Читать книгу The History of A Merchant's Widow and her Young Family - Барбара Хофланд - Страница 4

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Mr. Daventree was a merchant in a very extensive line of business, in which he justly enjoyed a high character for probity, regularity, and activity. He had succeeded his father in the concern, so that his whole life had been passed in the enjoyment of wealth, but under such restrictions as taught him its proper use and just value. He had not to contend with those difficulties which arise from narrow means and unformed connexions; he had never experienced the necessity of small savings and perpetual self-denials, such as his good parent had felt before him; but he had been taught by that parent justly to estimate his own advantages, and to know that every business, however well established, requires the eye of a master; and that the most splendid income calls for the boundaries of economy, and the hand of management. His own excellent understanding and education enabled him to see the propriety of dispensing a large income with dignified liberality without affecting the pageantry of rank on one hand, or stooping to petty detail on the other; and as he regarded the character of a British merchant to be justly one of sufficient importance to satisfy all proper ambition, he did not seek to embellish it with ornaments to which it had no pretension: thus he never sought to intrude into those walks of life which he conceived appropriate to nobility; and while his hospitable board was open to all, and frequently surrounded by men of the first talents and highest offices in the country, he yet neither sought celebrity, nor awakened satire, by the splendour of his fetes, or the crowding of his routs; but blending the plenty of past times with the elegance of the present, obtained good-will from all, and envy from none.

Mr. Daventree was enabled to pursue a line of life agreeable to his situation, his judgment, and his principles, by being united to a lady whose disposition and opinions entirely coincided with his own, and whose affections were so entirely given to him and to her children, that in every point where she had formed a wish that did not precisely accord with his ideas, she had a pleasure in abandoning it for his sake. This conduct, while it rendered her inexpressibly dear to him, inspired him with an uncommon anxiety to procure her every blessing and comfort in his power; and he felt as if he could never sufficiently guard one whose tenderness rendered her so entirely dependent upon him; in fact, he considered her as more dependent upon him than she really was, for Mrs. Daventree was not only an accomplished, elegant woman, but (notwithstanding the mildness of her manners, and the gentle timidity which marked her conduct as a wife) she possessed a strong mind, an enlightened understanding, and that sense of power which is derived from the constant exercise of religious principles; her sense of justice and integrity was particularly acute, for it had been early instilled into her mind by her venerable grandsire, who was himself a merchant, and who had been brought up at a period when regularity and order were the peculiar characteristics of men of his description.

Mrs. Daventree had the misfortune to lose both her parents during her infancy; but their loss had been supplied by the parents of her father, in the best manner they were able; and in their declining years she had amply returned their kindness, by an affectionate attention to their comforts, not often supplied by beautiful and rich girls to their aged relatives. The docile temper she cultivated for their sakes, and the patience she exercised towards them, doubtless laid the foundation of those virtues which she eminently practised towards her own family in after-life; for the cares claimed by old age and early infancy are very similar.

This venerable couple had two sons, who were much attached to their niece, and from their care she became mistress of those accomplishments now considered indispensable, but which it is probable the good old couple might consider of little importance; from this happy combination, she imbibed all that is pleasing in modern education, with all that was useful in the days that are past. In her, suavity of manners was grounded on virtue in disposition; she was not taught to appear amiable, to affect placidity, and to look smilingly; but obedience was engrafted in her mind as a duty, and she was permitted the exercise of benevolence, as the sweet reward of extraordinary exertion; she was led to religion, as the solace of all her little sorrows, and the medium of subduing every wrong emotion and rising passion in her heart; and she was continually assured that every human being was subject to such emotions, and could only find favour in the sight of God, in proportion as they subdued the evil propensities of their nature, and nurtured the purer affections divine goodness had likewise implanted there.

With a mind and disposition thus cultivated, and a person highly interesting, it was no wonder that Sophia Gardiner attracted Mr. Daventree, who had formed a commercial connexion with the elder of her uncles: she had several suitors, but greatly preferred this gentleman, because she found him possessed of those principles she had been early taught to revere; and the preference thus bestowed by her judgment was still further ratified by her heart, on their increased acquaintance, especially after the death of her aged relatives; so that every succeeding year had bound her, if possible, more closely to this beloved husband.

Mr. and Mrs. Daventree, at the commencement of the present century, were the parents of seven children. Henry, the eldest, was thirteen, a sensible, steady boy, of good parts, but retiring, timid manners. Charles, his brother, was twelve; he was a very different character, being rather of a turbulent temper, but open to conviction, and generous to a fault. Sophia and Louisa followed: then Edward, a lovely boy, about six years old; Anne and Eliza were pretty infants, the darlings and playthings of the rest.

During the short peace which preceded the late war, Mr. Daventree had endeavoured to make himself amends for many losses experienced during the disastrous period of the French revolution, by sending large ventures of goods to various countries, whose markets were now re-opened to British manufactures. The speedy recurrence of warfare rendered this step extremely unfortunate; and so far from retrieving that which was already lost, Mr. Daventree, in a short time, had but too much reason to conclude that he had injured himself irreparably by the measure.

Mr. Gardiner, his partner, being still a single man, proposed visiting those countries himself where their property principally lay, and endeavouring to make the best of it. When he set out, Mrs. Daventree, for the first time, perceived that some degree of evil was portended; but Mr. Daventree, anxious to relieve her from even the shadow of anxiety, took such pains to convince her that this journey of her uncle was only in the regular way of trade, and similar to those which he had frequently engaged in before, that in a short time she acquiesced in the opinion he endeavoured to inculcate.

