This occurred when Beauclerc was with them at Florence, and when the general’s love for Lady Cecilia, and intimacy with her mother, commenced. Lady Davenant being much interested for young Beauclerc, begged that the patient might be left to her, and that his guardian would refrain from interference. This was agreed to the more readily by the general, as his thoughts and feelings were then more agreeably engrossed, and Beauclerc found in Lady Davenant the very friend he wanted and wished for most ardently — one whose mind would not blench at any moral danger, would never shrink from truth in any shape, but, calm and self-possessed, would examine whether it were indeed truth, or only a phantom assuming her form. Besides, there was in Lady Davenant towards Beauclerc a sort of maternal solicitude and kindness, of which the effect was heightened by her dignified manner and pride of character. She, in the first place, listened to him patiently; she, who could talk, would listen: this was, as she said, her first merit in his estimation. To her he poured forth all those doubts, of which she was wise enough not to make crimes: she was sure of his honourable intentions, certain that there was no underhand motive, no bad passion, no concealed vice, or disposition to vice, beneath his boasted freedom from prejudice, to be justified or to be indulged by getting rid of the restraints of principle. Had there been any danger of this sort, which with young men who profess themselves ultra-liberal is usually the case, she would have joined in his guardian’s apprehensions; but in fact Beauclerc, instead of being “le philosophe sans le savoir,” was “le bon enfant sans le savoir;” for, while he questioned the rule of right in all his principles, and while they were held in abeyance, his good habits, and good natural disposition held fast and stood him in stead; while Lady Davenant, by slow degrees, brought him to define his terms, and presently to see that he had been merely saying old things in new words, and that the systems which had dazzled him as novelties were old to older eyes; in short, that he was merely a resurrectionist of obsolete heresies, which had been gone over and over again at various long-past periods, and over and over again abandoned by the common sense of mankind: so that, after puzzling and wandering a weary way in the dark labyrinth he had most ingeniously made for himself, he saw light, followed it, and at length, making his way out, was surprised, and sorry perhaps to perceive that it was the common light of day.
It is of great consequence to young enthusiastic tyros, like Beauclerc, to have safe friends to whom they can talk of their opinions privately, otherwise they will talk their ingenious nonsense publicly, and so they bind themselves, or are bound, to the stake, and live or die martyrs to their own follies.
From these and all such dangers Lady Davenant protected him, and she took care that nobody hurt him in his defenceless state, before his shell was well formed and hardened. She was further of peculiar service in keeping all safe and smooth between the ward and guardian. All Beauclerc’s romance the general would have called by the German word “Schwärmerey,” — not fudge — not humbug — literally “sky-rocketing” — visionary enthusiasm; and when it came to arguments, they might have turned to quarrels, but for Lady Davenant’s superior influence, while Lady Cecilia’s gentleness and gaiety usually succeeded in putting all serious dangerous thoughts to flight.
Nature never having intended Lady Cecilia for a manoeuvrer, she was now perpetually on the point of betraying herself; and one day, when she was alone with Helen, she exclaimed, “Never was any thing better managed than I managed this, my dear Helen! I am so glad I told you — —” Recollecting herself just in time, she ended with, “so glad I told you the truth.”
“Oh yes! thank you,” said Helen. “My uncle used to say no one could be a good friend who does not tell the whole truth.”
“That I deny,” thought Cecilia. The twinge of conscience was felt but very slightly; not visible in any change of countenance, except by a quick twinkling motion of the eyelashes, not noticed by unsuspicious Helen.
Every thing now went on as happily as Cecilia could have desired; every morning they rode or booted to Old Forest to see what was doing. The roof was rather hastily taken off; Lady Cecilia hurried forward that measure, aware that it would prevent the possibility of any of the ladies of the family coming there for some time. Delay was all she wanted, and she would now, as she promised herself, leave the rest to time. She would never interfere further in word or look, especially when her mother might be by. One half of this promise she kept faithfully, the other she broke continually.
