Whether all or any of these reflections occurred to Mr. Mountague during his morning visit at Mrs. Temple’s we cannot pretend to say; but his silence and absence seemed to show that his thoughts were busily engaged. Never did Helen appear to him so amiable as she did this morning, when the dignity, delicacy, and simplicity of her manners were contrasted in his imagination with the caprice and coquetry of his new mistress. He felt a secret idea that he was beloved, and a sober certainty that Helen had a heart capable of sincere and permanent affection, joined to a cultivated understanding and reasonable principles, which would wear through life, and ensure happiness, with power superior to the magic of passion.
It was with some difficulty that he asked Helen for Gaudentio di Lucca, and with yet greater difficulty that he took leave of her. As he was riding towards S —— Hall, “revolving in his altered mind the various turns of fate below,” he was suddenly roused from his meditations by the sight of a phaeton overturned in the middle of the road, another phaeton and four empty, and a group of people gathered near a bank by the road-side. Mr. Mountague rode up as fast as possible to the scene of action: the overturned phaeton was Lord George’s, the other Lady Di. Spanker’s; the group of people was composed of several servants, Lord George, Lady Di., and mademoiselle, all surrounding a fainting fair one, who was no other than Lady Augusta herself. Lord George was shaking his own arms, legs, and head, to make himself sure of their safety. Lady Di. eagerly told the whole story to Mr. Mountague, that Lord George had been running races with her, and by his confounded bad driving had overturned himself and Lady Augusta. “Poor thing, she’s not hurt at all, luckily; but she’s terrified to death, as usual, and she has been going from one fainting fit to another.”
“Bon Dieu!” interrupted mademoiselle; “but what will Miladi S —— say to us? I wish Miladi Augusta would come to her senses.”
Lady Augusta opened her beautiful eyes, and, just come sufficiently to her senses to observe who was looking at her, she put aside mademoiselle’s smelling-bottle, and, in a soft voice, begged to have her own salts. Mademoiselle felt in one of her ladyship’s pockets for the salts in vain: Lady Di. plunged her hand into her other pocket, and pulled out, in the first place, a book, which she threw upon the bank, and then came out the salts. In due time the lady was happily restored to the full use of her senses, and was put into her mother’s coach, which had been sent for to convey her home. The carriages drove away, and Mr. Mountague was just mounting his horse, when he saw the book which had been pulled out of Lady Augusta’s pocket, and which, by mistake, was left where it had been thrown upon the grass. What was his astonishment, when upon opening it, he saw one of the very worst hooks in the French language; a book which never could have been found in the possession of any woman of delicacy — of decency. Her lover stood for some minutes in silent amazement, disgust, and, we may add, terror.
These feelings had by no means subsided in his mind, when, upon his entering the drawing-room at S —— Hall, he was accosted by Mlle. Panache, who, with no small degree of alarm in her countenance, inquired whether he knew any thing of the book which had been left upon the road. No one was in the room but the governess and her pupil. Mr. Mountague produced the book, and Lady Augusta received it with a deep blush.
“Put a good face upon the matter at least,” whispered her governess in French.
“I can assure you,” said her ladyship, “I don’t know what’s in this book; I never opened it; I got it this morning at the circulating library at Cheltenham: I put it into my pocket in a hurry — pray what is it?”
“If you have not opened it,” said Mr. Mountague, laying his hand upon the book; “I may hope that you never will — but this is the second volume.”
“May be so,” said Lady Augusta; “I suppose, in my hurry, I mistook—”
“She never had the first, I can promise you,” cried mademoiselle.
“Never,” said Lady Augusta. The assertions had not the power to convince; they were pronounced with much vehemence, but not with the simplicity of truth. Mr. Mountague was determined to have the point cleared up; and he immediately offered to ride back to Cheltenham, and return the second volume. At this proposal, Lady Augusta, who foresaw that her falsehood would be detected, turned pale; but mademoiselle, with a laugh of effrontery, which she thought was putting a good face upon the matter, exclaimed,
“Eh! listen to me — you may spare yourself de trouble of your ride,” said she, “for the truth is, I have de first volume. Mon Dieu! I have not committed murder — do not look so shock — what signify what I read at my age?”
