Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth

by Maria Edgeworth

  One morning when he called upon Wharton to accompany him to the House of Commons, he found Mrs. Wharton in tears, her husband walking up and down the room in evident ill-humour. He stopped speaking when Vivian entered; and Mrs. Wharton endeavoured, or seemed to endeavour, to conceal her emotion. She began to play on her harp; and Wharton, addressing himself to Vivian, talked of the politics of the day. There was some incoherence in the conversation; for Vivian’s attention was distracted by the air that Mrs. Wharton was playing, of which he was passionately fond.

  “There’s no possibility of doing any thing while there is such a cursed noise in the room!” cried Wharton. “Here I have the heads of this bill to draw up — I cannot endure to have music wherever I go—”

  He snatched up his papers and retired to an adjoining apartment, begging that Vivian would wait one quarter of an hour for him. — Mrs. Wharton’s tears flowed afresh, and she looked beautiful in tears.

  “You see — you see, Mr. Vivian — and I am ashamed you should see — how I am treated. — I am, indeed, the most unfortunate creature upon the face of the earth; and nobody in this world has the least compassion for me!”

  Vivian’s countenance contradicted this last assertion most positively. — Mrs. Wharton understood this; and her attitude of despondency was the most graceful imaginable.

  “My dear Mrs. Wharton” — (it was the first time our hero had ever called her “his dear Mrs. Wharton;” but it was only a platonic dear)—”you take trifles much too seriously — Wharton was hurried by business — a moment’s impatience must be forgiven.”

  “A moment!” replied Mrs. Wharton, casting up to heaven her beautiful eyes—”Oh! Mr. Vivian, how little do you know of him! — I am the most miserable creature that ever existed; but there is not a man upon earth to whom I would say so except yourself.”

  Vivian could not help feeling some gratitude for this distinction; and, as he leaned over her harp with an air of unusual interest, he said he hoped that he should ever prove himself worthy of her esteem and confidence.

  At this instant Wharton interrupted the conversation, by passing hastily through the room.—”Come, Vivian,” said he; “we shall be very late at the house.”

  “We shall see you again of course at dinner,” said Mrs. Wharton to Vivian in a low voice. Our hero replied by an assenting bow.

  Five minutes afterwards he repented that he had accepted the invitation, because he foresaw that he should resume a conversation which was at once interesting and embarrassing. He felt that it was not right to become the depository of this lady’s complaints against her husband; yet he had been moved by her tears, and the idea that he was the only man in the world to whom she would open her heart upon such a delicate subject, interested him irresistibly in her favour. He returned in the evening, and was flattered by observing, that amongst the crowd of company by which she was surrounded he was instantly distinguished. He was perfectly persuaded of the innocence of her intentions; and, as he was attached to another woman, he fancied that he could become the friend of the beautiful Mrs. Wharton without danger. The first time he had an opportunity of speaking to her in private, he expressed this idea in the manner that he thought the most delicately flattering to her self-complacency. Mrs. Wharton seemed to be perfectly satisfied with this conduct; and declared, that unless she had been certain that he was not a man of gallantry, she should never have placed any confidence in his friendship.

  “I consider you,” said she, “quite as a married man: — by-the-bye, when are you to be married, and what sort of a person is Miss Sidney? — I am told she is excessively handsome, and amiable, and sensible. — What a happy creature she is! — just going to be united to the man she loves!” Here the lady gave a profound sigh; and Vivian had an opportunity of observing that she had the longest dark eyelashes that he had ever seen.

  “I was married,” continued she, “before I knew what I was about. You know Mr. Wharton can be so charming when he pleases — and then he was so much in love with me, and swore he would shoot himself if I would not have him — and all that sort of thing. — I protest I was terrified; and I was quite a child, you know. I had been out but six weeks, and I thought I was in love with him. That was because I did not know what love was — then; — besides, he hurried and teased me to such a degree! — After all, I’m convinced I married him more out of compassion than any thing else; and now you see how he treats me! — most barbarously and tyrannically! — But I would not give the least hint of this to any man living but yourself. I conjure you to keep my secret — and — pity me! — that is all I ask — pity me sometimes, when your thoughts are not absorbed in a happier manner.”

  Vivian’s generosity was piqued: he could not be so selfish as to be engrossed exclusively by his own felicity. He thought that delicacy should induce him to forbear expatiating upon Selina’s virtues and accomplishments, or upon his passion. He carried this delicacy so far, that sometimes for a fortnight or three weeks he never mentioned her name. He could not but observe that Mrs. Wharton did not like him the less for this species of sacrifice. It may be observed, that Mrs. Wharton managed her attack upon Vivian with more art than could be expected from so silly a woman; but we must consider that all her faculties were concentrated on one object; so that she seemed to have an instinct for coquetry. The most silly animals in the creation, from the insect tribe upwards, show, on some occasions, where their interests are immediately concerned, a degree of sagacity and ingenuity, which, compared with their usual imbecility, appears absolutely wonderful. The opinion which Vivian had early formed of the weakness of this lady’s understanding prevented him from being on his guard against her artifices: he could not conceive it possible that he should be duped by a person so obviously his inferior. With a woman of talents and knowledge, he might have been suspicious; but there was nothing in Mrs. Wharton to alarm his pride or to awaken his fears: he fancied that he could extricate himself in a moment, and with the slightest effort, from any snares which she could contrive; and, under this persuasion, he neglected to make even that slight effort, and thus continued from hour to hour in voluntary captivity.