There were plans to be made of all the alterations and improvements at Old Forest. Beauclerc applied to Lady Cecilia for her advice and assistance. Her advice she gave, but her assistance she ingeniously contrived to leave to Helen; for whenever Beauclerc brought to her a sketch or a plan of what was to be done, Lady Cecilia immediately gave it to Helen, repeating, “Never drew a regular plan in my life, you know, my dear, you must do this;” so that Helen’s pencil and her patience were in constant requisition. Then came apologies from Beauclerc, and regrets at taking up her time, all which led to an intimacy that Lady Cecilia took care to keep up by frequent visits to Old Forest, so that Helen was necessarily joined in all his present pursuits.
During one of these visits, they were looking over some old furniture which Lord Beltravers had commissioned Beauclerc to have disposed of at some neighbouring auction. There was one curiously carved oak arm-chair, belonging to “the old old gentleman of all” which the old woman particularly regretted should go. She had sewn it up in a carpet, and when it came out, Helen was struck with its likeness to a favourite chair of her uncle’s; many painful recollections occurred to her, and tears came into her eyes. Ashamed of what appeared so like affectation, she turned away, that her tears might not be seen, and when Cecilia, following her, insisted on knowing what was the matter, she left Helen immediately to the old woman, and took the opportunity of telling Beauclerc all about Dean Stanley, and how Helen was an heiress and no heiress, and her having determined to give up all her fortune to pay her uncle’s debts. There was a guardian, too, in the case, who would not consent; and, in short, a parallelism of circumstances, a similarity of generous temper, and all this she thought must interest Beauclerc — and so it did. But yet its being told to him would have gone against his nice notions of delicacy, and Helen would have been ruined in his opinion had he conceived that it had been revealed to him with her consent or connivance. She came back before Lady Cecilia had quite finished, and a few words which she heard, made her aware of the whole. The blush of astonishment — the glance of indignation — which she gave at Lady Cecilia, settled Beauclerc’s opinion; and Cecilia was satisfied that she had done her friend good service against her will; and as to the means thought she — what signifies going back to consider when they succeed.
The Collingwoods gladly availed themselves of Lady Cecilia Clarendon’s kind invitation, as they were both most anxious to take leave of Helen Stanley before their departure. They were to sail very soon, so that their visit was but short; a few days of painful pleasure to Helen — a happy meeting, but enjoyed with the mournful sense that they were so soon to separate, and for so long a time; perhaps, for ever.
Mr. Collingwood told Helen that if she still agreed to his conditions, he would arrange with Mr. James, the solicitor, that all the money left to her by her uncle should be appropriated to the payment of his debts. “But,” continued he, “pause and consider well, whether you can do without this money, which is still yours; you are, you know, not bound by any promise, and it is not yet too late to say you have altered your decision.”
Helen smiled and said, “You cannot be serious in saying this, I am sure?”
Mr. Collingwood assured her that he was. Helen simply said that her determination was unalterable. He looked pleased yet his last words in taking leave of her were, “Remember, my dear, that when you have given away your fortune, you cannot live as if you had it.”
The Collingwoods departed; and, after a decent time had elapsed, or what she deemed a decent time, Lady Cecilia w
as anxious to ascertain what progress had been made; how relatively to each other, Lady Blanche Forrester and Helen stood in Beauclerc’s opinion, or rather in his imagination. But this was not quite so easy a matter to determine as she had conceived it would be, judging from the frankness of Beauclerc’s temper, and from the terms of familiarity on which they had lived while abroad. His confidence was not to be won, surprised, or forced. He was not only jealous of his free will, as most human beings are in love affairs, but, like all men of true feeling, he desired in these matters perfect mental privacy.
When Pysche is awakened, it should be by Cupid alone. Beauclerc did not yet wish that she should be awakened. He admired, he enjoyed that repose; he was charmed by the perfect confiding simplicity of Helen’s mind, so unlike what he had seen in others — so real. The hope of that pure friendship which dawned upon him he wished to prolong, and dreaded lest, by any doubt raised, all might be clouded and changed. Lady Cecilia was, however, convinced that, without knowing it, he was falling comfortably in love through friendship; a very easy convenient way.
