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EVELINA
OR
THE HISTORY OF A YOUNG LADY'S
ENTRANCE INTO THE
WORLD
1778
BY
FANNY BURNEY
------------------------------------------------------------------------
ORIGINAL INSCRIPTION: TO DR. BURNEY
Oh, Author of my being!-far more dear
To me than light, than nourishment, or rest,
Hygeia's blessings, Rapture's burning tear,
Or the life-blood that mantles in my breast!
If in my heart the love of Virtue glows,
'T was planted there by an unerring rule;
From thy example the pure flame arose,
Thy life, my precept,-thy good works, my school.
Could my weak pow'rs thy num'rous virtues trace,
By filial love each fear should be repress'd,
The blush of Incapacity I'd chace,
And stand, Recorder of thy worth, confess'd:
But since my niggard stars that gift refuse,
Concealment is the only boon I claim;
Obscure be still the unsuccessful Muse,
Who cannot raise, but would not sink, thy fame.
Oh! of my life at once the source and joy!
If e'er thy eyes these feeble lines survey,
Let not their folly their intent destroy;
Accept the tribute-but forget the lay.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
- LETTER I. Lady Howard to the Rev. Mr. Villars
- LETTER II. Mr. Villars to Lady Howard
- LETTER III. Lady Howard to the Rev. Mr. Villars
- LETTER IV. Mr. Villars to Lady Howard
- LETTER V. Mr. Villars to Lady Howard
- LETTER VI. Lady Howard to the Rev. Mr. Villars
- LETTER VII. Lady Howard to the Rev. Mr. Villars
- LETTER VIII. Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars
- LETTER IX. Mr. Villars to Evelina
- LETTER X. Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars
- LETTER XI. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER XII. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER XIII. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER XIV. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER XV. Mr. Villars to Evelina.
- LETTER XVI. Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars
- LETTER XVII. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER XVIII. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER XIX. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER XX. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER XXI. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER XXII. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER XXIII. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER XXIV. Mr. Villars to Evelina.
- LETTER XXV. Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars
- LETTER XXVI. Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars
- LETTER XXVII. Lady Howard to the Rev. Mr. Villars
- LETTER XXVIII. Mr. Villars to Lady Howard
- LETTER XXIX. Mr. Villars to Evelina.
- LETTER XXX. Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars
- LETTER XXXI. Lady Howard to Sir John Belmont, Bart
- LETTER XXXII. Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars
- LETTER XXXIII. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER XXXIV. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER XXXV. Sir John Belmont to Lady Howard
- LETTER XXXVI. Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars
- LETTER XXXVII. Mr. Villars to Evelina
- LETTER XXXVIII. Mr. Villars to Lady Howard
- LETTER XXXIX. Mr. Villars to Evelina
- LETTER XL. Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars
- LETTER XLI. Evelina to Miss Mirvan
- LETTER XLII. Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars
- LETTER XLIII. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER XLIV. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER XLV. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER XLVI. Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars
- LETTER XLVII. Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars
- LETTER XLVIII. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER XLIX. Mr. Villars to Evelina
- LETTER L. Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars
- LETTER LI. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER LII. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER LIII. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER LIV. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER LV. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER LVI. Mr. Villars to Evelina
- LETTER LVII. Evelina to Miss Mirvan
- LETTER LVIII. Evelina to Miss Mirvan
- LETTER LIX. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER LX. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER LXI. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER LXII. Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars
- LETTER LXIII. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER LXIV. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER LXV. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER LXVI. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER LXVII. Mr. Villars to Evelina
- LETTER LXVIII. Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars
- LETTER LXIX. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER LXX. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER LXXI. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER LXXII. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER LXXIII. Mr. Villars to Evelina
- LETTER LXXIV. Lady Belmont to Sir John Belmont
- LETTER LXXV. Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars
- LETTER LXXVI. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER LXXVII. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER LXXVIII. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER LXXIX. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER LXXX. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER LXXXI. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER LXXXII. Evelina in Continuation
- LETTER LXXXIII. Mr. Villars to Evelina
- LETTER LXXXIV. Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars
------------------------------------------------------------------------
ORIGINAL DEDICATION.
TO THE AUTHORS OF THE MONTHLY AND CRITICAL REVIEWS.
GENTLEMEN, The liberty which I take in addressing to you the trifling
production of a few idle hours, will doubtless move your wonder,
and probably your contempt. I will not, however, with the futility of
apologies, intrude upon your time, but briefly acknowledge the motives
of my temerity; lest, by a premature exercise of that patience which
I hope will befriend me, I should lessen its benevolence, and be
accessary to my own condemnation.
Without name, without recommendation, and unknown alike to success
and disgrace, to whom can I so properly apply for patronage, as to
those who publicly profess themselves Inspectors of all literary
performances?
The extensive plan of your critical observations,-which, not confined
to works of utility or ingenuity, is equally open to those of frivolous
amusement,-and, yet worse than frivolous, dullness,-encourages me
to seek for your protection, since,-perhaps for my sins!-it intitles
me to your annotations. To resent, therefore, this offering, however
insignificant, would ill become the universality of your undertaking;
though not to despise it may, alas! be out of your power.
The language of adulation, and the incense of flattery, though the
natural inheritance, and constant resource, from time immemorial,
of the Dedicator, to me offer nothing but the wistful regret that I
dare not invoke their aid. Sinister views would be imputed to all I
could say; since, thus situated, to extol your judgment, would seem
the effect of art, and to celebrate your impartiality, be attributing
to suspecting it.
As magistrates of the press, and Censors for the public,-to which
you are bound by the sacred ties of integrity to exert the most
spirited impartiality, and to which your suffrages should carry the
marks of pure, dauntless, irrefragable truth-to appeal to your MERCY,
were to solicit your dishonour; and therefore,-though 'tis sweeter
than frankincense,-more grateful to the senses than all the odorous
perfumes of Arabia,-and though
It droppeth like the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place
beneath,-
I court it not! to your justice alone I am intitled, and by that I
must abide. Your engagements are not to the supplicating authors;
but to the candid public, which will not fail to crave
The penalty and forfeit of your bond.
No hackneyed writer, inured to abuse, and callous to criticism,
here braves your severity;-neither does a half-starved garretteer,
Oblig'd by hunger-and request of friends,-
implore your lenity: your examination will be alike unbiassed by
partiality and prejudice;-no refractory murmuring will follow your
censure, no private interest will be gratified by your praise.
Let not the anxious solicitude with which I recommend myself to your
notice, expose me to your derision. Remember, Gentlemen, you were all
young writers once, and the most experienced veteran of your corps may,
by recollecting his first publication, renovate his first terrors,
and learn to allow for mine. For though Courage is one of the noblest
virtues of this nether sphere; and though scarcely more requisite in
the field of battle, to guard the fighting hero from disgrace, than
in the private commerce of the world, to ward off that littleness of
soul which leads, by steps imperceptible, to all the base train of
the inferior passions, and by which the too timid mind is betrayed
into a servility derogatory to the dignity of human nature! yet is
it a virtue of no necessity in a situation such as mine; a situation
which removes, even from cowardice itself, the sting of ignominy;-for
surely that courage may easily be dispensed with, which would rather
excite disgust than admiration! Indeed, it is the peculiar privilege
of an author, to rob terror of contempt, and pusillanimity of reproach.
Here let me rest- and snatch myself, while I yet am able, from the
fascination of EGOTISM:-a monster who has more votaries than ever
did homage to the most popular deity of antiquity; and whose singular
quality is, that while he excites a blind and involuntary adoration in
almost every individual, his influence is universally disallowed, his
power universally contemned, and his worship, even by his followers,
never mentioned but with abhorence.
In addressing you jointly, I mean but to mark the generous sentiments
by which liberal criticism, to the utter annihilation of envy,
jealousy, and all selfish views, ought to be distinguished.
I have the honour to be,
GENTLEMEN,
Your most obedient
Humble Servant,
*** ****
------------------------------------------------------------------------
ORIGINAL PREFACE.
IN the republic of letters, there is no member of such inferior rank,
or who is so much disdained by his brethren of the quill, as the
humble Novelist; nor is his fate less hard in the world at large,
since, among the whole class of writers, perhaps not one can be named
of which the votaries are more numerous but less respectable.
Yet, while in the annals of those few of our predecessors, to whom
this species of writing is indebted for being saved from contempt,
and rescued from depravity, we can trace such names as Rousseau,
Johnson,(1)Marivaux, Fielding, Richardson, and Smollett, no man need
blush at starting from the same post, though many, nay, most men,
may sigh at finding themselves distanced.
The following letters are presented to the Public-for such, by novel
writers, novel readers will be called,-with a very singular mixture of
timidity and confidence, resulting from the peculiar situation of the
editor; who, though trembling for their success from a consciousness
of their imperfections, yet fears not being involved in their disgrace,
while happily wrapped up in a mantle of impenetrable obscurity.
To draw characters from nature, though not from life, and to mark
the manners of the times, is the attempted plan of the following
letters. For this purpose, a young female, educated in the most
secluded retirement, makes, at the age of seventeen, her first
appearance upon the great and busy stage of life; with a virtuous
mind, a cultivated understanding, and a feeling heart, her ignorance
of the forms, and inexperience in the manners of the world, occasion
all the little incidents which these volumes record, and which form
the natural progression of the life of a young woman of obscure birth,
but conspicuous beauty, for the first six months after her Entrance
into the world.
Perhaps, were it possible to effect the total extirpation of novels,
our young ladies in general, and boarding-school damsels in particular,
might profit from their annihilation; but since the distemper they
have spread seems incurable, since their contagion bids defiance
to the medicine of advice or reprehension, and since they are found
to baffle all the mental art of physic, save what is prescribed by
the slow regimen of Time, and bitter diet of Experience; surely all
attempts to contribute to the number of those which may be read,
if not with advantage, at least without injury, ought rather to be
encouraged than contemned.
Let me, therefore, prepare for disappointment those who, in the perusal
of these sheets, entertain the gentle expectation of being transported
to the fantastic regions of Romance, where Fiction is coloured by all
the gay tints of luxurious Imagination, where Reason is an outcast,
and where the sublimity of the Marvellous rejects all aid from
sober Probability. The heroine of these memoirs, young, artless,
and inexperienced, is
No faultless Monster that the world ne'er saw;
but the offspring of Nature, and of Nature in her simplest attire.
In all the Arts, the value of copies can only be proportioned to the
scarcity of originals: among sculptors and painters, a fine statue,
or a beautiful picture, of some great master, may deservedly employ
the imitative talents of young and inferior artists, that their
appropriation to one spot may not wholly prevent the more general
expansion of their excellence; but, among authors, the reverse is the
case, since the noblest productions of literature are almost equally
attainable with the meanest. In books, therefore, imitation cannot
be shunned too sedulously; for the very perfection of a model which
is frequently seen, serves but more forcibly to mark the inferiority
of a copy.
To avoid what is common, without adopting what is unnatural, must
limit the ambition of the vulgar herd of authors: however zealous,
therefore, my veneration of the great writers I have mentioned,
however I may feel myself enlightened by the knowledge of Johnson,
charmed with the eloquence of Rousseau, softened by the pathetic
powers of Richardson, and exhiliarated by the wit of Fielding and
humour of Smollett, I yet presume not to attempt pursuing the same
ground which they have tracked; whence, though they may have cleared
the weeds, they have also culled the flowers; and, though they have
rendered the path plain, they have left it barren.
The candour of my readers I have not the impertinence to doubt, and
to their indulgence I am sensible I have no claim; I have, therefore,
only to intreat, that my own words may not pronounce my condemnation;
and that what I have here ventured to say in regard to imitation, may
be understood as it is meant, in a general sense, and not be imputed
to an opinion of my own originality, which I have not the vanity,
the folly, or the blindness, to entertain.
Whatever may be the fate of these letters, the editor is satisfied
they will meet with justice; and commits them to the press, though
hopeless of fame, yet not regardless of censure.
1)However superior the capacities in which these great writers deserve
to be considered, they must pardon me that, for the dignity of my
subject, I here rank the authors of Rasselas and Eloise as Novelists.
LETTER I
LADY HOWARD TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS Howard Grove, Kent.
CAN any thing, my good Sir, be more painful to a friendly mind, than
a necessity of communicating disagreeable intelligence? Indeed it is
sometimes difficult to determine, whether the relator or the receiver
of evil tidings is most to be pitied.
I have just had a letter from Madame Duval; she is totally at a loss
in what manner to behave; she seems desirous to repair the wrongs she
has done, yet wishes the world to believe her blameless. She would
fain cast upon another the odium of those misfortunes for which she
alone is answerable. Her letter is violent, sometimes abusive, and
that of you!-you, to whom she is under obligations which are greater
even than her faults, but to whose advice she wickedly imputes all the
sufferings of her much injured daughter, the late Lady Belmont. The
chief purport of her writing I will acquaint you with; the letter
itself is not worthy your notice.
She tells me that she has, for many years past, been in continual
expectation of making a journey to England, which prevented her
writing for information concerning this melancholy subject, by giving
her hopes of making personal inquiries; but family occurrences have
still detained her in France, which country she now sees no prospect
of quitting. She has, therefore, lately used her utmost endeavors
to obtain a faithful account of whatever related to her ill-advised
daughter; the result of which giving her some reason to apprehend,
that, upon her death-bed, she bequeathed an infant orphan to the world,
she most graciously says, that if you, with whom she understands the
child is placed, will procure authentic proofs of its relationship to
her, you may sent it to Paris, where she will properly provide for it.
This woman is, undoubtedly, at length, self-convicted of her most
unnatural behaviour; it is evident, from her writing, that she is
still as vulgar and illiterate as when her first husband, Mr. Evelyn,
had the weakness to marry her; nor does she at all apologize for
addressing herself to me, though I was only once in her company.
Her letter has excited in my daughter Mirvan, a strong desire to be
informed of the motives which induced Madame Duval to abandon the
unfortunate Lady Belmont, at a time when a mother's protection was
peculiarly necessary for her peace and her reputation. Notwithstanding
I was personally acquainted with all the parties concerned in that
affair, the subject always appeared of too delicate a nature to be
spoken of with the principals; I cannot, therefore, satisfy Mrs. Mirvan
otherwise than by applying to you.
By saying that you may send the child, Madame Duval aims at conferring,
where she most owes obligation. I pretend not to give you advice;
you, to whose generous protection this helpless orphan is indebted
for every thing, are the best and only judge of what she ought to
do; but I am much concerned at the trouble and uneasiness which this
unworthy woman may occasion you.
My daughter and my grandchild join with me in desiring to be most
kindly remembered to the amiable girl; and they bid me remind you, that
the annual visit to Howard Grove, which we were formerly promised,
has been discontinued for more than four years. I am, dear Sir,
with great regard, Your most obedient friend and servant, M. HOWARD.
LETTER II
MR. VILLARS TO LADY HOWARD Berry Hill, Dorsetshire.
YOUR Ladyship did but too well foresee the perplexity and uneasiness
of which Madame Duval's letter has been productive. However, I ought
rather to be thankful that I have so many years remained unmolested,
than repine at my present embarrassment; since it proves, at least,
that this wretched woman is at length awakened to remorse.
In regard to my answer, I must humbly request your Ladyship to write
to this effect: "That I would not, upon any account, intentionally
offend Madame Duval; but that I have weighty, nay unanswerable
reasons for detaining her grand-daughter at present in England;
the principal of which is, that it was the earnest desire of one
to whose will she owes implicit duty. Madame Duval may be assured,
that she meets with the utmost attention and tenderness; that her
education, however short of my wishes, almost exceeds my abilities;
and I flatter myself, when the time arrives that she shall pay her
duty to her grand-mother, Madame Duval will find no reason to be
dissatisfied with what has been done for her."
Your Ladyship will not, I am sure, be surprised at this answer. Madame
Duval is by no means a proper companion or guardian for a young woman:
she is at once uneducated and unprincipled; ungentle in temper, and
unamiable in her manners. I have long known that she has persuaded
herself to harbour an aversion for me-Unhappy woman! I can only regard
her as an object of pity!
I dare not hesitate at a request from Mrs. Mirvan; yet, in complying
with it, I shall, for her own sake, be as concise as I possibly can;
since the cruel transactions which preceded the birth of my ward can
afford no entertainment to a mind so humane as her's.
Your Ladyship may probably have heard, that I had the honour to
accompany Mr. Evelyn, the grandfather of my young charge, when
upon his travels, in the capacity of a tutor. His unhappy marriage,
immediately upon his return to England, with Madame Duval, then a
waiting-girl at a tavern, contrary to the advice and entreaties of
all his friends, among whom I was myself the most urgent, induced
him to abandon his native land, and fix his abode in France.
Thither he was followed by shame and repentance; feelings which
his heart was not framed to support; for, notwithstanding he had
been too weak to resist the allurements of beauty, which nature,
though a niggard to her of every other boon, had with a lavish hand
bestowed on his wife; yet he was a young man of excellent character,
and, till thus unaccountably infatuated, of unblemished conduct. He
survived this ill-judged marriage but two years. Upon his death-bed,
with an unsteady hand, he wrote me the following note:
"My friend, forget your resentment, in favour of your humanity;-a
father, trembling for the welfare of his child, bequeaths her to your
care. O Villars! hear! pity! And relieve me!"
Had my circumstances permitted me, I should have answered these words
by an immediate journey to Paris; but I was obliged to act by the
agency of a friend, who was upon the spot, and present at the opening
of the will.
Mr. Evelyn left to me a legacy of a thousand pounds, and the sole
guardianship of his daughter's person till her eighteenth year;
conjuring me, in the most affecting terms, to take the charge of her
education till she was able to act with propriety for herself; but,
in regard to fortune, he left her wholly dependent on her mother,
to whose tenderness he earnestly recommended her.
Thus, though he would not, to a woman low-bred and illiberal as
Mrs. Evelyn, trust the conduct and morals of his daughter, he
nevertheless thought proper to secure to her the respect and duty
to which, from her own child, were certainly her due; but unhappily,
it never occurred to him that the mother, on her part, could fail in
affection or justice.
Miss Evelyn, Madam, from the second to the eighteenth year of her
life, was brought up under my care, and, except when at school
under my roof. I need not speak to your Ladyship of the virtues
of that excellent young creature. She loved me as her father; nor
was Mrs. Villars less valued by her; while to me she became so dear,
that her loss was little less afflicting than that which I have since
sustained of Mrs. Villars herself.
At that period of her life we parted; her mother, then married to
Monsieur Duval, sent for her to Paris. How often have I since regretted
that I did not accompany her thither! Protected and supported by me,
the misery and disgrace which awaited her might perhaps have been
avoided. But, to be brief-Madame Duval, at the instigation of her
husband, earnestly, or rather tyrannically, endeavoured to effect a
union between Miss Evelyn and one of his nephews. And, when she found
her power inadequate to her attempt, enraged at her non-compliance,
she treated her with the grossest unkindness, and threatened her with
poverty and ruin.
Miss Evelyn, to whom wrath and violence had hitherto been strangers,
soon grew weary of such usage; and rashly, and without a witness,
consented to a private marriage with Sir John Belmont, a very
profligate young man, who had but too successfully found means to
insinuate himself into her favour. He promised to conduct her to
England-he did.-O, Madam, you know the rest!-Disappointed of the
fortune he expected, by the inexorable rancour of the Duvals, he
infamously burnt the certificate of their marriage, and denied that
they had ever been united.
She flew to me for protection. With what mixed transports of joy and
anguish did I again see her! By my advice, she endeavoured to procure
proofs of her marriage-but in vain; her credulity had been no match
for his art.
Every body believed her innocent, from the guiltless tenor of her
unspotted youth, and from the known libertinism of her barbarous
betrayer. Yet her sufferings were too acute for her slender frame;
and the same moment that gave birth to her infant, put an end at once
to the sorrows and the life of its mother.
The rage of Madame Duval at her elopement, abated not while this
injured victim of cruelty yet drew breath. She probably intended, in
time, to have pardoned her; but time was not allowed. When she was
informed of her death, I have been told, that the agonies of grief
and remorse, with which she was seized, occasioned her a severe fit
of illness. But, from the time of her recovery to the date of her
letter to your Ladyship, I had never heard that she manifested any
desire to be made acquainted with the circumstances which attended
the death of Lady Belmont, and the birth of her helpless child.
That child, Madam, shall never, while life is lent me, know the loss
she has sustained. I have cherished, succoured, and supported her,
from her earliest infancy to her sixteenth year; and so amply has she
repaid my care and affection, that my fondest wish is now circumscribed
by the desire of bestowing her on one who may be sensible of her worth,
and then sinking to eternal rest in her arms.
Thus it has happened, that the education of the father, daughter,
and grand-daughter, has devolved on me. What infinite misery have the
two first caused me! Should the fate of the dear survivor be equally
adverse, how wretched will be the end of my cares-the end of my days!
Even had Madame Duval merited the charge she claims, I fear my
fortitude would have been unequal to such a parting; but being such
as she is, not only my affection, but my humanity, recoils, at the
barbarous idea of deserting the sacred trust reposed in me. Indeed,
I could but ill support her former yearly visits to the respectable
mansion at Howard Grove: pardon me, dear Madam, and do not think me
insensible of the honour which your Ladyship's condescension confers
upon us both; but so deep is the impression which the misfortunes
of her mother have made on my heart, that she does not, even for
a moment, quit my sight without exciting apprehensions and terrors
which almost overpower me. Such, Madam, is my tenderness, and such
my weakness!-But she is the only tie I have upon earth, and I trust
to your Ladyship's goodness not to judge of my feelings with severity.
I beg leave to present my humble respects to Mrs. and Miss Mirvan;
and have the honour to be, Madam, your Ladyship's most obedient and
most humble servant, ARTHUR VILLARS.
LETTER III [Written some months after the last]
LADY HOWARD TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS Howard Grove, March 8.
Dear and Rev. Sir,
YOUR last letter gave me infinite pleasure: after so long and tedious
an illness, how grateful to yourself and to your friends must be your
returning health! You have the hearty wishes of every individual of
this place for its continuance and increase.
Will you not think I take advantage of your acknowledged recovery,
if I once more venture to mention your pupil and Howard Grove
together? Yet you must remember the patience with which we submitted
to your desire of not parting with her during the bad state of your
health, tho' it was with much reluctance we forbore to solicit her
company. My grand-daughter in particular, has scarce been able to
repress her eagerness to again meet the friend of her infancy; and
for my own part, it is very strongly my wish to manifest the regard I
had for the unfortunate Lady Belmont, by proving serviceable to her
child; which seems to me the best respect that can be paid to her
memory. Permit me, therefore, to lay before you a plan which Mrs.
Mirvan and I have formed, in consequence of your restoration to health.
I would not frighten you;-but do you think you could bear to part
with your young companion for two or three months? Mrs. Mirvan
proposes to spend the ensuing spring in London, whither for the
first time, my grandchild will accompany her: Now, my good friend,
it is very earnestly their wish to enlarge and enliven their party by
the addition of your amiable ward, who would share, equally with her
own daughter, the care and attention of Mrs. Mirvan. Do not start
at this proposal; it is time that she should see something of the
world. When young people are too rigidly sequestered from it, their
lively and romantic imaginations paint it to them as a paradise of
which they have been beguiled; but when they are shown it properly,
and in due time, they see it such as it really is, equally shared by
pain and pleasure, hope and disappointment.
You have nothing to apprehend from her meeting with Sir John Belmont,
as that abandoned man is now abroad, and not expected home this year.
Well, my good Sir, what say you to our scheme? I hope it will meet
with your approbation; but if it should not, be assured I can never
object to any decision of one who is so much respected and esteemed
as Mr. Villars, by His most faithful, humble servant, M. HOWARD.
LETTER IV
MR. VILLARS TO LADY HOWARD Berry Hill, March 12.
I AM grieved, Madam, to appear obstinate, and I blush to incur
the imputation of selfishness. In detaining my young charge thus
long with myself in the country, I consulted not solely my own
inclination. Destined, in all probability, to possess a very moderate
fortune, I wished to contract her views to something within it. The
mind is but too naturally prone to pleasure, but too easily yielded
to dissipation: it has been my study to guard her against their
delusions, by preparing her to expect-and to despise them. But the
time draws on for experience and observation to take the place of
instruction: if I have in some measure, rendered her capable of using
one with discretion, and making the other with improvement, I shall
rejoice myself with the assurance of having largely contributed to her
welfare. She is now of an age that happiness is eager to attend,-let
her then enjoy it! I commit her to the protection of your Ladyship,
and only hope she may be found worthy half the goodness I am satisfied
she will meet with at your hospitable mansion.
Thus far, Madam, I cheerfully submit to your desire. In confiding my
ward to the care of Lady Howard, I can feel no uneasiness from her
absence, but what will arise from the loss of her company, since I
shall be as well convinced of her safety as if she were under my own
roof.-But can your Ladyship be serious in proposing to introduce her
to the gaieties of a London life? Permit me to ask, for what end,
or for what purpose? A youthful mind is seldom totally free from
ambition; to curb that, is the first step to contentment, since to
diminish expectation is to increase enjoyment. I apprehend nothing
more than too much raising her hopes and her views, which the natural
vivacity of her disposition would render but too easy to effect.
The town-acquaintance of Mrs. Mirvan are all in the circle of high
life; this artless young creature, with too much beauty to escape
notice, has too much sensibility to be indifferent to it; but she
has too little wealth to be sought with propriety by men of the
fashionable world.
Consider Madam, the peculiar cruelty of her situation. Only child of
a wealthy Baronet, whose person she has never seen, whose character
she has reason to abhor, and whose name she is forbidden to claim;
entitled as she is to lawfully inherit his fortune and estate, is
there any probability that he will properly own her? And while he
continues to persevere in disavowing his marriage with Miss Evelyn,
she shall never, at the expense of her mother's honour, receive a
part of her right as the donation of his bounty.
And as to Mr. Evelyn's estate, I have no doubt but that Madame Duval
and her relations will dispose of it among themselves.
It seems, therefore, as if this deserted child, though legally heiress
to two large fortunes, must owe all her rational expectations to
adoption and friendship. Yet her income will be such as may make her
happy, if she is disposed to be so in private life; though it will
by no means allow her to enjoy the luxury of a London fine lady.
Let Miss Mirvan, then, Madam, shine in all the splendour of high life;
but suffer my child still to enjoy the pleasures of humble retirement,
with a mind to which greater views are unknown.
I hope this reasoning will be honoured with your approbation; and
I have yet another motive which has some weight with me: I would
not willingly give offence to any human being; and surely Madame
Duval might accuse me of injustice, if, while I refuse to let her
grand-daughter wait upon her, I consent that she should join a party
of pleasure to London.
In sending her to Howard Grove, not one of these scruples arise;
and therefore Mrs. Clinton, a most worthy woman, formerly her nurse,
and now my housekeeper, shall attend her thither next week.
Though I have always called her by the name of Anville, and reported
in this neighbourhood that her father, my intimate friend, left her to
my guardianship; yet I have thought it necessary she should herself
be acquainted with the melancholy circumstances attending her birth:
for though I am very desirous of guarding her from curiosity and
impertinence, by concealing her name, family, and story, yet I would
not leave it in the power of chance to shock her gentle nature with
a tale of so much sorrow.
You must not, Madam, expect too much from my pupil; she is quite
a little rustic, and knows nothing of the world; and though her
education has been the best I could bestow in this retired place,
to which Dorchester, the nearest town, is seven miles distant, yet
I shall not be surprised if you should discover in her a thousand
deficiencies of which I have never dreamt. She must be very much
altered since she was last at Howard Grove. But I will say nothing
of her; I leave her to your Ladyship's own observations, of which
I beg a faithful relation; and am, Dear Madam, with great respect,
Your obedient and most humble Servant, ARTHUR VILLARS.
LETTER V
MR. VILLARS TO LADY HOWARD March 18. Dear Madam,
THIS letter will be delivered to you by my child-the child of my
adoption-my affection! Unblest with one natural friend, she merits
a thousand. I send her to you innocent as an angel, and artless as
purity itself; and I send you with her the heart of your friend, the
only hope he has on earth, the subject of his tenderest thoughts, and
the object of his latest cares. She is one, Madam, for whom alone I
have lately wished to live; and she is one whom to serve I would with
transport die! Restore her but to me all innocence as you receive her,
and the fondest hope of my heart will be amply gratified. A. VILLARS.
LETTER VI
LADY HOWARD TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS Howard Grove.
Dear Rev. Sir,
THE solemn manner in which you have committed your child to my care,
has in some measure damped the pleasure which I receive from the
trust, as it makes me fear that you suffer from your compliance, in
which case I shall very sincerely blame myself for the earnestness
with which I have requested this favour: but remember, my good Sir,
she is within a few days summons; and be assured, I will not detain
her a moment longer than you wish.
