Tales and Novels Volume X Part 6

"Amusing himself, I suppose," replied Lord Davenant.

"I believe he forgets that I am his guardian," said the general.

"I am sure he cannot forget that you are his friend," said Lady Cecilia; "for he has the best heart in the world."

"And the worst head for any thing useful," said the general.

"He is a man of genius," said Lady Davenant.

"Did you speak to him, my lord," pursued the general, "about standing for the county?"

"Yes."

"And he said what?"

"That he would have nothing to do with it."

"Why?"

"Something about not being tied to party, and somewhat he said about patriotism," replied Lord Davenant.

"Nonsense!" said the general, "he is a fool."

"Only young," said Lady Davenant,

"Men are not so very young in these days at two-and-twenty," said the general.

"In some," said Lady Davenant, "the cla.s.sical touch, the romance of political virtue, lasts for months, if not years, after they leave college; even those who, like Granville, go into high life in London, do not sometimes, for a season or two, lose their first enthusiasm of patriotism."

The general's lips became compressed. Lord Davenant, throwing himself back in his easy chair, repeated, "Patriotism! yes, every young man of talent is apt to begin with a fit of that sort."

"My dear lord," cried Lady Davenant, "you, of all men, to speak of patriotism as a disease!"

"And a disease that can be had but once in life, I am afraid," replied her lord laughing; "and yet," as if believing in that at which he laughed, "it evaporates in most men in words, written or spoken, lasts till the first pamphlet is published, or till the maiden-speech in parliament is fairly made, and fairly paid for--in all honour--all honourable men."

Lady Davenant pa.s.sed over these satirical observations, and somewhat abruptly asked Lord Davenant if he recollected the late Mr. Windham.

"Certainly he was not a man to be easily forgotten: but what in particular?"

"The scales of his mind were too fine," said Lady Davenant, "too nicely adjusted for common purposes; diamond scales will not do for weighing wool. Very refined, very ingenious, very philosophical minds, such as Windham, Burke, Bacon, were all too scrupulous weighers; their scales turned with the millionth of a grain, and all from the same cause, subject to the same defect, indecision. They saw too well how much can be said on both sides of the question. There is a sort of philosophical doubt, arising from enlargement of understanding, quite different from that irresolution of character which is caused by infirmity of will; and I have observed," continued Lady Davenant, "in some of these over scrupulous weighers, that when once they come to a balance, that instant they become most wilful; so it will be, you will see, with Beauclerc.

After excessive indecision, you will see him start perhaps at once to rash action."

"Rash of wrong, resolute of right," said Lord Davenant.

"He is const.i.tutionally wilful, and metaphysically vacillating," said Lady Davenant.

The general waited till the metaphysics were over, and then said to Lord Davenant that he suspected there was something more than mere want of ambition in Beauclerc's refusal to go into parliament. Some words were here inaudible to Helen, and the general began to walk up and down the room with so strong a tread, that at every step the china shook on the table near which Helen sat, so that she lost most part of what followed, and yet it seemed interesting, about some Lord Beltravers, and a Comtesse de Saint ---- something, or a Lady Blanche ---- somebody.

Lady Davenant looked anxious, the general's steps became more deliberately, more ominously firm; till lady Cecilia came up to him, and playfully linking her arm in his, the steps were moderated, and when a soothing hand came upon his shoulder, the compressed lips were relaxed--she spoke in a low voice--he answered aloud.

"By all means! write to him yourself, my love; get him down here and he will be safe; he cannot refuse you."

"Tuesday, then?" she would name the earliest day if the general approved.

He approved of every thing she said; "Tuesday let it be." Following him to the door, Lady Cecilia added something which seemed to fill the measure of his contentment. "Always good and kind," said he; "so let it be.

"Then shall I write to your sister, or will you?"

"You," said the general, "let the kindness come from you, as it always does."

Lady Cecilia, in a moment at the writing-table, ran off, as fast as pen could go, two notes, which she put into her mother's hand, who gave an approving nod; and, leaving them with her to seal and have franked, Cecilia darted out on the terrace, carrying Helen along with her, to see some Italian garden she was projecting.

And as she went, and as she stood directing the workmen, at every close of her directions she spoke to Helen. She said she was very glad that she had settled that Beauclerc was to come to them immediately. He was a great favourite of hers.

"Not for any of those grandissimo qualities which my mother sees in him, and which I am not quite clear exist; but just because he is the most agreeable person in nature; and really natural; though he is a man of the world, yet not the least affected. Quite fas.h.i.+onable, of course, but with true feeling. Oh! he is delightful, just--" then she interrupted herself to give directions to the workmen about her Italian garden----

"Oleander in the middle of that bed; vases nearer to the bal.u.s.trade---?"

