Читать книгу The Greatest Regency Romance Novels - Maria Edgeworth - Страница 64

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Shews the different operations of the same passion, in persons of different principles and dispositions

Sir Bazil had very much at heart the accomplishment of the promise he had made to Mr. Trueworth; and, indeed, no one thing could have seemed more strange than that of his being otherwise, when so many reasons concurred to engage his integrity: he had a real friendship for the person who desired his assistance; there were none among all his acquaintance for whom he had a greater regard, or who shared more of his good wishes; the natural affection he had for his sister made him rejoice in the opportunity of seeing her so happily disposed of; and the particular interest of his own passion might well render him not only sincere, but also zealous, in promoting an affair which would so fully answer all these ends.

The first breaking the matter to Miss Harriot he looked upon as the greatest difficulty; for he doubted not but when once a belief of Mr. Trueworth's inclinations was properly inculcated in her, his amiable person, and fine qualities, would enable him to make his way, as a lover, into a heart, which had already a high esteem for him as an acquaintance.

He resolved, however, not to delay making the discovery; and his sisters coming home soon after, he ran out of his dressing-room, and met them as they were going up stairs into their own chamber, with a whole cargo of silks, and other things they had been buying. 'Hold, hold!' cried he, not suffering them to pass; 'pray, come in here, and let me see what bargains you have been making?'—'What understanding can you, that are a batchelor, have in these things?' said Mrs. Wellair, laughing. 'I have the more need then of being informed,' replied he, 'that I may be the better able to judge both of the fancy and frugality of my wife, whenever I am so happy to get one.'

'Well, well! I know all you men must be humoured,' said Mrs. Wellair, in the same gay strain.—'Come, sister, let us unpack our bundles.' With these words they both went in, and the servant, who followed them with the things, having laid them down on a table, withdrew.

The ladies then began to open their parcels; and Sir Bazil gave his opinion first of one thing, and then of another, as they were shewn to him; till Miss Harriot, displaying a roll of very rich white damask, 'To which of you does this belong?' said Sir Bazil. 'To me,' answered she. 'Hah! I am glad on it, upon my soul!' rejoined he: 'this is an omen of marriage, my dear sister. I will lay my life upon it, that you become a bride in this gown!'—'I must first find the man to make me so,' cried she briskly. 'He is not very far to seek, I dare answer,' said Sir Bazil. 'Why, then,' replied she, 'when he is found he must wait till my mind comes to me; and that, I believe, will not be in the wearing of this gown.'

'I am of a different way of thinking,' said he, somewhat more gravely than before: 'what would you say if I should tell you that one of the finest, most accomplished men in Europe, is fallen desperately in love with you, and has engaged me to be his intercessor?'—'I should say nothing,' answered she, 'but that you have a mind to divert yourself, and put me out of humour with my new gown, by your converting it into a hieroglyphick.' In speaking these words she catched up her silk, and ran hastily up stairs, leaving Mrs. Wellair and her brother together.

'Poor Harriot!' said Sir Bazil, after she was gone; 'I have put her to the blush with the very name of matrimony—but I assure you, sister,' continued he to Mrs. Wellair, 'the thing I have mentioned is serious.'—'Indeed!' cried that lady in some surprize. 'Yes, upon my honour,' resumed he; 'the gentleman I mean had not left me above a quarter of an hour before you came in, and I can tell you is one whom you know.'—'If I know him,' replied she, after a pause, 'I fancy I need not be at any loss to guess his name, by the description you have given me of him; for I have seen no man, since my coming to town, who so well deserves those encomiums as Mr. Trueworth.'—'I am glad you think so,' said Sir Bazil; 'for I am certain your judgment will go a great way with Harriot: he is, in fact, the person I have been speaking of; and is so every way deserving of my sister's affection, that she must not only be the most insensible creature in the world, but also the greatest enemy to her own interest and happiness to refuse him.'

He then repeated to her all the conversation he had had that morning with Mr. Trueworth—the answers that gentleman had given him on the proposition he had made on Mrs. Blanchfield's account—his declaration of his passion for Miss Harriot—and every other particular, excepting that of the non-payment of her fortune; and that he concealed only because he would not be suspected to have been bribed by it to say more of his friend than he really merited.

Mrs. Wellair was equally charmed and astonished at this report; and, on Sir Bazil's telling her that Mr. Trueworth was under some apprehensions that the pleasure she took in having her sister with her would be an impediment to his desires, she very gravely replied, that she was very sorry Mr. Trueworth should imagine she was so wanting in understanding, or true affection to her sister, as, for the self-satisfaction of her company, to offer any thing in opposition to her interest or happiness.

After this they had a good deal of discourse together, concerning Mr. Trueworth's family and fortune, the particulars of both which Sir Bazil was very well acquainted with; and Mrs. Wellair, being thoroughly convinced, by what he said of the many advantages of the alliance proposed, assured him, in the strongest terms she was able, that she would do every thing in her power to promote it.