You desire my opinion of her.
She is a little angel! I cannot wonder that you sought to monopolize
her: neither ought you, at finding it impossible.
Her face and person answer my most refined ideas of complete beauty:
and this, though a subject of praise less important to you, or, to
me than any other, is yet so striking, it is not possible to pass
it unnoticed. Had I not known from whom she received her education,
I should at first sight of so perfect a face, have been in pain for
her understanding; since it has been long and justly remarked, that
folly has ever sought alliance with beauty.
She has the same gentleness in her manners, the same natural graces
in her motions, that I formerly so much admired in her mother. Her
character seems truly ingenuous and simple; and at the same time
that nature has blessed her with an excellent understanding and great
quickness of parts, she has a certain air of inexperience and innocency
that is extremely interesting.
You have not reason to regret the retirement in which she has lived;
since that politeness which is acquired by an acquaintance with high
life, is in her so well supplied by a natural desire of obliging,
joined to a deportment infinitely engaging.
I observe, with great satisfaction, a growing affection between
this amiable girl and my grand-daughter, whose heart is as free
from selfishness or conceit, as that of her young friend is from
all guile. Their regard may be mutually useful, since much is to be
expected from emulation where nothing is to be feared from envy. I
would have them love each other as sisters, and reciprocally supply
the place of that tender and happy relationship to which neither of
them has a natural claim.
Be satisfied, my good Sir, that your child shall meet with the same
attention as our own. We all join in most hearty wishes for your health
and happiness, and in returning our sincere thanks for the favour you
have conferred on us. I am, dear Sir, Your most faithful servant,
M. HOWARD.
LETTER VII
LADY HOWARD TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS Howard Grove, March 26.
BE not alarmed, my worthy friend, at my so speedily troubling you
again; I seldom use the ceremony of waiting for answers, or writing
with any regularity, and I have at present immediate occasion for
begging your patience.
Mrs. Mirvan has just received a letter from her long absent husband,
containing the welcome news of his hoping to reach London by
the beginning of next week. My daughter and the Captain have been
separated almost seven years, and it would therefore be needless to
say what joy, surprise, and consequently confusion, his at present
unexpected return has caused at Howard Grove. Mrs. Mirvan, you cannot
doubt, will go instantly to town to meet him; her daughter is under
a thousand obligations to attend her; I grieve that her mother cannot.
And now, my good Sir, I almost blush to proceed;-but, tell me, may I
ask-will you permit-that your child may accompany them? Do not think
us unreasonable, but consider the many inducements which conspire to
make London the happiest place at present she can be in. The joyful
occasion of the journey; the gaiety of the whole party, opposed to
the dull life she must lead, if left here with a solitary old woman
for her sole companion, while she so well knows the cheerfulness and
felicity enjoyed by the rest of the family,-are circumstances that
seem to merit your consideration. Mrs. Mirvan desires me to assure
you that one week is all she asks, as she is certain that the Captain,
who hates London, will be eager to revisit Howard Grove; and Maria is
so very earnest in wishing to have the company of her friend, that,
if you are inexorable, she will be deprived of half the pleasure she
otherwise hopes to receive.
However, I will not, my good Sir, deceive you into an opinion that
they intend to live in a retired manner, as that cannot be fairly
expected. But you have no reason to be uneasy concerning Madame Duval;
she has not any correspondent in England, and obtains no intelligence
but by common report. She must be a stranger to the name your child
bears; and, even should she hear of this excursion, so short a time
as a week or less spent in town upon so particular an occasion,
though previous to their meeting, cannot be construed into disrespect
to herself.
Mrs. Mirvan desires me to assure you, that if you will oblige her,
her two children shall equally share her time and her attention. She
has sent a commission to a friend in town to take a house for her;
and while she waits for an answer concerning it, I shall for one
from you to our petition. However, your child is writing herself;
and that, I doubt not, will more avail than all we can possible urge.
My daughter desires her best compliments to you if, she says, you
will grant her request but not else.
Adieu, my dear Sir, we all hope every thing from your goodness.
M. HOWARD.
LETTER VIII
EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS Howard Grove, March 26.
THIS house seems to be the house of joy; every face wears a smile,
and a laugh is at every body's service. It is quite amusing to walk
about and see the general confusion; a room leading to the garden
is fitting up for Captain Mirvan's study. Lady Howard does not sit a
moment in a place; Miss Mirvan is making caps; every body so busy!-such
flying from room to room!-so many orders given, and retracted, and
given again! nothing but hurry and perturbation.
Well but, my dear Sir, I am desired to make a request to you. I hope
you will not think me an encroacher; Lady Howard insists upon my
writing!-yet I hardly know how to go on; a petition implies a want
and have you left me one? No, indeed.
I am half ashamed of myself for beginning this letter. But these dear
ladies are so pressing-I cannot, for my life, resist wishing for the
pleasures they offer me,-provided you do not disapprove them.
They are to make a very short stay in town. The Captain will meet them
in a day or two. Mrs. Mirvan and her sweet daughter both go; what a
happy party! Yet, I am not very eager to accompany them: at least
I shall be contented to remain where I am, if you desire that I should.
Assured, my dearest Sir, of your goodness, your bounty, and your
indulgent kindness, ought I to form a wish that has not your
sanction? Decide for me, therefore, without the least apprehension
that I shall be uneasy or discontented. While I am yet in suspense,
perhaps I may hope; but I am most certain that when you have once
determined I shall not repine.
They tell me that London is now in full splendour. Two playhouses
are open,-the Opera-house,-Ranelagh,-and the Pantheon.-You see I have
learned all their names. However, pray don't suppose that I make any
point of going, for I shall hardly sigh, to see them depart without me,
though I shall probably never meet with such another opportunity. And,
indeed, their domestic happiness will be so great,-it is natural to
wish to partake of it.
I believe I am bewitched! I made a resolution, when I began, that
I would not be urgent; but my pen-or rather my thoughts, will not
suffer me to keep it-for I acknowledge, I must acknowledge, I cannot
help wishing for your permission.
I almost repent already that I have made this confession; pray forget
that you have read it, if this journey is displeasing to you. But
I will not write any longer; for the more I think of this affair,
the less indifferent to it I find myself.
Adieu, my most honoured, most reverenced, most beloved father! for
by what other name can I call you? I have no happiness or sorrow,
no hope or fear, but what your kindness bestows, or your displeasure
may cause. You will not, I am sure, send a refusal without reasons
unanswerable, and therefore I shall cheerfully acquiesce. Yet I
hope-I hope you will be able to permit me to go! I am, with the
utmost affection, gratitude, and duty, your EVELINA -
I cannot to you sign ANVILLE, and what other name may I claim?
LETTER IX
MR. VILLARS TO EVELINA Berry Hill, March 28.
TO resist the urgency of intreaty, is a power which I have not yet
acquired: I aim not at an authority which deprives you of liberty,
yet I would fain guide myself by a prudence which should save me the
pangs of repentance. Your impatience to fly to a place which your
imagination has painted to you in colors so attractive, surprises me
not; I have only to hope, that the liveliness of your fancy may not
deceive you: to refuse, would be raising it still higher. To see my
Evelina happy, is to see myself without a wish: go, then my child;
and may that Heaven, which alone can direct, preserve and strengthen
you! To that, my love, will I daily offer prayers for your felicity. O
may it guard, watch over you, defend you from danger, save you from
distress, and keep vice as distant from your person as from your heart!
And to me, may it grant, the ultimate blessing of closing these aged
eyes in the arms of one so dear-so deservedly beloved! ARTHUR VILLARS.
LETTER X
EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS Queen Ann Street, London, Saturday,
April 2.
THIS moment arrived. Just going to Drury Lane Theatre. The celebrated
Mr. Garrick performs Ranger. I am quite in ecstasy. So is Miss
Mirvan. How fortunate that he should happen to play! We would not
let Mrs. Mirvan rest till she consented to go. Her chief objection
was to our dress, for we have had no time to Londonize ourselves; but
we teased her into compliance, and so we are to sit in some obscure
place that she may not be seen. As to me, I should be alike unknown
in the most conspicuous or most private part of the house.
I can write no more now. I have hardly time to breathe-only just this,
the houses and streets are not quite so superb as I expected. However,
I have seen nothing yet, so I ought not to judge.
Well; adieu, my dearest Sir, for the present; I could not forbear
writing a few words instantly on my arrival, though I suppose my letter
of thanks for your consent is still on the road. Saturday Night.
O, my dear Sir, in what raptures am I returned? Well may Mr. Garrick
be so celebrated, so universally admired-I had not any idea of so
great a performer.
Such ease! such vivacity in his manner! such grace in his motions! such
fire and meaning in his eyes!-I could hardly believe he had studied
a written part, for every word seemed to be uttered from the impulse
of the moment.
His action-at once so graceful and so free!-his voice-so clear,
so melodious, yet so wonderfully various in its tones!-Such
animation!-every look speaks!
I would have given the world to have had the whole play acted over
again. And when he danced-O, how I envied Clarinda! I almost wished
to have jumped on the stage and joined them.
I am afraid you will think me mad, so I won't say any more; yet,
I really believe Mr. Garrick would make you mad too if you could see
him. I intend to ask Mrs. Mirvan to go to the play every night while
we stay in town. She is extremely kind to me; and Maria, her charming
daughter, is the sweetest girl in the world.
I shall write to you every evening all that passes in the day, and
that in the same manner as, if I could see, I should tell you. Sunday.
This morning we went to Portland chapel; and afterwards we walked
in the mall of St. James's Park, which by no means answered my
expectations: it is a long straight walk of dirty gravel, very uneasy
to the feet; and at each end instead of an open prospect, nothing is
to be seen but houses built of brick. When Mrs. Mirvan pointed out
the Palace to me-I think I was never much more surprised.
However, the walk was very agreeable to us; every body looked gay,
and seemed pleased; and the ladies were so much dressed, that Miss
Mirvan and I could do nothing but look at them. Mrs. Mirvan met
several of her friends. No wonder, for I never saw so many people
assembled together before. I looked about for some of my acquaintance,
but in vain; for I saw not one person that I knew, which is very odd,
for all the world seemed there.
Mrs. Mirvan says we are not to walk in the Park again next Sunday,
even if we should be in town, because there is better company in
Kensington Gardens; but really if you had seen how much every body
was dressed, you would not think that possible. Monday.
We are to go this evening to a private ball, given by Mrs. Stanley,
a very fashionable lady of Mrs. Mirvan's acquaintance.
We have been a-shopping as Mrs. Mirvan calls it, all this morning,
to buy silks, caps, gauzes, and so forth.
The shops are really very entertaining, especially the mercers; there
seem to be six or seven men belonging to each shop; and every one took
care by bowing and smirking, to be noticed. We were conducted from
one to another, and carried from room to room with so much ceremony,
that at I was almost afraid to go on.
I thought I should never have chosen a silk: for they produced so
many, I knew not which to fix upon; and they recommended them all so
strongly, that I fancy they thought I only wanted persuasion to buy
every thing they showed me. And, indeed, they took so much trouble,
that I was almost ashamed I could not.
At the milliners, the ladies we met were so much dressed, that I should
rather have imagined they were making visits than purchases. But
what most diverted me was, that we were more frequently served
by men than by women; and such men! so finical, so affected! they
seemed to understand every part of a woman's dress better than we
do ourselves; and they recommended caps and ribbands with an air of
so much importance, that I wished to ask them how long they had left
off wearing them.
The dispatch with which they work in these great shops is amazing,
for they have promised me a complete suit of linen against the evening.
I have just had my hair dressed. You can't think how oddly my head
feels; full of powder and black pins, and a great cushion on the top
of it. I believe you would hardly know me, for my face looks quite
different to what it did before my hair was dressed. When I shall
be able to make use of a comb for myself I cannot tell; for my hair
is so much entangled, frizzled they call it, that I fear it will be
very difficult.
I am half afraid of this ball to-night; for, you know, I have never
danced but at school: however, Miss Mirvan says there is nothing in
it. Yet, I wish it was over.
Adieu, my dear Sir, pray excuse the wretched stuff I write; perhaps
I may improve by being in this town, and then my letters will be less
unworthy your reading. Meantime, I am, Your dutiful and affectionate,
though unpolished, EVELINA.
Poor Miss Mirvan cannot wear one of the caps she made, because they
dress her hair too large for them.
LETTER XI
EVELINA IN CONTINUATION Queen Ann Street, April 5, Tuesday Morning.
I HAVE a vast deal to say, and shall give all this morning to my pen.
As to my plan of writing every evening the adventures of the day,
I find it impracticable; for the diversions here are so very late,
that if I begin my letters after them, I could not go to bed at all.
We passed a most extraordinary evening. A private ball this was called,
so I expected to have seen about four or five couple; but Lord! my
dear Sir, I believe I saw half the world! Two very large rooms were
full of company; in one were cards for the elderly ladies, and in
the other were the dancers. My mamma Mirvan, for she always calls me
her child, said she would sit with Maria and me till we were provided
with partners, and then join the card-players.
The gentlemen, as they passed and repassed, looked as if they thought
we were quite at their disposal, and only waiting for the honour of
their commands; and they sauntered about, in a careless, indolent
manner, as if with a view to keep us in suspense. I don't speak of
this in regard to Miss Mirvan and myself only, but to the ladies in
general: and I thought it so provoking, that I determined in my own
mind that, far from humouring such airs, I would rather not dance
at all, than with any one who would seem to think me ready to accept
the first partner who would condescend to take me.
Not long after, a young man, who had for some time looked at us with a
kind of negligent impertinence, advanced on tiptoe towards me; he had
a set smile on his face, and his dress was so foppish, that I really
believed he even wished to be stared at; and yet he was very ugly.
Bowing almost to the ground with a sort of swing, and waving his
hand, with the greatest conceit, after a short and silly pause, he
said, "Madam-may I presume?"-and stopt, offering to take my hand. I
drew it back, but could scarce forbear laughing. "Allow me, Madam,"
continued he, affectedly breaking off every half moment, "the honour
and happiness-if I am not so unhappy as to address you too late-to
have the happiness and honour-"
Again he would have taken my hand; but bowing my head, I begged to
be excused, and turned to Miss Mirvan to conceal my laughter. He then
desired to know if I had already engaged myself to some more fortunate
man? I said No, and that I believed I should not dance at all. He would
keep himself he told me, disengaged, in hopes I should relent; and
then, uttering some ridiculous speeches of sorrow and disappointment,
though his face still wore the same invariable smile, he retreated.
It so happened, as we have since recollected, that during this little
dialogue Mrs. Mirvan was conversing with the lady of the house. And
very soon after, another gentleman, who seemed about six-and-twenty
years old, gaily but not foppishly dressed, and indeed extremely
handsome, with an air of mixed politeness and gallantry, desired to
know if I was engaged, or would honour him with my hand. So he was
pleased to say, though I am sure I know not what honour he could
receive from me; but these sort of expressions, I find, are used
as words of course, without any distinction of persons, or study
of propriety.
Well, I bowed, and I am sure I coloured; for indeed I was frightened
at the thoughts of dancing before so many people, all strangers, and,
which was worse, with a stranger: however, that was unavoidable;
for, though I looked round the room several times, I could not see
one person that I knew. And so he took my hand, and led me to join
in the dance.
The minuets were over before we arrived, for we were kept late by
the milliners making us wait for our things.
He seemed very desirous of entering into conversation with me; but
I was seized with such a panic, that I could hardly speak a word,
and nothing but the shame of so soon changing my mind prevented my
returning to my seat, and declining to dance at all.
He appeared to be surprised at my terror, which I believe was but
too apparent: however, he asked no questions, though I fear he must
think it very strange, for I did not choose to tell him it was owing
to my never before dancing but with a school-girl.
His conversation was sensible and spirited; his air, and address
were open and noble; his manners gentle, attentive, and infinitely
engaging; his person is all elegance, and his countenance the most
animated and expressive I have ever seen.
In a short time we were joined by Miss Mirvan, who stood next couple
to us. But how I was startled when she whispered me that my partner
was a nobleman! This gave me a new alarm: how will he be provoked,
thought I, when he finds what a simple rustic he has honoured with
his choice! one whose ignorance of the world makes her perpetually
fear doing something wrong!
That he should be so much my superior in every way, quite disconcerted
me; and you will suppose my spirits were not much raised, when I
heard a lady, in passing us, say, "This is the most difficult dance
I ever saw."
"O dear, then" cried Maria to her partner, "with your leave, I'll
sit down till the next."
"So will I too, then," cried I, "for I am sure I can hardly stand."
"But you must speak to your partner first," answered she; for he
had turned aside to talk with some gentlemen. However, I had not
sufficient courage to address him; and so away we all three tript,
and seated ourselves at another end of the room.
But, unfortunately for me, Miss Mirvan soon after suffered herself to
be prevailed upon to attempt the dance; and just as she rose to go,
she cried, "My dear, yonder is your partner, Lord Orville walking
about the room in search of you."
"Don't leave me then, dear girl!" cried I; but she was obliged to
go. And now I was more uneasy than ever; I would have given the world
to have seen Mrs. Mirvan, and begged of her to make my apologies;
for what, thought I, can I possibly say to him in excuse for running
away? He must either conclude me a fool, or half mad; for any one
brought up in the great world, and accustomed to its ways, can have
no idea of such sort of fears as mine.
My confusion increased when I observed that he was every where seeking
me, with apparent perplexity and surprise; but when, at last, I saw
him move towards the place where I sat, I was ready to sink with
shame and distress. I found it absolutely impossible to keep my seat,
because I could not think of a word to say for myself; and so I rose,
and walked hastily towards the card-room, resolving to stay with
Mrs. Mirvan the rest of the evening, and not to dance at all. But
before I could find her, Lord Orville saw and approached me.
He begged to know if I was not well? You may easily imagine how much
I was embarrassed. I made no answer; but hung my head like a fool,
and looked on my fan.
He then, with an air the most respectfully serious, asked if he had
been so unhappy as to offend me?
"No, indeed!" cried I; and, in hopes of changing the discourse, and
preventing his further inquiries, I desired to know if he had seen
the young lady who had been conversing with me?
No;-but would I honour him with any commands to her?
"O, by no means!"
Was there any other person with whom I wished to speak?
I said no, before I knew I had answered at all.
Should he have the pleasure of bringing me any refreshment?
I bowed, almost involuntarily. And away he flew.
I was quite ashamed of being so troublesome, and so much above
myself as these seeming airs made me appear; but indeed I was too
much confused to think or act with any consistency.
If he had not been as swift as lightning, I don't know whether I
should not have stolen away again; but he returned in a moment. When
I had drank a glass of lemonade, he hoped, he said, that I would
again honour him with my hand, as a new dance was just begun. I had
not the presence of mind to say a single word, and so I let him once
more lead me to the place I had left.
Shocked to find how silly, how childish a part I had acted, my former
fears of dancing before such a company, and with such a partner,
returned more forcibly than ever. I suppose he perceived my uneasiness;
for he entreated me to sit down again if dancing was disagreeable to
me. But I was quite satisfied with the folly I had already shewn; and
therefore declined his offer, though I was really scarce able to stand.
Under such conscious disadvantages, you may easily imagine my dear Sir,
how ill I acquitted myself. But, though I both expected and deserved
to find him very much mortified and displeased at his ill fortune in
the choice he had made; yet, to my very great relief, he appeared to
be even contented, and very much assisted and encouraged me. These
people in high life have too much presence of mind, I believe, to
seem disconcerted, or out of humour, however they may feel: for had
I been the person of the most consequence in the room, I could not
have met with more attention and respect.
When the dance was over, seeing me still very much flurried, he led
me to a seat, saying that he would not suffer me to fatigue myself
from politeness.
And then, if my capacity, or even, if my spirits had been better, in
how animated a conversation I might have been engaged! it was then
I saw that the rank of Lord Orville was his least recommendation,
his understanding and his manners being far more distinguished. His
remarks upon the company in general were so apt, so just, so lively,
I am almost surprised myself that they did not reanimate me; but,
indeed, I was too well convinced of the ridiculous part I had myself
played before so nice an observer, to be able to enjoy his pleasantry:
so self-compassion gave me feeling for others. Yet I had not the
courage to attempt either to defend them or to rally in my turn;
but listened to him in silent embarrassment.
When he found this, he changed the subject, and talked of public
places, and public performers; but he soon discovered that I was
totally ignorant of them.
He then, very ingeniously, turned the discourse to the amusements
and occupations of the country.
It now struck me that he was resolved to try whether or not I was
capable of talking upon any subject. This put so great a restraint
upon my thoughts, that I was unable to go further than a monosyllable,
and not ever so far, when I could possibly avoid it.
We were sitting in this manner, he conversing with all gaiety, I
looking down with all foolishness, when that fop who had first asked
me to dance, with a most ridiculous solemnity approached, and, after
a profound bow or two, said, "I humbly beg pardon, Madam,-and of you
too, my Lord,-for breaking in upon such agreeable conversation-which
must, doubtless, be more delectable-than what I have the honour
to offer-but-"
I interrupted him-I blush for my folly,-with laughing; yet I could not
help it; for, added to the man's stately foppishness, (and he actually
took snuff between every three words) when I looked around at Lord
Orville, I saw such extreme surprise in his face,-the cause of which
appeared so absurd, that I could not for my life preserve my gravity.
I had not laughed before from the time I had left Miss Mirvan, and I
had much better have cried then; Lord Orville actually stared at me;
the beau, I know not his name, looked quite enraged. "Refrain-Madam,"
said he, with an important air, "a few moments refrain!-I have but
a sentence to trouble you with.-May I know to what accident I must
attribute not having the honour of your hand?"
"Accident, Sir!" repeated I, much astonished.
"Yes, accident, Madam;-for surely,-I must take the liberty to
observe-pardon me, Madam,-it ought to be no common one-that should
tempt a lady-so young a one too,-to be guilty of ill-manners."
A confused idea now for the first time entered my head, of something
I had heard of the rules of an assembly; but I was never at one
before,-I have only danced at school,-and so giddy and heedless I
was, that I had not once considered the impropriety of refusing one
partner, and afterwards accepting another. I was thunderstruck at the
recollection: but, while these thoughts were rushing into my head,
Lord Orville with some warmth, said, "This Lady, Sir, is incapable
of meriting such an accusation!"
The creature-for I am very angry with him-made a low bow and with a
grin the most malicious I ever saw, "My Lord," said he, "far be it
from me to accuse the lady, for having the discernment to distinguish
and prefer-the superior attractions of your Lordship."
Again he bowed and walked off.
Was ever any thing so provoking? I was ready to die with shame. "What
a coxcomb!" exclaimed Lord Orville: while I, without knowing what
I did, rose hastily, and moving off, "I can't imagine," cried I,
"where Mrs. Mirvan has hid herself!"
"Give me leave to see," answered he. I bowed and sat down again,
not daring to meet his eyes; for what must he think of me, between
my blunder, and the supposed preference?
He returned in a moment, and told me that Mrs. Mirvan was at cards,
but would be glad to see me; and I went immediately. There was but
one chair vacant; so, to my great relief, Lord Orville presently left
us. I then told Mrs. Mirvan my disasters; and she good-naturedly
blamed herself for not having better instructed me; but said, she had
taken it for granted that I must know such common customs. However,
the man may, I think, be satisfied with his pretty speech and carry
his resentment no farther.
In a short time Lord Orville returned. I consented, with the best grace
I could, to go down another dance, for I had had time to recollect
myself; and therefore resolved to use some exertion, and, if possible,
to appear less a fool than I had hitherto done; for it occurred to me,
that, insignificant as I was, compared to a man of his rank and figure;
yet, since he had been so unfortunate as to make choice of me for a
partner, why I should endeavour to make the best of it.
The dance, however, was short, and he spoke very little; so I had no
opportunity of putting my resolution in practice. He was satisfied, I
suppose, with his former successless efforts to draw me out or, rather,
I fancied he had been inquiring who I was. This again disconcerted me;
and the spirits I had determined to exert, again failed me. Tired,
ashamed, and mortified, I begged to sit down till we returned home,
which I did soon after. Lord Orville did me the honour to hand me to
the coach, talking all the way of the honour I had done him! O these
fashionable people!
Well, my dear Sir, was it not a strange evening? I could not help
being thus particular, because, to me, every thing is so new. But it
is now time to conclude. I am, with all love and duty, your EVELINA.
LETTER XII
EVELINA IN CONTINUATION Tuesday, April 5.
THERE is to be no end to the troubles of last night. I have this
moment, between persuasion and laughter, gathered from Maria the most
curious dialogue that ever I heard. You will at first be startled at
my vanity; but, my dear Sir, have patience!
It must have passed while I was sitting with Mrs. Mirvan, in the
card-room. Maria was taking some refreshment, and saw Lord Orville
advancing for the same purpose himself; but he did not know her,
though she immediately recollected him. Presently after, a very
gay-looking man, stepping hastily up to him cried, "Why, my Lord,
what have you done with your lovely partner?"
"Nothing!" answered Lord Orville with a smile and a shrug.
"By Jove," cried the man, "she is the most beautiful creature I ever
saw in my life!"
Lord Orville, as he well might, laughed; but answered, "Yes, a pretty
modest-looking girl."
"O my Lord!" cried the madman, "she is an angel!"
"A silent one," returned he.
"Why ay, my Lord, how stands she as to that? She looks all intelligence
and expression."
"A poor weak girl!" answered Lord Orville, shaking his head.
"By Jove," cried the other, "I am glad to hear it!"
At that moment, the same odious creature who had been my former
tormentor, joined them. Addressing Lord Orville with great respect,
he said, "I beg pardon, my Lord,-if I was-as I fear might be the
case-rather too severe in my censure of the lady who is honoured with
your protection-but, my Lord, ill-breeding is apt to provoke a man."
"Ill-breeding!" cried my unknown champion, "impossible! that elegant
face can never be so vile a mask!"
"O Sir, as to that," answered he, "you must allow me to judge;
for though I pay all deference to your opinion-in other things-yet
I hope you will grant-and I appeal to your Lordship also-that I am
not totally despicable as a judge of good or ill-manners."
"I was so wholly ignorant," said Lord Orville, gravely, "of the
provocation you might have had, that I could not but be surprised at
your singular resentment."
"It was far from my intention," answered he, "to offend your lordship;
but, really, for a person who is nobody, to give herself such airs,-I
own I could not command my passion. For, my Lord, though I have made
diligent inquiry-I cannot learn who she is."
"By what I can make out," cried my defender, "she must be a country
parson's daughter."
"He! he! he! very good, 'pon honour!" cried the fop;-"well, so I
could have sworn by her manners."
And then, delighted at his own wit, he laughed, and went away, as I
suppose, to repeat it.
"But what the deuce is all this?" demanded the other.
"Why a very foolish affair," answered Lord Orville; "your Helen
first refused this coxcomb, and then-danced with me. This is all I
can gather of it."
"O, Orville," returned he, "you are a happy man!-But ill-bred? -I
can never believe it! And she looks too sensible to be ignorant."
"Whether ignorant or mischievous, I will not pretend to determine;
but certain it is, she attended to all I could say to her, though I
have really fatigued myself with fruitless endeavours to entertain
her, with the most immovable gravity; but no sooner did Lovel begin
his complaint, than she was seized with a fit of laughing, first
affronting the poor beau, and then enjoying his mortification."
"Ha! ha! ha! why there is some genius in that, my Lord, perhaps
rather-rustic."
Here Maria was called to dance, and so heard no more.
Now, tell me, my dear Sir, did you ever know any thing more
provoking? "A poor weak girl!" "ignorant or mischievous!" What
mortifying words! I am resolved, however, that I will never again be
tempted to go to an assembly. I wish I had been in Dorsetshire.
Well, after this, you will not be surprised that Lord Orville contented
himself with an inquiry after our healths this morning, by his servant,
without troubling himself to call, as Miss Mirvan had told me he would;
but perhaps it may be only a country custom.
I would not live here for the world. I care not how soon we
leave town. London soon grows tiresome. I wish the Captain would
come. Mrs. Mirvan talks of the opera for this evening; however,
I am very indifferent about it. Wednesday Morning.
Well, my dear Sir, I have been pleased against my will, I could almost
say; for I must own I went out in very ill humour, which I think you
cannot wonder at: but the music and the singing were charming; they
soothed me into a pleasure the most grateful, the best suited to my
present disposition in the world. I hope to persuade Mrs. Mirvan to
go again on Saturday. I wish the opera was every night. It is, of all
entertainments, the sweetest and most delightful. Some of the songs
seemed to melt my very soul. It was what they call a serious opera,
as the comic first singer was ill.
To-night we go to Ranelagh. If any of those three gentlemen who
conversed so freely about me should be there-but I won't think of it.
Thursday Morning.
Well, my dear Sir, we went to Ranelagh. It is a charming place; and
the brilliancy of the lights, on my first entrance, made me almost
think I was in some enchanted castle or fairy palace, for all looked
like magic to me.