  Insensibly Vivian became more interested for Mrs. Wharton; and, at the same time, submitted with increased facility to the influence of her husband. It was necessary that he should have some excuse to the world, and yet more to his own conscience, for being so constantly at Wharton’s. The pleasure he took in Wharton’s conversation was still a sort of involuntary excuse to himself for his intimacy with the lady. “Wharton’s wit more than Mrs. Wharton’s beauty,” thought he, “is the attraction that draws me here — I am full as ready to be of his parties as of hers; and this is the best proof that all is as it should be.”

  Wharton’s parties were not always such as Vivian would have chosen; but he was pressed on, without power of resistance. For instance, one night Wharton was going with Lord Pontipool and a set of dissipated young men, to the house of a lady who made herself fashionable by keeping a faro-bank.

  “Vivian, you’ll come along with us?” said Wharton. “Come, we must have you — unless you are more happily engaged.”

  His eye glanced with a mixture of contempt and jealousy upon his wife. Mrs. Wharton’s alarmed and imploring countenance at the same moment seemed to say, “For Heaven’s sake, go with him, or I am undone.” In such circumstances it was impossible for Vivian to say no: he followed immediately; acting, as he thought, from a principle of honour and generosity. Wharton was not a man to give up the advantage which he had gained. Every day he showed more capricious jealousy of his wife, though he, at the same time, expressed the most entire confidence in the honour of his friend. Vivian still thought he could not do too much to convince him that his confidence was not misplaced; and thus, to protect Mrs. Wharton from suspicion, he yielded to all her husband’s wishes. Vivian now felt frequently ashamed of his conduct, but always proud of his motives; and, with ingenious sophistry, he justified to himself the worst actions, by pleading that he
did them with the best intentions.

  CHAPTER V.

  By this time Lady Mary Vivian began to hear hints of her son’s attachment to Mrs. Wharton; and, much alarmed, she repented having encouraged him to form a political or fashionable intimacy with the Whartons. Suddenly awakened to the perception of the danger, Lady Mary was too vehement in her terror. She spoke with so much warmth and indignation, that there was little chance of her counsels being of use.

  “But, my dear madam, it is only a platonic attachment,” argued Vivian, when his mother represented to him that the world talked loudly of his intimacy with Mrs. Wharton.

  “A platonic attachment! — Fashionable, dangerous sophistry!” said Lady Mary.

  “Why so, ma’am?” said her son, warmly; “and why should we mind what the world says? The world is so fond of scandal, that a man and woman cannot have any degree of friendship for one another without a hue and cry being immediately raised — and all the prudes and coquettes join at once in believing, or pretending to believe, that there must be something wrong. No wonder such a pretty woman as Mrs. Wharton cannot escape envy, and, of course, censure; but her conduct can defy the utmost malice of her enemies.”

  “I hope so,” said Lady Mary; “and, at all events, I am not one of them. I know and care very little about Mrs. Wharton, whom I have always been accustomed to consider as a frivolous, silly woman; but what I wish to say, though I fear I have lost your confidence, and that my advice will not—”

  “Frivolous! silly!” interrupted Vivian; “believe me, my dear mother, you and half the world are, and have been, under a great mistake about her understanding and character.”

  “Her forming a platonic friendship with a young man is no great proof of her sense or of her virtue,” said Lady Mary. “The danger of platonic attachments, I thought, had been sufficiently understood. Pray, my dear Charles, never let me hear more from you of platonics with married women.”

  “I won’t use the expression, ma’am, if you have any objection to it,” said Vivian; “but, mother, you wish me to live in the most fashionable company, and yet you desire me not to live as they live, and talk as they talk: now, that is next to impossible. Pardon me, but I should not have thought,” added he, laughing, “that you, who like most things that are fashionable, would object to platonics.”

  “Object to them! — I despise, detest, abhor them! Platonics have been the ruin of more women, the destruction of the peace of more families, than open profligacy ever could have accomplished. Many a married woman, who would have started with horror at the idea of beginning an intrigue, has been drawn in to admit of a platonic attachment. And many a man, who would as soon have thought of committing murder as of seducing his friend’s wife, has allowed himself to commence a platonic attachment; and how these end, all the world knows.”

  Struck by these words, Vivian suddenly quitted his air of raillery, and became serious. Had his mother stopped there, and left the rest to his good sense and awakened perception of danger, all would have been well; but she was ever prone to say too much; and, in her ardour to prove herself to be in the right, forgot that people are apt to be shocked, by having it pointed out that they are utterly in the wrong.

