cards. She refused them—No, doctor, said she, I will play my own cards: I shall have enough to do to play them well.

As you manage it, so you will, madam, said Lord G–.

Don't expose yourself, my lord: we are before company. Lady L–, you have nothing but trumps in your hand.

Let me say a word or two to you, madam, said Lord G– to her.

I am all obedience, my lord.

She arose. He would have taken her hand: she put it behind her.

Not your hand, madam?

I can't spare it.

He flung from her, and went out of the room.

Lord bless me, said she, returning to the card-table with a gay unconcern, what strange passionate creatures are these men!

Charlotte, said Lady L–, I wonder at you.

Then I give you joy—

What do you mean, sister?—

We women love wonder, and the wonderful!

Surely, Lady G–, said Lord L–, you are wrong.

I give your lordship joy, too.

On what?

That my sister is always right.

Indeed, madam, were I Lord G–, I should have no patience.

A good hint for you, Lady L–. I hope you will take this for a warning, and be good.

When I behave as you do, Charlotte—

I understand you, Lady L–, you need not speak out—Every one in their way.

You would not behave thus, were my brother—

Perhaps not.

Dear Charlotte, you are excessively wrong.

So I think, returned she.

Why then do you not—

Mend, Lady L–? All in good time.

Her woman came in with a message, expressing her lord's desire to see her.—The deuce is in these men! They will neither be satisfied with us, nor without us. But I am all obedience: no vow will I break—And out she went.

Lord G– not returning presently, and Lord and Lady L–'s chariot being come, they both took this opportunity, in order to shew their displeasure, to go away without taking leave of their sister. Dr. Bartlett retired to his apartment. And when Lady G– came down, she was surprised, and a little vexed, to find only Emily there. Lord G– came in at another door—Upon my word, my Lord, this is strange behaviour in you: you fright away, with your husband-like airs, all one's company.

Good God!—I am astonished at you, madam.

What signifies your astonishment?—when you have scared every body out of the house.

I, madam!

You, sir! Yes, you!—Did you not lord it over me in my dressing-room?– To be easy and quiet, did I not fly to our company in the drawing-room? Did you not follow me there—with looks—very pretty looks for a new-married man, I assure you! Then did you not want to take me aside— Would not anybody have supposed it was to express your sorrow for your odd behaviour? Was I not all obedience?—Did you not, with very mannish airs, slight me for my compliance, and fly out of the room? All the company could witness the calmness with which I returned to them, that they might not be grieved for me; nor think our misunderstanding a deep one. Well, then, when your stomach came down, as I supposed, you sent for me out: no doubt, thought I, to express his concern now.—I was all obedience again.

And did I not beseech you, madam—

Beseech me, my lord!—Yes—But with such looks!—I married, sir, let me tell you, a man with another face—See, see, Emily—He is gone again.—

My lord flew out of the room in a rage.—O these men, my dear! said she to Emily.

I know, said Emily, what I could have answered, if I dared: but it is ill meddling, as I have heard say, between man and wife.

Emily says, the quarrel was not made up; but was carried higher still in the morning.

She had but just finished her tale, when the following billet was brought me, from Lady G–:

Harriet,

If you love me, if you pity me, come hither this instant: I have great need of your counsel. I am resolved to be unmarried; and therefore subscribe myself by the beloved name of

CHARLOTTE GRANDISON.

I instantly dispatched the following:

I Know no such person as Charlotte Grandison. I love Lady G–, but can pity only her lord. I will not come near you. I have no counsel to give you, but that you will not jest away your own happiness.

HARRIET BYRON.

In half an hour after, came a servant from Lady G– with the following letter:

So, then, I have made a blessed hand of wedlock. My brother gone: my man excessive unruly: Lord and Lady L– on his side, without inquiring into merits, or demerits: lectured by Dr. Bartlett's grave face: Emily standing aloof; her finger in her eye: and now my Harriet renouncing me: and all in one week!

What can I do?—War seems to be declared: and will you not turn mediatrix?—You won't, you say. Let it alone. Nevertheless, I will lay the whole matter before you.

It was last night, the week from the wedding-day not completed, that Lord G– thought fit to break into my retirement without my leave—By the way, he was a little impertinent at dinner-time; but that I passed over—

What boldness is this? said I—Pray, Sir, begone—Why leave you your company below?

I come, my dearest life! to make a request to you.

The man began with civility enough, had he had a little less of his odious rapture; for he flung his arms about me, Jenny in presence. A husband's fondness is enough to ruin these girls. Don't you think, Harriet, that there is an immorality in it, before them?

I refuse your request, be it what it will. How dare you invade me in my retirement?—You may believe, that I intended not to stay long above, my sister below. Does the ceremony, so lately past, authorize want of breeding?

Want of breeding, madam!—And he did so stare!

Leave me, this instant!—I looked good-natured, I suppose, in my anger; for he declared he would not; and again throwing his arms about me as I sat, joined his sharp face to mine, and presumed to kiss me; Jenny still in the room.