The very first person I saw was Lord Orville. I felt so confused!-but
he did not see me. After tea, Mrs. Mirvan being tired, Maria and
I walked round the room alone. Then again we saw him, standing by
the orchestra. We, too, stopt to hear a singer. He bowed to me; I
courtesied, and I am sure I coloured. We soon walked on, not liking
our situation; however, he did not follow us; and when we passed by
the orchestra again, he was gone. Afterwards, in the course of the
evening, we met him several times; but he was always with some party,
and never spoke to us, though whenever he chanced to meet my eyes,
he condescended to bow.
I cannot but be hurt at the opinion he entertains of me. It is true
my own behaviour incurred it-yet he is himself the most agreeable,
and, seemingly, the most amiable man in the world, and therefore it
is that I am grieved to be thought ill of by him: for of whose esteem
ought we to be ambitious, if not of those who most merit our own?-But
it is too late to reflect upon this now. Well I can't help it.-However,
I think I have done with assemblies.
This morning was destined for seeing sights, auctions, curious shops,
and so forth; but my head ached, and I was not in a humour to be
amused, and so I made them go without me, though very unwillingly. They
are all kindness.
And now I am sorry I did not accompany them, for I know not what
to do with myself. I had resolved not to go to the play to-night;
but I believe I shall. In short, I hardly care whether I do or not.
* * * * *
I thought I had done wrong! Mrs. Mirvan and Maria have been half the
town over, and so entertained!-while I, like a fool, staid at home
to do nothing. And, at the auction in Pall-mall, who should they
meet but Lord Orville. He sat next to Mrs. Mirvan, and they talked
a great deal together; but she gave me no account of the conversation.
I may never have such another opportunity of seeing London; I am quite
sorry that I was not of the party; but I deserve this mortification,
for having indulged my ill-humour. Thursday Night.
We are just returned from the play, which was King Lear, and has made
me very sad. We did not see any body we knew.
Well, adieu, it is too late to write more. Friday.
Captain Mirvan is arrived. I have not spirits to give an account of
his introduction, for he has really shocked me. I do not like him. He
seems to be surly, vulgar, and disagreeable.
Almost the same moment that Maria was presented to him, he began
some rude jests upon the bad shape of her nose, and called her a tall
ill-formed thing. She bore it with the utmost good-humour; but that
kind and sweet-tempered woman, Mrs. Mirvan, deserved a better lot. I
am amazed she would marry him.
For my own part, I have been so shy, that I have hardly spoken to
him, or he to me. I cannot imagine why the family was so rejoiced
at his return. If he had spent his whole life abroad, I should have
supposed they might rather have been thankful than sorrowful. However,
I hope they do not think so ill of him as I do. At least, I am sure
they have too much prudence to make it known. Saturday Night.
We have been to the opera, and I am still more pleased than I was
on Tuesday. I could have thought myself in Paradise, but for the
continual talking of the company around me. We sat in the pit, where
every body was dressed in so high a style, that if I had been less
delighted with the performance, my eyes would have found me sufficient
entertainment from looking at the ladies.
I was very glad I did not sit next the Captain; for he could not bear
the music or singers, and was extremely gross in his observations
of both. When the opera was over, we went into a place called the
coffee-room where ladies, as well as gentlemen, assemble. There are
all sorts of refreshments, and the company walk about, and chat with
the same ease and freedom as in a private room.
On Monday we go to a ridotto, and on Wednesday we return to Howard
Grove. The Captain says he won't stay here to be smoked with filth
any longer; but, having been seven years smoked with a burning sun,
he will retire to the country, and sink into a fair weather chap.
Adieu, my dear Sir.
LETTER XIII
EVELINA IN CONTINUATION Tuesday, April 12. My dear Sir,
WE came home from the ridotto so late, or rather so early that it
was not possible for me to write. Indeed, we did not go -you will be
frightened to hear it-till past eleven o'clock: but no body does. A
terrible reverse of the order of nature! We sleep with the sun,
and wake with the moon.
The room was very magnificent, the lights and decorations were
brilliant, and the company gay and splendid. But I should have told
you, that I made many objections to being of the party, according
to the resolution I had formed. However, Maria laughed me out of my
scruples, and so once again I went to an assembly.
Miss Mirvan danced a minuet; but I had not the courage to follow
her example. In our walks I saw Lord Orville. He was quite alone,
but did not observe us. Yet, as he seemed of no party, I thought
it was not impossible that he might join us; and though I did not
wish much to dance at all-yet, as I was more acquainted with him
than with any other person in the room, I must own I could not help
thinking it would be infinitely more desirable to dance again with him
than with an entire stranger. To be sure, after all that had passed,
it was very ridiculous to suppose it even probable that Lord Orville
would again honour me with his choice; yet I am compelled to confess
my absurdity, by way of explaining what follows.
Miss Mirvan was soon engaged; and presently after a very fashionable
gay looking man, who seemed about thirty years of age, addressed
himself to me, and begged to have the honour of dancing with me. Now
Maria's partner was a gentleman of Mrs. Mirvan's acquaintance; for
she had told us it was highly improper for young women to dance with
strangers at any public assembly. Indeed it was by no means my wish
so to do: yet I did not like to confine myself from dancing at all;
neither did I dare refuse this gentleman as I had done Mr. Lovel,
and then, if any acquaintance should offer, accept him: and so, all
these reasons combining, induced me to tell him-yet I blush to write
it to you!-that I was already engaged; by which I meant to keep myself
at liberty to a dance, or not, as matters should fall out.
I suppose my consciousness betrayed my artifice, for he looked at me
as if incredulous; and, instead of being satisfied with my answer
and leaving me, according to my expectation, he walked at my side,
and, with the greatest ease imaginable, began a conversation in the
free style which only belongs to old and intimate acquaintance. But,
what was most provoking, he asked me a thousand questions concerning
the partner to whom I was engaged. And at last he said, "Is it really
possible that a man whom you have honoured with your acceptance can
fail to be at hand to profit from your goodness?"
I felt extremely foolish; and begged Mrs. Mirvan to lead to a seat;
which she very obligingly did. The Captain sat next her; and to my
great surprise, this gentleman thought proper to follow, and seat
himself next to me.
"What an insensible!" continued he; "why, Madam, you are missing the
most delightful dance in the world!-The man must be either mad or a
fool-Which do you incline to think him yourself?"
"Neither, Sir," answered I, in some confusion.
He begged my pardon for the freedom of his supposition, saying,
"I really was off my guard, from astonishment that any man can be
so much and so unaccountably his own enemy. But where, Madam, can he
possibly be!-has he left the room!-or has not he been in it?"
"Indeed, Sir," said I peevishly, "I know nothing of him."
"I don't wonder that you are disconcerted, Madam; it is really very
provoking. The best part of the evening will be absolutely lost. He
deserves not that you should wait for him."
"I do not, Sir," said I, "and I beg you not to-"
"Mortifying, indeed, Madam," interrupted he, "a lady to wait for a
gentleman!-O fie!-careless fellow!-What can detain him?-Will you give
me leave to seek him?"
"If you please, Sir," answered I; quite terrified lest Mrs. Mirvan
should attend to him; for she looked very much surprised at seeing
me enter into conversation with a stranger.
"With all my heart," cried he; "pray, what coat has he on?"
"Indeed I never looked at it."
"Out upon him!" cried he; "What! did he address you in a coat not
worth looking at?-What a shabby wretch!"
How ridiculous! I really could not help laughing, which I fear
encouraged him, for he went on.
"Charming creature!-and can you really bear ill usage with so much
sweetness? Can you, like patience on a monument, smile in the midst
of disappointment? For my part, though I am not the offended person,
my indignation is so great, that I long to kick the fellow round
the room!-unless, indeed,-(hesitating and looking earnestly at me,)
unless, indeed,-it is a partner of your own creating?"
I was dreadfully abashed, and could not make an answer.
"But no!" cried he (again, and with warmth,) "It cannot be that you
are so cruel! Softness itself is painted in your eyes.-You could not,
surely, have the barbarity so wantonly to trifle with my misery."
I turned away from this nonsense with real disgust, Mrs. Mirvan saw
my confusion, but was perplexed what to think of it, and I could
not explain to her the cause, lest the Captain should hear me. I
therefore proposed to walk; she consented, and we all rose; but,
would you believe it? this man had the assurance to rise too, and
walk close by my side, as if of my party!
"Now," cried he, "I hope we shall see this ingrate.-Is that
he?"-pointing to an old man who was lame, "or that?" And in this
manner he asked me of whoever was old or ugly in the room. I made
no sort of answer: and when he found that I was resolutely silent,
and walked on as much as I could without observing him, he suddenly
stamped his foot, and cried out in a passion, "Fool! idiot! booby!"
I turned hastily toward him: "O, Madam," continued he, "forgive my
vehemence; but I am distracted to think there should exist a wretch
who can slight a blessing for which I would forfeit my life!-O that I
could but meet him, I would soon-But I grow angry: pardon me, Madam,
my passions are violent, and your injuries affect me!"
I began to apprehend he was a madman, and stared at him with the
utmost astonishment. "I see you are moved, Madam," said he; "generous
creature!-but don't be alarmed, I am cool again, I am indeed,-upon
my soul I am;-I entreat you, most lovely of mortals! I intreat you
to be easy."
"Indeed, Sir," said I very seriously, "I must insist upon your leaving
me; you are quite a stranger to me, and I am both unused, and averse
to your language and your manners."
This seemed to have some effect on him. He made me a low bow, begged
my pardon, and vowed he would not for the world offend me.
"Then, Sir, you must leave me," cried I. "I am gone, Madam, I am
gone!" with a most tragical air; and he marched away at a quick pace,
out of sight in a moment; but before I had time to congratulate myself,
he was again at my elbow.
"And could you really let me go, and not be sorry?-Can you see me
suffer torments inexpressible, and yet retain all your favour for
that miscreant who flies you?-Ungrateful puppy!-I could bastinado him!"
"For Heaven's sake, my dear," cried Mrs. Mirvan, "who is he talking
of?"
"Indeed-I do not know, Madam," said I; "but I wish he would leave me."
"What's all that there?" cried the Captain.
The man made a low bow, and said, "Only, Sir, a slight objection
which this young lady makes to dancing with me, and which I am
endeavouring to obviate. I shall think myself greatly honoured if
you will intercede for me."
"That lady, Sir," said the Captain coldly, "is her own mistress." And
he walked sullenly on.
"You, Madam," said the man (who looked delighted, to Mrs. Mirvan),
"You, I hope, will have the goodness to speak for me."
"Sir," answered she gravely, "I have not the pleasure of being
acquainted with you."
"I hope when you have, Ma'am," cried he, undaunted, "you will honour
me with your approbation: but, while I am yet unknown to you, it would
be truly generous in you to countenance me; and I flatter myself,
Madam, that you will not have cause to repent it."
Mrs. Mirvan, with an embarrassed air, replied, "I do not at all mean,
Sir, to doubt your being a gentleman,-but-"
"But what, Madam?-that doubt removed, why a but?"
"Well, Sir," said Mrs. Mirvan (with a good humoured smile), "I will
even treat you with your own plainness, and try what effect that will
have on you: I must therefore tell you, once for all-"
"O pardon me, Madam!" interrupted he, eagerly, "you must not proceed
with those words once for all; no, if I have been too plain, and
though a man, deserve a rebuke, remember, dear ladies that if you copy,
you ought in justice to excuse me."
We both stared at the man's strange behaviour.
"Be nobler than your sex," continued he, turning to me, "honour me
with one dance, and give up the ingrate who has merited so ill your
patience."
Mrs. Mirvan looked with astonishment at us both.
"Who does he speak of, my dear?-you never mentioned-"
"O, Madam!" exclaimed he, "he was not worth mentioning-it is a pity he
was ever though of; but let us forget his existence. One dance is all
I solicit. Permit me, Madam, the honour of this young lady's hand;
it will be a favour I shall ever most gratefully acknowledge."
"Sir," answered she, "favours and strangers have with me no
connection."
"If you have hitherto," said he, "confined your benevolence to your
intimate friends, suffer me to be the first for whom your charity
is enlarged."
"Well, Sir, I know not what to say to you,-but-"
He stopt her but with so many urgent entreaties that she at last told
me, I must either go down one dance, or avoid his importunities by
returning home. I hesitated which alternative to chose; but this
impetuous man at length prevailed, and I was obliged to consent to
dance with him.
And thus was my deviation from truth punished; and thus did this
man's determined boldness conquer.
During the dance, before we were too much engaged in it for
conversation, he was extremely provoking about my partner, and tried
every means in his power to make me own that I had deceived him;
which, though I would not so far humble myself as to acknowledge,
was indeed but too obvious.
Lord Orville, I fancy, did not dance at all. He seemed to have a
large acquaintance, and joined several different parties: but you
will easily suppose, I was not much pleased to see him, in a few
minutes after I was gone, walk towards the place I had just left,
and bow to and join Mrs. Mirvan!
How unlucky I thought myself, that I had not longer withstood this
stranger's importunities! The moment we had gone down the dance, I was
hastening away from him; but he stopt me, and said, that I could by no
means return to my party without giving offence, before we had done
our duty of walking up the dance. As I know nothing at all of these
rules and customs I was obliged to submit to his directions; but I
fancy I looked rather uneasy, for he took notice of my inattention,
saying, in his free way, "Whence that anxiety?-Why are those lovely
eyes perpetually averted?"
"I wish you would say no more to me, Sir," cried I peevishly; "you
have already destroyed all my happiness for this evening."
"Good Heaven! What is it I have done?-How have I merited this scorn?"
"You have tormented me to death; you have forced me from my friends,
and intruded yourself upon me, against my will, for a partner."
"Surely, my dear Madam, we ought to be better friends, since
there seems to be something of sympathy in the frankness of our
dispositions.-And yet, were you not an angel-how do you think I could
brooke such contempt?"
"If I have offended you," cried I, "you have but to leave me-and O
how I wish you would!"
"My dear creature," said he, half laughing, "why where could you
be educated?"
"Where I most sincerely wish I now was!"
"How conscious you must be, all beautiful that you are, that those
charming airs serve only to heighten the bloom of your complexion!"
"Your freedom, Sir, where you are more acquainted, may perhaps be
less disagreeable; but to me -"
"You do me justice," cried he, interrupting me, "yes, I do indeed
improve upon acquaintance; you will hereafter be quite charmed
with me."
"Hereafter, Sir, I hope I shall never-"
"O hush!-hush!-have you forgot the situation in which I found you?-Have
you forgot, that when deserted, I pursued you,-when betrayed, I adored
you?-but for me-"
"But for you, Sir, I might perhaps have been happy."
"What then, am I to conclude that, but for me, your partner would
have appeared?-poor fellow!-and did my presence awe him?"
"I wish his presence, Sir, could awe you!"
"His presence!-perhaps then you see him?"
"Perhaps, Sir, I do," cried I, quite wearied of his raillery.
"Where? Where?-for Heaven's sake show me the wretch!"
"Wretch, Sir!"
"O, a very savage!-a sneaking, shame-faced, despicable puppy!"
I know not what bewitched me-but my pride was hurt, and my spirits
were tired, and-in short, I had the folly, looking at Lord Orville,
to repeat, "Despicable, you think?"
His eyes instantly followed mine; "Why, is that the gentleman?"
I made no answer; I could not affirm, and I would not deny:-for I
hoped to be relieved from his teasing by his mistake.
The very moment we had done what he called our duty, I eagerly desired
to return to Mrs. Mirvan.
"To your partner, I presume, Madam?" said he, very gravely.
This quite confounded me. I dreaded lest this mischievous man ignorant
of his rank, should address himself to Lord Orville, and say something
which might expose my artifice. Fool! to involve myself in such
difficulties! I now feared what I had before wished; and therefore,
to avoid Lord Orville, I was obliged myself to propose going down
another dance, though I was ready to sink with shame while I spoke.
"But your partner, Ma'am?" said he, affecting a very solemn air,
"perhaps he may resent my detaining you: if you will give me leave
to ask his consent-"
"Not for the universe."
"Who is he, Madam?"
I wished myself a hundred miles off. He repeated his question,
"What is his name?"
"Nothing-nobody-I don't know-"
He assumed a most important solemnity: "How!-not know?-Give me leave,
my dear Madam, to recommend this caution to you: Never dance in public
with a stranger,-with one whose name you are unacquainted with,-who
may be a mere adventurer,-a man of no character, consider to what
impertinence you may expose yourself."
Was ever anything so ridiculous? I could not help laughing, in spite
of my vexation.
At this instant, Mrs. Mirvan, followed by Lord Orville, walked up to
us. You will easily believe it was not difficult for me to recover
my gravity; but what was my consternation, when this strange man,
destined to be the scourge of my artifice, exclaimed, "Ha! My Lord
Orville!-I protest I did not know your Lordship. What can I say for my
usurpation?-Yet, faith, my Lord, such a prize was not to be neglected."
My shame and confusion were unspeakable. Who could have supposed or
foreseen that this man knew Lord Orville? But falsehood is not more
unjustifiable than unsafe.
Lord Orville-well he might-looked all amazement.
"The philosophic coldness of your Lordship," continued this odious
creature, "every man is not endowed with. I have used my utmost
endeavours to entertain this lady, though I fear without success;
and your lordship will not be a little flattered, if acquainted with
the difficulty which attended my procuring the honour of only one
dance." Then, turning to me, who was sinking with shame, while Lord
Orville stood motionless, and Mrs. Mirvan astonished,-he suddenly
seized my hand, saying, "Think, my Lord, what must be my reluctance
to resign this fair hand to your Lordship!"
In the same instant, Lord Orville took it of him; I coloured violently,
and made an effort to recover it. "You do me too much honour, Sir,"
cried he, (with an air of gallantry, pressing it to his lips before
he let it go;) "however, I shall be happy to profit by it, if this
lady," turning to Mrs. Mirvan, "will permit me to seek for her party."
To compel him thus to dance, I could not endure; and eagerly called
out, "By no means-not for the world!-I must beg-"
"Will you honour me, Madam, with your commands," cried my tormentor;
"may I seek the lady's party?"
"No, Sir," answered I, turning from him.
"What shall be done, my dear?" said Mrs. Mirvan.
"Nothing, Ma'am;-anything, I mean-"
"But do you dance, or not? you see his Lordship waits."
"I hope not-I beg that-I would not for the world-I am sure I ought
to-to-"
I could not speak; but that confident man, determining to discover
whether or not I had deceived him, said to Lord Orville, who
stood suspended, "My Lord, this affair, which at present seems
perplexed, I will briefly explain:-this lady proposed to me another
dance,-nothing could have made me more happy,-I only wished for your
Lordship's permission; which, if now granted, will, I am persuaded,
set everything right."
I glowed with indignation. "No, Sir-it is your absence, and that alone,
can set everything right."
"For Heaven's sake, my dear," cried Mrs. Mirvan, who could no
longer contain her surprise, "what does all this mean?-were you
pre-engaged?-had Lord Orville-"
"No, Madam," cried I, "only-only I did not know that gentleman,-and
so-and so I thought-I intended-I-"
Overpowered by all that had passed, I had not strength to make my
mortifying explanation;-my spirits quite failed me, and I burst
into tears.
They all seemed shocked and amazed.
"What is the matter, my dearest love?" cried Mrs. Mirvan, with
kindest concern.
"What have I done!" exclaimed my evil genius, and ran officiously
for a glass of water.
However, a hint was sufficient for Lord Orville, who comprehended all
I would have explained. He immediately led me to a seat, and said in
a low voice, "Be not distressed, I beseech you: I shall ever think
my name honoured by your making use of it."
This politeness relieved me. A general murmur had alarmed Miss Mirvan,
who flew instantly to me; while Lord Orville the moment Mrs. Mirvan
had taken the water, led my tormentor away.
"For Heaven's sake, dear Madam," cried I, "let me go home;-indeed I
cannot stay here any longer."
"Let us all go," cried my kind Maria.
"But the Captain, what will he say-I had better go home in a chair."
Mrs. Mirvan consented, and I rose to depart. Lord Orville and that
man both came to me. The first, with an attention I but ill-merited
from him, led me to a chair; while the other followed, pestering me
with apologies. I wished to have made mine to Lord Orville, but was
too much ashamed.
It was about one o'clock. Mrs. Mirvan's servants saw me home.
And now,-what again shall ever tempt me to an assembly? I dread to
hear what you will think of me, my most dear and honoured Sir: you
will need your utmost partiality to receive me without displeasure.
This morning Lord Orville has sent to inquire after our health; and
Sir Clement Willoughby, for that, I find, is the name of my persecutor,
has called; but I would not go down stairs till he was gone.
And now, my dear Sir, I can somewhat account for the strange,
provoking, and ridiculous conduct of this Sir Clement last night;
for Miss Mirvan says he is the very man with whom she heard Lord
Orville conversing at Mrs. Stanley's, when I was spoken of in so
mortifying a manner. He was pleased to say he was glad to hear I was
a fool; and therefore, I suppose, he concluded he might talk as much
nonsense as he pleased to me: however, I am very indifferent as to
his opinion;-but for Lord Orville,-if then he thought me an idiot,
now, I am sure, he must suppose me both bold and presuming. Make use
of his name!-what impertinence-he can never know how it happened,-he
can only imagine it was from an excess of vanity;-well, however,
I shall leave this bad city to-morrow, and never again will I enter it.
The Captain intends to take us to-night to the Fantoccini. I cannot
bear that Captain; I can give you no idea how gross he is. I heartily
rejoice that he was not present at the disagreeable conclusion of
yesterday's adventure, for I am sure he would have contributed to my
confusion; which might, perhaps, have diverted him, as he seldom or
never smiles but at some other person's expense.
And here I conclude my London letters,-and without any regret; for I
am too inexperienced and ignorant to conduct myself with propriety
in this town, where everything is new to me, and many things are
unaccountable and perplexing.
Adieu, my dear Sir; Heaven restore me safely to you! I wish I was to go
immediately to Berry Hill; yet the wish is ungrateful to Mrs. Mirvan,
and therefore I will repress it. I shall write an account of the
Fantoccini from Howard Grove. We have not been to half the public
places that are now open, though I dare say you will think we have
been to all. But they are almost as innumerable as the persons who
fill them.
LETTER XIV.
EVELINA IN CONTINUATION. Queen Ann Street, April 13.
HOW much will you be surprised, my dearest Sir, at receiving another
letter, from London, of your Evelina's writing! But, believe me, it
was not my fault, neither is it my happiness, that I am still here:
our journey has been postponed by an accident equally unexpected
and disagreeable.
We went last night to see the Fantoccini, where we had infinite
entertainment from the performance of a little comedy in French and
Italian, by puppets, so admirably managed, that they both astonished
and diverted us all, except the Captain, who has a fixed and most
prejudiced hatred of whatever is not English.
When it was over, while we waited for the coach, a tall elderly woman
brushed quickly past us, calling out, "My God, what shall I do?"
"Why, what would you do?" cried the Captain.
"Ma foi, Monsieur," answered she, "I have lost my company, and in
this place I don't know nobody."
There was something foreign in her accent, though it was difficult
to discover whether she was an English or a French woman. She was
very well dressed; and seemed so entirely at a loss what to do,
that Mrs. Mirvan proposed to the Captain to assist her.
"Assist her!" cried he, "ay, with all my heart;-let a link-boy call
her a coach."
There was not one to be had, and it rained very fast.
"Mon Dieu!" exclaimed the stranger, "what shall become of me? Je
suis au desespoir!"
"Dear Sir," cried Miss Mirvan, "pray let us take the poor lady into
our coach. She is quite alone, and a foreigner-"
"She's never the better for that," answered he: "she may be a woman
of the town, for anything you know."
"She does not appear such," said Mrs. Mirvan; "and indeed she seems
so much distressed, that we shall but follow the golden rule, if we
carry her to her lodgings."
"You are mighty fond of new acquaintance," returned he; "but first
let us know if she be going our way."
Upon inquiry, we found that she lived in Oxford Road; and, after
some disputing, the Captain surlily, and, with a very bad grace,
consented to admit her into his coach; though he soon convinced us,
that he was determined she should not be too much obliged to him,
for he seemed absolutely bent upon quarrelling with her: for which
strange inhospitality I can assign no other reason, than that she
appeared to be a foreigner.
The conversation began, by her telling us, that she had been in England
only two days; that the gentlemen belonging to her were Parisians,
and had left her to see for a hackney-coach, as her own carriage was
abroad; and that she had waited for them till she was quite frightened,
and concluded that they had lost themselves.
"And pray," said the Captain, "why did you go to a public place
without an Englishman?"
"Ma foi, Sir," answered she, "because none of my acquaintance is
in town."
"Why then," said he, "I'll tell you what, your best way is to go out
of it yourself."
"Pardi, Monsieur," returned she, "and so I shall; for, I promise you,
I think the English a parcel of brutes; and I'll go back to France
as fast as I can, for I would not live among none of you."
"Who wants you?" cried the Captain: "do you suppose, Madam French,
we have not enough of other nations to pick our pockets already? I'll
warrant you, there's no need for you for to put in your oar."
"Pick your pockets, Sir! I wish nobody wanted to pick your pockets no
more than I do; and I'll promise you you'd be safe enough. But there's
no nation under the sun can beat the English for ill-politeness:
for my part, I hate the very sight of them; and so I shall only
just visit a person of quality or two of my particular acquaintance,
and then I shall go back again to France."
"Ay, do," cried he; "and then go to the devil together, for that's
the fittest voyage for the French and the quality."
"We'll take care, however," cried the stranger with great vehemence,
"not to admit none of your vulgar unmannered English among us."
"O never fear," returned he, coolly, "we shan't dispute the point
with you; you and the quality may have the devil all to yourselves."
Desirous of changing the subject of a conversation which now became
very alarming, Miss Mirvan called out, "Lord, how slow the man drives!"
"Never mind, Moll," said her father, "I'll warrant you he'll drive
fast enough to-morrow, when you are going to Howard Grove."
"To Howard Grove!" exclaimed the stranger, "why, mon Dieu, do you
know Lady Howard?"
"Why, what if we do?" answered he; "that's nothing to you; she's none
of your quality, I'll promise you."
"Who told you that?" cried she; "you don't know nothing about the
matter! besides, you're the ill-bredest person ever I see: and as
to your knowing Lady Howard, I don't believe no such a thing; unless,
indeed, you are her steward."
The Captain, swearing terribly, said, with great fury, "You would
much sooner be taken for her wash-woman."
"Her wash-woman, indeed?-Ha, ha, ha, why you han't no eyes; did you
ever see a wash-woman in such a gown as this?-Besides, I'm no such
mean person, for I'm as good as Lady Howard, and as rich too; and
besides, I'm now come to England to visit her."
"You may spare yourself that there trouble," said the Captain,
"she has paupers enough about her already."
"Paupers, Mister!-no more a pauper than yourself, nor so much
neither;-but you are a low, dirty fellow, and I shan't stoop to take
no more notice of you."
"Dirty fellow!" exclaimed the Captain, seizing both her wrists, "hark
you, Mrs. Frog, you'd best hold your tongue; for I must make bold to
tell you, if you don't, that I shall make no ceremony of tripping you
out of the window, and there you may lie in the mud till some of your
Monseers come to help you out of it."
Their increasing passion quite terrified us; and Mrs. Mirvan was
beginning to remonstrate with the Captain, when we were all silenced
by what follows.
"Let me go, villain that you are, let me go, or I'll promise you I'll
get you put to prison for this usage. I'm no common person, I assure
you; and, ma foi, I'll go to Justice Fielding about you; for I'm a
person of fashion, and I'll make you know it, or my name a'n't Duval."
I heard no more: amazed, frightened, and unspeakably shocked, an
involuntary exclamation of Gracious Heaven! escaped me, and, more
dead than alive, I sunk into Mrs. Mirvan's arms. But let me draw a
veil over a scene too cruel for a heart so compassionately tender as
your's; it is sufficient that you know this supposed foreigner proved
to be Madame Duval,-the grandmother of your Evelina!
O, Sir, to discover so near a relation in a woman, who had thus
introduced herself!-what would become of me, were it not for you,
my protector, my friend, and my refuge?
My extreme concern, and Mrs. Mirvan's surprise, immediately betrayed
me. But, I will not shock you with the manner of her acknowledging
me, or the bitterness, the grossness -I cannot otherwise express
myself,-with which she spoke of those unhappy past transactions
you have so pathetically related to me. All the misery of a much
injured parent, dear, though never seen, regretted, though never
known, crowded so forcibly upon my memory, that they rendered this
interview-one only excepted-the most afflicting I can ever know.
When we stopt at her lodgings, she desired me to accompany her into
the house, and said she could easily procure a room for me to sleep
in. Alarmed and trembling, I turned to Mrs. Mirvan. "My daughter,
Madam," said that sweet woman, "cannot so abruptly part with her young
friend; you must allow a little time to wean them from each other."