“But Lady Augusta, your pupil!” said Mr. Mountague.
“I tell you she has never read one word of it; and, after all, is she child now? When she was, Miladi S —— was very particular, and I, of consequence and of course, in de choice of her books; but now, oder affaire, she is at liberty, and my maxim is — Tout est sain aux sains.”
Mr. Mountague’s indignation was now strongly raised against this odious governess, and he looked upon her pupil with an eye of compassion. “So early, so young, tainted by the pernicious maxims of a worthless woman!”
“Eh, donc, what signify your silence and your salts?” cried mademoiselle, turning to her.
“If I could be spared this scene at present,” said Lady Augusta, faintly—”I really am not well. We had better talk over this business some other time, Mr. Mountague:” to this he acceded, and the lady gained more by her salts and silence than her governess did by her garrulous effrontery.
When she talked over the business with Mr. Mountague, she threw all the blame upon mademoiselle, and she appeared extremely shocked and alarmed at the idea that she had lessened herself by her folly, as she called it, in the esteem of a man of superior sense and taste. It was perhaps possible that, at this moment of her life, her character might have taken a new turn, that she might really have been awakened to higher views and nobler sentiments than any she had ever yet known; but the baleful influence of her constant attendant and conductress prevailed against her better self. Mademoiselle continually represented to her, that she did not know or exert the whole of her power over Mr. Mountague; and she excited her to caprice and coquetry. The fate of trifling characters is generally decided by trifles: we must beg leave to relate the important history of a turban.
Mlle. Panache, who piqued herself much upon her skill as a milliner, made up a certain turban for Lady Augusta, which Dashwood admired extremely, but which Mr. Mountague had the misfortune not to think perfectly beautiful. Vexed that he should dare to differ from her in taste, Lady Augusta could not rest without endeavouring to make him give up his opinion: he thought that it was not worth while to dispute about a trifle; and though he could not absolutely say that it was pretty, he condescended so far as to allow that it might perhaps be pretty, if it were put on differently.
“This is the way I always wear it — every body wears it so — and I shall not alter it,” said Lady Augusta, who was quite out of temper.
Mr. Mountague looked grave: the want of temper was an evil which he dreaded beyond measure in a companion for life. Smiles and dimples usually adorned Lady Augusta’s face; but these were artificial smiles: now passions, which one should scarcely imagine such a trifle could excite, darkened her brow, and entirely altered the air of her whole person, so as to make it absolutely disagreeable to her admirer. Lord George, who was standing by, and who felt delighted with such scenes, winked at Dashwood, and, with more energy than he usually expressed upon any subject, now pronounced that, in his humble opinion, the turban was quite the thing, and could not be better put on. Lady Augusta turned a triumphant, insulting eye upon Mr. Mountague: he was silent — his silence she took as a token of submission — in fact, it was an expression of contempt. The next day, at dinner, her ladyship appeared in the same turban, put on sedulously in the same manner. Lord George seated himself beside her; and as she observed that he paid her unusual attention, she fancied that at length his ic
y heart would thaw. Always more intent upon making cages, Lady Augusta bent her mind upon captivating a new admirer. Mr. Mountague she saw was displeased, but she now really felt and showed herself indifferent to his opinion. How variable, how wretched, is the life of a coquette! The next day Lord George’s heart froze again as hard as ever, and Lady Augusta lightened upon the impassive ice in vain. She was mortified beyond measure, for her grand object was conquest. That she might triumph over poor Helen, she had taken pains to attract Mr. Mountague. Dashwood, though far beneath her ladyship in fortune and in station, she deemed worth winning, as a man of wit and gallantry. Lord George, to be sure, had little wit, and less gallantry; but he was Lord George, and that was saying enough. In short, Lady Augusta exacted tribute to her vanity without any discrimination, and she valued her treasures by number, and not by weight. A man of sense is mortified to see himself confounded with the stupid and the worthless.