Now, Harriet, you never will desert me in a point of delicacy, I am sure. You cannot defend these odious freedoms in a matrimony so young, unless you would be willing to be served so yourself.

You may suppose, that then I let loose my indignation upon him. And he stole out, daring to mutter, and be displeased. The word devil was in his mouth.

Did he call me devil, Jenny?

No, indeed, madam, said the wench—And, Harriet, see the ill example of such a free behaviour before her: she presumed to prate in favour of the man's fit of fondness; yet, at other times, is a prude of a girl.

Before my anger was gone down, in again [It is truth, Harriet,] came the bold wretch. I will not, said he, as you are not particularly employed, leave you—Upon my soul, madam, you don't use me well. But if you will oblige me with your company tomorrow morning—

No where, Sir—

Only to breakfast with Miss Byron, my dear—As a mark of your obligingness, I request it.

His dear!—Now I hate a hypocrite, of all things. I knew that he had a design to make a shew of his bride, as his property, at another place; and seeing me angry, thought he would name a visit agreeable to me, and which at the same time would give him a merit with you, and preserve to himself the consequence of being obliged by his obedient wife, at the word of authority.

From this foolish beginning arose our mighty quarrel. What vexed me was, the art of the man, and the evident design he had to get you of his side. He, in the course of it, threatened me with appealing to you.—To intend to ruin me in the love of my dearest friend! Who, that valued that friend, could forgive it? You may believe, that if he had not proposed it, and after such accumulated offences, it was the very visit that I should have been delighted with.

Indeed, Sir—Upon my word, my lord—I do assure you, sir,—with a moderate degree of haughtiness—was what the quarrel arose to, on my side—And, at last, to a declaration of rebellion—I won't.

On his side, Upon my soul, madam—Let me perish, if—and then hesitating —You use me ill, madam. I have not deserved—And give me leave to say—

I insist upon being obliged, madam.

There was no bearing of this, Harriet.—It was a cool evening; but I took up my fan—Hey-day! said I, what language is this?—You insist upon it, my lord!—I think I am married; am I not?—And I took my watch, half an hour after ten on Monday night—the—what day of the month is this?– Please the lord, I will note down this beginning moment of your authoritative demeanour.

My dear Lady G–, [The wretch called me by his own name, perhaps farther to insult me,] if I could bear this treatment, it is impossible for me to love you as I do.

So it is in love to me, that you are to put on already all the husband!– Jenny! [Do you see, my lord, affecting a whisper, how you dash the poor wench? How like a fool she looks at our folly!] Remember, Jenny, that to-morrow morning you carry my wedding-suits to Mrs. Arnold; and tell her, she has forgot the hanging-sleeves to the gowns. Let her put them on out of hand.

I was proceeding—But he rudely, gravely, and even with an air of scorn, [There was no bearing that, you know,] admonished me. A little less wit, madam, and a little more discretion, would perhaps better become you.

This was too true to be forgiven. You'll say it, Harriet, if I don't. And to come from a man that was not overburdened with either—But I had too great a command of myself to say so. My dependence, my lord, [This I did say,] is upon your judgment: that will always be a balance to my wit; and, with the assistance of your reproving love, will in time teach me discretion.

Now, my dear, was not this a high compliment to him? Ought he not to have taken it as such? Especially as I looked grave, and dropt him a very fine courtesy. But either his conscience or his ill-nature, (perhaps you'll say both,) made him take it as a reflection, [True as you are alive, Harriet!] He bit his lip. Jenny, begone, said he—Jenny, don't go, said I—Jenny knew not which to obey. Upon my word, Harriet, I began to think the man would have cuffed me.—And while he was in his airs of mock-majesty, I stept to the door, and whipt down to my company.

As married people are not to expose themselves to their friends, (who I once heard you sagely remark, would remember disagreeable things, when the honest pair had forgotten them,) I was determined to be prudent. You would have been charmed with me, my dear, for my discretion. I will cheat by-standers, thought I; I will make my Lord and Lady L–, Dr. Bartlett, and Emily, whom I had before set in at cards, think we are egregiously happy—And down I sat, intending, with a lamb-like peaceableness, to make observations on the play. But soon after, in whipt my indiscreet lord, his colour heightened, his features working: and though I cautioned him not to expose himself, yet he assumed airs that were the occasion, as you shall hear, of frightening away my company. He withdrew, in consequence of those airs; and, after a little while, (repenting, as I hoped,) he sent for me out. Some wives would have played the queen Vashti on their tyrant, and refused to go: but I, all obedience, (my vow, so recently made, in my head,) obeyed, at the very first word: yet you must think that I (meek as I am naturally) could not help recriminating. He was too lordly to be expostulated with.– There was, 'I tell you, madam,' and 'I won't be told, sir;' and when I broke from the passionate creature, and hoped to find my company, behold! they were all gone! None but Emily left. And thus might poor Lady L– be sent home, weeping, perhaps, for such an early marriage-tyranny exerted on her meek sister.