"Pardon me, Ma'am," answered Madame Duval, (who, from the time of her
being known, somewhat softened her manners) "Miss can't possibly be
so nearly connected to this child as I am."
"No matter for that," cried the Captain, (who espoused my cause to
satisfy his own pique, tho' an awkward apology had passed between them)
"she was sent to us; and so, dy'e see, we don't choose for to part
with her."
I promised to wait upon her at what time she pleased the next day;
and, after a short debate, she desired me to breakfast with her,
and we proceeded to Queen Ann Street.
What an unfortunate adventure! I could not close my eyes the whole
night. A thousand times I wished I had never left Berry Hill: however,
my return thither shall be accelerated to the utmost of my power;
and, once more in that abode of tranquil happiness, I will suffer no
temptation to allure me elsewhere.
Mrs. Mirvan was so kind as to accompany me to Madame Duval's house
this morning. The Captain, too, offered his service; which I declined,
from a fear she should suppose I meant to insult her.
She frowned most terribly upon Mrs. Mirvan; but she received me with
as much tenderness as I believe she is capable of feeling. Indeed,
our meeting seems really to have affected her; for when, overcome by
the variety of emotions which the sight of her occasioned, I almost
fainted in her arms, she burst into tears, and said, "let me not lose
my poor daughter a second time!" This unexpected humanity softened
me extremely; but she very soon excited my warmest indignation, by
the ungrateful mention she made of the best of men, my dear and most
generous benefactor. However, grief and anger mutually gave way to
terror, upon her avowing the intention of her visiting England was
to make me return with her to France. This, she said, was a plan she
had formed from the instant she had heard of my birth; which, she
protested, did not reach her ears till I must have been twelve years
of age; but Monsieur Duval, who she declared was the worst husband
in the world, would not permit her to do any thing she wished: he
had been dead but three months; which had been employed in arranging
certain affairs, that were no sooner settled, than she set off for
England. She was already out of mourning, for she said nobody here
could tell how long she had been a widow.
She must have been married very early in life: what her age is I do
not know; but she really looks to be less than fifty. She dresses
very gaily, paints very high, and the traces of former beauty are
still very visible in her face.
I know not when, or how, this visit would have ended, had not the
Captain called for Mrs. Mirvan, and absolutely insisted upon my
attending her. He is become, very suddenly, so warmly my friend, that
I quite dread his officiousness. Mrs. Mirvan, however, whose principal
study seems to be healing those wounds which her husband inflicts,
appeased Madame Duval's wrath, by a very polite invitation to drink
tea and spend the evening here. Not without great difficulty was
the Captain prevailed upon to defer his journey some time longer;
but what could be done? It would have been indecent for me to have
quitted town the very instant I discovered that Madame Duval was in it;
and to have staid here solely under her protection-Mrs. Mirvan, thank
Heaven, was too kind for such a thought. That she should follow us to
Howard Grove, I almost equally dreaded. It is therefore determined,
that we remain in London for some days, or a week: though the Captain
has declared that the old French hag, as he is pleased to call her,
shall fare never the better for it.
My only hope is to get safe to Berry Hill; where, counselled and
sheltered by you, I shall have nothing more to fear. Adieu, my ever
dear and most honoured Sir! I shall have no happiness till I am again
with you.
LETTER XV
MR. VILLARS TO EVELINA Berry Hill, April 16.
IN the belief and hope that my Evelina would, ere now, have bid adieu
to London, I had intended to have deferred writing, till I heard
of her return to Howard Grove; but the letter I have this moment
received, with intelligence of Madame Duval's arrival in England,
demands an immediate answer.
Her journey hither equally grieves and alarms me. How much did I
pity my child, when I read of a discovery at once so unexpected
and unwished! I have long dreaded this meeting and its consequence;
to claim you seems naturally to follow acknowledging you. I am well
acquainted with her disposition, and have for many years foreseen
the contest which now threatens us.
Cruel as are the circumstances of this affair, you must not, my
love, suffer it to depress your spirits: remember, that while life
is lent me, I will devote it to your service; and, for future time,
I will make such provisions as shall seem to me most conducive to
your future happiness. Secure of my protection, and relying on my
tenderness, let no apprehensions of Madame Duval disturb your peace:
conduct yourself towards her with all the respect and deference due
to so near a relation, remembering always, that the failure of duty
on her part, can by no means justify any neglect on your's. Indeed,
the more forcibly you are struck with improprieties and misconduct
in another, the greater should be your observance and diligence
to avoid even the shadow of similar errors. Be careful, therefore,
that no remissness of attention, no indifference of obliging, make
known to her the independence I assure you of; but when she fixes
the time for her leaving England, trust to me the task of refusing
your attending her: disagreeable to myself, I own, it will be; yet
to you it would be improper, if not impossible.
In regard to her opinion of me, I am more sorry than surprised at
her determined blindness; the palliation which she feels the want of,
for her own conduct, leads her to seek for failings in all who were
concerned in those unhapppy transactions which she has so much reason
to lament. And this, as it is the cause, so we must in some measure
consider it as the excuse of her inveteracy.
How grateful to me are your wishes to return to Berry Hill! Your
lengthened stay in London, and the dissipation in which I find you
are involved, fill me with uneasiness. I mean not, however, that I
would have you sequester yourself from the party to which you belong,
since Mrs. Mirvan might thence infer a reproof which your youth and
her kindness would render inexcusable. I will not, therefore, enlarge
upon this subject; but content myself with telling you, that I shall
heartily rejoice when I hear of your safe arrival at Howard Grove,
for which place I hope you will be preparing at the time you receive
this letter.
I cannot too much thank you, my best Evelina, for the minuteness of
your communications. Continue to me this indulgence, for I should be
miserable if in ignorance of your proceedings.
How new to you is the scene of life in which you are
engaged!-balls-plays-operas-ridottos!-Ah, my child! At your return
hither, how will you bear the change? My heart trembles for your
future tranquility.-Yet I will hope every thing from the unsullied
whiteness of your soul, and the native liveliness of your disposition.
I am sure I need not say, how much more I was pleased with the
mistakes of your inexperience at the private ball, than with the
attempted adoption of more fashionable manners at the ridotto. But
your confusion and mortifications were such as to entirely silence
all reproofs on my part.
I hope you will see no more of Sir Clement Willoughby, whose
conversation and boldness are extremely disgustful to me. I was
gratified by the good nature of Lord Orville, upon your making use
of his name; but I hope you will never again put it to such a trial.
Heaven bless thee, my dear child! And grant that neither misfortune
nor vice may ever rob thee of that gaiety of heart, which, resulting
from innocence, while it constitutes your own, contributes also to
the felicity of all who know you! ARTHUR VILLARS.
LETTER XVI
EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS Queen Ann Street, Thursday morning,
April 14.
BEFORE our dinner was over yesterday Madame Duval came to tea; though
it will lessen your surprise, to hear that it was near five o'clock,
for we never dine till the day is almost over. She was asked into
another room while the table was cleared, and then was invited to
partake of the dessert.
She was attended by a French gentleman, whom she introduced by the
name of Monsieur Du Bois: Mrs. Mirvan received them both with her
usual politeness; but the Captain looked very much displeased; and
after a short silence, very sternly said to Madame Duval, "Pray who
asked you to bring that there spark with you?"
"O," cried she, "I never go no where without him."
Another short silence ensued, which was terminated by the Captain's
turning roughly to the foreigner, and saying, "Do you know, Monseer,
that you are the first Frenchman I ever let come into my house?"
Monsieur Du Bois made a profound bow. He speaks no English, and
understands it so imperfectly, that he might possibly imagine he had
received a compliment.
Mrs. Mirvan endeavourd to divert the Captain's ill-humour,
by starting new subjects: but he left to her all the trouble of
supporting them, and leant back in his chair in gloomy silence,
except when any opportunity offered of uttering some sarcasm upon
the French. Finding her efforts to render the evening agreeable were
fruitless, Mrs. Mirvan proposed a party to Ranelagh. Madame Duval
joyfully consented to it; and the Captain though he railed against
the dissipation of the women, did not oppose it; and therefore Maria
and I ran up stairs to dress ourselves.
Before we were ready, word was brought us that Sir Clement Willoughby
was in the drawing-room. He introduced himself under the pretence
of inquiring after all our healths, and entered the room with the
easy air of an old acquaintance; though Mrs. Mirvan confessed that
he seemed embarrassed when he found how coldly he was received,
not only by the Captain, but by herself.
I was extremely disconcerted at the thoughts of seeing this man again,
and did not go downstairs till I was called to tea. He was then
deeply engaged in a discourse upon French manners with Madame Duval
and the Captain; and the subject seemed so entirely to engross him,
that he did not, at first, observe my entrance into the room. Their
conversation was supported with great vehemence; the Captain roughly
maintaining the superiority of the English in every particular,
and Madame Duval warmly refusing to allow of it in any; while Sir
Clement exerted all his powers of argument and of ridicule, to second
and strengthen whatever was advanced by the Captain: for he had the
sagacity to discover, that he could take no method so effectual for
making the master of the house his friend, as to make Madame Duval his
enemy; and indeed, in a very short time, he had reason to congratulate
himself upon his successful discernment.
As soon as he saw me, he made a most respectful bow, and hoped I had
not suffered from the fatigue of the ridotto: I made no other answer
than a slight inclination of the head, for I was very much ashamed
of that whole affair. He then returned to the disputants; where he
managed the argument so skilfully, at once provoking Madame Duval,
and delighting the Captain, that I could not forbear admiring his
address, though I condemned his subtlety. Mrs. Mirvan, dreading such
violent antagonists, attempted frequently to change the subject; and
she might have succeeded, but for the interposition of Sir Clement,
who would not suffer it to be given up, and supported it with such
humour and satire, that he seems to have won the Captain's heart;
though their united forces so enraged and overpowered Madame Duval,
that she really trembled with passion.
I was very glad when Mrs. Mirvan said it was time to be gone. Sir
Clement arose to take leave; but the Captain very cordially invited
him to join our party: he had an engagement, he said, but would give
it up to have that pleasure.
Some little confusion ensued in regard to our manner of setting
off. Mrs. Mirvan offered Madame Duval a place in her coach, and
proposed that we four females should go all together; however, this
she rejected, declaring she would by no means go so far without a
gentleman, and wondering so polite a lady could make so English a
proposal. Sir Clement Willoughby said, his chariot was waiting at
the door, and begged to know if it could be of any use. It was at
last decided, that a hackney-coach should be called for Monsieur Du
Bois and Madame Duval, in which the Captain, and, at his request,
Sir Clement, went also; Mrs. and Miss Mirvan and I had a peaceful
and comfortable ride by ourselves.
I doubt not but they quarrelled all the way; for when we met at
Ranelagh every one seemed out of humour; and though we joined parties,
poor Madame Duval was avoided as much as possible by all but me.
The room was so very much crowded, that but for the uncommon assiduity
of Sir Clement Willoughby, we should not have been able to procure
a box (which is the name given to the arched recesses that are
appropriated for tea-parties) till half the company had retired. As
we were taking possession of our places, some ladies of Mrs. Mirvan's
acquaintance stopped to speak to her, and persuaded her to take a
round with them. When she returned to us, what was my surprise, to
see that Lord Orville had joined her party! The ladies walked on:
Mrs. Mirvan seated herself, and made a slight, though respectful,
invitation to Lord Orville to drink his tea with us; which, to my no
small consternation, he accepted.
I felt a confusion unspeakable at again seeing him, from the
recollection of the ridotto adventure: nor did my situation lessen it;
for I was seated between Madame Duval and Sir Clement, who seemed
as little as myself to desire Lord Orville's presence. Indeed, the
continual wrangling and ill-breeding of Captain Mirvan and Madame
Duval made me blush that I belonged to them. And poor Mrs. Mirvan
and her amiable daughter had still less reason to be satisfied.
A general silence ensued after he was seated: his appearance, from
different motives, gave an universal restraint to every body. What his
own reasons were for honouring us with his company, I cannot imagine;
unless, indeed, he had a curiosity to know whether I should invent
any new impertinence concerning him.
The first speech was made by Madame Duval, who said, "It's quite a
shocking thing to see ladies come to so genteel a place as Ranelagh
with hats on; it has a monstrous vulgar look: I can't think what they
wear them for. There is no such a thing to be seen in Paris."
"Indeed," cried Sir Clement, "I must own myself no advocate for
hats; I am sorry the ladies ever invented or adopted so tantalizing
a fashion: for, where there is beauty, they only serve to shade it;
and, where there is none, to excite a most unavailing curiosity. I
fancy they were originally worn by some young and whimsical coquette."
"More likely," answered the Captain, "they were invented by some
wrinkled old hag, who'd a mind for to keep the young fellows in chace,
let them be never so weary."
"I don't know what you may do in England," cried Madame Duval, "but
I know in Paris no woman needn't be at such a trouble as that to be
taken very genteel notice of."
"Why, will you pretend for to say," returned the Captain, "that they
don't distinguish the old from the young there as well as here?"
"They don't make no distinguishments at all," said she; "they're
vastly too polite."
"More fools they!" cried the Captain, sneeringly.
"Would to Heaven," cried, Sir Clement, "that, for our own sakes,
we Englishmen too were blest with so accommodating a blindness!"
"Why the devil do you make such a prayer as that?" demanded the
Captain: "them are the first foolish words I've heard you speak;
but I suppose you're not much used to that sort of work. Did you ever
make a prayer before, since you were a sniveler?"
"Ay, now," cried Madame Duval, "that's another of the unpolitenesses
of you English, to go to talking of such things as that: now in Paris
nobody never says nothing about religion, no more than about politics."
"Why then," answered he, "it's a sign they take no more care of
their souls than of their country, and so both one and t'other go to
old Nick."
"Well, if they do," said she, "who's the worse, so long as they don't
say nothing about it? It's the tiresomest thing in the world to be
always talking of them sort of things, and nobody that's ever been
abroad troubles their heads about them."
"Pray then," cried the Captain, "since you know so much of the matter,
be so good as to tell us what they do trouble their heads about?-Hey,
Sir Clement! han't we a right to know that much?"
"A very comprehensive question," said Sir Clement, "and I expect much
instruction from the lady's answer."
"Come, Madam," continued the Captain, "never flinch; speak at once;
don't stop for thinking."
"I assure you I am not going," answered she; "for as to what they
do do, why they've enough to do, I promise you, what with one thing
or another."
"But what, what do they do, these famous Monseers?" demanded the
Captain; "can't you tell us? do they game?-or drink?-or fiddle?-or are
they jockeys?-or do they spend all their time in flummering old women?"
"As to that, Sir-but indeed I shan't trouble myself to answer such a
parcel of low questions, so don't ask me no more about it." And then,
to my great vexation, turning to Lord Orville, she said, "Pray, Sir,
was you ever in Paris?"
He only bowed.
"And pray, Sir, how did you like it?"
This comprehensive question, as Sir Clement would have called it,
though it made him smile, also made him hesitate; however, his answer
was expressive of his approbation.
"I thought you would like it, Sir, because you look so like a
gentleman. As to the Captain, and as to that other gentleman, why
they may very well not like what they don't know: for I suppose, Sir,
you was never abroad?"
"Only three years, Ma'am," answered Sir Clement, drily.
"Well, that's very surprising! I should never have thought it: however,
I dare say you only kept company with the English."
"Why, pray, who should he keep company with?" cried the Captain:
"what I suppose you'd have him ashamed of his own nation, like some
other people not a thousand miles off, on purpose to make his own
nation ashamed of him?"
"I'm sure it would be a very good thing if you'd go abroad yourself."
"How will you make out that, hey, Madam? come, please to tell me,
where would be the good of that?"
"Where! why a great deal. They'd make quite another person of you."
"What, I suppose you'd have me to learn to cut capers?-and dress like
a monkey?-and palaver in French gibberish?-hey, would you?-And powder,
and daub, and make myself up, like some other folks?"
"I would have you learn to be more politer, Sir, and not to talk to
ladies in such a rude, old-fashion way as this. You, Sir, as have been
in Paris," again addressing herself to Lord Orville, "can tell this
English gentleman how he'd be despised, if he was to talk in such an
ungenteel manner as this before any foreigners. Why, there isn't a
hairdresser, nor a shoemaker, nor nobody, that wouldn't blush to be
in your company."
"Why, look ye, Madam," answered the Captain, "as to your hair-pinchers
and shoe-blacks, you may puff off their manners, and welcome; and I
am heartily glad you like 'em so well: but as to me, since you must
needs make so free of your advice, I must e'en tell you, I never kept
company with any such gentry."
"Come, ladies and gentlemen," said Mrs. Mirvan, "as many of you as have
done tea, I invite to walk with me." Maria and I started up instantly;
Lord Orville followed; and I question whether we were not half round
the room ere the angry disputants knew that we had left the box.
As the husband of Mrs. Mirvan had borne so large a share in
the disagreeable altercation, Lord Orville forbore to make any
comments upon it; so that the subject was immediately dropt, and the
conversation became calmly sociable, and politely cheerful, and, to
every body but me, must have been highly agreeable:-but, as to myself,
I was so eagerly desirous of making some apology to Lord Orville,
for the impertinence of which he must have thought me guilty at the
ridotto, and yet so utterly unable to assume sufficient courage to
speak to him, concerning an affair in which I had so terribly exposed
myself, that I hardly ventured to say a word all the time we were
walking. Besides, the knowledge of his contemptuous opinion haunted and
dispirited me, and made me fear he might possibly misconstrue whatever
I should say. So that, far from enjoying a conversation which might, at
any other time, have delighted me, I continued silent, uncomfortable,
and ashamed. O, Sir, shall I ever again involve myself in so foolish
an embarrassment? I am sure that, if I do, I shall deserve greater
mortification.
We were not joined by the rest of the party till we had taken three
or four turns around the room; and then they were so quarrelsome,
that Mrs. Mirvan complained of being fatigued and proposed going
home. No one dissented. Lord Orville joined another party, having first
made an offer of his services, which the gentlemen declined, and we
proceeded to an outward room, where we waited for the carriages. It
was settled that we should return to town in the same manner we came
to Ranelagh; and, accordingly, Monsieur Du Bois handed Madame Duval
into a hackney coach, and was just preparing to follow her, when she
screamed, and jumped hastily out, declaring she was wet through all
her clothes. Indeed, upon examination the coach was found to be in a
dismal condition; for the weather proved very bad, and the rain had,
though I know not how, made its way into the carriage.
Mrs. and Miss Mirvan, and myself, were already disposed of as before;
but no sooner did the Captain hear this account, than, without any
ceremony, he was so civil as to immediately take possession of the
vacant seat in his own coach, leaving Madame Duval and Monsieur
Du Bois to take care of themselves. As to Sir Clement Willoughby,
his own chariot was in waiting.
I instantly begged permission to offer Madame Duval my own place, and
made a motion to get out; but Mrs. Mirvan stopped me, saying, that
I should then be obliged to return to town with only the foreigner,
or Sir Clement.
"O never mind the old beldame," cried the Captain, "she's
weather-proof, I'll answer for her; and besides, as we are all, I hope,
English, why she'll meet with no worse than she expects from us."
"I do not mean to defend her," said Mrs. Mirvan; "but indeed, as she
belongs to our party, we cannot, with any decency, leave the place
till she is, by some means, accommodated."
"Lord, my dear," cried the Captain, whom the distress of Madame Duval
had put into very good humour, "why, she'll break her heart if she
meets with any civility from a filthy Englishman."
Mrs. Mirvan, however, prevailed; and we all got out of the coach, to
wait till Madame Duval could meet with some better carriage. We found
her, attended by Monsieur Du Bois, standing amongst the servants, and
very busy in wiping her negligee, and endeavouring to save it from
being stained by the wet, as she said it was a new Lyons silk. Sir
Clement Willoughby offered her the use of his chariot, but she had been
too much piqued by his raillery to accept it. We waited some time,
but in vain; for no hackney-coach could be procured. The Captain,
at last, was persuaded to accompany Sir Clement himself, and we four
females were handed into Mrs. Mirvan's carriage, though not before
Madame Duval had insisted upon our making room for Monsieur Du Bois,
to which the Captain only consented in preference to being incommoded
by him in Sir Clement's chariot.
Our party drove off first. We were silent and unsociable; for the
difficulties attending this arrangement had made every one languid
and fatigued. Unsociable, I must own, we continued; but very short
was the duration of our silence, as we had not proceeded thirty yards
before every voice was heard at once-for the coach broke down! I
suppose we concluded, of course, that we were all half killed, by
the violent shrieks that seemed to come from every mouth. The chariot
was stopped, the servants came to our assistance, and we were taken
out of the carriage, without having been at all hurt. The night was
dark and wet; but I had scarce touched the ground when I was lifted
suddenly from it by Sir Clement Willoughby, who begged permission to
assist me, though he did not wait to have it granted, but carried me
in his arms back to Ranelagh.
He enquired very earnestly if I was not hurt by the accident? I assured
him I was perfectly safe, and free from injury; and desired he would
leave me, and return to the rest of the party, for I was very uneasy
to know whether they had been equally fortunate. He told me he was
happy in being honoured with my commands, and would joyfully execute
them; but insisted upon first conducting me to a warm room, as I had
not wholly escaped being wet. He did not regard my objections; but
made me follow him to an apartment, where we found an excellent fire,
and some company waiting for carriages. I readily accepted a seat,
and then begged he would go.
And go, indeed, he did; but he returned in a moment, telling me
that the rain was more violent than ever, and that he had sent his
servants to offer their assistance, and acquaint the Mirvans of my
situation. I was very mad that he would not go himself; but as my
acquaintance with him was so very slight, I did not think proper to
urge him contrary to his inclination.
Well, he drew a chair close to mine; and, after again enquiring how
I did, said, in a low voice, "You will pardon me, Miss Anville, if
the eagerness I feel to vindicate myself, induces me to snatch this
opportunity of making sincere acknowledgments for the impertinence
with which I tormented you at the last ridotto. I can assure you,
Madam, I have been a true and sorrowful penitent ever since; but-shall
I tell you honestly what encouraged me to-"
He stopt, but I said nothing; for I thought instantly of the
conversation Miss Mirvan had overheard, and supposed he was going to
tell me himself what part Lord Orville had borne in it; and really
I did not wish to hear it repeated. Indeed, the rest of his speech
convinces me that such was his intention; with what view I know not,
except to make a merit of his defending me.
"And yet," he continued, "my excuse may only expose my own credulity,
and want of judgment and penetration. I will, therefore, merely
beseech your pardon, and hope that some future time-"
Just then the door was opened by Sir Clement's servant, and I had the
pleasure of seeing the Captain, Mrs. and Miss Mirvan, enter the room.
"O ho!" cried the former, "you have got a good warm berth here; but
we shall beat up your quarters. Here, Lucy, Moll, come to the fire,
and dry your trumpery. But, hey-day-why, where's old Madame French?"
"Good God," cried I, "is not Madame Duval then with you?"
"With me! No,-thank God."
I was very uneasy to know what might have become of her; and, if they
would have suffered me, I should have gone in search of her myself;
but all the servants were dispatched to find her; and the Captain said,
we might be very sure her French beau would take care of her.
We waited some time without any tidings, and were soon the only party
in the room. My uneasiness increased so much that Sir Clement now
made a voluntary offer of seeking her. However, the same moment that
he opened the door with this design, she presented herself at it,
attended by Monsieur Du Bois.
"I was this instant, Madam," said he, "coming to see for you."
"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 out 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 happened. "How!" repeated
she,-"why it was all along of your all going away,-and there poor
Monsieur Du Bois-but it wasn'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 inquiries 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 ankle-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 slipt,-at least, I
suppose so,-though I can't think how it happened, for I'm so 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; nobody never came near us."
This recital put the Captain into an ecstasy; 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, stamping 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 in 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 intreated her to permit the woman who has
charge of the ladies' cloaks to assist in drying her clothes; 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 inquire 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 XVII
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 inquired 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 awkward 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, overgrown school-boy,
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 silversmith'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 introduce 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 couldn'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 wasn'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 begun, 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.
Then they 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
wouldn'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 intreaties 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 inquired 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 doing so.
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 XVIII
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
inquired first of mine, then of the health of Mrs. and Miss Mirvan,
with a degree of concern that rather surprised me, till he said he had
just been informed of the accident we had met with at Ranelagh. He
expressed his sorrow upon the occasion with 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 stopt 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 tete-e-tete 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 the shadow of a reason for so shocking an idea.
But was not it 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 pretensions 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 choose 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.
How great is my obligation to Mrs. Mirvan, for bestowing her
time in a manner so disagreeable to herself, merely to promote my
happiness! Every dispute in which her undeserving husband engages, is
productive of pain and uneasiness to herself; of this I am so sensible,
that I even besought her not to send to Madame Duval; but she declared
she could not bear to have me pass all my time, while in town, with her
only. Indeed she could not be more kind to me, were she your daughter.
LETTER XIX
EVELINA IN CONTINUATION Saturday Morning, April 16.
MADAM DUVAL was accompanied by Monsieur Du Bois. I am surprised that
she should choose to introduce him where he is so unwelcome: and,
indeed, it is strange that they should be so constantly together,
though I believe I should have taken notice of it, but that Captain
Mirvan is perpetually rallying me upon my grandmama's beau.
They were both received by Mrs. Mirvan with her usual good-breeding;
but the Captain, most provokingly, attacked her immediately, saying,
"Now, Madame, you that have lived abroad, please to tell me this here:
Which did you like best, the warm room at Ranelagh, or the cold bath
you went into afterwards? though I assure you, you look so well,
that I should advise you to take another dip."
"Ma foi, Sir," cried she, "nobody asked for your advice, so you may
as well keep it to yourself: besides, it's no such great joke to be
splashed, and to catch cold, and spoil all one's things, whatever
you may think of it."
"Splashed, quoth-a!-why I thought you were soused all over.-Come,
come, don't mince the matter, never spoil a good story; you know you
hadn't a dry thread about you-'Fore George, I shall never think on't
without hollooing! such a poor forlorn draggle-tailed-gentlewoman! and
poor Monseer French, here, like a drowned rat, by your side!-"
"Well, the worse pickle we was in, so much the worser in you not to
help us; for you knowed where we were fast enough, because, while I
laid in the mud, I'm pretty sure I heard you snigger: so it's like
enough you jostled us down yourself; for Monsieur Du Bois says, that
he is sure he had a great jolt given him, or he shouldn't have fell."
The Captain laughed so immoderately, that he really gave me also a
suspicion that he was not entirely innocent of the charge: however,
he disclaimed it very peremptorily.
"Why then," continued she, "if you didn't do that, why didn't you
come to help us?"
"Who, I?-what, do you suppose I had forgot I was an Englishman,
a filthy, beastly Englishman?"
"Very well, Sir, very well; but I was a fool to expect any better,
for it's all of a piece with the rest; you know, you wanted to fling
me out of the coach-window, the very first time ever I see you:
but I'll never go to Ranelagh with you no more, that I'm resolved;
for I dare say, if the horses had runn'd over me, as I laid in that
nastiness, you'd never have stirred a step to save me."
"Lord, no, to be sure, Ma'am, not for the world! I know your opinion
of our nation too well, to affront you by supposing a Frenchman would
want my assistance to protect you. Did you think that Monseer here,
and I had changed characters, and that he should pop you into the mud,
and I help you out of it? Ha, ha, ha!"
"O very well, Sir, laugh on, it's like your manners; however, if
poor Monsieur Du Bois hadn't met with that unlucky accident himself
I shouldn't have wanted nobody's help."
"O, I promise you, Madame, you'd never have had mine; I knew my
distance better: and as to your being a little ducked, or so, why,
to be sure, Monseer and you settled that between yourselves; so it
was no business of mine."
"What, then, I suppose you want to make me believe as Monsieur Du
Bois served me that trick o'purpose?"
"O' purpose! ay, certainly; whoever doubted that? Do you think a
Frenchman ever made a blunder? If he had been some clumsy-footed
English fellow, indeed, it might have been accidental: but what
the devil signifies all your hopping and capering with your
dancing-masters, if you can't balance yourselves upright?"
In the midst of this dialogue, Sir Clement Willoughby made his
appearance. He affects to enter the house with the freedom of an old
acquaintance; and this very easiness, which, to me, is astonishing,
is what most particularly recommends him to the Captain. Indeed,
he seems very successfully to study all the humours of that gentleman.
After having heartily welcomed him, "You are just come in time, my
boy," said he, "to settle a little matter of a dispute between this
here gentlewoman and I; do you know she has been trying to persuade
me, that she did not above half like the ducking Monseer gave her
t'other night."