'I will entertain her on this subject while we are dressing,' said she: 'your pleasantry on this white damask will furnish me with an excellent pretence; I shall begin in the same strain you did, and then proceed to a serious narrative of all you have been telling me relating to Mr. Trueworth; to which I shall add my own sentiments of the amiableness of his person, parts, and accomplishments, and set before her eyes, in the light it deserves, the generosity of his passion, in refusing so great a fortune as Mrs. Blanchfield for her sake, and the respectfulness of it, in not daring to declare himself till he had engaged the only two who may be supposed to have any influence over her, in favour of his suit.'

'I know,' said Sir Bazil, 'that you women are the fittest to deal with one another; therefore, as I see you are hearty in the cause, shall wholly depend on your management: but, hark-ye, sister!' continued he, perceiving she was going out of the room, 'I have one more thing to add; I am to meet Trueworth at the chocolate-house this evening; he will be impatient for the success of the promise I have made him; now you know we shall have a great deal of company at dinner to-day, and I may not have an opportunity of speaking to you in private before the time of my going to him; for that reason we must have some watch-word between us, that may give an intimation in general how Harriot receives what you have said to her.'

'Oh, that is easy,' cried Mrs. Wellair; 'as thus: you shall take an occasion, either at table, or any time when you find it most proper, to ask me how I do; and by my answer to that question, you will be able to judge what success I have had.'—'Very right,' replied Sir Bazil; 'and I will be sure to observe.' There passed no more between them; she went directly up stairs to do as she had said, and Sir Bazil to pay his mourning visit to Miss Mabel, as he usually did every day.

The humours of these two worthy persons were extremely well adapted to make each other happy: Sir Bazil was gay, but he was perfectly sincere; Miss Mabel had a great deal of softness in her nature, but it was entirely under the direction of her prudence; she returned the passion of her lover with equal tenderness, yet would not permit the gratification of it till every thing that threatened an interruption of their mutual ease should be removed. Sir Bazil made no secret of his affairs to her; she knew very well that he desired no more at present of her father than the six thousand pounds charged on his estate for Miss Harriot's fortune; and as the old gentleman testified the highest esteem for him, and satisfaction in the proposed match, she flattered herself that he would at last consent to so reasonable a request; but, till he did so, remained firm in her resolution of denying both her own and her lover's wishes.

The pleasure with which they always saw each other was now, however, greatly enhanced by his acquainting her with the almost assured hope he had, that the difficulty which had so long kept them asunder would be soon got over; and he should have the inexpressible satisfaction of complying with the conditions her father had proposed, without the least danger of incurring any inconvenience to himself.

The clock striking two, he was obliged to leave her, and go home to receive the company he expected. He behaved among his friends with his accustomed vivacity; but casting his eyes frequently towards Miss Harriot, he imagined he saw a certain gloom upon her countenance, which made him fearful for the effects of Mrs. Wellair's solicitations; till, recollecting the agreement between him and that lady, he cried out hastily to her, 'How do you do, sister?' To which she answered, with a smile, 'As well as can be expected, brother;' and then, to prevent Miss Harriot, or any one else, from wondering what she meant by so odd a reply, added, 'after the ugly jolt I have had this morning over London stones in a hackney-coach.'

Sir Bazil easily understood, that by the words 'As well as can be expected,' his sister meant as much as could be hoped for from the first attack on a maid so young and innocent as Miss Harriot; and doubted not but that so favourable a beginning would have as fortunate a conclusion.

Those guests who had dined with him staid supper also; but that did not hinder him from fulfilling his engagement with Mr. Trueworth. He begged they would excuse a short excursion which, he said, he was obliged to make on extraordinary business; and accordingly went at the time appointed for the meeting that gentleman.

Mr. Trueworth received the intelligence he brought with him with transports befitting the sincerity of his passion. He thought he had little to apprehend, since Mrs. Wellair vouchsafed to become his advocate. 'It is certainly,' said Sir Bazil, 'as greatly in her power to forward the completion of your wishes, as it was to have obstructed them. But, my dear friend,' continued he, 'there is no time to be lost: the business that brought my sisters to town will soon be over; and Mrs. Wellair will then be on the wing to get home to her husband and family. You must dine with me to-morrow; I shall be able by that time to learn the particulars of Harriot's behaviour, on her first hearing an account of the affection with which you honour her; and by that you may the better judge how to proceed.' This was the substance of all the discourse they had together at that time. Sir Bazil went home, and Mr. Trueworth adjourned to a coffee-house, where he met with something not very pleasing to him. It was a letter from Miss Flora, containing these lines.

'To Charles Trueworth, Esq.