Well, and don't you think that we looked like a couple of fools at each other, when we saw ourselves left alone, as I may say, to fight it out? I did expostulate with him as mildly as I could: he would have made it up with me afterwards; but, no! there was no doing that, as a girl of your nice notions may believe, after he had, by his violent airs, exposed us both before so many witnesses. In decency, therefore, I was obliged to keep it up: and now our misunderstanding blazes, and is at such a comfortable height, that if we meet by accident, we run away from each other by design. We have already made two breakfast-tables: yet I am meek; he is sullen: I make courtesies; he returns not bows.—Sullen creature, and a rustic!—I go to my harpsichord; melody enrages him. He is worse than Saul; for Saul could be gloomily pleased with the music even of the man he hated.

I would have got you to come to us: that I thought was tending to a compliance; for it would have been condescending too much, as he is so very perverse, if I had accompanied him to you. He has a great mind to appeal to you; but I have half rallied him out of his purpose. I sent to you. What an answer did you return me!—Cruel Harriet! to deny your requested mediation in a difference that has arisen between man and wife. —But let the fire glow. If it spares the house, and only blazes in the chimney, I can bear it.

Cross creature, adieu! If you know not such a woman as Grandison, Heaven grant that I may; and that my wishes may be answered as to the person; and then I will not know a Byron.

See, Lucy, how high this dear flighty creature bribes! But I will not be influenced, by her bribery, to take her part.

LETTER XXXII

MISS BYRON.—IN CONTINUATION TUESDAY NIGHT

I am just returned from St. James's-square.

But, first, I should tell you, that I had a visit from Lady Olivia and Lady Maffei. Our conversation was in Italian and French. Lady Olivia and I had a quarter of an hour's discourse in private: you may guess at our subject. She is not without that tenderness of heart which is the indispensable characteristic of a woman. She lamented the violence of her temper, in a manner so affecting, that I cannot help pitying her, though at the instant I had in my head a certain attempt, that makes me shudder whenever I think of it. She regrets my going to Northamptonshire so soon. I have promised to return her visit to-morrow in the afternoon.

She sets out on Friday next for Oxford. She wished I could accompany her. She resolves to see all that is worth seeing in the western circuit, as I may call it. She observes, she says, that Sir Charles Grandison's sisters, and their lords, are very particularly engaged at present; and are in expectation of a call to Windsor, to attend Lord W–'s nuptials: she will therefore, having attendants enough, and two men of consideration in her train, one of whom is not unacquainted with England, take cursory tours over the kingdom; having a taste for travelling, and finding it a great relief to her spirits: and when Lady L– and Lady G– are more disengaged, will review the seats and places which she shall think worthy of a second visit, in their company.

She professed to like the people here, and the face of the country; and talked favourably of the religion of it: but, poor woman! she likes all those the better, I doubt not, for the sake of one Englishman. Love, Lucy, gilds every object which bears a relation to the person beloved.

Lady Maffei was very free in blaming her niece for this excursion. She took her chiding patiently; but yet, like a person that thought it too much in her power to gratify the person blaming her, to pay much regard to what she said.

I took a chair to Lady G–'s. Emily ran to meet me in the hall. She threw her arms about me: I rejoice you are come, said she. Did you not meet the house in the square?—What means my Emily?—Why, it has been flung out of the windows, as the saying is. Ah madam! we are all to pieces. One so careless, the other so passionate!—But, hush! Here comes Lady G–.

Take, Lucy, in the dialogue-way, particulars.

LADY G. Then you are come, at last, Harriet. You wrote, that you would not come near me.

HAR. I did; but I could not stay away. Ah, Lady G–, you will destroy your own happiness!

LADY G. So you wrote. Not one word, on the subject you hint at, that you have ever said or written before. I hate repetitions, child.

HAR. Then I must be silent upon it.

LADY G. Not of necessity. You can say new things upon old subjects.—

But hush! Here comes the man.—She ran to her harpsichord—Is this it, Harriet? and touched the keys—repeating

LORD G. Miss Byron, I am your most obedient servant. The sight of you rejoices my soul.—Madam (to his lady), you have not been long enough together to begin a tune. I know what this is for—

LADY G. Harmony! harmony! is a charming thing! But I, poor I! know not any but what this simple instrument affords me.

LORD G. [Lifting up his hands.] Harmony, madam! God is my witness—

But I will lay every thing before Miss Byron.

LADY G. You need not, my lord: she knows as much as she can know, already; except the fine colourings be added to the woeful tale, that your unbridled spirit can give it.—Have you my long letter about you, Harriet?

LORD G. And could you, madam, have the heart to write—

LADY G. Why, my lord, do you mince the matter? For heart, say courage. You may speak as plain in Miss Byron's presence, as you did before she came: I know what you mean.