"I should have hoped," said Sir Clement, with the utmost gravity, "that
the friendship subsisting between that lady and gentleman would have
guarded them against any actions professed disagreeable to each other:
but, probably, they might not have discussed the matter previously;
in which case the gentleman, I must own, seems to have been guilty of
inattention, since, in my humble opinion, it was his business first
to have inquired whether the lady preferred soft or hard ground,
before he dropt her."
"O very fine, gentlemen, very fine," cried Madame Duval, "you may try
to set us together by the ears as much as you will; but I'm not such
an ignorant person as to be made a fool of so easily; so you needn't
talk no more about it, for I sees into your designs."
Monsieur Du Bois, who was just able to discover the subject upon
which the conversation turned, made his defence, in French, with
great solemnity: he hoped, he said, that the company would at least
acknowledge he did not come from a nation of brutes; and consequently,
that to wilfully offend any lady, was, to him, utterly impossible;
but that, on the contrary, in endeavouring, as was his duty, to save
and guard her, he had himself suffered, in a manner which he would
forbear to relate, but which, he greatly apprehended, he should feel
the ill effects of for many months: and then, with a countenance
exceedingly lengthened, he added, that he hoped it would not be
attributed to him as national prejudice, when he owned that he must,
to the best of his memory, aver, that his unfortunate fall was owing
to a sudden but violent push, which, he was shocked to say, some
malevolent person, with a design to his injury, must certainly have
given him; but whether with a view to mortify him, by making him let
the lady fall, or whether merely to spoil his clothes, he could not
pretend to determine.
This disputation was, at last, concluded by Mrs. Mirvan's proposing
that we should all go to Cox's Museum. Nobody objected, and carriages
were immediately ordered.
In our way down stairs, Madame Duval, in a very passionate manner,
said, "Ma foi, if I wouldn't give fifty guineas only to know who gave
us that shove!"
This Museum is very astonishing, and very superb; yet if afforded me
but little pleasure, for it is a mere show, though a wonderful one.
Sir Clement Willoughby, in our walk round the room, asked me what my
opinion was of this brilliant spectacle!
"It is a very fine, and very ingenious," answered I; "and yet-I don't
know how it is-but I seem to miss something."
"Excellently answered!" cried he; "you have exactly defined my own
feelings, though in a manner I should never have arrived at. But
I was certain your taste was too well formed, to be pleased at the
expense of your understanding."
"Pardi," cried Madame Duval, "I hope you two is difficult enough! I'm
sure if you don't like this you like nothing; for it's the grandest,
prettiest, finest sight that ever I see in England."
"What," cried the Captain with a sneer, "I suppose this may be in
your French taste? it's like enough, for it's all kickshaw work. But
pr'ythee, friend," turning to the person who explained the devices,
"will you tell me the use of all this? for I'm not enough of a conjuror
to find it out."
"Use, indeed!" repeated Madame Duval, disdainfully; "Lord if every
thing's to be useful!-"
"Why, Sir, as to that, Sir," said our conductor, "the ingenuity of
the mechanism-the beauty of the workmanship-the-undoubtedly, Sir, any
person of taste may easily discern the utility of such extraordinary
performances."
"Why then, Sir," answered the Captain, "your person of taste must
be either a coxcomb, or a Frenchman; though, for the matter of that,
'tis the same thing."
Just then our attention was attracted by a pine-apple; which, suddenly
opening, discovered a nest of birds, which immediately began to
sing. "Well," cried Madame Duval, "this is prettier than all the rest!
I declare, in all my travels, I never see nothing eleganter."
"Hark ye, friend," said the Captain, "hast never another pine-apple?"
"Sir?-"
"Because, if thou hast, pr'ythee give it us without the birds;
for, d'ye see, I'm no Frenchman, and should relish something more
substantial."
This entertainment concluded with a concert of mechanical music: I
cannot explain how it was produced, but the effect was pleasing. Madame
Duval was in ecstasies; and the Captain flung himself into so many
ridiculous distortions, by way of mimicking her, that he engaged the
attention of all the company; and, in the midst of the performance of
the Coronation Anthem, while Madame Duval was affecting to beat time,
and uttering many expressions of delight, he called suddenly for salts,
which a lady, apprehending some distress, politely handed to him,
and which, instantly applying to the nostrils of poor Madame Duval,
she involuntarily snuffed up such a quantity, that the pain and
surprise made her scream aloud. When she recovered, she reproached
him with her usual vehemence; but he protested he had taken that
measure out of pure friendship, as he concluded, from her raptures,
that she was going into hysterics. This excuse by no means appeased
her, and they had a violent quarrel; but the only effect her anger
had on the Captain, was to increase his diversion. Indeed, he laughs
and talks so terribly loud in public, that he frequently makes us
ashamed of belonging to him.
Madame Duval, notwithstanding her wrath, made no scruple of returning
to dine in Queen Ann Street. Mrs. Mirvan had secured places for the
play at Drury-Lane Theatre, and, though ever uneasy in her company, she
very politely invited Madame Duval to be of our party; however, she had
a bad cold and chose to nurse it. I was sorry for her indisposition;
but I knew not how to be sorry she did not accompany us, for she is-I
must not say what, but very unlike other people.
LETTER XX
EVELINA IN CONTINUATION
OUR places were in the front row of a side-box. Sir Clement Willoughby,
who knew our intention, was at the door of the theatre, and handed
us from the carriage.
We had not been seated five minutes before Lord Orville, whom we saw in
the stage-box, came to us; and he honoured us with his company all the
evening; Miss Mirvan and I both rejoiced that Madam Duval was absent,
as we hoped for the enjoyment of some conversation, uninterrupted
by her quarrels with the Captain: but I soon found that her presence
would have made very little alteration; for as far was I from daring
to speak, that I knew not where even to look.
The play was Love for Love; and though it is fraught with wit and
entertainment I hope I shall never see it represented again; for it
is so extremely indelicate-to use the softest word I can-that Miss
Mirvan and I were perpetually out of countenance, and could neither
make any observations ourselves, nor venture to listen to those of
others. This was the most provoking, as Lord Orville was in excellent
spirits, and exceedingly entertaining.
When the play was over, I flattered myself I should be able to look
about me with less restraint, as we intended to stay the farce; but
the curtain had hardly dropped, when the box-door opened, and in came
Mr. Lovel, the man by whose foppery and impertinence I was so much
teased at the ball where I first saw Lord Orville.
I turned away my head, and began talking to Miss Mirvan; for I was
desirous to avoid speaking to him-but in vain; for, as soon as he had
made his compliments to Lord Orville and Sir Clement Willoughby, who
returned them very coldly, he bent his head forward and said to me,
"I hope, Ma'am, you have enjoyed your health since I had the honour-I
beg ten thousand pardons, but, I protest I was going to say the honour
of dancing with you-however, I mean the honour of seeing you dance?"
He spoke with a self-complacency that convinced me that he had studied
this address, by way of making reprisals for my conduct at the ball;
I therefore bowed slightly, but made no answer.
After a short silence he again called my attention, by saying, in an
easy, negligent way, "I think, Ma'am, you was never in town before?"
"No, Sir."
"So I did presume. Doubtless, Ma'am, every thing must be infinitely
novel to you. Our customs, our manners, and les etiquettes de nous
autres, can have little very resemblance to those you have been used
to. I imagine, Ma'am, your retirement is at no very small distance
from the capital?"
I was so much disconcerted at this sneering speech, that I said not
a word; though I have since thought my vexation both stimulated and
delighted him.
"The air we breathe here, however, Ma'am," continued he, very
conceitedly, "though foreign to that you have been accustomed to,
has not I hope been at variance with your health?"
"Mr. Lovel," said Lord Orville, "could not your eye have spared
that question?"
"O, my Lord," answered he, "if health were the only cause of a lady's
bloom, my eye, I grant, had been infallible from the first glance;
but-"
"Come, come," cried Mrs. Mirvan, "I must beg no insinuations of that
sort: Miss Anville's colour, as you have successfully tried, may,
you see, be heightened; but, I assure you, it would be past your
skill to lessen it."
"'Pon honour, Madam," returned he, "you wrong me; I presumed not to
infer that rouge was the only succedaneum for health; but, really,
I have known so many different causes for a lady's colour, such as
flushing-anger-mauvaise honte-and so forth, that I never dare decide
to which it may be owing."
"As to such causes as them there," cried the Captain, "they must
belong to those that they keep company with."
"Very true, Captain," said Sir Clement; "the natural complexion has
nothing to do with the occasional sallies of the passions, or any
accidental causes."
"No, truly," returned the Captain: "for now here's me, why I look like
any other man; just now; and yet, if you were to put me in a passion,
'fore George, you'd soon see me have as fine a high colour as any
painted Jezebel in all this place, be she never so bedaubed."
"But," said Lord Orville, "the difference of natural and of artificial
colour seems to me very easily discerned; that of nature is mottled
and varying; that of art set, and too smooth; it wants that animation,
that glow, that indescribable something, which, even now that I see
it, wholly surpasses all my powers of expression."
"Your Lordship," said Sir Clement, "is universally acknowledged to
be a connoisseur in beauty."
"And you, Sir Clement," returned he, "an enthusiast."
"I am proud to own it," cried Sir Clement; "in such a cause, and before
such objects, enthusiasm is simply the consequence of not being blind."
"Pr'ythee, a truce with all this palavering," cried the Captain:
"the women are vain enough already; no need for to puff 'em up more."
"We must all submit to the commanding officer," said Sir Clement:
"therefore, let us call another subject. Pray, ladies, how have you
been entertained with the play?"
"Want of entertainment," said Mrs. Mirvan, "is its least fault; but I
own there are objections to it, which I should be glad to see removed."
"I could have ventured to answer for the ladies," said Lord Orville,
"since I am sure this is not a play that can be honoured with their
approbation."
"What, I suppose it is not sentimental enough!" cried the Captain,
"or else it is too good for them; for I'll maintain it's one of the
best comedies in our language, and has more wit in one scene than
there is in all the new plays put together."
"For my part," said Mr. Lovel, "I confess I seldom listen to the
players: one has so much to do, in looking about and finding out one's
acquaintance, that, really, one has no time to mind the stage. Pray,"
most affectedly fixing his eyes upon a diamond ring on his little
finger, "pray-what was the play to-night?"
"Why, what the D-l," cried the Captain, "do you come to the play
without knowing what it is?"
"O yes, Sir, yes, very frequently: I have no time to read play-bills;
one merely comes to meet one's friends, and shew that one's alive."
"Ha, ha, ha!-and so," cried the Captain, "it costs you five shillings
a-night just to shew you're alive! Well, faith, my friends should
all think me dead and underground before I'd be at that expense for
'em. Howsomever-this here you may take from me-they'll find you out
fast enough if you have anything to give 'em.-And so you've been here
all this time, and don't know what the play was?"
"Why, really Sir, a play requires so much attention,-it is scarce
possible to keep awake if one listens;-for, indeed, by the time it
is evening, one has been so fatigued with dining,-or wine,-or the
house,-or studying,-that it is-it is perfectly an impossibility. But,
now I think of it, I believe I have a bill in my pocket; O, ay,
here it is-Love for Love, ay,-true, ha, ha!-how could I be so stupid!"
"O, easily enough, as to that, I warrant you," said the Captain;
"but, by my soul, this is one of the best jokes I ever heard!-Come
to a play, and not know what it is!-Why, I suppose you wouldn't have
found it out, if they had fob'd you off with a scraping of fiddlers,
or an opera?-Ha, ha, ha!-Why, now, I should have thought you might
have taken some notice of one Mr. Tattle, that is in this play!"
This sarcasm, which caused a general smile, made him colour: but,
turning to the Captain with a look of conceit, which implied that he
had a retort ready, he said, "Pray, Sir, give me leave to ask-What
do you think of one Mr. Ben, who is also in this play?"
The Captain, regarding him with the utmost contempt, answered in a loud
voice, "Think of him!-why, I think he is a man!" And then, staring
full in his face, he struck his cane on the ground with a violence
that made him start. He did not however, choose to take any notice
of this: but, having bit his nails some time in manifest confusion,
he turned very quick to me, and in a sneering tone of voice, said,
"For my part, I was most struck with the country young lady, Miss Prue;
pray what do you think of her, Ma'am?"
"Indeed, Sir," cried I, very much provoked, "I think-that is, I do
not think any thing about her."
"Well, really, Ma'am, you prodigiously surprise me!-mais, apparemment
ce n'est qu'une facon de parler? -though I should beg your pardon,
for probably you do not understand French?"
I made no answer, for I thought his rudeness intolerable; but Sir
Clement, with great warmth, said, "I am surprised that you can suppose
such an object as Miss Prue would engage the attention of Miss Anville
even for a moment."
"O, Sir," returned this fop, "'tis the first character in the piece!-so
well drawn!-so much the thing!-such true country breeding-such rural
ignorance! ha, ha, ha!-'tis most admirably hit off, 'pon honour!"
I could almost have cried, that such impertinence should be leveled
at me; and yet, chagrined as I was, I could never behold Lord Orville
and this man at the same time, and feel any regret for the cause I
had given of displeasure.
"The only female in the play," said Lord Orville, "worthy of being
mentioned to these ladies is Angelica."
"Angelica," cried Sir Clement, "is a noble girl; she tries her lover
severely, but she rewards him generously."
"Yet, in a trial so long," said Mrs. Mirvan, "there seems rather too
much consciousness of her power."
"Since my opinion has the sanction of Mrs. Mirvan," added Lord
Orville, "I will venture to say, that Angelica bestows her hand
rather with the air of a benefactress, than with the tenderness of
a mistress. Generosity without delicacy, like wit without judgment,
generally gives as much pain as pleasure. The uncertainty in which
she keeps Valentine, and her manner of trifling with his temper,
give no very favourable idea of her own."
"Well, my Lord," said Mr. Lovel, "it must, however, be owned, that
uncertainty is not the ton among our ladies at present; nay, indeed,
I think they say,-though faith," taking a pinch of snuff, "I hope it
is not true-but they say, that we now are most shy and backward."
The curtain then drew up, and our conversation ceased. Mr. Lovel,
finding we chose to attend to the players, left the box. How strange
it is, Sir, that this man, not contented with the large share of
foppery and nonsense which he has from nature, should think proper
to affect yet more! for what he said of Tattle and of Miss Prue,
convinced me that he really had listened to the play, though he was
so ridiculous and foolish as to pretend ignorance.
But how malicious and impertinent is this creature to talk to me in
such a manner! I am sure I hope I shall never see him again. I should
have despised him heartily as a fop, had he never spoken to me at
all; but now, that he thinks proper to resent his supposed ill-usage,
I am really quite afraid of him.
The entertainment was, The Duece is in Him; which Lord Orville observed
to be the most finished and elegant petit piece that was ever written
in English.
In our way home, Mrs. Mirvan put me into some consternation by saying,
it was evident, from the resentment which this Mr. Lovel harbours
of my conduct, that he would think it a provocation sufficiently
important for a duel, if his courage equaled his wrath.
I am terrified at the very idea. Good Heaven! that a man so weak
and frivolous should be so revengeful! However, if bravery would
have excited him to affront Lord Orville, how much reason have I to
rejoice that cowardice makes him contended with venting his spleen
upon me! But we shall leave town soon, and, I hope, see him no more.
It was some consolation to me to hear from Miss Mirvan, that, while
he was speaking to me so cavalierly, Lord Orville regarded him with
great indignation.
But, really, I think there ought to be a book of the laws and
customs -e;-la-mode, presented to all young people upon their first
introduction into public company.
To-night we go to the opera, where I expect very great pleasure. We
shall have the same party as at the play, for Lord Orville said he
should be there, and would look for us.
LETTER XXI
EVELINA IN CONTINUATION I HAVE a volume to write of the adventures
of yesterday. In the afternoon,-at Berry Hill I should have said the
evening, for it was almost six o'clock,-while Miss Mirvan and I were
dressing for the opera, and in high spirits from the expectation of
great entertainment and pleasure, we heard a carriage stop at the door,
and concluded that Sir Clement Willoughby, with his usual assiduity,
was come to attend us to the Haymarket; but, in a few moments, what
was our surprise to see our chamber door flung open, and the two Miss
Branghtons enter the room! They advanced to me with great familiarity,
saying, "How do you do, Cousin?-so we've caught you at the glass!-well,
I'm determined I'll tell my brother of that!"
Miss Mirvan, who had never before seen them, and could not at first
imagine who they were, looked so much astonished, that I was ready
to laugh myself, till the eldest said, "We're come to take you to
the opera, Miss; papa and my brother are below, and we are to call
for your grand-mama as we go along."
"I am very sorry," answered I, "that you should have taken so much
trouble, as I am engaged already."
"Engaged! Lord, Miss, never mind that," cried the youngest; "this
young lady will make your excuses I dare say; it's only doing as one
would be done by, you know."
"Indeed Ma'am," said Miss Mirvan, "I shall myself be very sorry to
be deprived of Miss Anville's company this evening."
"Well, Miss, that is not so very good-natured in you," said Miss
Branghton, "considering we only come to give our cousin pleasure;
it's no good to us; it's all upon her account; for we came, I don't
know how much round about to take her up."
"I am extremely obliged to you," said I, "and very sorry you have
lost so much time; but I cannot possibly help it, for I engaged myself
without knowing you would call."
"Lord, what signifies that?" said Miss Polly, "you're no old maid,
and so you needn't be so very formal: besides I dare say those you
are engaged to a'n't half so near related to you as we are."
"I must beg you not to press me any further, for I assure you it is
not in my power to attend you."
"Why, we came all out of the city on purpose: besides, your grand-mama
expects you;-and, pray, what are we to say to her?"
"Tell her, if you please, that I am much concerned,-but that I am
pre-engaged."
"And who to?" demanded the abrupt Miss Branghton.
"To Mrs. Mirvan,-and a large party."
"And, pray, what are you all going to do, that it would be such a
mighty matter for you to come along with us?"
"We are all going to-to the opera."
"O dear, if that be all, why can't we go altogether?"
I was extremely disconcerted at this forward and ignorant behaviour,
and yet their rudeness very much lessened my concern at refusing
them. Indeed, their dress was such as would have rendered their scheme
of accompanying our party impracticable, even if I had desired it;
and this, as they did not themselves find it out, I was obliged,
in terms the least mortifying I could think of, to tell them.
They were very much chagrined, and asked where I should sit.
"In the pit," answered I.
"In the pit," repeated Miss Branghton; "well, really, I must own,
I should never have supposed that my gown was not good enough for
the pit: but come, Polly, let's go; if Miss does not think us fine
enough for her, why to be sure she may choose."
Surprised at this ignorance, I would have explained to them, that the
pit at the opera required the same dress as the boxes; but they were
so much affronted they would not hear me; and, in great displeasure,
left the room, saying, they would not have troubled me, only they
thought I should not be proud with my own relations, and that they
had at least as good a right to my company as strangers.
I endeavoured to apologize, and would have sent a long message to
Madame Duval: but they hastened away without listening to me; and
I could not follow them down stairs, because I was not dressed. The
last words I heard them say were, "Well, her grandmama will be in a
fine passion, that's one good thing."
Though I was extremely mad at this visit, yet I so heartily rejoiced at
their going, that I would not suffer myself to think gravely about it.
Soon after, Sir Clement actually came, and we all went down
stairs. Mrs. Mirvan ordered tea; and we were engaged in a very lively
conversation, when the servant announced Madame Duval, who instantly
followed him into the room.
Her face was the colour of scarlet, and her eyes sparkled with
fury. She came up to me with a hasty step, saying, "So, Miss, you
refuses to come to me, do you? And pray who are you, to dare to
disobey me?"
I was quite frightened;-I made no answer;-I even attempted to rise,
and could not, but sat still, mute and motionless.
Everybody but Miss Mirvan seemed in the utmost astonishment; and
the Captain rising and approaching Madame Duval, with a voice of
authority, said, "Why, how now, Mrs. Turkey-cock, what's put you into
this here fluster?"
"It's nothing to you," answered she, "so you may as well hold your
tongue; for I shan't be called to no account by you, I assure you."
"There you're out, Madame Fury," returned he; "for you must know,
I never suffer anybody to be in a passion in my house, but myself."
"But you shall," cried she, in a great rage; "for I'll be in as great
a passion as ever I please, without asking your leave: so don't give
yourself no more airs about it. And as for you Miss," again advancing
to me, "I order you to follow me this moment, or else I'll make you
repent it all your life." And, with these words, she flung out of
the room.
I was in such extreme terror, at being addressed and threatened in a
manner to which I am so wholly unused, that I almost thought I should
have fainted.
"Don't be alarmed, my love," cried Mrs. Mirvan, "but stay where you
are, and I will follow Madame Duval, and try to bring her to reason."
Miss Mirvan took my hand, and most kindly endeavoured to raise my
spirits. Sir Clement, too, approached me, with an air so interested
in my distress, that I could not but feel myself obliged to him; and,
taking my other hand, said, "For Heaven's sake, my dear Madam, compose
yourself: surely the violence of such a wretch ought merely to move
your contempt; she can have no right, I imagine, to lay her commands
upon you, and I only wish that you would allow me to speak to her."
"O no! not for the world!-indeed, I believe,-I am afraid-I had better
follow her."
"Follow her! Good God, my dear Miss Anville, would you trust yourself
with a mad woman? for what else can you call a creature whose passions
are so insolent? No, no; send her word at once to leave the house,
and tell her you desire that she will never see you again."
"O, Sir! you don't know who you talk of!-it would ill become me to
send Madame Duval such a message."
"But why," cried he, (looking very inquisitive,) "why should you
scruple to treat her as she deserves?"
I then found that his aim was to discover the nature of her connection
with me; but I felt so much ashamed of my near relationship to her,
that I could not persuade myself to answer him, and only intreated
that he would leave her to Mrs. Mirvan, who just then entered the room.
Before she could speak to me, the Captain, called out, "Well, Goody,
what have you done with Madame French? is she cooled a little? cause
if she ben't, I've just thought of a most excellent device to bring
her to."
"My dear Evelina," said Mrs. Mirvan, "I have been vainly endeavouring
to appease her; I pleaded your engagement, and promised your future
attendance: but I am sorry to say, my love, that I fear her rage will
end in a total breach (which I think you had better avoid) if she is
any further opposed."
"Then I will go to her, Madam," cried I; "and, indeed, it is now no
matter, for I should not be able to recover my spirits sufficiently
to enjoy much pleasure any where this evening."
Sir Clement began a very warm expostulation and intreaty, that I would
not go; but I begged him to desist, and told him, very honestly, that,
if my compliance were not indispensably necessary I should require
no persuasion to stay. He then took my hand, to lead me down stairs;
but the Captain desired him to be quiet, saying he would 'squire me
himself, "because" he added, (exultingly rubbing his hands) "I have
a wipe ready for the old lady, which may serve her to chew as she
goes along."
We found her in the parlour, "O you're come at last, Miss, are
you?-fine airs you give yourself, indeed!-ma foi, if you hadn't
come, you might have staid, I assure you, and have been a beggar,
for your pains."
"Heyday, Madam," cried the Captain, (prancing forward, with a look of
great glee) "what, a'n't you got out of that there passion yet? why
then, I'll tell you what to do to cool yourself; call upon your old
friend, Monseer Slippery, who was with you at Ranelagh, and give my
service to him, and tell him, if he sets any store by your health,
that I desire he'll give you such another souse as he did before:
he'll know what I mean, and I'll warrant you he'll do't for my sake."
"Let him, if he dares!" cried Madame Duval; "but I shan't stay to
answer you no more; you are a vulgar fellow;-and so, child, let us
leave him to himself."
"Hark ye, Madam," cried the Captain, "you'd best not call names;
because, d'ye see, if you do, I shall make bold to shew you the door."
She changed colour, and saying, "Pardi, I can shew it myself," hurried
out of the room, and I followed her into a hackney-coach. But, before
we drove off, the Captain, looking out of the parlour window, called
out "D'ye hear, Madam, don't forget my message to Monseer."
You will believe our ride was not the most agreeable in the world;
indeed, it would be difficult to say which was least pleased, Madame
Duval or me, though the reasons of our discontent were so different:
however, Madame Duval soon got the start of me; for we had hardly
turned out of Queen Ann Street, when a man, running full speed,
stopt the coach. He came up to the window, and I saw he was the
Captain's servant. He had a broad grin on his face, and panted for
breath. Madame Duval demanded his business: "Madam," answered he,
"my master desires his compliments to you, and-and-and he says he
wishes it well over with you. He! he! he!-"
Madame Duval instantly darted forward, and gave him a violent blow on
the face; "Take that back for your answer, sirrah," cried she, "and
learn not to grin at your betters another time. Coachman, drive on!"
The servant was in a violent passion, and swore terribly; but we were
soon out of hearing.
The rage of Madame Duval was greater than ever; and she inveighed
against the Captain with such fury, that I was even apprehensive
she would have returned to his house, purposely to reproach him,
which she repeatedly threatened to do; nor would she, I believe,
have hesitated a moment, but that, notwithstanding her violence,
he has really made her afraid of him.
When we came to her lodgings we found all the Branghtons in the
passage, impatiently waiting for us with the door open.
"Only see, here's Miss!" cried the brother.
"Well, I declare I thought as much!" said the younger sister.
"Why, Miss," said Mr. Branghton, "I think you might as well have
come with your cousins at once; it's throwing money in the dirt,
to pay two coaches for one fare."
"Lord, father," cried the son, "make no words about that; for I'll
pay for the coach that Miss had."
"O, I know very well," answered Mr. Branghton, "that you're always
more ready to spend than to earn."
I then interfered, and begged that I might myself be allowed to pay
the fare, as the expense was incurred upon my account; they all said
no, and proposed that the same coach should carry us to the opera.
While this passed the Miss Branghtons were examining my dress, which,
indeed, was very improper for my company; and, as I was extremely
unwilling to be so conspicuous amongst them, I requested Madame Duval
to borrow a hat or bonnet for me of the people of the house. But
she never wears either herself, and thinks them very English and
barbarous; therefore she insisted that I should go full dressed,
as I had prepared myself for the pit, though I made many objections.
We were then all crowded into the same carriage; but when we arrived
at the opera-house, I contrived to pay the coachman. They made a
great many speeches; but Mr. Branghton's reflection had determined
me not to be indebted to him.
If I had not been too much chagrined to laugh, I should have been
extremely diverted at their ignorance of whatever belongs to an
opera. In the first place they could not tell at what door we ought
to enter, and we wandered about for some time, without knowing
which way to turn: they did not choose to apply to me, though I was
the only person of the party who had ever before been at an opera;
because they were unwilling to suppose that their country counsin,
as they were pleased to call me, should be better acquainted with
any London public place than themselves. I was very indifferent and
careless upon this subject; but not a little uneasy at finding that
my dress, so different from that of the company to which I belonged,
attracted general notice and observation.
In a short time, however, we arrived at one of the door-keeper's
bars. Mr. Branghton demanded for what part of the house they
took money? They answered, the pit; and regarded us all with great
earnestness. The son then advancing, said "Sir, if you please, I beg
that I may treat Miss."
"We'll settle that another time," answered Mr. Branghton, and put
down a guinea.
Two tickets of admission were given to him.
Mr. Branghton, in his turn, now stared at the door-keeper, and demanded
what he meant by giving him only two tickets for a guinea.
"Only two, Sir!" said the man; "why, don't you know that the tickets
are half-a guinea each?"
"Half-a-guinea each!" repeated Mr. Branghton, "why, I never heard of
such a thing in my life! And pray, Sir, how many will they admit?"
"Just as usual, Sir, one person each."
"But one person for half-a-guinea!-why, I only want to sit in the
pit, friend."
"Had not the ladies better sit in the gallery, Sir; for they'll hardly
choose to go into the pit with their hats on?"
"O, as to that," cried Miss Branghton, "if our hats are too high we'll
take them off when we get in. I sha'n't mind, it, for I did my hair
on purpose."
Another party then approaching, the door-keeper could no longer attend
to Mr. Branghton; who, taking up the guinea, told him it should be
long enough before he'd see it again, and walked away.
The young ladies, in some confusion, expressed their surprise that
their papa should not know the opera prices, which, for their parts,
they had read in the papers a thousand times.
"The price of stocks," said he, "is enough for me to see after; and
I took it for granted it was the same thing here as at the playhouse."
"I knew well enough what the price was," said the son; "but I would
not speak, because I thought perhaps they'd take less, as we're such
a large party."
The sisters both laughed very contemptuously at this idea, and
asked him if he ever heard of people's abating any thing at a public
place? I don't know whether I have or not," answered he; "but I am
sure if they would, you'd like it so much the worse."
"Very true, Tom," cried Mr. Branghton; "tell a woman that any thing
is reasonable, and she'll be sure to hate it."
"Well," said Miss Polly, "I hope that aunt and Miss will be of our
side, for papa always takes part with Tom."
"Come, come," cried Madame Duval, "if you stand talking here, we
shan't get no place at all."