And Helen, had she too set out upon that easy convenient road of friendship? She did not think about the road, but she felt that it was very agreeable, and thought it was quite safe, as she went on so smoothly and easily. She could not consider Mr. Beauclerc as a new acquaintance, because she had heard so much about him. He was completely one of the family, so that she, as part of that family, could not treat him as a stranger. Her happiness, she was sensible, had much increased since his arrival; but so had everybody’s. He gave a new spring, a new interest, to everything; added so much to the life of life; his sense and his nonsense were each of them good in their kind; and they were of various kinds, from the high sublime of metaphysics to the droll realities of life. But everybody blaming, praising, scolding, laughing at, or with him, he was necessary to all and with all, for some reason or other, a favourite.
But the general was always as impatient as Lady Cecilia herself both of his hypercriticism and of his never-ending fancies, each of which Beauclerc purused with an eagerness and abandoned with a facility which sorely tried the general’s equanimity. One day, after having ridden to Old Forest, General Clarendon returned chafed. He entered the library, talking to Cecilia, as Helen thought, about his horse.
“No managing him! Curb him ever so little, and he is on his hind-legs directly. Give him his head, put the bridle on his neck, and he stands still; does not know which way he would go, or what he would do. The strangest fellow for a rational creature.”
Now it was clear it was of Beauclerc that he spoke. “So rash and yet so resolute,” continued the general.
“How is that?” said Lady Davenant.
“I do not know how, but so it is,” said the general. “As you know,” appealing to Helen and to Lady Cecilia, “he was ready to run me through till he had his own way about that confounded old house; and now there are all the workmen at a stand, because Mr. Beauclerc cannot decide what he will have done or undone.”
“Oh, it is my fault!” cried Helen, with the guilty recollection of the last alteration not having been made yesterday in drawing the working plan, and she hastened to look for it directly; but when she found it, she saw to her dismay that Beauclerc had scribbled it all over with literary notes; it was in no state to meet the general’s eye; she set about copying it as fast as possible.
“Yes,” pursued the general; “forty alterations — shuffling about continually. Cannot a man be decided?”
“Always with poor Beauclerc,” said Lady Cecilia, “le mieux est l’ennemi du bien.”
“No, my dear Cecilia, it is all his indolence; there he sat with a book in his hand all yesterday! with all his impetuosity, too indolent to stir in his own business,” said the general.
“His mind is too active sometimes to allow his body to stir,” said Lady Davenant; “and because he cannot move the universe, he will not stir his little finger.”
“He is very fond of paradoxes, and your ladyship is very fond of him,” said the general; “but indolent he is; and as to activity of mind, it is only in pursuit of his own fancies.”
“And your fancies and his differ,” said Lady Davenant.
“Because he never fancies any thing useful,” said the general. “C’est selon! c’est selon!” cried Lady Cecilia gaily; “he thinks his fancies useful, and especially all he is doing at Old Forest; but I confess he tends most to the agreeable. Certainly he is a most agreeable creature.”
“Agreeable! satisfied to be called an agreeable man!” cried the general indignantly; “yes, he has no ambition.”
“There I differ from you, general,” said Lady Davenant; “he has too much: have patience with him; he is long-sighted in his visions of glory.”
“Visions indeed!” said the general.
“Those who are really ambitious,” continued Lady Davenant, “must think before they act. ‘What shall I do to be for ever known?’ is a question which deserves at least a little more thought than those which most young men ask themselves, which commonly are, ‘What shall I do to be known to-morrow — on the Turf or at Brook’s — or in Doctors’ Commons — or at some exclusive party at charming Lady Nobody’s?’”
“What will you do for the plan for these workmen in the mean time, my dear Clarendon?” said Lady Cecilia, afraid that some long discussion would ensue.