My dear Trueworth,

For such you still are, and ever must be, to my fond doating heart; though I have too much cause to fear you cease to wish it—else why this cruel absence? I have not seen you these three days!—an age to one that loves like me. I am racked to death with the apprehensions of the motives of so unexpected a neglect! If my person or passion were unworthy your regard, why did you accept them with such enchanting softness? And if ever I had any place in your affection, what have I done to forfeit it? But, sure, you cannot think of abandoning me!—of leaving me to all the horrors of despair and shame!—No! it is impossible! Ingratitude consists not with that strict honour you pretend to; and that, I still flatter myself, you are in reality possessed of. You may have had some business: but how poor a thing is business when compared with love! And I may reply, with our English Sappho, in one of her amorous epistles—

"Business you feign; but did you love like me,

I should your most important business be."

But whither does my hurrying spirits transport me! If I am still so happy to retain any share of your heart, I have said too much; if I am not, all I can say will be ineffectual to move you. I shall, therefore, only tell you that I can live no longer without seeing you, and will call on you at the coffee-house this evening about eight; till when I am, though in the utmost distraction, my dear, dear Trueworth, your passionately tender, and devoted servant,

F. Mellasin.

P.S. Having heard you say letters were left for you at this place, and that you stepped in once or twice every day, I thought it more proper to direct for you here than at your own lodgings. Once more adieu.—Do not fail to meet me at the hour.'

Scarce could the ghost of a forsaken mistress, drawing his curtains at the dead of night, have shocked Mr. Trueworth more than this epistle. He had, indeed, done no more than any man of his age and constitution would have done, if tempted in the manner he had been; yet he reproached himself severely for it. He knew how little this unhappy creature had her passions in subjection; and, though all the liking he ever had for her was now swallowed up in his honourable affections for Miss Harriot, yet he was too humane and too generous not to pity the extravagance of a flame he was no longer capable of returning. He wanted her to know there was a necessity for their parting; but knew not how to do it without driving her to extremes! He hated all kind of dissimulation; and, as neither his honour nor his inclinations would permit him to continue an amorous correspondence with her, he was very much at a loss how to put an end to it, without letting her into the real cause; which, as yet, he thought highly improper to do.

It cost him some time in debating within himself how he should behave in an affair which was, indeed, in the present situation of his heart, pretty perplexing: he considered Miss Flora as a woman of condition—as one who tenderly loved him—and as one who, on both these accounts, it would not become him to affront. He reflected also, that a woman, who had broke through all the rules of virtue, modesty, and even common decency, for the gratification of her wild desires, might, when denied that gratification, be capable of taking such steps as might not only expose her own character, but with it so much of his as might ruin him with Miss Harriot. He found it, therefore, highly necessary to disguise his sentiments, and act towards her in such a manner as should wean her affections from him by degrees, without his seeming to intend or wish for such an event.

He had but just come to this determination, when he was told from the bar that a lady in a hackney-coach desired to speak with him. He went directly to her; but, instead of ordering the man to drive to any particular house, bid him drive as slowly as he could round St. James's Square.

This very much startling her, she asked him what he meant. 'Are all the houses of entertainment in the town,' said she, 'shut up, that we must talk to each other in the street?'—'It is impossible for me, Madam,' answered he, 'to have the pleasure of your company this evening. I am engaged with some gentleman at the house where you found me, and have given my promise to return in ten minutes.' These words, and the reserved tone in which he spoke them, stabbed her to the heart. 'Ungenerous man!' cried she, 'is it thus you repay the most tender and ardent passion that ever was!'—'You ladies,' said he, 'when once you give way to the soft impulse, are apt to devote yourselves too much to it; but men have a thousand other amusements, which all claim a share in the variegated scenes of life. I am sorry, therefore, to find you disquieted in the manner your letter intimates. Love should be nursed by laughing, ease, and joy: sour discontent, reproaches, and complaints, deform it's native beauty, and render that a curse, which otherwise would be the greatest of our blessings. I beg you, therefore,' continued he, with somewhat more softness in his voice, 'for your own sake, to moderate this vehemence. Be assured I will see you as often as possible; and shall always think of you with the regard I ought to do.'

Perceiving she was in very great agonies, he threw his arms about her waist, and gave her a very affectionate salute; which, though no more than a brother might have offered to a sister, a little mitigated the force of her grief. 'I see I am undone!' cried she. 'I have lost your heart, and am the most wretched creature upon earth!'—'Do not say so,' replied he. 'I never can be ungrateful for the favours you have bestowed upon me; but discretion ought to be observed in an amour, such as ours. I have really some affairs upon my hands, which for a time will very much engross me. Make yourself easy, then; resume that gaiety which renders you so agreeable to the world; and, depend upon it, that to make me happy, you must be so yourself.'—'When, then, shall I see you?' cried she, still weeping, and hanging on his breast. 'As soon as convenience permits I will send to you,' said he; 'but there is a necessity for my leaving you at present.'

He then called to the coachman to drive back to the house where he had taken him up. It is not to be doubted but she made use of all the rhetorick of desperate dying love, and every other art she was mistress of, to engage him to prefix some time for their meeting; but he would not suffer himself to be prevailed upon so far: and he left her with no other consolation than a second embrace, little warmer than the former had been, and a repetition of the promise he had made of writing to her in a short time.