Mr. Branghton then enquired the way to the gallery; and, when we came
to the door-keeper, demanded what was to pay.
"The usual price, Sir," said the man.
"Then give me change," cried Mr. Branghton, again putting down
his guinea.
"For how many, Sir?"
"Why-let's see,-for six."
"For six, Sir? why, you're given me but a guinea."
"But a guinea! why, how much would you have? I suppose it is'n't
half-a-guinea a piece here too?"
"No, Sir, only five shillings."
Mr. Branghton again took up his unfortunate guinea, and protested he
would not submit to no such imposition. I then proposed that we should
return home, but Madame Duval would not consent; and we were conducted,
by a woman who sells books of the opera, to another gallery-door,
where, after some disputing, Mr. Branghton at last paid, and we all
went up stairs.
Madame Duval complained very much of the trouble of going so high:
but Mr. Branghton desired her not to hold the place too cheap;
"for, whatever you think," cried he, "I assure you I paid pit price;
so don't suppose I come here to save my money."
"Well, to be sure," said Miss Branghton, "there's no judging of a
place by the outside, else, I must needs say, there's nothing very
extraordinary in the stair-case."
But, when we entered the gallery their amazement and disappointment
became general. For a few instants, they looked at one another without
speaking, and then they all broke silence at once.
"Lord, papa," exclaimed Miss Polly, "why, you have brought us to the
one-shilling gallery!"
"I'll be glad to give you two shillings, though," answered he,
"to pay. I was never so fooled out of my money before, since the
house of my birth. Either the door-keeper's a knave, or this is the
greatest imposition that ever was put upon the public."
"Ma foi," cried Madame Duval, "I never sat in such a mean place in
all my life;-why, it's as high-we shan't see nothing."
"I thought at the time," said Mr. Branghton, "that three shillings was
an exorbitant price for a place in the gallery: but as we'd been asked
so much at the other doors, why I paid it without many words; but,
then, to be sure, thinks I, it can never be like any other gallery,
we shall see some crinkum-crankum or other for our money; but I find
it's as arrant a take-in as ever I met with."
"Why, it's as like the twelve-penny gallery at Drury Lane," cried
the son, "as two peas are to one another. I never knew father so
bit before."
"Lord," said Miss Branghton, "I thought it would have been quite a
fine place,-all over, I don't know what,-and done quite in taste."
In this manner they continued to express their dissatisfaction till
the curtain drew up; after which their observations were very curious.
They made no allowance for the customs, or even for the language,
of another country; but formed all their remarks upon comparisons
with the English theatre.
Notwithstanding my vexation at having been forced into a party so
very disagreeable, and that, too, from one so much-so very much the
contrary-yet, would they have suffered me to listen, I should have
forgotten every thing unpleasant, and felt nothing but delight in
hearing the sweet voice of Signor Millico, the first singer; but they
tormented me with continual talking.
"What a jabbering they make!" cried Mr. Branghton, "there's no
knowing a word they say. Pray, what's the reason they can't as well
sing in English?-but I suppose the fine folks would not like it,
if they could understand it."
"How unnatural their action is!" said the son: "why, now, who ever
saw an Englishman put himself in such out-of-the-way postures?"
"For my part," said Miss Polly, "I think it's very pretty, only I
don't know what it means."
"Lord, what does that signify," cried her sister; "mayn't one like a
thing without being so very particular?-You may see that Miss likes
it, and I don't suppose she knows more of the matter than we do."
A gentleman, soon after, was so obliging as to make room in the front
row for Miss Branghton and me. We had no sooner seated ourselves,
than Miss Branghton exclaimed, "Good gracious! only see!-why, Polly,
all the people in the pit are without hats, dressed like anything!"
"Lord, so they are," cried Miss Polly; "well, I never saw the
like!-it's worth coming to the opera, if one saw nothing else."
I was then able to distinguish the happy party I had left; and I saw
that Lord Orville had seated himself next to Mrs. Mirvan. Sir Clement
had his eyes perpetually cast towards the five-shilling gallery,
where I suppose he concluded that we were seated; however, before the
opera was over, I have reason to believe that he had discovered me,
high and distant as I was from him. Probably he distinguished me by
my head-dress.
At the end of the first act, as the green curtain dropped to prepare
for the dance, they imagined that the opera was done; and Mr. Branghton
expressed great indignation that he had been tricked out of his money
with so little trouble. "Now, if any Englishman was to do such an
impudent thing as this," said he, "why, he'd be pelted;-but here,
one of these outlandish gentry may do just what he pleases, and come
on, and squeak out a song or two, and then pocket your money without
further ceremony."
However, so determined he was to be dissatisfied, that, before the
conclusion of the third act, he found still more fault with the opera
for being too long; and wondered whether they thought their singing
good enough to serve us for supper.
During the symphony of a song of Signor Millico's, in the second act,
young Mr. Branghton said, "It's my belief that that fellow's going
to sing another song!-why, there's nothing but singing!-I wonder when
they'll speak."
This song, which was slow and pathetic, caught all my attention,
and I leaned my head forward to avoid hearing their observations,
that I might listen without interruption: but, upon turning round,
when the song was over, I found that I was the object of general
diversion to the whole party; for the Miss Branghtons were tittering,
and the two gentlemen making signs and faces at me, implying their
contempt of my affectation.
This discovery determined me to appear as inattentive as themselves;
but I was very much provoked at being thus prevented enjoying the
only pleasure, which, in such a party, was within my power.
"So Miss," said Mr. Branghton, "you're quite in the fashion, I see-so
you like operas? Well, I'm not so polite; I can't like nonsense,
let it be never so much the taste."
"But pray, Miss," said the son, "what makes that fellow look so
doleful while he is singing?"
"Probably because the character he performs is in distress."
"Why, then, I think he might as well let alone singing till he's in
better cue: it's out of all nature for a man to be piping when he's
in distress. For my part, I never sing but when I'm merry; yet I love
a song as well as most people."
When the curtain dropt they all rejoiced.
"How do you like it?"-and "How do you like it?" passed from one
to another with looks of the utmost contempt. "As for me," said
Mr. Branghton, "they've caught me once; but if ever they do again,
I'll give 'em leave to sing me to Bedlam for my pains: for such a
heap of stuff never did I hear: there isn't one ounce of sense in
the whole opera, nothing but one continued squeaking and squalling
from beginning to end."
"If I had been in the pit," said Madame Duval, "I should have liked it
vastly, for music is my passion; but sitting in such a place as this,
is quite unbearable."
Miss Branghton, looking at me, declared, that she was not genteel
enough to admire it.
Miss Polly confessed, that, if they would but sing English, she would
like it very well.
The brother wished he could raise a riot in the house, because then
he might get his money again.
And, finally, they all agreed that it was monstrous dear.
During the last dance, I perceived standing near the gallery-door,
Sir Clement Willoughby. I was extremely vexed, and would have given
the world to have avoided being seen by him: my chief objection was,
from the apprehension that he would hear Miss Branghton call me
cousin.-I fear you will think this London journey has made me grow
very proud; but indeed this family is so low-bred and vulgar, that
I should be equally ashamed of such a connection in the country,
or anywhere. And really I had already been so much chagrined that
Sir Clement had been a witness of Madame Duval's power over me,
that I could not bear to be exposed to any further mortification.
As the seats cleared, by parties going away, Sir Clement approached
nearer to us. The Miss Branghtons observed with surprise, what a
fine gentleman was come into the gallery; and they gave me great
reason to expect, that they would endeavour to attract his notice,
by familiarity with me, whenever he should join us; and so I formed a
sort of plan to prevent any conversation. I'm afraid you will think
it wrong; and so I do myself now;-but, at the time, I only considered
how I might avoid immediate humiliation.
As soon as he was within two seats of us, he spoke to me: "I am
very happy, Miss Anville, to have found you, for the ladies below
have each an humble attendant, and therefore I am come to offer my
services here."
"Why then," cried I, (not without hesitating) "if you please,-I will
join them."
"Will you allow me the honour of conducting you?" cried he eagerly;
and, instantly taking my hand, he would have marched away with me:
but I turned to Madame Duval, and said, "As our party is so large,
Madame, if you will give me leave, I will go down to Mrs. Mirvan,
that I may not crowd you in the coach."
And then, without waiting for an answer, I suffered Sir Clement to
hand me out of the gallery.
Madame Duval, I doubt not, will be very angry; and so I am with myself
now, and therefore I cannot be surprised: but Mr. Branghton, I am
sure, will easily comfort himself, in having escaped the additional
coach-expense of carrying me to Queen Ann Street; as to his daughters,
they had no time to speak; but I saw they were in utter amazement.
My intention was to join Mrs. Mirvan, and accompany her home. Sir
Clement was in high spirits and good humour; and all the way he went,
I was fool enough to rejoice in secret at the success of my plan;
nor was it till I got down stairs, and amidst the servants, that any
difficulty occurred to me of meeting with my friends.
I then asked Sir Clement, how I should contrive to acquaint Mrs. Mirvan
that I had left Madame Duval?
"I fear it will be almost impossible to find her," answered he;
"but you can have no objection to permitting me to see you safe home."
He then desired his servant, who was waiting, to order his chariot
to draw up.
This quite startled me; I turned to him hastily, and said that I
could not think of going away without Mrs. Mirvan.
"But how can we meet with her?" cried he; "you will not choose to
go into the pit yourself; I cannot send a servant there; and it is
impossible for me to go and leave you alone."
The truth of this was indisputable, and totally silenced me. Yet,
as soon as I could recollect myself, I determined not to go into
his chariot, and told him I believed I had best return to my party
up stairs.
He would not hear of this; and earnestly intreated me not to withdraw
the trust I had reposed in him.
While he was speaking, I saw Lord Orville, with several ladies and
gentlemen, coming from the pit passage: unfortunately he saw me too,
and, leaving his company, advanced instantly towards me, and with an
air and voice of surprise, said, "Good God, do I see Miss Anville!"
I now most severely felt the folly of my plan, and the awkwardness
of my situation: however, I hastened to tell him, though in a
hesitating manner, that I was waiting for Mrs. Mirvan; but what was my
disappointment, when he acquainted me that she was already gone home!
I was inexpressibly distressed; to suffer Lord Orville to think
me satisfied with the single protection of Sir Clement Willoughby,
I could not bear; yet I was more than ever averse to returning to a
party which I dreaded his seeing. I stood some moments in suspense,
and could not help exclaiming, "Good Heaven, what can I do!"
"Why, my dear madam," cried Sir Clement, "should you be thus
uneasy?-you will reach Queen Ann Street almost as soon as Mrs. Mirvan,
and I am sure you cannot doubt being as safe."
I made no answer, and Lord Orville then said, "My coach is here; and
my servants are ready to take any commands Miss Anville will honour
me with for them. I shall myself go home in a chair, and therefore-"
How grateful did I feel for a proposal so considerate, and made
with so much delicacy! I should gladly have accepted it, had I been
permitted, but Sir Clement would not let him even finish his speech;
he interrupted him with evident displeasure, and said, "My Lord,
my own chariot is now at the door."
And just then the servant came, and told him the carriage was ready. He
begged to have the honour of conducting me to it, and would have taken
my hand; but I drew it back, saying, "I can't-I can't indeed! pray
go by yourself-and as to me, let me have a chair."
"Impossible," cried he with vehemence, "I cannot think of trusting
you with strange chairmen,-I cannot answer it to Mrs. Mirvan;-come,
dear Madam, we shall be home in five minutes."
Again I stood suspended. With what joy would I then have compromised
with my pride, to have been once more with Madame Duval and the
Branghtons, provided I had not met with Lord Orville! However, I
flatter myself that he not only saw but pitied my embarrassment; for
he said in a tone of voice unusually softened, "To offer my services
in the presence of Sir Clement Willoughby would be superfluous; but
I hope I need not assure Miss Anville how happy it would make me to
be of the least use to her."
I courtsied my thanks. Sir Clement, with great earnestness, pressed
me to go; and while I was thus uneasily deliberating what to do, the
dance, I suppose, finished, for the people crowded down stairs. Had
Lord Orville then repeated his offer, I would have accepted it
notwithstanding Sir Clement's repugnance; but I fancy he thought it
would be impertinent. In a very few minutes I heard Madame Duval's
voice, as she descended from the gallery. "Well," cried I hastily,
"if I must go-" I stopt; but Sir Clement immediately handed me
into his chariot, called out, "Queen Ann Street," and then jumped
in himself. Lord Orville, with a bow and a half smile, wished me
good night.
My concern was so great at being seen and left by Lord Orville in so
strange a situation, that I should have been best pleased to have
remained wholly silent during our ride home; but Sir Clement took
care to prevent that.
He began by making many complaints of my unwillingness to trust myself
with him, and begged to know what could be the reason? This question
so much embarrassed me, that I could not tell what to answer; but
only said, that I was sorry to have taken up so much of his time.
"O Miss Anville," cried he, taking my hand, "if you knew with what
transport I would dedicate to you not only the present but all the
future time allotted to me, you would not injure me by making such
an apology."
I could not think of a word to say to this, nor to a great many other
equally fine speeches with which he ran on; though I would fain have
withdrawn my hand, and made almost continual attempts; but in vain,
for he actually grasped it between both his, without any regard to
my resistance.
Soon after, he said that he believed the coachman was going the wrong
way; and he called to his servant, and gave him directions. Then
again addressing himself to me, "How often, how assiduously have I
sought an opportunity of speaking to you, without the presence of
that brute, Captain Mirvan! Fortune has now kindly favoured me with
one; and permit me," again seizing my hand, "permit me to use it in
telling you that I adore you."
I was quite thunderstruck at this abrupt and unexpected
declaration. For some moments I was silent; but when I recovered
from my surprise, I said, "Indeed, Sir, if you were determined to
make me repent leaving my own party so foolishly, you have very
well succeeded."
"My dearest life," cried he, "is it possible you can be so cruel? Can
your nature and your countenance be so totally opposite? Can the
sweet bloom upon those charming cheeks, which appears as much the
result of good-humour as of beauty-"
"O, Sir," cried I, interrupting him, "this is very fine; but I had
hoped we had had enough of this sort of conversation at the ridotto,
and I did not expect you would so soon resume it."
"What I then said, my sweet reproacher, was the effect of a mistaken,
a profane idea, that your understanding held no competition with your
beauty; but now, now that I find you equally incomparable in both, all
words, all powers of speech, are too feeble to express the admiration
I feel of your excellencies."
"Indeed," cried I, "if your thoughts had any connection with your
language, you would never suppose that I could give credit to praise
so very much above my desert."
This speech, which I made very gravely, occasioned still stronger
protestations; which he continued to pour forth, and I continued to
disclaim, till I began to wonder that we were not in Queen Ann Street,
and begged he would desire the coachman to drive faster.
"And does this little moment," cried he, "which is the first of
happiness I have ever known, does it already appear so very long
to you?"
"I am afraid the man has mistaken the way," answered I, "or else we
should ere now have been at our journey's end. I must beg you will
speak to him."
"And can you think me so much my own enemy?-if my good genius has
inspired the man with a desire of prolonging my happiness, can you
expect that I should counteract its indulgence?"
I now began to apprehend that he had himself ordered the man to go
a wrong way; and I was so much alarmed at the idea, that, the very
instant it occurred to me, I let down the glass, and made a sudden
effort to open the chariot-door myself, with a view of jumping into
the street; but he caught hold of me, exclaiming, "For Heaven's sake,
what is the matter?"
"I-I don't know," cried I (quite out of breath), "but I am sure the
man goes wrong; and if you will not speak to him, I am determined I
will get out myself."
"You amaze me," answered he (still holding me), "I cannot imagine
what you apprehend. Surely you can have no doubts of my honour?"
He drew me towards him as he spoke. I was frightened dreadfully,
and could hardly say, "No, Sir, no,-none at all: only Mrs. Mirvan,-I
think she will be uneasy."
"Whence this alarm, my dearest angel?-What can you fear?-my life is
at your devotion, and can you, then, doubt my protection?"
And so saying, he passionately kissed my hand.
Never, in my whole life, have I been so terrified. I broke forcibly
from him, and, putting my head out of the window, called aloud to the
man to stop. Where we then were, I know not; but I saw not a human
being, or I should have called for help.
Sir Clement, with great earnestness, endeavoured to appease and
compose me: "If you do not intend to murder me," cried I, "for mercy's,
for pity's sake, let me get out!"
"Compose your spirits, my dearest life," cried he, "and I will do
everything you would have me." And then he called to the man himself,
and bid him make haste to Queen Ann Street. "This stupid fellow,"
continued he, "has certainly mistaken my orders; but I hope you are
now fully satisfied."
I made no answer, but kept my head at the window watching which way he
drove, but without any comfort to myself, as I was quite unacquainted
with either the right or the wrong.
Sir Clement now poured forth abundant protestations of honour, and
assurances of respect, intreating my pardon for having offended me,
and beseeching my good opinion: but I was quite silent, having too much
apprehension to make reproaches, and too much anger to speak without.
In this manner we went through several streets, till at last, to my
great terror, he suddenly ordered the man to stop, and said, "Miss
Anville, we are now within twenty yards of your house; but I cannot
bear to part with you, till you generously forgive me for the offence
you have taken, and promise not to make it known to the Mirvan's."
I hesitated between fear and indignation.
"Your reluctance to speak redoubles my contrition for having displeased
you, since it shews the reliance I might have on a promise which you
will not give without consideration."
"I am very, very much distressed," cried I; "you ask a promise which
you must be sensible I ought not to grant, and yet dare not refuse."
"Drive on!" cried he to the coachman;-"Miss Anville, I will not compel
you; I will exact no promise, but trust wholly to your generosity."
This rather softened me; which advantage he no sooner received, than
he determined to avail himself of; for he flung himself on his knees,
and pleaded with so much submission, that I was really obliged to
forgive him, because his humiliation made me quite ashamed: and,
after that, he would not let me rest till I gave him my word that I
would not complain of him to Mrs. Mirvan.
My own folly and pride, which had put me in his power, were pleas
which I could not but attend to in his favour. However, I shall take
very particular care never to be again alone with him.
When, at last, we arrived at our house, I was so overjoyed, that I
should certainly have pardoned him then, if I had not before. As he
handed me up stairs, he scolded his servant aloud, and very angrily,
for having gone so much out of the way. Miss Mirvan ran out to meet
me; -and who should I see behind her, but Lord Orville!
All my joy now vanished, and gave place to shame and confusion; for
I could not endure that he should know how long a time Sir Clement
and I had been together, since I was not at liberty to assign any
reason for it.
They all expressed great satisfaction at seeing me; and said they
had been extremely uneasy and surprised that I was so long coming
home, as they had heard from Lord Orville that I was not with Madame
Duval. Sir Clement, in an affected passion, said, that his booby of
a servant had misunderstood his orders, and was driving us to the
upper end of Piccadilly. For my part, I only coloured; for though I
would not forfeit my word, I yet disdained to confirm a tale in which
I had myself no belief.
Lord Orville, with great politeness, congratulated me, that the
troubles of the evening had so happily ended; and said, that he had
found it impossible to return home, before he enquired after my safety.
In a very short time he took his leave, and Sir Clement followed
him. As soon as they were gone, Mrs. Mirvan, though with great
softness, blamed me for having quitted Madame Duval. I assured her,
and with truth, that for the future I would be more prudent.
The adventures of the evening so much disconcerted me, that I could
not sleep all night. I am under the most cruel apprehensions lest
Lord Orville should suppose my being on the gallery-stairs with Sir
Clement was a concerted scheme, and even that our continuing so long
together in his chariot was with my approbation, since I did not say a
word on the subject, nor express my dissatisfaction at the coachman's
pretended blunder.
Yet his coming hither to wait our arrival though it seems to imply
some doubt, shews also some anxiety. Indeed, Miss Mirvan says,
that he appeared extremely anxious, nay, uneasy and impatient for
my return. If I did not fear to flatter myself, I should think it
not impossible but that he had a suspicion of Sir Clement's design,
and was therefore concerned for my safety.
What a long letter is this! however, I shall not write many more from
London; for the Captain said this morning, that he would leave town
on Tuesday next. Madame Duval will dine here to-day, and then she
is to be told his intention.
I am very much amazed that she accepted Mrs. Mirvan's invitation, as
she was in such wrath yesterday. I fear that to-day I shall myself be
the principal object of her displeasure; but I must submit patiently,
for I cannot defend myself.
Adieu, my dearest Sir. Should this letter be productive of any
uneasiness to you, more than ever shall I repent the heedless
imprudence which it recites.
LETTER XXII
EVELINA IN CONTINUATION Monday Morning, April 18.
MRS. MIRVAN has just communicated to me an anecdote concerning Lord
Orville, which has much surprised, half pleased, and half pained me.
While they were sitting together during the opera, he told her that
he had been greatly concerned at the impertinence which the young
lady under her protection had suffered from Mr. Lovel; but that he
had the pleasure of assuring her, she had no future disturbance to
apprehend from him.
Mrs. Mirvan, with great eagerness, begged he would explain himself;
and said she hoped he had not thought so insignificant an affair
worthy his serious attention.
"There is nothing," answered he, "which requires more immediate notice
than impertinence, for it ever encroaches when it is tolerated." He
then added, that he believed he ought to apologize for the liberty
he had taken in interfering; but that, as he regarded himself in the
light of a party concerned, from having had the honour of dancing
with Miss Anville, he could not possibly reconcile to himself a
patient neutrality.
He then proceeded to tell her, that he had waited upon Mr. Lovel the
morning after the play; that the visit had proved an amicable one,
but the particulars were neither entertaining nor necessary: he only
assured her, Miss Anville might be perfectly easy, since Mr. Lovel
had engaged his honour never more to mention, or even to hint at what
had passed at Mrs. Stanley's assembly.
Mrs. Mirvan expressed her satisfaction at this conclusion, and thanked
him for his polite attention to her young friend.
"It would be needless," said he, "to request that this affair may
never transpire, since Mrs. Mirvan cannot but see the necessity of
keeping it inviolably secret; but I thought it incumbent upon me,
as the young lady is under your protection, to assure both you and
her of Mr. Lovel's future respect."
Had I known of this visit previous to Lord Orville's making it, what
dreadful uneasiness would it have cost me! Yet that he should so much
interest himself in securing me from offence, gives me, I must own,
an internal pleasure, greater than I can express; for I feared he
had too contemptuous an opinion of me, to take any trouble upon my
account. Though, after all, this interference might rather be to
satisfy his own delicacy, than from thinking well of me.
But how cool, how quiet is true courage! Who, from seeing Lord Orville
at the play, would have imagined his resentment would have hazarded
his life? yet his displeasure was evident, though his real bravery and
his politeness equally guarded him from entering into any discussion
in our presence.
Madame Duval, as I expected, was most terribly angry yesterday:
she scolded me for, I believe, two hours, on account of having
left her; and protested she had been so much surprised at my going,
without giving her time to answer, that she hardly knew whether she
was awake or asleep. But she assured me that if ever I did so again,
she would never more take me into public. And she expressed an equal
degree of displeasure against Sir Clement, because he had not even
spoken to her, and because he was always of the Captain's side in
an argument. The Captain, as bound in honour, warmly defended him,
and then followed a dispute in the usual style.
After dinner, Mrs. Mirvan introduced the subject of our leaving
London. Madame Duval said she would stay a month or two longer. The
Captain told her she was welcome, but that he and his family should
go into the country on Tuesday morning.
A most disagreeable scene followed. Madame Duval insisted upon keeping
me with her; but Mrs. Mirvan said, that as I was actually engaged on
a visit to Lady Howard, who had only consented to my leaving her for
a few days, she could not think of returning without me.
Perhaps, if the Captain had not interfered, the good-breeding and
mildness of Mrs. Mirvan might have had some effect upon Madame Duval;
but he passes no opportunity of provoking her; and therefore made
so many gross and rude speeches, all of which she retorted, that,
in conclusion, she vowed she would sooner go to law in right of her
relationship, than that I should be taken away from her.
I heard this account from Mrs. Mirvan, who was so kindly considerate
as to give me a pretence for quitting the room as soon as this
dispute began, lest Madame Duval should refer to me, and insist on
my obedience.
The final result of the conversation was, that, to soften matters for
the present, Madame Duval should make one in the party to Howard Grove,
whither we are positively to go next Wednesday. And though we are
none of us satisfied with this plan, we know not how to form a better.
Mrs. Mirvan is now writing to Lady Howard, to excuse bringing this
unexpected guest, and prevent the disagreeable surprise which must
otherwise attend her reception. This dear lady seems eternally studying
my happiness and advantage.
To-night we go to the Pantheon, which is the last diversion we shall
partake of in London; for to-morrow- * * * * *
This moment, my dearest Sir, I have received your kind letter.
If you thought us too dissipated the first week, I almost fear to
know what you will think of us this second;-however, the Pantheon this
evening will probably be the last public place which I shall ever see.
The assurance of your support and protection in regard to Madame Duval,
though what I never doubted, excites my utmost gratitude. How,
indeed, cherished under your roof, the happy object of your
constant indulgence, how could I have borne to become the slave of
her tyrannical humours? -Pardon me that I speak so hardly of her;
but whenever the idea of passing my days with her occurs to me, the
comparison which naturally follows, takes from me all that forbearance
which, I believe, I owe her.
You are already displeased with Sir Clement: to be sure, then, his
behaviour after the opera will not make his peace with you. Indeed
the more I reflect upon it, the more angry I am. I was entirely in
his power, and it was cruel in him to cause me so much terror.
O, my dearest Sir, were I but worthy the prayers and the wishes
you offer for me, the utmost ambition of my heart would be fully
satisfied! but I greatly fear you will find me, now that I am out of
the reach of your assisting prudence, more weak and imperfect than
you could have expected.
I have not now time to write another word, for I must immediately
hasten to dress for the evening.
LETTER XXIII
EVELINA IN CONTINUATION Queen Ann Street, Tuesday, April 19.
THERE is something to me half melancholy in writing an account of our
last adventures in London. However, as this day is merely appropriated
to packing and preparations for our journey, and as I shall shortly
have no more adventures to write, I think I may as well complete my
town journal at once: and, when you have it all together, I hope,
my dear Sir, you will send me your observations and thoughts upon it
to Howard Grove.
About eight o'clock we went to the Pantheon. I was extremely struck
with the beauty of the building, which greatly surpassed whatever
I could have expected or imagined. Yet it has more the appearance
of a chapel than of a place of diversion; and, though I was quite
charmed with the magnificence of the room, I felt that I could
not be as gay and thoughtless there as at Ranelagh; for there is
something in it which rather inspires awe and solemnity, than mirth
and pleasure. However, perhaps it may only have this effect upon such
a novice as myself.
I should have said, that our party consisted only of Captain, Mrs. and
Miss Mirvan, as Madame Duval spent the day in the city;-which I own
I could not lament.
There was a great deal of company; but the first person we saw was Sir
Clement Willoughby. He addressed us with his usual ease, and joined
us for the whole evening. I felt myself very uneasy in his presence;
for I could not look at him, nor hear him speak, without recollecting
the chariot adventure; but, to my great amazement, I observed that
he looked at me without the least apparent discomposure, though,
certainly, he ought not to think of his behaviour without blushing. I
really wish I had not forgiven him, and then he could not have ventured
to speak to me any more.
There was an exceeding good concert, but too much talking to hear
it well. Indeed I am quite astonished to find how little music
is attended to in silence; for, though every body seems to admire,
hardly any body listens.
We did not see Lord Orville till we went into the tea-room, which
is large, low, and under ground, and serves merely as a foil to the
apartments above; he then sat next to us. He seemed to belong to a
large party, chiefly of ladies; but, among the gentlemen attending
them, I perceived Mr. Lovel.
I was extremely irresolute whether or not I ought to make any
acknowledgments to Lord Orville for his generous conduct in securing
me from the future impertinence of that man; and I thought, that,
as he had seemed to allow Mrs. Mirvan to acquaint me, though no one
else, of the measures which he had taken, he might perhaps suppose me
ungrateful if silent: however, I might have spared myself the trouble
of deliberating, as I never once had the shadow of an opportunity of
speaking unheard by Sir Clement. On the contrary, he was so exceedingly
officious and forward, that I could not say a word to any body but
instantly he bent his head forward, with an air of profound attention,
as if I had addressed myself wholly to him; and yet I never once
looked at him, and would not have spoken to him on any account.
Indeed, Mrs. Mirvan herself, though unacquainted with the behaviour of
Sir Clement after the opera, says it is not right for a young woman to
be seen so frequently in public with the same gentleman; and, if our
stay in town was to be lengthened, she would endeavour to represent
to the Captain the impropriety of allowing his constant attendance;
for Sir Clement with all his easiness, could not be so eternally of
our parties, if the Captain was less fond of his company.
