Romance and Reality (Landon)/Chapter 30
CHAPTER VI.
"The schoolmaster is abroad."—Brougham.
"Now, be sure you learn your lesson, you tiresome child."
Juvenile Library.
"Thank goodness, I am not a child," said Lady Mandeville, turning over a collection of those juvenile tomes, which are to make the rising generation so much wiser than their grandfathers or grandmothers—catechisms of conchology, geology, mathematical questions for infants, geography, astronomy; "the child may be 'father to the man;' but the said father must have had some trouble with his offspring."
"I often wonder," replied Lord Mandeville, "how I ever learnt to read; and to this day I sympathise with the child in the song, who says,
'The rule of three doth puzzle me,
And practice drives me mad.'"
"It seems to me," observed Lady Mandeville, "that we over-educate the memory, while the temper and the feelings are neglected, forgetting that the future will be governed much more by the affections than by the understanding. I would, both for his own happiness and that of those connected with him, a thousand times rather see Frank affectionate and generous, than like a little dictionary at my side for memory and correctness."
"Never tell me," said Lord Mandeville, "but that a child must be the better for reading anecdotes of generosity, kindliness, and self-devotion. It would give me more pleasure to have Frank's enthusiasm excited by such acts, than to hear him name every Roman emperor from Augustus to Constantine."
"I feel convinced that one of Miss Edgeworth's stories for children is worth all the questions and answers that ever made history easy, or geography light."
"Do you remember," said Emily, "a little story called the Rival Crusoes? I cannot describe the effect it took on Frank as I was reading it to him: but, if I may venture a remark among you higher authorities, it seems to me it gave him a more touching lesson against overbearing temper, and of affectionate forgiveness, than all the advice in the world could have done."
"Her aunt," said Mr. Morland, "has the care of my Helen. My only injunctions were—educate her as little, and keep her a child as long as possible."
"And she is one of the sweetest girls I ever saw, because one of the most natural—loving birds, flowers, and fairy tales, with a taste at once so simple and so refined; and, to make my confession, I do not like her the less for being a most lovely creature."
"I wonder," exclaimed Emily, "whether she still wears her hair in those beautiful natural ringlets?—they always put me in mind of that exquisite simile applied to Ellen Glanville, 'her curls seemed as if they had taken the sunbeams prisoners.'*[1] When I last saw her she was very eloquent in praise of a certain tortoise-shell comb. Turning up the hair is the great step to womanhood in a girl's life."
"What admirable theories of education," observed Lord Mandeville, "one might erect! only who would ever have the patience to execute them? Our only consolation is, that, do what we will, circumstances will do still more."
"Yet those circumstances may, and ought to be modified: but a truce to our present discussion—for here come the letters."
O for some German philosopher, with the perseverance of the African travellers, who seem to make a point of conscience to die on their travels, not, though, till the said travels are properly interred in quartos—with their perseverance, and the imagination of a poet to examine into the doctrine of sympathies! And to begin with letters, in what consists the mysterious attraction no one will deny they possess? Why, when we neither expect, hope, nor even wish for one, and yet when they are brought, who does not feel disappointed to find there are none for them? and why, when opening the epistle would set the question at rest, do we persevere in looking at the direction, the seal, the shape, as if from them alone we could guess the contents? What a love of mystery and of vague expectance there is in the human heart!
In the mean time, Emily sat picking to pieces a rosebud, from the first deep crimson leaf to the delicate pink inside. Oh! that organ of destructiveness! She had gathered it only an hour ago—a single solitary flower, where the shrubbery had run into too luxuriant a vegetation for much bloom—the very Una of roses among the green leaves,
"Making a sunshine in the shady place;"
and now she was destroying it.
Suddenly Lord Mandeville, who had been lost in the columns of the Times, exclaimed, "Why, the Lauristons' villa at Twickenham is for sale. What can have induced them to part with it?"
