Читать книгу Memoirs of Miss Sidney Biddulph - Frances Chamberlaine Sheridan - Страница 13

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Now, now, my Cecilia, I can gratify your curiosity at full: he is come at last; Mr Faulkland, I mean; Orlando is come! we had a message from him this morning, to enquire after all our healths; he was just arrived at his house in the Square: Sir George flew to him directly, and said he would bring him without ceremony to take a family dinner. My mother bid him do so; and she held a quarter of an hour’s conference with her cook. She is always elegant and exact at her table; but we were more than ordinarily so to-day. My brother brought Mr Faulkland a little before dinner-time, and presented him to my mother and me, with that kind of freedom that almost look’d as if he were already one of the family.

We had both been prepossessed highly in favour of his figure, a circumstance that seldom is of advantage to persons on their first appearance: but here it had not that effect: Sir George did not overrate the personal accomplishments of his friend. Now you’ll expect I should describe him to you, perhaps, and paint this romantic hero in the glowing colours of romantic exageration. But I’ll disappoint you—and tell you, that he is neither like an Adonis nor an Apollo—that he has no hyacinthine curls flowing down his back; no eyes like suns, whose brightness and majesty strike the beholders dumb; nor, in short, no rays of divinity about him; yet he is the handsomest mortal man that I ever saw.—I will not say that his voice is harmony itself, and that all the loves and graces (for why should not there be male as well as female graces?) attend on his motions; that Minerva presides over his lips, and every feature has its attendant Cupid—But I will acknowlege that his voice in speaking is inexpressibly pleasing (you know how I admire an agreeable voice); that his air and motions are easy, genteel, and graceful; his conversation sensible and polite, and without the least tincture of affection, that thing, which of all others, would to me destroy the charms of an angel.—In short, without hyperbole, that he is, what every one must allow, a perfectly handsome and accomplished young man.

I never saw my mother appear so pleased with any one. The polite freedom of his address, the attention and deference he seemed to pay to her sentiments (and the dear good woman talked more to him, I think, than ever I heard her do to any one on so short an acquaintance), delighted her beyond expression. I bore no great part in the conversation, but was not, however, quite overlooked by Mr Faulkland. He referred to me in discourse now and then, and seemed pleased with me; at least I fancy’d so. My brother endeavoured to draw me out, as he said afterwards. The intention was kind, but poor Sir George is not delicate enough in those matters; I should have done better if he had let me alone. I thought of the conversations we had so often had about Mr Faulkland, and could not help considering myself like a piece of goods that was to be shewn to the best advantage to the purchaser. This reflection threw a sort of constraint over my behaviour, that (fool as I was) I had not courage enough to shake off, and I did not acquit myself at all to my own mind. I had, notwithstanding, the good fortune to please my mother infinitely. She told me, after our visitor was gone, that my behaviour had been strictly proper; and blamed Sir George for his wanting to engage me too often in conversation. You may assure yourself, son, she said, that a man of Mr Faulkland’s understanding will not like a young lady the worse for her silence. She spoke enough to shew that it was not for want of knowing what to say that she held her tongue. The man who does not reckon a modest reserve amongst the chief recommendations of a woman, should be no husband for Sidney. I am sure, when I married Sir Robert, he had never heard me speak twenty sentences. Sir George agreed with her as to the propriety of her observation, in regard to a modest reserve; but said, people now a-days did not carry their ideas of it quite so far as they did when his father’s courtship began with her; and added, that a young lady might speak with as much modesty as she could hold her tongue.

I did not interfere in the debate, only said, I was very glad to have my mother’s approbation of my conduct. This put an end to the argument, and my mother launched out into high encomiums on Mr Faulkland. She said, upon her truth, he was the finest young man she ever saw, in every respect. So modest, so well bred, so very entertaining, and so unassuming, with all his fine accomplishments: She was quite astonished, and owned she almost despaired of finding a young gentleman, of the present mode of education, so very unexceptionable in his behaviour. If his morals answered to his outward deportment—there she stopped; or rather Sir George interrupted her. I hope you’ll believe madam, that my knowlege of mankind is not so circumscribed, but that I can distinguish between a real and an assumed character; and I will venture to assert, that, in the whole circle of my acquaintance, I do not know one so unobjectionable, even in your strict sense of the word morals, as Mr Faulkland.

Well, said my mother, I have the pleasure to observe to you (and I think I am seldom mistaken in my judgment), that Mr Faulkland is at least as well pleased with Sidney as we are with him—What say you daughter? Ay, what say you sister? cry’d Sir George—I think madam, that Mr Faulkland is an accomplished gentleman, and—‘and that you could be content to look no farther, if matters are brought to bear; eh, Sidney?’ (I need not tell you whose speech this was)—Brother, that is going a little too far, for the first time of my seeing him. A great deal too far, my mother said; let us first know Mr Faulkland’s mind from himself, before we say a word more of the matter.

Sir George told us, that Mr Faulkland, at going away, had requested he would sup with him at his own house, as he said he had a few visits of form to pay, and should be at home early in the evening.