  “Indeed, the very word platonics,” pursued she, “is considered, by those who have seen any thing of life, as the mere watchword of knaves or dupes; of those who deceive, or of those who wish to be deceived.”

  “Be assured, ma’am,” said Vivian, “that Mrs. Wharton is not one of those who wish either to deceive or to be deceived; and, as to myself, I hope I am as far from any danger of being a dupe as of being a knave. My connexion with Mrs. Wharton is perfectly innocent; it is justified by the example of hundreds and thousands every day in the fashionable world; and I should do her and myself great injustice, if I broke off our intimacy suddenly, as if I acknowledged that it was improper.”

  “And what can be more improper? since you force me to speak plainly,” cried Lady Mary; “what can be more improper than such an intimacy, especially in your circumstances?”

  “My circumstances! What circumstances, ma’am?”

  “Have you forgotten Miss Sidney?”

  “By no means, ma’am,” said Vivian, colouring deeply; “Mrs. Wharton is well apprized, and was, from the first moment of our friendship, clearly informed of my —— engagements with Miss Sidney.”

  “And how do they agree with your attachment to Mrs. Wharton?”

  “Perfectly well, ma’am — Mrs. Wharton understands all that perfectly well, ma’am.”

  “And Miss Sidney! do you think she will understand it? — and is it not extraordinary that I should think more of her feelings than you do?”

  At these questions Vivian became so angry, that he was incapable of listening farther to reason, or to the best advice, even from a mother, for whom he had the highest respect. The mother and son parted with feelings of mutual dissatisfaction.

  Vivian, from that spirit of opposition so often seen in weak characters, went immediately from his mother’s lecture to a party at Mrs. Wharton’s. Lady Mary, in the mean time, sat down to write to Miss Sidney. Whatever reluctance she had originally felt to her son’s marriage with this young lady, it must be repeated, to her ladyship’s credit, that Selina’s honourable and disinterested conduct had won her entire approbation. She wrote, therefore, in the strongest terms to press the immediate conclusion of that match, which she now considered as the only chance of securing her son’s morals and happiness. Her letter concluded with these words:—”I shall expect you in town directly. Do not, my dear, let any idle scruples prevent you from coming to my house. Consider that my happiness, your own, and my son’s, depend upon your compliance. I am persuaded, that the moment he sees you, the moment you exert your power over him, he will be himself again. But, believe me, I know the young men of the present day better than you do: their constancy is not proof against absence. If he lose the habit of seeing and conversing with you, I cannot answer for the rest. — Adieu! I am so much harassed by my own thoughts, and by the reports I hear, that I scarcely know what I write. Pray come immediately, my dear Selina, that I may talk to you of many subjects on which I don’t like to trust myself to write. My feelings have been too long repressed. — I must unburden my heart to you. You only can console and assist me; and, independently of all other considerations, you owe to my friendship for you, Selina, not to refuse this first request I ever made you. — Farewell! I shall expect to see you as soon as possible.

  “Yours, &c.

  “MARY VIVIAN.”

  “St. James’s-street.”

  In this letter, Lady Mary Vivian had not explained the nature of her son’s danger, or of her fears for him. Motives of delicacy had prevented her from explicitly telling Miss Sidney her suspicions that Vivian was attached to a married woman. “Selina,” said her ladyship to herself, “must, probably, have heard the report from Mr. G —— , who is so often at her mother’s; therefore, there can be no necessity for my saying any more than I have done. She will understand my hints.”

  Unfortunately, however, Miss Sidney did not comprehend, or in the least suspect, the most material part of the truth; she understood simply, from Lady Mary’s letter, that Vivian’s affections wavered, and she imagined that he was, perhaps, on the point of making matrimonial proposals for some fashionable belle, probably for one of the Lady Lidhursts; but the idea of his becoming attached to a married woman never entered her thoughts. Many motives conspired to incline Selina to accept of the invitation. The certainty that Lady Mary would be highly offended by a refusal; the hint, that her influence over Vivian would operate immediately, and in all its force, if he were to see and converse with her; and that, on the contrary, absence might extinguish his passion for ever; curiosity to learn precisely the nature of the reports, which his mother had heard to his disadvantage; but, above all, a fond wish to be nearer to the man she loved, and to have daily opportunities of seeing him, prompted Selina to comply with Lady Mary’s request. On
the contrary, good sense and delicacy represented, that she had released Vivian from all promises, all engagements; that, at parting, she had professed to leave him perfectly at liberty: that it would, therefore, be as indelicate as imprudent to make such an attempt to reclaim his inconstant heart. She had told him, that she desired to have proof of the steadiness, both of his character and of his attachment, before she could consent to marry him. From this decision she could not, she would not, recede. She had the fortitude to persist in this resolution. She wrote to Lady Mary Vivian in the kindest, but, at the same time, in the most decided terms, declining the tempting invitation.