It was an unfortunate circumstance for this tender husband, that he had never seen the superior mind of his excellent lady drawn out by any of those trials in life which might have evinced her fortitude, which was the only virtue for which he did not give her credit; and he was the more excusable for his concealment of that trouble which preyed on his heart, because at this time her health was delicate, and that of her young family had been such as to require uncommon attention: besides, he flattered himself that the activity and ability of his worthy partner would still retrieve much, and that the storm would blow over without touching her, in whom he was most vulnerable; conscious that his establishment, though noble, was far within the limits of his fortune, he trusted that his affairs might be arranged without rendering an abridgment of it necessary.

Under these persuasions, Mr. Daventree wore "a face of smiles, a heart of tears;" for though he nourished hope, yet his mind was necessarily in a state of great anxiety; and notwithstanding all his efforts to appear cheerful, his faithful partner was convinced that all was not well with him: to her tender solicitations he replied only by attributing the cause to some slight indisposition, and some little derangement of the nerves, which a short time would entirely remove.

Close observation convinced Mrs. Daventree that her husband laboured under mental disease; but as she perceived that he was desirous of concealing it from her, she was determined to appear ignorant; yet feeling it to be her duty to lessen the misfortune she feared, by every means in her power she endeavoured, in a silent way, to curtail the expenses of her family; she complained of the inconvenience and fatigue occasioned by keeping two houses, and proposed giving up that in the country, as she could procure better instructions for her daughters in town.

"But your health, Sophia, requires country air," said the trembling husband.

"I think not, my love; for I was brought up in the city of London, compared to which, our house in Russel-square may be considered country, you know."

"But what shall we do with this?"

"Sell it, by all means—with so large a family, we can never want uses for money."

No proposal could have been, in fact, more desirable to Mr. Daventree; yet the very consciousness of its necessity made him for a short time hesitate, fearing that his beloved Sophia should know the necessity of the sacrifice. Though still ignorant of this necessity, her eye, taught penetration by affection, perceived that his heart was a little lightened of its load, and she hastened to fulfil her proposition by an immediate removal; but scarcely had they taken possession of their town house, when the arrival of letters from the Continent threw a still deeper shade over the brow of her beloved spouse, and awakened new anxieties in her bosom.

The distress Mrs. Daventree now felt, but in her turn tried to conceal, brought back the sickly state of health from which she was emerging; and her pale looks were a signal to her husband still to conceal the fatal secret which preyed on his own vitals. Happy would it have been for both if he had dared to trust all his fears and feelings to that sympathizing bosom, which, with all its delicacy and gentleness, would have yielded abundant support to her suffering lord, and proved to him the friend he so much wanted at this time, both for counsel and consolation.

Mr. Daventree had frequently of late complained of a sense of fulness and weight in his head, which at any other time would have awakened the fears and excited the cares of this tender wife; but she was by this time so fully convinced that his illness was of the heart, that all her efforts were directed to ends more immediately connected with the situation of their affairs; and she concluded, that frequently, when clapping his hand on his forehead he rushed out of the room, that this was a feint for hiding his tears. At these moments her heart ached with very sorrow, yet she dared not follow him, lest she should augment his distress, perceiving plainly that the only comfort he enjoyed arose from the belief that she still escaped the participation of his sorrows.

Thus each party were deceived in the other: he concluded she looked pale from sickness, when, in fact, her illness arose only from silently partaking his solicitude; and she, knowing he was unhappy, was not aware that latent disease was added to his sufferings: thus an excess of generosity was at once destroying two amiable people, who were capable of supporting every evil of life with magnanimity, upheld by each other.

It was Mr. Daventree's custom to go every day from his counting-house to 'Change, and from thence come home to dinner: and he was generally so punctual, that his lady and the younger children frequently took their stand in the window, to watch him come up the square. One morning, as they were thus engaged, Edward observed, "that papa was later than usual, but perhaps he was inquiring what was the matter, as there was a crowd of people at the other corner."

"Probably he is," said Mrs. Daventree, looking towards the place; "ring, my dear; I will send William to see what is the matter—perhaps some assistance may be necessary."

Ever active in the cause of humanity, Mrs. Daventree dispatched the servant, following him with her eyes down the square. The crowd opened for the man, who, on entering it, and perceiving the object of his search, seemed to start back; and the children observed, "William had seen something dreadful." In a short time the crowd moved forward, and one person seemed dispatched from the rest towards the house.—"This person is coming for something they want," said Mrs. Daventree; and, with her accustomed activity of benevolence, she went down stairs to give them the meeting.

William was entering the door, at the very moment she entered by the opposite way.—"Stop, stop!" cried he to the crowd, and instantly exclaimed to his mistress, "'Tis only a fit, madam—indeed 'tis only a fit—don't be frightened!"

"I am not frightened," said Mrs. Daventree; "let them bring the poor man in," still going towards them.

William, in terror, threw out his hands—he was unable to speak; the people either could not understand him, or were incapable of feeling with him; and, pushing past him, they carried immediately, into the presence of his wife, the dead body of Mr. Daventree.

One shriek, one loud, heart-rending shriek, was heard, and then the stricken wife fell senseless as him she mourned; and the affectionate servants who were able to control their feelings of surprise and horror, alike hurried each senseless form into distant apartments, to conceal, if possible, such fearful sights from their unconscious offspring.