"The Morning Post explains the mystery. Do let me read you the announcement of Lady Adelaide Merton's marriage."
A flush passed over Emily's face, bright as the red leaves she had been scattering round, and then left her cheek even whiter than the hand on which it leant.
"I am surprised—I really thought it was to have been a match between her and Mr. Lorraine: but, lo and behold! she has married his elder brother, Lord Etheringhame. But this marriage of her last daughter accounts for the sale of the villa. No one knew better than Lady Lauriston the advantage of a distance from town, to which a young cavalier could drive down in an hour—dine en famille—spend an evening with all the amusement but none of the restraint of a London party; and then the windows opened upon the lawn, and a warm evening often tempted a young couple to step out—and then moonlight, and that beautiful acacia walk, were terribly sentimental. That pretty garden has witnessed more than one offer; but
'Othello's occupation's gone.'
What will Lady Lauriston do without a daughter to marry? She really must advertise for one."
"I should have been very sorry had Lorraine married Lady Adelaide Merton," said Mr. Morland; "yet I always felt his admiration was
'The perfume and suppliance of a minute.'
He is too imaginative not to be attracted by beauty; but he has a depth of feeling, a poetry of thought—no mere coquette would ever satisfy."
"I do not know any one who better realises my idea of a preux chevalier than Mr. Lorraine," replied Lady Mandeville. "He is so very handsome, to begin with; and there is a romantic tone about him, which, to its original merits of fine taste and elevated feelings, adds also that of being very uncommon."
"I never yet knew a woman who did not admire him," said Mr. Morland; "and I ascribe it greatly to a certain earnestness and energy in his character. You all universally like the qualities in which you yourselves are deficient: the more you indulge in that not exactly deceit, which, in its best sense, belongs to your sex, the more you appreciate and distinguish that which is true in the character of man. Moreover, Edward has a devotion of manner, which every female takes as a compliment to herself; and a spirit of romantic enterprise, enough to turn your heads and hearts, like the love-charms of the Irish story-tellers."
"Why!" exclaimed Lord Mandeville, "you must have seen a great deal of him. How, Miss Arundel, did you ever withstand his fascinations?"
Most probably Emily did not hear this question; for she was in the act of opening the window, to walk on the terrace. Lady Mandeville alone caught sight of her face, coloured with the brightest carnation. What betraying things blushes are! Like sealing-wax in the juvenile riddle, a blush "burns to keep a secret."
She turned into the most shadowy walk—one whose thick laurels shut out all but the green winding path below. She wished for no companion to break in upon her thoughts. We use the phrase, "too confused for happiness; " but I doubt whether that confusion be not our nearest approach to it in this life.
Involuntarily her light step quickened; and the buoyant pace with which she reached the end of the walk was in unison with the rapid flight fancy was taking over the future. Hope like an angel, had arisen in her heart; and every flower of the summer sprang up beneath its feet. Youth is the French count, who takes the Yorick of Sterne for that of Shakspeare: it combines better than it calculates—its wishes are prophecies of their own fulfilment.
To meet Lorraine again, with all the advantages she really possessed, and with Lady Mandeville to set those advantages in a proper light—to have him not insensible to them—to be enabled to show the perfect disinterestedness of her attachment, from his brother's marriage—all these happy conclusions were, in her mind, the work of a moment. We build our castles on the golden sand;—the material is too rich to be durable.
From that day a visible change passed over Emily. She played with the children as usual; but now it was as if she entered herself into the enjoyment she gave them. Still, she was sometimes abstracted and thoughtful; but now, instead of a look of weariness and dejection, she started from her fit of absence with a beautiful flush of confusion and pleasure; and the subject of the next spring, from which she had hitherto shrunk, was now entered into with all the eagerness of anticipation.
"How much Miss Arundel is improved!" said Lord Mandeville. "I do not know whether our coming here has done Frank or herself most good."
Lady Mandeville only smiled.
- ↑ * Pelham