At the same table with Lord Orville sat a gentleman,-I call him so
only because he was at the same table,-who, almost from the moment
I was seated, fixed his eyes steadfastly on my face, and never once
removed them to any other object during tea-time, notwithstanding my
dislike of his staring must, I am sure, have been very evident. I was
quite surprised, that a man, whose boldness was so offensive, could
have gained admission into a party of which Lord Orville made one;
for I naturally concluded him to be some low-bred, uneducated man;
and I thought my idea was indubitably confirmed, when I heard him say
to Sir Clement Willoughby, in an audible whisper,-which is a mode of
speech very distressing and disagreeable to bystanders,-"For Heaven's
sake, Willoughby, who is that lovely creature?"
But what was my amazement, when, listening attentively for the answer,
though my head was turned another way, I heard Sir Clement say,
"I am sorry I cannot inform your Lordship, but I am ignorant myself."
Lordship! how extraordinary! that a nobleman, accustomed, in all
probability, to the first rank of company in the kingdom, from his
earliest infancy, can possibly be deficient in good manners, however
faulty in morals and principles! Even Sir Clement Willoughby appeared
modest in comparison with this person.
During tea, a conversation was commenced upon the times, fashions,
and public places, in which the company of both tables joined. It
began by Sir Clement's inquiring of Miss Mirvan and of me, if the
Pantheon had answered our expectations.
We both readily agreed that it had greatly exceeded them.
"Ay, to be sure," said the Captain, "why, you don't suppose they'd
confess they didn't like it, do you? Whatever's the fashion, they
must like, of course;-or else, I'd be bound for it, they'd own,
that there never was such a dull place as this here invented."
"And has, then, this building," said Lord Orville, "no merit that may
serve to lessen your censure? Will not your eye, Sir, speak something
in its favour?"
"Eye!" cried the Lord, (I don't know his name,) "and is there any eye
here, that can find pleasure in looking at dead walls or statues, when
such heavenly living objects as I now see demand all their admiration?"
"O, certainly," said Lord Orville, "the lifeless symmetry of
architecture, however beautiful the design and proportion, no man would
be so mad as to put in competition with the animated charms of nature:
but when, as to-night, the eye may be regaled at the same time, and
in one view, with all the excellence of art, and all the perfection
of nature, I cannot think that either suffer by being seen together."
"I grant, my Lord," said Sir Clement, "that the cool eye of
unimpassioned philosophy may view both with equal attention, and
equal safety; but, where the heart is not so well guarded, it is
apt to interfere, and render, even to the eye, all objects but one
insipid and uninteresting."
"Aye, Aye," cried the Captain, "you may talk what you will of your
eye here, and your eye there, and, for the matter of that, to be sure
you have two,-but we all know they both squint one way."
"Far be it from me," said Lord Orville, "to dispute the magnetic
power of beauty, which irresistibly draws and attracts whatever has
soul and sympathy: and I am happy to acknowledge, that though we
have now no gods to occupy a mansion professedly built for them,
yet we have secured their better halves, for we have goddesses to
whom we all most willingly bow down." And then with a very droll air,
he made a profound reverence to the ladies.
"They'd need to be goddesses with a vengeance," said the Captain,
"for they're mortal dear to look at. Howsomever, I should be glad
to know what you can see in e'er a face among them that's worth
half-a-guinea for a sight."
"Half-a-guinea!" exclaimed that same Lord, "I would give half I am
worth for a sight of only one, provided I make my own choice. And,
prithee, how can money be better employed than in the service of
fine women?"
"If the ladies of his own party can pardon the Captain's speech," said
Sir Clement, "I think he has a fair claim to the forgiveness of all."
"Then you depend very much, as I doubt not but you may," said Lord
Orville, "upon the general sweetness of the sex;-but as to the ladies
of the Captain's party, they may easily pardon, for they cannot
be hurt."
"But they must have a devilish good conceit of themselves, though,"
said the Captain, "to believe all that. Howsomever, whether or no,
I should be glad to be told by some of you, who seem to be knowing
in them things, what kind of diversion can be found in such a place
as this here, for one who has had, long ago, his full of face-hunting?"
Every body laughed, but nobody spoke.
"Why, look you there now," continued the Captain, "you're all at a dead
stand!-not a man among you can answer that there question. Why, then,
I must make bold to conclude, that you all come here for no manner
of purpose but to stare at one another's pretty faces:-though, for
the matter of that, half of 'em are plaguy ugly;-and, as to t'other
half,-I believe it's none of God's manufactory."
"What the ladies may come hither for, Sir," said Mr. Lovel, (stroking
his ruffles, and looking down,) "it would ill become us to determine;
but as to we men, doubtless we can have no other view than to admire
them."
"If I ben't mistaken," cried the Captain, (looking earnestly in
his face,)
"you are that same person we saw at Love for Love t'other night;
ben't you?"
Mr. Lovel bowed.
"Why, then, Gentlemen," continued he, with a loud laugh, "I must tell
you a most excellent good joke;-when all was over, as sure as you're
alive, he asked what the play was! Ha, ha, ha!"
"Sir," said Mr. Lovel, colouring, "if you were as much used to
town-life as I
am,-which, I presume, is not precisely the case,-I fancy you would
not find so much diversion from a circumstance so common."
"Common! What, is it common?" repeated the Captain; "why then,
'fore George,
such chaps are more fit to be sent to school, and well disciplined with
a cat-o'-nine tails, than to poke their heads into a play-house. Why,
a play is the only thing left, now-a-days, that has a grain of sense
in it; for as to all the rest of your public places, d'ye see, if
they were all put together, I wouldn't give that for 'em!" (snapping
his fingers.) "And now we're talking of them sort of things, there's
your operas,-I should like to know, now, what any of you can find to
say for them."
Lord Orville, who was most able to have answered, seemed by no means
to think
the Captain worthy an argument, upon a subject concerning which he
had neither knowledge nor feeling: but, turning to us, he said, "The
ladies are silent, and we seem to have engrossed the conversation to
ourselves, in which we are much more our own enemies than theirs. But,"
addressing himself to Miss Mirvan and me, "I am most desirous to hear
the opinions of these young ladies, to whom all public places must,
as yet, be new."
We both, and with eagerness, declared that we had received as much,
if not
more pleasure, at the opera than any where: but we had better have
been silent; for the Captain, quite displeased, said, "What signifies
asking them girls? Do you think they know their own minds yet? Ask
'em after any thing that's called diversion, and you're sure they'll
say it's vastly fine-they are a set of parrots, and speak by rote,
for they all say the same thing: but ask 'em how they like making
puddings and pies, and I'll warrant you'll pose 'em. As to them operas,
I desire I may hear no more of their liking such nonsense; and for
you, Moll" (to his daughter,) "I charge you, as you value my favour,
that you'll never again be so impertinent as to have a taste of your
own before my face. There are fools enough in the world, without
your adding to their number. I'll have no daughter of mine affect
them sort of megrims. It is a shame they a'n't put down; and if I'd
my will, there's not a magistrate in this town but should be knocked
on the head for suffering them. If you've a mind to praise any thing,
why you may praise a play, and welcome, for I like it myself."
This reproof effectually silenced us both for the rest of the
evening. Nay,
indeed, for some minutes it seemed to silence every body else; till Mr.
Lovel, not willing to lose an opportunity of returning the Captain's
sarcasm, said, "Why, really Sir, it is but natural to be most pleased
with what is most familiar; and, I think, of all our diversions,
there is not one so much in common between us and the country as a
play. Not a village but has its barns and comedians; and as for the
stage business, why it may be pretty equally done any where; and even
in regard to us, and the canaille, confined as we all are within the
semi-circle of a theatre, there is no place where the distinction is
less obvious."
While the Captain seemed considering for Mr. Lovel's meaning,
Lord Orville,
probably with a view to prevent his finding it, changed the subject
to Cox's Museum, and asked what he thought of it?
"Think!-"said he, "why I think as how it i'n't worth thinking
about. I like
no such jemcracks. It is only fit, in my mind, for monkeys:-though,
for aught I know, they too might turn up their noses at it."
"May we ask your Lordship's own opinion?" said Mrs. Mirvan.
"The mechanism," answered he, "is wonderfully ingenioous: I am sorry
it is
turned to no better account; but its purport is so frivolous, so
very remote from all aim at instruction or utility, that the sight
of so fine a show leaves a regret on the mind, that so much work,
and so much ingenuity, should not be better bestowed."
"The truth is," said the Captain, "that in all this huge town,
so full as it
is of folks of all sorts, there i'n't so much as one public place,
besides the play-house, where a man, that's to say, a man who is a
man, ought not to be ashamed to shew his face. T'other day they got
me to a ridotto: but, I believe, it will be long enough before they
get me to another. I knew no more what to do with myself, than if my
ship's company had been metamorphosed into Frenchman. Then, again,
there's your famous Ranelagh, that you make such a fuss about;-why
what a dull place is that!-it's the worst of all."
"Ranelagh dull!"-"Ranelagh dull!-was echoed from mouth to mouth;
and all
the ladies, as if of one accord, regarded the Captain with looks of
the most ironical contempt.
"As to Ranelagh," said Mr. Lovell, "most indubitably, though the
price is
blebian, it is by no means adapted to the plebian taste. It requires
a certain acquaintance with high life, and-and-and something
of-of-something d'un vrai gout, to be really sensible of its
merit. Those whose-whose connections, and so forth, are not among
les gens comme il faut, can feel nothing but ennui at such a place
as Ranelagh."
"Ranelagh!" cried Lord -, "O, tis the divinest place under heaven,-or,
indeed,-for aught I know-"
"O you creature!" cried a pretty, but affected young lady, patting him
with her fan, "you sha'n't talk so; I know what you are going to say;
but, positively, I won't sit by you, if you're so wicked."
"And how can one sit by you, and be good?" said he, "when only to
look at you
is enough to make one wicked-or wish to be so?"
"Fie, my Lord!" returned she, "you really are insufferable. I don't
think I
shall speak to you again these seven years."
"What a metamorphosis," cried Lord Orville," should you make a
patriarch of
his Lordship."
"Seven years!" said he, "dear Madam, be contented with telling me
you will
not speak to me after seven years, and I will endeavour to submit."
"O, very well, my Lord," answered she, "pray date the end of our
speaking to each other as early as you please, I'll promise to agree
to your time."
"You know, dear Madam," said he, sipping his tea, "you know I only
live in
your sight."
"O yes, my Lord, I have long known that. But I begin to fear we
shall be too
late for Ranelagh this evening."
"O no, Madame," said Mr. Lovel, looking at his watch, "it is but
just past
ten."
"No more!" cried she, "O then we shall do very well."
All the ladies now started up, and declared they had no time to lose.
"Why, what the D-l," cried the Captain, leaning forward with both
his arms
on the table," are you going to Ranelagh at this time of night?"
The ladies looked at one another, and smiled.
"To Ranelagh?" cried Lord -, "yes, and I hope you are going too;
for we
cannot possibly excuse these ladies."
"I go to Ranelagh?-if I do, I'll be -."
Everybody now stood up; and the stranger Lord, coming round to me,
said, "You
go, I hope?"
"No, my Lord, I believe not."
"O you cannot, must not be so barbarous." And he took my hand,
and ran on,
saying such fine speeches, and compliments, that I might almost have
supposed myself a goddess, and him a pagan paying me adoration. As
soon as I possibly could, I drew back my hand; but he frequently,
in the course of conversation, contrived to take it again, though it
was extremely disagreeable to me; and the more so, as I saw that Lord
Orville had his eyes fixed upon us, with a gravity of attention that
made me uneasy.
And, surely, my dear Sir, it was a great liberty in this lord,
not withstanding his rank, to treat me so freely. As to Sir Clement,
he seemed in misery.
They all endeavoured to prevail with the Captain to join the
Ranelagh party;
and this lord told me, in a low voice, that it was tearing his heart
out to go without me.
During this conversation Mr. Lovel came forward, and assuming a look
of surprise, made me a bow, and inquired how I did, protesting upon
his honour, that he had not seen me before, or would have sooner paid
his respects to me.
Though his politeness was evidently constrained, yet I was very glad
to be
thus assured of having nothing more to fear from him.
The Captain, far from listening to their persuasions of accompanying
them to
Ranelagh, was quite in a passion at the proposal, and vowed he would
sooner go to the Blackhole in Calcutta.
"But," said Lord -, "if the ladies will take their tea at Ranelagh,
you may depend upon our seeing them safe home; for we shall be proud
of the honour of attending them."
"May be so," said the Captain, "but I'll tell you what, if one
of these
places ben't enough for them to-night, why to-morrow they shall go
to ne'er a one."
We instantly declared ourselves ready to go home.
"It is not for yourselves that we petition," said Lord -. "But for us;
if you have any charity, you will not be so cruel as to deny us; we
only beg you to prolong our happiness for a few minutes,-the favour
is but a small one for you to grant, though so great a one for us
to receive."
"To tell you a piece of my mind," said the Captain, surlily,
"I think you
might as well not give the girls so much of this palaver; they'll take
it all for gospel. As to Moll, why she's well enough, but nothing
extraordinary; though, perhaps, you may persuade her that her pug
nose is all the fashion; and as to the other, why she's good white
and red to be sure; but what of that?-I'll warrant she'll moulder
away as fast as her neighbours."
"Is there," cried Lord -, "another man in this place, who, seeing such
objects, could make such a speech?"
"As to that there," returned the Captain, "I don't know whether
there be or
no, and, to make free, I don't care; for I sha'n't go for to model
myself by any of these fair-weather chaps, who dare not so much
as say their souls are their own,-and, for aught I know, no more
they ben't. I'm almost as much ashamed of my countrymen as if I was
a Frenchman, and I believe in my heart there i'n't a pin to choose
between them; and, before long, we shall hear the very sailors talking
that lingo, and see never a swabber without a bag and a sword."
"He, he, he!-well, 'pon honour," cried Mr. Lovel, "you gentlemen of
the ocean
have a most severe way of judging."
"Severe! 'fore George, that is impossible; for, to cut the matter
short, the
men, as they call themselves, are no better than monkeys; and as to
the women, why they are mere dolls. So now you've got my opinion of
this subject; and I so wish you good night."
The ladies, who were very impatient to be gone, made their courtsies,
and
tripped away, followed by all the gentlemen of their party, except
the lord before mentioned, and, Lord Orville, who stayed to make
inquiries of Mrs. Mirvan concerning our leaving town; and then
saying, with his usual politeness, something civil to each of us,
with a very grave air he quitted us.
Lord - remained some minutes longer, which he spent in making a
profusion of
compliments to me; by which he prevented my hearing distinctly what
Lord Orville said, to my great vexation, especially as he looked-I
thought so, at least-as if displeased at his particularity of behaviour
to me.
In going to an outward room, to wait for the carriage, I walked, and
could not possibly avoid it, between this nobleman and Sir Clement
Willoughby, and, when the servant said the coach stopped the way,
though the latter offered me his hand, which I should much have
preferred, this same lord, without any ceremony, took mine himself;
and Sir Clement, with a look extremely provoked, conducted Mrs. Mirvan.
In all ranks and all stations of life, how strangely do characters and
manners differ! Lord Orville, with a politeness which knows no
intermission, and makes no distinction, is as unassuming and modest
as if he had never mixed with the great, and was totally ignorant
of every qualification he possesses; this other lord, though lavish
of compliments and fine speeches, seems to me an entire stranger to
real good-breeding; whoever strikes his fancy, engrosses his whole
attention. He is forward and bold; has an air of haughtiness towards
men, and a look of libertinism towards woman; and his conscious quality
seems to have given him a freedom in his way of speaking to either sex,
that is very little short of rudeness.
When we returned home, we were all low-spirited. The evening's
entertainment
had displeased the Captain; and his displeasure, I believe,
disconcerted us all.
And here I thought to have concluded my letter; but, to my great
surprise,
just now we had a visit from Lord Orville. He called, he said, to
pay his respects to us before we left town, and made many inquiries
concerning our return; and, when Mrs Mirvan told him we were going
into the country without any view of again quitting it, he expressed
concern in such terms-so polite, so flattering, so serious-that I
could hardly forbear being sorry for myself. Were I to go immediately
to Berry Hill, I am sure I should feel nothing but joy;-but, now we
are joined by this Captain, and Madame Duval, I must own I expect
very little pleasure at Howard Grove.
Before Lord Orville went, Sir Clement Willoughby called. He was
more grave
than I had ever seen him; and made several attempts to speak to me in
a low voice, and to assure me that his regret upon the occasion of
our journey was entirely upon my account. But I was not in spirits,
and could not bear to be teased by him. However, he has so well
paid his court to Captain Mirvan, that he gave him a very hearty
invitation to the Grove. At this he brightened,-and just then Lord
Orville took leave.
No doubt but he was disgusted at this ill-timed, ill-bred partiality;
for
surely it was very wrong to make an invitation before Lord Orville
in which he was not included! I was so much chagrined, that, as soon
as he went, I left the room; and I shall not go down stairs till Sir
Clement is gone.
Lord Orville cannot but observe his assiduous endeavours to ingratiate
himself into my favour; and does not this extravagant civility
of Captain Mirvan give him reason to suppose that it meets with
our general approbation? I cannot thimk upon this subject without
inexpressible uneasiness; and yet I can think of nothing else.
Adieu, my dearest Sir. Pray write to me immediately. How many
long letters
has this one short fortnight produced! More than I may probably
ever write again. I fear I shall have tired you with reading them;
but you will now have time to rest, for I shall find but little to
say in future.
And now, most honoured Sir, with all the follies and imperfections
which I
have thus faithfully recounted, can you, and with unabated kindness,
suffer me to sign myself Your dutiful and most affectionate EVELINA?
LETTER XXIV
MR VILLARS TO EVELINA Berry Hill, April 22.
HOW much do I rejoice that I can again address my letters to Howard
Grove! My Evelina would have grieved had she known the anxiety of my
mind during her residence in the great world. My apprehensions have
been inexpressibly alarming; and your journal, at once exciting and
relieving my fears, has almost wholly occupied me since the time of
your dating it from London.
Sir Clement Willoughby must be an artful designing man: I am extremely
irritated at his conduct. The passion he pretends for you has neither
sincerity nor honour; the manner and the opportunities he has chosen
to declare it, are bordering upon insult.
His unworthy behaviour after the opera, convinces me, that, had
not your
vehemence frightened him, Queen Ann Street would have been the last
place whither he would have ordered his chariot. O, my child, how
thankful am I for your escape! I need not now, I am sure, enlarge
upon your indiscretion and want of thought, in so hastily trusting
yourself with a man so little known to you, and whose gaiety and
flightiness should have put you on your guard.
The nobleman you met at the Pantheon, bold and forward as you describe
him to
be, gives me no apprehension; a man who appears so openly licentious,
and who makes his attack with so little regard to decorum, is one who,
to a mind such as my Evelina's, can never be seen but with the disgust
which his manners ought to excite.
But Sir Clement, though he seeks occasion to give real offence,
contrives to
avoid all appearance of intentional evil. He is far more dangerous,
because more artful: but I am happy to observe, that he seems to
have made no impression upon your heart; and therefore a very little
care and prudence may secure you from those designs which I fear he
has formed.
Lord Orville appears to be of a better order of beings. His spirited
conduct
to the meanly impertinent Lovel, and his anxiety for you after the
opera, prove him to be a man of sense and feeling. Doubtless he thought
there was much reason to tremble for your safety while exposed to
the power of Sir Clement; and he acted with a regard to real honour,
that will always incline me to think well of him, in so immediately
acquainting the Mirvan family with your situation. Many men of this
age, from a false and pretended delicacy to a friend, would have
quietly pursued their own affairs, and thought it more honourable
to leave an unsuspecting young creature to the mercy of a libertine,
than to risk his displeasure by taking measures for her security.
Your evident concern at leaving London is very natural, and yet
it afflicts
me. I ever dreaded your being too much pleased with a life of
dissipation, which youth and vivacity render but too alluring; and
I almost regret the consent for your journey, which I had not the
resolution to withhold.
Alas, my child, the artfulness of your nature, and the simplicity
of your
education, alike unfit you for the thorny paths of the great and
busy world. The supposed obscurity of your birth and situation,
makes you liable to a thousand disagreeable adventures. Not only
my views, but my hopes for your future life, have ever centered in
the country. Shall I own to you, that, however I may differ from
Captain Mirvan in other respects, yet my opinion of the town, its
manners, inhabitants, and diversions, is much upon upon a level with
his own? Indeed it is the general harbour of fraud and of folly, of
duplicity and of impertinence; and I wish few things more fervently,
than that you may have taken a lasting leave of it.
Remember, however, that I only speak in regard to a public and
dissipated
life; in private families we may doubtless find as much goodness,
honesty, and virtue, in London as in the country.
If contented with a retired station, I still hope I shall live to
see my
Evelina the ornament of her neighbourhood, and the pride and delight
of her family; and giving and receiving joy from such society as may
best deserve her affection, and employing herself in such useful and
innocent occupations as may secure and merit the tenderest love of her
friends, and the worthiest satisfaction of her own heart. Such are my
hopes, and such have been my expectations. Disappointment them not,
my beloved child; but cheer me with a few lines, that may assure me,
this one short fortnight spent in town has not undone the work of
seventeen years spent in the country. ARTHUR VILLARS.
LETTER XXV
EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS Howard Grove, April 25.
NO, my dear Sir, no: the work of seventeen years remains such as
it was, ever unworthy your time and your labour; but not more so
now-at least I hope not,-than before that fortnight which has so much
alarmed you.
And yet I must confess, that I am not half so happy here at present
as I was
ere I went to town: but the change is in the place, not in me. Captain
Mirvan and Madame Duval have ruined Howard Grove. The harmony that
reigned here is disturbed, our schemes are broken, our way of life is
altered, and our comfort is destroyed. But do not suppose London to
be the source of these evils; for, had our excursion been any where
else, so disagreeable an addition to our household must have caused
the same change at our return.
I was sure you would be displeased with Sir Clement Willoughby, and
therefore I am by no means surprised at what you say of him; but
for Lord Orville-I must own I had greatly feared that my weak and
imperfect account would not have procured him the good opinion which
he so well deserves, and which I am delighted to find you seem to
have of him. O, Sir, could I have done justice to the merit of which
I believe him posessed;-could I have painted him to you such as he
appeared to me;-then, indeed, you would have had some idea of the
claim which he has to your approbation!
After the last letter which I wrote in town, nothing more passed
previous to
our journey hither, except a very violent quarrel between Captain
Mirvan and Madame Duval. As the Captain intended to travel on
horseback, he had settled that we four females should make use of
his coach. Madame Duval did not come to Queen Ann Street till the
carriage had waited some time at the door; and then, attended by
Monsieur Du Bois, she made her appearance.
The Captain, impatient to be gone, would not suffer them to enter
the house,
but insisted that we should immediately get into the coach. We obeyed;
but were no sooner seated, than Madame Duval said, "Come, Monsieur
Du Bois, these girls can make very good room for you; sit closer,
children."
Mrs. Mirvan looked quite confounded; and M. Du Bois, after making some
apologies about crowding us, actually got into the coach, on the side
with Miss Mirvan and me. But no sooner was he seated, than the Captain,
who had observed this transaction very quietly, walked up to the
coach door, saying, "What, neither with your leave, nor by your leave?"
M. Du Bois seemed rather shocked, and began to make abundance of
excuses: but
the Captain neither understood nor regarded him, and, very roughly,
said, "Look'ee, Monseer, this here may be a French fashion for aught I
know,-but give and take is fair in all nations; and so now, d'ye see,
I'll make bold to show you an English one."
And then, seizing his wrist, he made him jump out of the coach.
M. Du Bois instantly put his hand upon his sword, and threatened to
resent this indignity. The Captain, holding up his stick, bid him draw
at his peril. Mrs. Mirvan, greatly alarmed, got out of the coach, and,
standing between them, intreated her husband to re-enter the house.
"None of your clack!" cried he angrily; "what the D-l, do you
suppose I
can't manage a Frenchman?"
Meantime, Madame Duval called out to M. Du Bois, "Eh, laissez-le,
mon ami, ne
le corrigez pas; c'est une villaine bete qui n'en vaut pas la peine."
"Monsieur le Capitaine," cried M. Du Bois, "voulez-vous bien ne
demander pardon?"
"O ho, you demand pardon, do you?" said the Captain," I thought as
much; I
thought you'd come to;-so you have lost your relish for an English
salutation, have you?" strutting up to him with looks of defiance.
A crowd was now gathering, and Mrs. Mirvan again besought her husband
to go
into the house.
"Why, what a plague is the woman afraid of?-Did you ever know
a Frenchman
that could not take an affront?-I warrant Monseer knows what he is
about;-don't you Monseer?"
M. Du Bois, not understanding him, only said, "plait-il, Monsieur?"
"No, nor dish me neither," answered the Captain; "but, be that as
it may,
what signifies our parleying here? If you've any thing to propose,
speak at once; if not, why let us go on our journey without more ado."
"Parbleu, je n'entends rien, moi!" cried M. Du Bois, shrugging up his
shoulders, and looking very dismal.
Mrs. Mirvan then advanced to him, and said in French, that she was
sure the
Captain had not any intention to affront him, and begged he would
desist from a dispute which could only be productive of mutual
misunderstanding, as neither of them knew the language of the other.
This sensible remonstrance had the desired effect; and M. Du Bois,
making a
bow to every one except the Captain, very wisely gave up the point,
and took leave.
We then hoped to proceed quietly on our journey; but the turbulent
Captain
would not yet permit us. He approached Madame Duval with an exulting
air, and said, "Why, how's this, Madame? what, has your champion
deserted you? why, I thought you told me, that you old gentlewomen
had it all your own way among them French sparks?"
"As to that, Sir," answered she, "it's not of no consequence what you
thought; for a person who can behave in such a low way, may think
what he pleases for me, for I sha'n't mind."
"Why then, Mistress, since you must needs make so free," cried he,
"please to
tell me the reason you took the liberty for to ask any of your
followers into my coach without my leave? Answer me to that."
"Why, then, pray, Sir," returned she, "tell me the reaon why you
took the
liberty to treat the gentleman in such an unpolite way, as to take
and pull him neck and heels out? I'm sure he hadn't done nothing to
affront you, nor nobody else; and I don't know what great hurt he
would have done you, by just sitting still in the coach; he would
not have eat it."
"What, do you think, then, that my horses have nothing to do but
to carry
about your snivelling Frenchmen? If you do, Madam, I must make bold
to tell you, you are out, for I'll see 'em hang'd first."
"More brute you, then! For they've never carried nobody half so good."
"Why, look'ee, Madam, if you must needs provoke me, I'll tell you
a piece of
my mind; you must know, I can see as far into a millstone as another
man; and so, if you thought for to fob me off with another one of your
smirking French puppies for a son-in-law, why you'll find yourself
in a hobble, that's all."
"Sir, you're a-but I won't say what;-but I protest I hadn't no such
a thought, no more hadn't Monsieur Du Bois."
"My dear," said Mrs. Mirvan, "we shall be very late."
"Well, well," answered he, "get away then; off with you as fast as
you can,
it's high time. As to Molly, she's fine lady enough in all conscience;
I want none of your French chaps to make her worse."
And so saying he mounted his horse and we drove off. And I could
not but
think, with regret, of the different feelings we experienced upon
leaving London, to what had belonged to our entering it.
During the journey Madame Duval was so very violent against the
Captain, that
she obliged Mrs. Mirvan to tell her, that, when in her presence,
she must beg her to choose some other subject of discourse.
We had a most affectionate reception from Lady Howard, whose
kindness and
hospitality cannot fail of making every body happy who is disposed
so to be.
Adieu, my dearest Sir. I hope, though I have hitherto neglected
to mention
it, that you have always remembered me to whoever has made any inquiry
concerning me.
LETTER XXVI
EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS Howard Grove, April 27.
O MY dear Sir, I now write in the greatest uneasiness! Madame Duval
has made a proposal which terrifies me to death, and which was as
unexpected as it is shocking.
She had been employed for some hours this afternoon in reading
letters from
London: and, just about tea-time, she sent for me into her room, and
said, with a look of great satisfaction, "Come here, child, I've got
some very good news to tell you: something that will surprise you,
I'll give you my word, for you ha'n't no notion of it."
I begged her to explain herself; and then, in terms which I cannot
repeat, she said she had been considering what a shame it was to
see me such a poor country, shame-faced thing, when I ought to be a
fine lady; and that she had long, and upon several occasions, blushed
for me, though she must own the fault was none of mine; for nothing
better could be expected from a girl who had been so immured. However,
she assured me she had, at length, hit upon a plan, which would make
quite another creature of me.
I waited, without much impatience, to hear what this preface led to;
but I
was soon awakened to more lively sensations, when she aquainted me,
that her intention was to prove my birthright, and to claim, by law,
the inheritance of my real family!