"Beauclerc has a very good taste, and a beautiful place he has, Thorndale. He will be very rich. Few very rich young men are agreeable now, women spoil them so.--['Border that bed with something pretty.']--Still he is, and I long to know what you will think of him; I know what I think he will think, but, however, I will say no more; people are always sure to get into sc.r.a.pes in this world, when they say what they think.--['That fountain looks beautiful.']--I forgot to tell you he is very handsome. The general is very fond of him, and he of the general, except when he considers him as his guardian, for Granville Beauclerc does not particularly like to be controlled--who does? It is a curious story.--['Unpack those vases, and by the time that is done I will be back.']--Take a turn with me, Helen, this way. It is a curious story: Granville Beauclerc's father--but I don't know it perfectly, I only know that he was a very odd man, and left the general, though he was so much younger than himself, guardian to Granville, and settled that he was not to be of age, I mean not to come into possession of his large estates, till he is five-and-twenty: shockingly hard on poor Granville, and enough to make him hate Clarendon, but he does not, and that is charming, that is one reason I like him! So amazingly respectful to his guardian always, considering how impetuous he is, amazingly respectful, though I cannot say I think he is what the gardening books call _patient of the knife_, I don't think he likes his fancies to be lopped; but then he is so clever. Much more what you would call a reading man than the general, distinguished at college, and all that which usually makes a young man conceited, but Beauclerc is only a little headstrong--all the more agreeable, it keeps one in agitation; one never knows how it will end, but I am sure it will all go on well now. It is curious, too, that mamma knew him also when he was at Eton, I believe--I don't know how, but long before we ever heard of Clarendon, and she corresponded with him, but I never knew him till he came to Florence, just after it was all settled with me and the general; and he was with us there and at Paris, and travelled home with us, and I like him. Now you know all, except what I do not choose to tell you, so come back to the workmen--'That vase will not do there, move it in front of these evergreens; that will do.'"

Then returning to Helen--"After all, I did so right, and I am so glad I thought in time of inviting Esther, now Mr. Beauclerc is coming--the general's sister--half sister. Oh, so unlike him! you would never guess that Miss Clarendon was his sister, except from her pride. But she is so different from other people; she knows nothing, and wishes to know nothing of the world. She lives always at an old castle in Wales, Llan ---- something, which she inherited from her mother, and she has always been her own mistress, living with her aunt in melancholy grandeur there, till her brother brought her to Florence, where--oh, how she was out of her element! Come this way and I will tell you more. The fact is, I do not not much like Miss Clarendon, and I will tell you why--I will describe her to you."

"No, no, do not," said Helen; "do not, my dear Cecilia, and I will tell you why."

"Why--why?" cried Cecilia. "Do you recollect the story my uncle told us about the young bride and her old friend, and the bit of advice?"

No, Cecilia did not recollect any thing of it. She should be very glad to hear the anecdote, but as to the advice, she hated advice.

"Still, if you knew who gave it--it was given by a very great man."

"A very great man! now you make me curious. Well, what is it?" said Lady Cecilia.

"That for one year after her marriage, she would not tell to her friends the opinion she had formed, if unfavourable, of any of her husband's relations, as it was probable she might change that opinion on knowing them better, and would afterwards be sorry for having told her first hasty judgment. Long afterwards the lady told her friend that she owed to this advice a great part of the happiness of her life, for she really had, in the course of the year, completely changed her first notions of some of her husband's family, and would have had sorely to repent, if she had told her first thoughts!"

Cecilia listened, and said it was all "Vastly well! excellent! But I had nothing in the world to say of Miss Clarendon, but that she was too good--too sincere for the world we live in. For instance, at Paris, one day a charming Frenchwoman was telling some anecdote of the day in the most amusing manner. Esther Clarendon all the while stood by, grave and black as night, and at last turning upon our charmer at the end of the story, p.r.o.nounced, 'There is not one word of truth in all you have been saying!' Conceive it, in full salon! The French were in such amazement.

'Inconceivable!' as they might well say to me, as she walked off with her tragedy-queen air; _'Inconcevable--mais, vraiment inconcevable;'_ and _'Bien Anglaise,'_ they would have added, no doubt, if I had not been by."

"But there must surely have been some particular reason," said Helen.

"None in the world, only the story was not true, I believe. And then another time, when she was with her cousin, the d.u.c.h.ess of Lisle, at Lisle-Royal, and was to have gone out the next season in London with the d.u.c.h.ess, she came down one morning, just before they were to set off for town, and declared that she had heard such a quant.i.ty of scandal since she had been there, and such shocking things of London society, that she had resolved not to go out with the d.u.c.h.ess, and not to go to town at all? So absurd--so prudis.h.!.+"

Helen felt some sympathy in this, and was going to have said so, but Cecilia went on with--

"And then to expect that Granville Beauclerc--should--"

Here Cecilia paused, and Helen felt curious, and ashamed of her curiosity; she turned away, to raise the branches of some shrub, which were drooping from the weight of their flowers.

"I know something _has_ been thought of," said Cecilia. "A match has been in contemplation--do you comprehend me, Helen?"