‘You are mighty good, truly,’ cried she, ‘to come when all the mischief’s over.’
She then entered, – in such a condition! – entirely covered with mud, and in so great a rage, it was with difficulty she could speak. We all expressed our concern, and offered our assistance, – except the Captain; who no sooner beheld her, than he burst into a loud laugh.
We endeavoured, by our enquiries and condolements, to prevent her attending to him; and she was, for some time, so wholly engrossed by her anger and her distress, that we succeeded without much trouble. We begged her to inform us how this accident had happened. ‘How!’ repeated she, – ‘why it was all along of your all going away, – and there poor Monsieur Du Bois – but it was n’t his fault, – for he’s as bad off as me.’
All eyes were then turned to Monsieur Du Bois, whose clothes were in the same miserable plight with those of Madame Duval, and who, wet, shivering, and disconsolate, had crept to the fire.
The Captain laughed yet more heartily; while Mrs Mirvan, ashamed of his rudeness, repeated her enquiries to Madame Duval; who answered, ‘Why, as we were a-coming along, all in the rain, Monsieur Du Bois was so obliging, though I’m sure it was an unlucky obligingness for me, as to lift me up in his arms, to carry me over a place that was ancle-deep in mud; but instead of my being ever the better for it, just as we were in the worst part, – I’m sure I wish we had been fifty miles off, – for, somehow or other, his foot slipped, – at least, I suppose so, – though I can’t think how it happened, for I’m no such great weight, – but, however that was, down we both came together, all in the mud; and the more we tried to get up, the more deeper we got covered with the nastiness – and my new Lyons negligee, too, quite spoilt! – however, it’s well we got up at all, for we might have laid there till now, for aught you all cared; for nobody never came near us.’
This recital put the Captain into an extacy; he went from the lady to the gentleman, and from the gentleman to the lady, to enjoy alternately the sight of their distress. He really shouted with pleasure; and, shaking Monsieur Du Bois strenuously by the hand, wished him joy of having touched English Ground, and then he held a candle to Madame Duval, that he might have a more complete view of her disaster, declaring repeatedly, that he had never been better pleased in his life.
The rage of poor Madame Duval was unspeakable; she dashed the candle out of his hand, stamped upon the floor, and, at last spat in his face.
This action seemed immediately to calm them both, as the joy of the Captain was converted into resentment, and the wrath of Madame Duval into fear; for he put his hands upon her shoulders, and gave her so violent a shake, that she screamed out for help; assuring her, at the same time, that if she had been one ounce less old, or less ugly, she should have had it all returned on her own face.
Monsieur Du Bois, who had seated himself very quietly at the fire, approached them, and expostulated very warmly with the Captain; but he was neither understood nor regarded, and Madame Duval was not released, till she quite sobbed with passion.
When they were parted, I entreated her to permit the woman who has the charge of the ladies’ cloaks to assist in drying her cloaths; she consented, and we did what was possible to save her from catching cold. We were obliged to wait in this disagreeable situation near an hour, before a hackney-coach could be found; and then we were disposed in the same manner as before our accident.
I am going this morning to see poor Madame Duval, and to enquire after her health, which I think must have suffered by her last night’s misfortunes; though, indeed, she seems to be naturally strong and hearty.
Adieu, my dear Sir, till to-morrow.
Letter Seventeen
Evelina in continuation
Friday morning, April 15
Sir Clement Willoughby called here yesterday at noon, and Captain Mirvan invited him to dinner. For my part, I spent the day in a manner the most uncomfortable imaginable.
I found Madame Duval at breakfast in bed, though Monsieur Du Bois was in the chamber; which so much astonished me, that I was, involuntarily, retiring, without considering how odd an appearance my retreat would have, when Madame Duval called me back, and laughed very heartily at my ignorance of foreign customs.
The conversation, however, very soon took a more serious turn; for she began, with great bitterness, to inveigh against the barbarous brutality of that fellow the Captain, and the horrible ill-breeding of the English in general, declaring she should make her escape with all expedition from so beastly a nation. But nothing can be more strangely absurd, than to hear politeness recommended in language so repugnant to it as that of Madame Duval.