“Here it is!” said Helen, who had managed to get it ready while they were talking. She gave it to the general, who thanked her, and was off directly. Cecilia then came to divert herself with looking at Beauclerc’s scribbled plan, and she read the notes aloud for her mother’s amusement. It was a sketch of a dramatical, metaphysical, entertainment, of which half a dozen proposed titles had been scratched out, and there was finally left ‘Tarquin the Optimist, or the Temple of Destiny.’ It was from an old story begun by Laurentius Valla, and continued by Leibnitz; — she read,
“Act I. Scene 1. Sextus Tarquin goes to consult the Oracle, who foretells the crime he is to commit.’
“And then,” cried Lady Cecilia, “come measures of old and new front of Old Forest house, wings included.” — Now he goes on with his play.
“‘Tarquin’s complaint to Jupiter of the Oracle — Modern Predestination compared to Ancient Destiny.’
“And here,” continued Cecilia, “come prices of Norway deal and a great blot, and then we have ‘Jupiter’s answer that Sextus may avoid his doom if he pleases, by staying away from Rome; but he does not please to do so, because he must then renounce the crown. Good speech here on vanity, and inconsistency of human wishes.’
“‘Kitchen 23 ft. by 21. Query with hobs?’
“I cannot conceive, my dear Helen,” continued Lady Cecilia, “how you could make the drawing out through all this,” and she continued to read.
“‘Scene 3rd.
“‘High Priest of Delphi asks Jupiter why he did not give Sextus a better WILL? — why not MAKE him choose to give up the crown, rather than commit the crime? Jupiter refuses to answer, and sends the High Priest to consult Minerva at Athens.’
“‘N.B. Old woman at Old Forest, promised her an oven,’—’Leibnitz gives — —’
“Oh! if he goes to Leibnitz,” said Lady Cecilia, “he will be too grand for me, but it will do for you, mamma.”
“‘Leibnitz gives in his Temple of the Destinies a representation of every possible universe from the worst to the best — This could not be done on the stage.’
“Very true indeed,” said Lady Cecilia; “but, Helen, listen, Granville has really found an ingenious resource.”
“‘By Ombres Chinoises, suppose; or a gauze curtain, as in Zemire et Azore, the audience might be made to understand the main point, that GOOD resulted from Tarquin’s BAD choice. Brutus, Liberty, Rome’s grandeur, and the Optimist right at last. Q.E.D.’
“Well, well,” continued Lady Cecilia, “I don’t understand it; but I understand this,—’Bricks wanting.’”
Lady Davenant smiled at
this curious specimen of Beauclerc’s versatility, but said, “I fear he will fritter away his powers on a hundred different petty objects, and do nothing at last worthy of his abilities. He will scatter and divide the light of his genius, and show us every change of the prismatic colours — curious and beautiful to behold, but dispersing, wasting the light he should concentrate on some one, some noble object.”
“But if he has light enough for little objects and great too?” said Lady Cecilia, “I allow, ‘qu’il faudrait plus d’un coeur pour aimer tant de choses à la fois;’ but as I really think Granville has more heart than is necessary, he can well afford to waste some of it, even on the old woman at Old Forest.”
CHAPTER XII.
One evening, Helen was looking over a beautiful scrap-book of Lady Cecilia’s. Beauclerc, who had stood by for some time, eyeing it in rather scornful silence, at length asked whether Miss Stanley was a lover of albums and autographs?
Helen had no album of her own, she said, but she was curious always to see the autographs of celebrated people.
“Why?” said Beauclerc.
“I don’t know. It seems to bring one nearer to them. It gives more reality to our imagination of them perhaps,” said Helen.
“The imagination is probably in most cases better than the reality,” replied he.
Lady Davenant stooped over Helen’s shoulder to look at the handwriting of the Earl of Essex — the writing of the gallant Earl of Essex, at sight of which, as she observed, the hearts of queens have beat high. “What a crowd of associated ideas rise at the sight of that autograph! who can look at it without some emotion?”
Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth Page 240