Mr. Mountague, after having loved like a madman, felt it not in the least incumbent upon him to love like a fool; he had imprudently declared himself an admirer of Lady Augusta, but he now resolved never to unite himself to her without some more reasonable prospect of happiness. Every day some petty cause of disagreement arose between them, whilst mademoiselle, by her silly and impertinent interference, made matters worse. Mademoiselle had early expressed her strong abhorrence of prudes; her pupil seemed to have caught the same abhorrence; she saw that Mr. Mountague was alarmed by her spirit of coquetry, yet still it continued in full force. For instance, she would continually go out with Lord George in his phaeton, though she declared, every time he handed her in, “that she was certain he would break her neck.” She would receive verses from Dashwood, and keep them embalmed in her pocket-book, though she allowed that she thought them “sad stuff.”
However, in these verses something more was meant than met the ear. He began with addressing a poem to her ladyship, called The Turban, which her silly mother extolled with eagerness, and seemed to think by no means inferior to the Rape of the Lock. Lady Augusta wrote a few lines in answer to the Turban — reply produced reply — nonsense, nonsense — till Dashwood now and then forgot his poetical character. Lady Augusta forgave it; he, of course, forgot himself again into a lover in prose. For some time the sonnets were shown to Lady S —— , but at length some were received, which it was thought as well not to show to any body. In short, between fancy, flattery, poetry, passion, jest, and earnest, Lady Augusta was drawn on till she hardly knew where she was; but Dashwood knew perfectly well where he was, and resolved to keep his ground resolutely.
When encouraged by the lady’s coquetry, he first formed his plans; he imagined that a promise of a wedding-present would easily secure her governess: but this was a slight mistake; avarice happened not to be the ruling, or, at least at this time, the reigning passion of mademoiselle’s mind; and quickly perceiving his error, he paid assiduous court to her vanity. She firmly believed that she had captivated him, and was totally blind to his real designs. The grand difficulty with Dashwood was, not to persuade her of his passion, but to prevent her from believing him too soon; and he thought it expedient to delay completing his conquest of the governess till he had gained an equally powerful influence over her pupil. One evening, Dashwood, passing through a sheltered walk, heard Lady Augusta and Mr. Mountague talking very loudly and eagerly: they passed through the grove so quickly that he could catch only the words “phaeton — imprudence.”
“Pshaw! jealousy — nonsense.”
“Reasonable woman for a wife.”
“Pooh, no such thing.”
“My unalterable resolution,” were the concluding words of Mr. Mountague, in a calm but decided voice; and, “As you please, sir! I’ve no notion of giving up my will in every thing,” the concluding words of Lady Augusta pronounced in a pettish tone, as she broke from him; yet pausing for a moment, Dashwood, to his great surprise and concern, heard her in a softer tone add a but, which showed she was not quite willing to break from Mr. Mountague for ever. Dashwood was alarmed beyond measure; but the lady did not long continue in this frame of mind, for, upon going into her dressing-room to rest herself, she found her governess at the glass.
“Bon Dieu!” exclaimed mademoiselle, turning round: “Miladi told me you was gone out — mais qu’est ce que c’est? vous voilà pâle — you are as white — blanc comme mon linge,” cried she, with emphasis, at the same time touching a handkerchief, which was so far from white, that her pupil could not help bursting out into a laugh at the unfortunate illustration. “Pauvre petite! tenez,” continued mademoiselle, running up to her with salts, apprehensive that she was going into fits.
“I am not ill, thank you,” said Lady Augusta, taking the smelling bottle.
“But don’t tell me dat,” said mademoiselle: “I saw you walking out of de window wid dat man, and I know dis is some new démêlé wid him. Come, point de secret, mon enfant. Has not he being giving you one good lecture?”
“Lecture!” said Lady Augusta, rising with becoming spirit: “no, mademoiselle, I am not to be lectured by any body.”