She lamented, very mournfully, the fate of her Lyons silk, and protested she had rather have parted with all the rest of her wardrobe, because it was the first gown she had bought to wear upon leaving off her weeds. She has a very bad cold, and Monsieur Du Bois is so hoarse, he can hardly speak.
She insisted upon my staying with her all day, as she intended, she said, to introduce me to some of my own relations. I would very fain have excused myself, but she did not allow me any choice.
Till the arrival of these relations, one continued series of questions on her side, and of answers on mine, filled up all the time we passed together. Her curiosity was insatiable; she enquired into every action of my life, and every particular that had fallen under my observation, in the lives of all I knew. Again, she was so cruel as to avow the most inveterate rancour against the sole benefactor her deserted child and grand-child have met with; and such was the indignation her ingratitude raised, that I would actually have quitted her presence and house, had she not, in a manner the most peremptory, absolutely forbid me. But what, good Heaven! can induce her to such shocking injustice? O my friend and father! I have no command of myself when this subject is started.
She talked very much of taking me to Paris, and said I greatly wanted the polish of a French education. She lamented that I had been brought up in the country, which, she observed, had given me a very bumpkinish air. However, she bid me not despair, for she had known many girls, much worse than me, who had become very fine ladies after a few years residence abroad; and she particularly instanced a Miss Polly Moore, daughter of a chandler’s-shop woman, who, by an accident not worth relating, happened to be sent to Paris, where, from an aukward, ill-bred girl, she so much improved, that she has since been taken for a woman of quality.
The relations to whom she was pleased to introduce me, consisted of a Mr Branghton, who is her nephew, and three of his children, the eldest of which is a son, and the two younger are daughters.
Mr Branghton appears about forty years of age. He does not seem to want a common understanding, though he is very contracted and prejudiced: he has spent his whole time in the city, and I believe feels a great contempt for all who reside elsewhere.
His son seems weaker in his understanding, and more gay in his temper; but his gaiety is that of a foolish, over-grown schoolboy, whose mirth consists in noise and disturbance. He disdains his father for his close attention to business, and love of money, though he seems himself to have no talents, spirit, or generosity, to make him superior to either. His chief delight appears to be tormenting and ridiculing his sisters, who, in return, most heartily despise him.
Miss Branghton, the eldest daughter, is by no means ugly, but looks proud, ill-tempered, and conceited. She hates the city, though without knowing why; for it is easy to discover she has lived no-where else.
Miss Polly Branghton is rather pretty, very foolish, very ignorant, very giddy, and, I believe, very good-natured.
The first half hour was allotted to making themselves comfortable, for they complained of having had a very dirty walk, as they came on foot from Snow Hill, where Mr Branghton keeps a silver-smith’s shop; and the young ladies had not only their coats to brush, and shoes to dry, but to adjust their head-dress, which their bonnets had totally discomposed.
The manner in which Madame Duval was pleased to intr
oduce me to this family, extremely shocked me. ‘Here, my dears,’ said she, ‘here’s a relation you little thought of: but you must know my poor daughter Caroline had this child after she run away from me, – though I never knew nothing of it, not I, for a long while after; for they took care to keep it a secret from me, though the poor child has never a friend in the world besides.’
‘Miss seems very tender-hearted, Aunt,’ said Miss Polly, ‘and to be sure she’s not to blame for her mama’s undutifulness, for she could n’t help it.’
‘Lord no,’ answered she, ‘and I never took no notice of it to her; for indeed, as to that, my own poor daughter was n’t so much to blame as you may think, for she’d never have gone astray, if it had not been for that meddling old parson I told you of.’
‘If Aunt pleases,’ said young Mr Branghton, ‘we’ll talk o’ somewhat else, for Miss looks very uneasy-like.’
The next subject that was chosen, was the age of the three young Branghtons and myself. The son is twenty; the daughters, upon hearing that I was seventeen, said that was just the age of Miss Polly; but their brother, after a long dispute, proved that she was two years older, to the great anger of both sisters, who agreed that he was very ill-natured and spiteful.
When this point was settled, the question was put, Which was tallest? – We were desired to measure, as the Branghtons were all of different opinions. None of them, however, disputed my being the tallest in the company, but, in regard to one another they were extremely quarrelsome: the brother insisted upon their measuring fair, and not with heads and heels; but they would by no means consent to lose those privileges of our sex, and therefore the young man was cast, as shortest; though he appealed to all present upon the injustice of the decree.
This ceremony over, the young ladies began, very freely, to examine my dress, and to interrogate me concerning it. ‘This apron’s your own work, I suppose, Miss? but these sprigs’ a’n’t in fashion now. Pray, if it is not impertinent, what might you give a yard for this lutestring? – Do you make your own caps, Miss? – ’ and many other questions equally interesting and well-bred.
They then asked me how I liked London? and whether I should not think the country a very dull place, when I returned thither? ‘Miss must try if she can’t get a good husband,’ said Mr Branghton, ‘and then she may stay and live here.’
The next topic was public places, or rather the theatres, for they knew of no other; and the merits and defects of all the actors and actresses were discussed: the young man here took the lead, and seemed to be very conversant on the subject. But during this time, what was my concern, and, suffer me to add, my indignation, when I found, by some words I occasionally heard, that Madame Duval was entertaining Mr Branghton with all the most secret and cruel particulars of my situation! The eldest daughter was soon drawn to them by the recital; the youngest and the son still kept their places, intending, I believe, to divert me, though the conversation was all their own.
In a few minutes, Miss Branghton, coming suddenly up to her sister, exclaimed, ‘Lord, Polly, only think! Miss never saw her papa!’
‘Lord, how odd!’ cried the other; ‘why then, Miss, I suppose you would n’t know him?’
This was quite too much for me; I rose hastily, and ran out of the room: but I soon regretted I had so little command of myself, for the two sisters both followed, and insisted upon comforting me, notwithstanding my earnest entreaties to be left alone.
As soon as I returned to the company, Madame Duval said, ‘Why, my dear, what was the matter with you? why did you run away so?’
This question almost made me run again, for I knew not how to answer it. But, is it not very extraordinary, that she can put me in situations so shocking, and then wonder to find me sensible of any concern?
Mr Branghton junior now enquired of me, whether I had seen the Tower, or St Paul’s Church? and upon my answering in the negative, they proposed making a party to shew them to me. Among other questions, they also asked if I had ever seen such a thing as an Opera? I told them I had. ‘Well,’ said Mr Branghton, ‘I never saw one in my life, so long as I’ve lived in London, and I never desire to see one, if I live here as much longer.’
‘Lord, Papa,’ cried Miss Polly, ‘why not? you might as well for once, for the curiosity of the thing: besides, Miss Pomfret saw one, and she says it was very pretty.’
‘Miss will think us very vulgar,’ said Miss Branghton, ‘to live in London, and never have been to an Opera; but it’s no fault of mine, I assure you Miss, only Papa don’t like to go.’
The result was, that a party was proposed, and agreed to, for some early opportunity. I did not dare contradict them; but I said that my time, while I remained in town, was at the disposal of Mrs Mirvan. However, I am sure I will not attend them, if I can possibly avoid so doing.
When we parted, Madame Duval desired to see me the next day; and the Branghtons told me, that the first time I went towards Snow Hill, they should be very glad if I would call upon them.
I wish we may not meet again till that time arrives.
I am sure I shall not be very ambitious of being known to any more of my relations, if they have any resemblance to those whose acquaintance I have been introduced to already.
Letter Eighteen
Evelina in continuation
I had just finished my letter to you this morning, when a violent rapping at the door made me run down stairs; and who should I see in the drawing-room, but – Lord Orville!