“No, to be sure; dat is what I say, and, surtout, not by a lover. Quel homme! why I would not have him to pay his court to me for all de world. Why, pauvre petite, he has made you look ten years older ever since he began to fall in love wid you. Dis what you call a lover in England? Bon, why, I know noting of de matter, if he be one bit in love wid you, mon enfant.”
“Oh, as to that, he certainly is in love with me: whatever other faults he has, I must do him that justice.”
“Justice! Oh, let him have justice, de tout mon caeur; but I say, if he be a man in love, he is de oddest man in love I ever happen to see; he eat, drink, sleep, talk, laugh, se possede tout comme un autre. Bon Dieu! I would not give noting at all myself for such a sort of a lover. Mon enfant, dis is not de way I would wish to see you loved; dis is not de way no man ought for to dare for to love you.”
“And how ought I to be loved?” asked Lady Augusta, impatiently.
“La belle question! Eh! don’t every body, de stupidest person in de world, know how dey ought to be love? Mais passionnément, éperdument — dere is a — a je ne sais quoi dat infailliblement distinguish de true lover from de false.”
“Then,” said Lady Augusta, “you really don’t think that Mr. Mountague loves me?”
“Tink!” replied mademoiselle, “I don’t tink about it; but have not I said enough? Open your eyes; make your own comparaisons.”
Before Lady Augusta had made her comparisons, a knock at the door from her maid came to let her know that Lord George was waiting.
“Ah! milord George! I won’t keep you den: va t’en.”
“But now, do you know, it was only because I just said that I was going out with Lord George that Mr. Mountague made all this rout.”
“Den let him make his rout; qu’importe? Miladi votre chère mère make no objections. Quelle impertinence! If he was milord duc he could not give himself no more airs. Va, man enfant — Dis a lover! Quel homme, quel tyran! and den, of course, when he grows to be a husband, he will be worserer and worserer, and badderer and badderer, when he grows to be your husband.”
“Oh,” cried Lady Augusta, snatching up her gloves hastily, “my husband he shall never be, I am determined. So now I’ll give him his coup de grace.”
“Bon!” said mademoiselle, following her pupil, “and I must not miss to be by, for I shall love to see dat man mortify.”
“You are going then?” said Mr. Mountague, gravely, as she passed.
“Going, going, going, gone!” cried Lady Augusta, who, tripping carelessly by, gave her hand to the sulky lord; then springing into the phaeton, said as usual—”I know, my lord, you’ll break my neck;” at the same time casting a look at Mr. Mountague, which seemed to say—”I hope you’ll break your heart, at least.”
When she returned from her airing, the first glance at Mr. Mountague’s countenance convinced her that her power was at an end. She was not the
only person who observed this. Dashwood, under his air of thoughtless gaiety, watched all that passed with the utmost vigilance, and he knew how to avail himself of every circumstance that could be turned to his own advantage. He well knew that a lady’s ear is never so happily prepared for the voice of flattery as after having been forced to hear that of sincerity. Dashwood contrived to meet Lady Augusta, just after she had been mortified by her late admirer’s total recovery of his liberty, and, seizing well his moment, pressed his suit with gallant ardour. As he exhibited all those signs of passion which her governess would have deemed unequivocal, the young lady thought herself justified in not absolutely driving him to despair.
Where was Lady S —— all this time! Where? — at the card-table, playing very judiciously at whist. With an indolent security, which will be thought incredible by those who have not seen similar instances of folly in great families, she let every thing pass before her eyes without seeing it. Confident that her daughter, after having gone through the usual routine, would meet with some suitable establishment, that the settlements would then be the father’s business, the choice of the jewels hers, she left her dear Augusta, in the meantime, to conduct herself; or, what was ten times worse, to be conducted by Mlle. Panache. Thus to the habitual indolence, or temporary convenience of parents, are the peace and reputation of a family secretly sacrificed. And we may observe, that those who take the least precaution to prevent imprudence in their children are most enraged and implacable when the evil becomes irremediable.
Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth Page 401