He was quite alone, for the family had not assembled to breakfast. He enquired, first of mine, then of the health of Mrs and Miss Mirvan, with a degree of concern that rather surprised me, till he said that he had just been informed of the accident we had met with at Ranelagh. He expressed his sorrow upon the occasion with the utmost politeness, and lamented that he had not been so fortunate as to hear of it in time to offer his services. ‘But, I think,’ he added, ‘Sir Clement Willoughby had the honour of assisting you?’
‘He was with Captain Mirvan, my Lord.’
‘I had heard of his being of your party.’
I hope that flighty man has not been telling Lord Orville he only assisted me! however, he did not pursue the subject, but said, ‘This accident, though extremely unfortunate, will not, I hope, be the means of frightening you from gracing Ranelagh with your presence in future?’
‘Our time, my Lord, for London, is almost expired already.’
‘Indeed! do you leave town so very soon?’
‘O yes, my Lord, our stay has already exceeded our intentions.’
‘Are you, then, so particularly partial to the country?’
‘We merely came to town, my Lord, to meet Captain Mirvan.’
‘And does Miss Anville feel no concern at the idea of the many mourners her absence will occasion?’
‘O, my Lord, – I’m sure you don’t think – ’ I stopped there, for, indeed, I hardly knew what I was going to say. My foolish embarrassment, I suppose was the cause of what followed; – for he came to me, and took my hand, saying, ‘I do think, that whoever has once seen Miss Anville, must receive an impression never to be forgotten.’
This compliment, – from Lord Orville, – so surprised me, that I could not speak; but felt myself change colour, and stood, for some moments, silent, and looking down: however, the instant I recollected my situation, I withdrew my hand, and told him that I would see if Mrs Mirvan was not dressed. He did not oppose me, so away I went.
I met them all on the stairs, and returned with them to breakfast.
I have since been extremely angry with myself for neglecting so excellent an opportunity of apologizing for my behaviour at the ridotto: but, to own the truth, that affair never once occurred to me during the short tête-à-tête which we had together. But, if ever we should happen to be so situated again, I will certainly mention it; for I am inexpressibly concerned at the thought of his harbouring an opinion that I am bold or impertinent, and I could almost kill myself for having given him t
he shadow of a reason for so shocking an idea.
But was it not very odd that he should make me such a compliment? I expected it not from him; – but gallantry, I believe, is common to all men, whatever other qualities they may have in particular.
Our breakfast was the most agreeable meal, if it may be called a meal, that we have had since we came to town. Indeed, but for Madame Duval I should like London extremely.
The conversation of Lord Orville is really delightful. His manners are so elegant, so gentle, so unassuming, that they at once engage esteem, and diffuse complacence. Far from being indolently satisfied with his own accomplishments, as I have already observed many men here are, though without any pretentions to his merit, he is most assiduously attentive to please and to serve all who are in his company; and, though his success is invariable, he never manifests the smallest degree of consciousness.
I could wish that you, my dearest Sir, knew Lord Orville, because I am sure you would love him; and I have felt that wish for no other person I have seen since I came to London. I sometimes imagine, that, when his youth is flown, his vivacity abated, and his life is devoted to retirement, he will, perhaps, resemble him whom I most love and honour. His present sweetness, politeness, and diffidence, seem to promise in future the same benevolence, dignity, and goodness. But I must not expatiate upon this subject.
When Lord Orville was gone, – and he made but a very short visit, – I was preparing, most reluctantly, to wait upon Madame Duval; but Mrs Mirvan proposed to the Captain, that she should be invited to dinner in Queen-Ann-Street, and he readily consented, for he said he wished to ask after her Lyons negligee.
The invitation is accepted, and we expect her every moment, But to me, it is very strange, that a woman, who is the uncontrolled mistress of her time, fortune, and actions, should chuse to expose herself voluntarily to the rudeness of a man who is openly determined to make her his sport. But she has very few acquaintance, and, I fancy, scarce knows how to employ herself.
Evelina Page 8