It would be impossible for me to express my extreme consternation
when she
thus unfolded her scheme. My surprise and terror were equally great;
I could say nothing: I heard her with a silence which I had not the
power to break.
She then expatiated very warmly upon the advantages I should reap from
her plan; talked in a high style of my future grandeur; assured me
how heartily I should despise almost every body and every thing I had
hitherto seen; predicted my marrying into some family of the first
rank in the kingdom; and, finally, said I should spend a few months in
Paris, where my education and manners might receive their last polish.
She enlarged also upon the delight she should have, in common
with myself,
from mortifying the pride of certain people, and showing them that
she was not to be slighted with impunity.
In the midst of this discourse, I was relieved by a summons to
tea. Madame
Duval was in great spirits; but my emotion was too painful for
concealment, and every body enquired into the cause. I would fain
have waived the subject, but Madame Duval was determined to make it
public. She told tham that she had it in her head to make something
of me, and that they should soon call me by another name than that
of Anville; and yet that she was not going to have the child married
neither.
I could not endure to hear her proceed, and was going to leave
the room;
which, when Lady Howard perceived, she begged Madame Duval would
defer her intelligence to some other opportunity; but she was so
eager to communicate her scheme, that she could bear no delay;
and therefore they suffered me to go without opposition. Indeed,
whenever my situation or affairs are mentioned by Madame Duval,
she speaks of them with such bluntness and severity, that I cannot
be enjoined a task more cruel than to hear her.
I was afterwards accquainted with some particulars of the conversation
by
Miss Mirvan; who told me that Madame Duval informed them of her plan
wih the utmost complacency, and seemed to think herself very fortunate
in having suggested it; but, soon after, she accidentally betrayed,
that she had been instigated to the scheme by her relations the
Branghtons, whose letters, which she received today, first mentioned
the proposal. She declared that she would have nothing to do with
any roundabout ways, but go openly and instantly to law, in order to
prove my birth, real name, and title to the estate of my ancestors.
How impertinent and officious in these Branghtons, to interfere
thus in my concerns! You can hardly imagine what a disturbance this
plan has made in the family. The Captain, without enquiring into any
particulars of the affair, has peremptorily declared himself against
it, merely because it has been proposed by Madame Duval; and they
have battled the point together with great violence. Mrs. Mirvan says,
she will not even think, till she hears your opinion. But Lady Howard,
to my great surprise, openly avows her appprobation of Madame Duval's
intention; however, she will write her reasons and sentiments upon
the subject to you herself.
As to Miss Mirvan, she is my second self, and neither hopes nor
fears but as
I do. And as to me,-I know not what to say, nor even what to wish; I
have often thought my fate peculiarly cruel, to have but one parent,
and from that one to be banished for ever;-while, on the other side,
I have but too well known and felt the propriety of the separation. And
yet, you may much better imagine, than I can express, the internal
anguish which sometimes oppresses my heart, when I reflect upon the
strange indifference that must occasion a father never to make the
least enquiry after the health, the welfare, or even the life of
his child!
O Sir, to me the loss is nothing!-greatly, sweetly, and most
benevolently
have you guarded me from feeling it; but for him, I grieve indeed!-I
must be divested, not merely of all filial piety, but of all humanity,
could I ever think upon this subject, and not be wounded to the soul.
Again I must repeat, I know not what to wish; think for me, therefore,
my dearest Sir, and suffer my doubting mind, that knows not which way
to direct its hopes, to be guided by your wisdom and unerring counsel.
EVELINA.
LETTER XXVII
LADY HOWARD TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS Howard Grove.
Dear Sir,
I CANNOT give a greater proof of the high opinion I have of your
candour, than by the liberty I am now going to take, of presuming to
offer you advice, upon a subject concerning which you have so just a
claim to act for yourself; but I know you have too unaffected a love
of justice, to be partially tenacious of your own judgment.
Madame Duval has been proposing a scheme which has put us all in
commotion,
and against which, at first, in common with the rest of my family,
I exclaimed: but, upon more mature consideration, I own my objections
have almost wholly vanished.
This scheme is no other than to commence a lawsuit with Sir John
Belmont, to prove the validity of his marriage with Miss Evelyn; the
necessary consequence of which proof will be, securing his fortune
and estate to his daughter.
And why, my dear Sir, should not this be? I know that, upon first
hearing,
such a plan conveys ideas that must shock you; but I know, too,
that your mind is superior to being governed by prejudices, or
to opposing any important cause on account of a few disagreeable
attendant circumstances.
Your lovely charge, now first entering into life, has merit which
ought not
to be buried in obscurity. She seems born for an ornament to the world.
Nature has been bountiful to her of whatever she had to bestow; and
the peculiar attention you have given to her education, has formed her
mind to a degree of excellence, that in one so young I have scarce
ever seen equalled. Fortune alone has hitherto been sparing of her
gifts; and she, too, now opens the way which leads to all that is
left to wish for her.
What your reasons may have been, my good Sir, for so carefully
concealing the
birth, name, and pretensions of this amiable girl, and forbearing to
make any claim upon Sir John Belmont, I am totally a stranger to; but,
without knowing, I respect them, from the high opinion that I have
of your character and judgment: but I hope they are not insuperable;
for I cannot but think, that it was never designed for one who seems
meant to grace the world, to have her life devoted to retirement.
Surely Sir John Belmont, wretch as he has shown himself, could never
see his
accomplished daughter, and not be proud to own her, and eager to
secure her the inheritance of his fortune. The admiration she met
with in town, though merely the effect of her external attractions,
was such, that Mrs. Mirvan assures me, she would have had the most
splendid offers, had there not seemed to be some mystery in regard
to her birth, which, she was well informed was assiduously, though
vainly, endeavoured to be discovered.
Can it be right, my dear Sir, that this promising young creature
should be deprived of the fortune and rank of life to which she is
lawfully entitled, and which you have prepared her to support and to
use so nobly? To despise riches may, indeed, be philosophic; but to
dispense them worthily must, surely, be more beneficial to mankind.
Perhaps a few years, or indeed a much shorter time, may make this
scheme impracticable: Sir John, tho' yet young, leads a life too
dissipated for long duration; and when too late, we may regret that
something was not sooner done: for it will be next to impossible, after
he is gone, to settle or prove anything with his heirs and executors.
Pardon the earnestness with which I write my sense of this affair;
but your charming ward has made me so warmly her friend, that I cannot
be indifferent upon a subject of such importance to her future life.
Adieu, my dear Sir;-send me speedily an answer to this remonstrance,
and believe me to be, -c. M. HOWARD.
LETTER XXVIII
MR VILLARS TO LADY HOWARD Berry Hill, May 2.
YOUR letter, Madam, has opened a source of anxiety, to which I look
forward with dread, and which, to see closed, I scarcely dare expect. I
am unwilling to oppose my opinion to that of your Ladyship; nor,
indeed, can I, but by arguments which I believe will rather rank me
as a hermit ignorant of the world, and fit only for my cell, than as
a proper guardian, in an age such as this, for an accomplished young
woman. Yet, thus called upon, it behoves me to explain, and endeavour
to vindicate, the reasons by which I have been hitherto guided.
The mother of this dear child,-who was led to destruction by her own
imprudence, the hardness of heart of Madame Duval, and the villany of
Sir John Belmont,-was once, what her daughter is now, the best beloved
of my heart: and her memory, so long as my own holds, I shall love,
mourn and honour! On the fatal day that her gentle soul left its
mansion, and not many hours ere she ceased to breathe, I solemnly
plighted my faith, That her child if it lived, should know no father
but myself, or her acknowledged husband.
You cannot, Madam, suppose that I found much difficulty in adhering
to this promise, and forbearing to make any claim upon Sir John
Belmont. Could I feel an affection the most paternal for this poor
sufferer, and not abominate her destroyer? Could I wish to deliver to
him, who had so basely betrayed the mother, the helpless and innocent
offspring, who, born in so much sorrow, seemed entitled to all the
compassionate tenderness of pity?
For many years, the name alone of that man, accidentally spoken in my
hearing, almost divested me of my Christianity, and scarce could I
forbear to execrate him. Yet I sought not, neither did I desire, to
deprive him of his child, had he with any appearance of contrition,
or, indeed, of humanity, endeavoured to become less unworthy such a
blessing;-but he is a stranger to all parental feelings, and has with
a savage insensibility, forborne to enquire even into the existence
of this sweet orphan, though the situation of his injured wife was
but too well known to him.
You wish to be acquainted with my intentions.-I must acknowledge
they were such as I now perceive would not be honoured with your
Ladyship's approbation; for though I have sometimes thought of
presenting Evelina to her father, and demanding the justice which
is her due, yet, at other times, I have both disdained and feared
the application; disdained lest it should be refused; and feared,
lest it should be accepted!
Lady Belmont, who was firmly persuaded of her approaching dissolution,
frequently and earnestly besought me, that if her infant was a female,
I would not abandon her to the direction of a man so wholly unfit to
take the charge of her education: but, should she be importunately
demanded, that I would retire with her abroad, and carefully conceal
her from Sir John, till some apparent change in his sentiments and
conduct should announce him less improper for such a trust. And
often would she say, "Should the poor babe have any feelings
correspondent with its mother's, it will have no want while under
your protection." Alas! she had no sooner quitted it herself, than
she was plunged into a gulph of misery, that swallowed up her peace,
reputation, and life.
During the childhood of Evelina, I suggested a thousand plans for the
security of her birth-right;-but I as many times rejected them. I
was in a perpetual conflict, between the desire that she should
have justice done her, and the apprehension that, while I improved
her fortune, I should endanger her mind. However, as her character
began to be formed, and her disposition to be displayed, my perplexity
abated; the road before me seemed less thorny and intricate, and I
thought I could perceive the right path from the wrong: for when I
observed the artless openness the ingenuous simplicity of her nature;
when I saw that her guileless and innocent soul fancied all the world
to be pure and disinterested as herself, and that her heart was open
to every impression with which love, pity, or art might assail it;-then
did I flatter myself, that to follow my own inclination, and to secure
her welfare, was the same thing; since, to expose her to the snares and
dangers inevitably encircling a house of which the master is dissipated
and unprincipled, without the guidance of a mother, or any prudent and
sensible female, seemed to me no less than suffering her to stumble
into some dreadful pit, when the sun is in its meridian. My plan,
therefore, was not merely to educate and to cherish her as my own, but
to adopt her the heiress of my small fortune, and to bestow her upon
some worthy man, with whom she might spend her days in tranquility,
cheerfulness, and good-humour, untainted by vice, folly, or ambition.
So much for the time past. Such have been the motives by which I have
been governed; and I hope they will be allowed not merely to account
for, but also to justify, the conduct which has resulted from them. It
now remains to speak of the time to come.
And here, indeed, I am sensible of difficulties which I almost despair
of surmounting according to my wishes. I pay the highest deference to
your Ladyship's opinion, which it is extremely painful to me not to
concur with;-yet I am so well acquainted with your goodness, that I
presume to hope it would not be absolutely impossible for me to offer
such arguments as might lead you to think with me, that this young
creature's chance of happiness seems less doubtful in retirement, than
it would be in the gay and dissipated world. But why should I perplex
your Ladyship with reasoning that can turn to so little account? for,
alas! what arguments, what persuasions, can I make use of, with any
prospect of success, to such a woman as Madame Duval? Her character
and the violence of her disposition, intimidate me from making the
attempt: she is too ignorant for instruction, too obstinate for
intreaty, and too weak for reason.
I will not, therefore, enter into a contest from which I have nothing
to expect but altercation and impertinence. As soon would I discuss the
effect of sound with the deaf, or the nature of colours with the blind,
as aim at illuminating with conviction a mind so warped by prejudice,
so much the slave of unruly and illiberal passions. Unused as she
is to control, persuasion would but harden, and opposition incense
her. I yield, therefore, to the necessity which compels my reluctant
acquiescence; and shall now turn all my thoughts upon considering
of such methods for the conducting this enterprise, as may be most
conducive to the happiness of my child and least liable to wound
her sensibility.
The law-suit, therefore, I wholly and absolutely disapprove.
Will you, my dear Madam, forgive the freedom of an old man, if I
own myself greatly surprised, that you could, even for a moment,
listen to a plan so violent, so public, so totally repugnant to all
female delicacy? I am satisfied your Ladyship has not weighed this
project. There was a time, indeed, when to assert the innocence
of Lady Belmont, and to blazon to the world the wrongs, not guilt,
by which she suffered, I proposed, nay attempted, a similar plan:
but then all assistance and encouragement was denied. How cruel to
the remembrance I bear of her woes is this tardy resentment of Madame
Duval! She was deaf to the voice of Nature, though she has hearkened
to that of Ambition.
Never can I consent to have this dear and timid girl brought forward to
the notice of the world by such a method; a method which will subject
her to all the impertinence of curiosity, the sneers of conjecture, and
the stings of ridicule. And for what?-the attainment of wealth which
she does not want, and the gratification of vanity which she does not
feel. A child to appear against a father!-no, Madam, old and infirm
as I am, I would even yet sooner convey her myself to some remote
part of the world, though I were sure of dying in the expedition.
Far different had been the motives which would have stimulated
her unhappy mother to such a proceeding; all her felicity in this
world was irretrievably lost; her life was become a burthen to her;
and her fair fame, which she had early been taught to prize above
all other things, had received a mortal wound: therefore, to clear
her own honour, and to secure from blemish the birth of her child,
was all the good which fortune had reserved herself the power of
bestowing. But even this last consolation was withheld from her!
Let milder measures be adopted: and-since it must be so-let application
be made to Sir John Belmont, but as to a law-suit, I hope, upon this
subject, never more to hear it mentioned.
With Madame Duval, all pleas of delicacy would be ineffectual;
her scheme must be opposed by arguments better suited to her
understanding. I will not, therefore, talk of its impropriety, but
endeavour to prove its inutility. Have the goodness, then, to tell
her, that her own intentions would be frustrated by her plan; since,
should the lawsuit be commenced, and even should the cause be gained,
Sir John Belmont would still have it in his power, and, if irritated,
no doubt in his inclination, to cut off her grand-daughter with
a shilling.
She cannot do better herself than to remain quiet and inactive
in the affair: the long and mutual animosity between her and Sir
John will make her interference merely productive of debates and
ill-will. Neither would I have Evelina appear till summoned. And as
to myself, I must wholly decline acting; though I will, with unwearied
zeal, devote all my thoughts to giving counsel: but, in truth, I have
neither inclination nor spirits adequate to engaging personally with
this man.
My opinion is, that he would pay more respect to a letter from your
Ladyship upon this subject, than from any other person. I, therefore,
advise and hope, that you will yourself take the trouble of writing
to him, in order to open the affair. When he shall be inclined to see
Evelina, I have for him a posthumous letter, which his much injured
lady left to be presented to him, if ever such a meeting should
take place.
The views of the Branghtons, in suggesting this scheme, are obviously
interested. They hope, by securing to Evelina the fortune of her
father, to induce Madame Duval to settle her own upon themselves. In
this, however, they would probably be mistaken; for little minds have
ever a propensity to bestow their wealth upon those who are already
in affluence; and, therefore, the less her grandchild requires her
assistance, the more gladly she will give it.
I have but one thing more to add, from which, however, I can by no
means recede: my word so solemnly given to Lady Belmont, that her
child should never be owned but with her self, must be inviolably
adhered to. I am, dear Madam, with great respect, Your Ladyship's
most obedient servant, ARTHUR VILLARS.
LETTER XXIX
MR. VILLARS TO EVELINA Berry Hill, May 2.
HOW sincerely do I sympathise in the uneasiness and concern which
my beloved Evelina has so much reason to feel! The cruel scheme in
agitation is equally repugnant to my judgment and my inclination;-yet
to oppose it seems impracticable. To follow the dictates of my own
heart, I should instantly recall you to myself, and never more consent
to your being separated from me; but the manners and opinion of the
world demand a different conduct. Hope, however, for the best, and be
satisfied you shall meet with no indignity; if you are not received
into your own family as you ought to be, and with the distinction that
is your due, you shall leave it for ever; and once again restored to
my protection, secure your own tranquillity, and make, as you have
hitherto done, all the happiness of my life. ARTHUR VILLARS.
LETTER XXX
EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS Howard Grove, May 6.
THE die is thrown, and I attend the event in trembling! Lady Howard
has written to Paris, and sent her letter to town, to be forwarded in
the ambassador's packet; and, in less than a fortnight, therefore, she
expects an answer. O, Sir, with what anxious impatience shall I wait
its arrival! upon it seems to depend the fate of my future life. My
solicitude is so great, and my suspense so painful, that I cannot
rest a moment in peace, or turn my thoughts into any other channel.
Deeply interested as I now am in the event, most sincerely do I
regret that the plan was ever proposed. Methinks it cannot end to
my satisfaction: for either I must be torn from the arms of my more
than father,-or I must have the misery of being finally convinced,
that I am cruelly rejected by him who has the natural claim to that
dear title, which to write, mention, or think of, fills my whole soul
with filial tenderness.
The subject is discussed here eternally. Captain Mirvan and Madame
Duval, as usual, quarrel whenever it is started: but I am so wholly
engrossed by my own reflections, that I cannot even listen to them. My
imagination changes the scene perpetually: one moment, I am embraced
by a kind and relenting parent, who takes me to that heart from
which I have hitherto been banished, and supplicates, through me,
peace and forgiveness from the ashes of my mother!-at another, he
regards me with detestation, considers me as the living image of an
injured saint, and repulses me with horror!-But I will not afflict
you with the melancholy phantasms of my brain; I will endeavour to
compose my mind to a more tranquil state, and forbear to write again
till I have in some measure succeeded.
May Heaven bless you, my dearest Sir! and long, long may it continue
you on earth, to bless Your grateful EVELINA
LETTER XXXI
LADY HOWARD TO SIR JOHN BELMONT, BART Howard Grove, May 5.
Sir,
YOU will, doubtless, be surprised at receiving a letter from one who
had for so short a period the honour of your acquaintance, and that
at so great a distance of time; but the motive which has induced me to
take this liberty is of so delicate a nature, that were I to commence
making apologies for my officiousness, I fear my letter would be too
long for your patience.
You have, probably, already conjectured the subject upon which I
mean to treat. My regard for Mr. Evelyn, and his amiable daughter,
was well known to you: nor can I ever cease to be interested in
whatever belongs to their memory or family.
I must own myself somewhat distressed in what manner to introduce the
purport of my writing; yet as I think that, in affairs of this kind,
frankness is the first requisite to a good understanding between
the parties concerned, I will neither torment you nor myself with
punctilious ceremonies, but proceed instantly and openly to the
business which occasions my giving you this trouble.
I presume, Sir, it would be superfluous to tell you, that your child
resides still in Dorsetshire, and is still under the protection
of the Reverend Mr. Villars, in whose house she was born: for,
though no enquiries concerning her have reached his ears, or mine,
I can never suppose it possible you have forborne to make them. It
only remains, therefore, to tell you, that your daughter is now
grown up; that she has been educated with the utmost care, and the
utmost success; and that she is now a most deserving, accomplished,
and amiable young woman.
Whatever may be your view for her future destination in life, it seems
time to declare it. She is greatly admired, and, I doubt not, will
be very much sought after: it is proper, therefore, that her future
expectations, and your pleasure concerning her, should be made known.
Believe me, Sir, she merits your utmost attention and regard. You
could not see and know her, and remain unmoved by those sensations of
affection which belong to so near and tender a relationship. She is
the lovely resemblance of her lovely mother;-pardon, Sir, the liberty
I take in mentioning that unfortunate lady; but I think it behoves
me, upon this occasion, to shew the esteem I felt for her: allow me,
therefore, to say, and be not offended at my freedom, that the memory
of that excellent lady has but too long remained under the aspersions
of calumny; surely it is time to vindicate her fame;-and how can that
be done in a manner more eligible, more grateful to her friends, or
more honourable to yourself, than by openly receiving as your child,
the daughter of the late Lady Belmont?
The venerable man who has had the care of her education, deserves
your warmest acknowledgments, for the unremitting pains he has taken,
and the attention he has shewn in the discharge of his trust. Indeed
she has been peculiarly fortunate in meeting with such a friend and
guardian; a more worthy man, or one whose character seems nearer to
perfection, does not exist.
Permit me to assure you, Sir, she will amply repay whatever regard and
favour you may hereafter shew her, by the comfort and happiness you
cannot fail to find in her affection and duty. To be owned properly
by you is the first wish of her heart; and, I am sure, that to merit
your approbation will be the first study of her life.
I fear that you will think this address impertinent; but I must rest
upon the goodness of my intention to plead my excuse. I am, Sir,
Your most obedient humble servant, M. HOWARD.
LETTER XXXII
EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS Howard Grove, Kent, May 10.
OUR house has been enlivened to-day by the arrival of a London visitor;
and the necessity I have been under of concealing the uneasiness of
my mind, has made me exert myself so effectually, that I even think
it is really diminished; or, at least, my thoughts are not so totally,
so very anxiously, occupied by one subject only as they lately were.
I was strolling this morning with Miss Mirvan, down a lane about
a mile from the Grove, when we heard the trampling of horses; and,
fearing the narrowness of the passage, we were turning hastily back,
but stopped upon hearing a voice call out, "Pray, Ladies, don't be
frightened, for I will walk my horse." We turned again, and then saw
Sir Clement Willoughby. He dismounted; and approaching us with the
reins in his hand, presently recollected us. "Good Heaven," cried
he, with his usual quickness, "do I see Miss Anville ?-and you too,
Miss Mirvan?"
He immediately ordered his servant to take charge of his horse; and
then, advancing to us, took a hand of each, which he pressed to his
lips, and said a thousand fine things concerning his good fortune,
our improved looks, and the charms of the country, when inhabited
by such rural deities. "The town, Ladies, has languished since your
absence;-or, at least, I have so much languished myself, as to be
absolutely insensible to all it had to offer. One refreshing breeze,
such as I now enjoy, awakens me to new vigour, life, and spirit. But I
never before had the good luck to see the country in such perfection."
"Has not almost every body left town, Sir?" said Miss Mirvan.
"I am ashamed to answer you, Madam,-but indeed it is as full as ever,
and will continue so till after the birth-day. However, you Ladies
were so little seen, that there are but few who know what it has
lost. For my own part, I felt it too sensibly, to be able to endure
the place any longer."
"Is there any body remaining there, that we were acquainted
with?" cried I.
"O yes, Ma'am." And then he named two or three persons we have seen
when with him; but he did not mention Lord Orville, and I would not
ask him, lest he should think me curious. Perhaps, if he stays here
some time, he may speak of him by accident.
He was proceeding in this complimentary style, when we were met by
the Captain; who no sooner perceived Sir Clement, than he hastened
up to him, gave him a hearty shake of the hand, a cordial slap on the
back, and some other equally gentle tokens of satisfaction, assuring
him of his great joy at his visit, and declaring he was as glad to
see him as if he had been a messenger who brought news that a French
ship was sunk. Sir Clement, on the other side, expressed himself with
equal warmth; and protested he had been so eager to pay his respects
to Captain Mirvan, that he had left London in its full lustre, and a
thousand engagements unanswered, merely to give himself that pleasure.
"We shall have rare sport," said the Captain; "for, do you know, the
old French-woman is among us? 'Fore George, I have scarce made any
use of her yet, by reason I have had nobody with me that could enjoy a
joke: howsomever, it shall go hard but we'll have some diversion now."
Sir Clement very much approved of the proposal; and we then went into
the house, where he had a very grave reception from Mrs. Mirvan, who
is by no means pleased with his visit, and a look of much discontent
from Madame Duval, who said to me in a low voice, "I'd as soon have
seen Old Nick as that man, for he's the most impertinentest person
in the world, and isn't never of my side."
The Captain is now actually occupied in contriving some scheme, which,
he says, is to pay the old Dowager off; and so eager and delighted is
he at the idea, that he can scarcely restrain his raptures sufficiently
to conceal his design even from herself. I wish, however, since I do
not dare put Madame Duval upon her guard, that he had the delicacy
not to acquaint me with his intention.
LETTER XXXIII
EVELINA IN CONTINUATION May 13th.
THE Captain's operations are begun,-and, I hope, ended; for, indeed,
poor Madame Duval has already but too much reason to regret Sir
Clement's visit to Howard Grove.
Yesterday morning, during breakfast, as the Captain was reading the
newspaper, Sir Clement suddenly begged to look at it, saying, he wanted
to know if there was any account of a transaction, at which he had
been present the evening before his journey hither, concerning a poor
Frenchman, who had got into a scrape which might cost him his life.
The Captain demanded particulars; and then Sir Clement told a
long story of being with a party of country friends at the Tower,
and hearing a man call out for mercy in French; and that, when he
inquired into the occasion of his distress, he was informed that he
had been taken up upon suspicion of treasonable practices against the
government. "The poor fellow," continued he, "no sooner found that I
spoke French, than he besought me to hear him, protesting that he had
no evil designs; that he had been but a short time in England, and
only waited the return of a lady from the country to quit it for ever."
Madame Duval changed colour, and listened with the utmost attention.
"Now, though I by no means approve of so many foreigners continually
flocking into our country," added he, addressing himself to the
Captain, "yet I could not help pitying the poor wretch, because
he did not know enough of English to make his defence; however, I
found it impossible to assist him; for the mob would not suffer me
to interfere. In truth, I am afraid he was but roughly handled."
"Why, did they duck him?" said the Captain.
"Something of that sort," answered he.
"So much the better! so much the better!" cried the Captain, "an
impudent French puppy! I'll bet you what you will he was a rascal. I
only wish all his countrymen were served the same."
"I wish you had been in his place, with all my soul!" cried Madame
Duval, warmly;-"but pray, Sir, did'n't nobody know who this poor
gentleman was?"
"Why I did hear his name," answered Sir Clement, "but I cannot
recollect it."
"It wasn't-it wasn't-Du Bois?" stammered out Madame Duval.
"The very name!" answered he: "yes, Du Bois, I remember it now."
Madame Duval's cup fell from her hand, as she repeated "Du
Bois! Monsieur Du Bois, did you say?"
"Du Bois! why, that's my friend," cried the Captain, "that's Monseer
Slippery, i'n't it?-Why, he's plaguy fond of sousing work; howsomever,
I'll be sworn they gave him his fill of it."
"And I'll be sworn," cried Madame Duval, "that you're a-but I don't
believe nothing about it, so you needn't be so overjoyed, for I dare
say it was no more Monsieur Du Bois than I am."
"I thought at the time," said Sir Clement, very gravely, "that I had
seen the gentleman before; and now I recollect, I think it was in
company with you, Madame."
"With me, Sir?" cried Madame Duval.
"Say you so?" said the Captain; "why then it must be he, as sure
as you're alive!-Well, but, my good friend, what will they do with
poor Monseer?"
"It is difficult to say," answered Sir Clement, very thoughtfully;
"but I should suppose, that if he has not good friends to appear for
him, he will be in a very unpleasant situation; for these are serious
sorts of affairs."
"Why, do you think they'll hang him?" demanded the Captain.
Sir Clement shook his head, but made no answer.
Madame Duval could no longer contain her agitation; she started
from her chair, repeating, with a voice half-choked, "Hang him!-they
can't,-they sha'n't-let them at their peril!-However, it's all false,
and I won't believe a word of it;-but I'll go to town this very moment,
and see M. Du Bois myself;-I won't wait for nothing."
Mrs. Mirvan begged her not to be alarmed; but she flew out of the
room, and up stairs into her own apartment. Lady Howard blamed both
the gentlemen for having been so abrupt, and followed her. I would
have accompanied her, but the Captain stopped me; and, having first
laughed very heartily, said he was going to read his commission to
his ship's company.
"Now, do you see," said he, "as to Lady Howard, I sha'n't pretend for
to enlist her into my service, and so I shall e'en leave her to make
it out as well as she can; but as to all you, I expect obedience and
submission to orders; I am now upon a hazardous expedition, having
undertaken to convoy a crazy vessel to the shore of Mortification; so,
d'ye see, if any of you have anything to propose that will forward the
enterprise,-why speak and welcome; but if any of you, that are of my
chosen crew, capitulate, or enter into any treaty with the enemy,-I
shall look upon you as mutinying, and turn you adrift."
Having finished this harangue, which was interlarded with many
expressions, and sea-phrases, that I cannot recollect, he gave Sir
Clement a wink of intelligence, and left us to ourselves.
Indeed, notwithstanding the attempts I so frequently make of writing
some of the Captain's conversation, I can only give you a faint idea
of his language; for almost every other word he utters is accompanied
by an oath, which, I am sure, would be as unpleasant for you to read,
as for me to write: and, besides, he makes use of a thousand sea-terms,
which are to me quite unintelligible.
Poor Madame Duval sent to inquire at all probable places, whether
she could be conveyed to town in any stage-coach: but the Captain's
servant brought her for answer, that no London stage would pass
near Howard Grove till to-day. She then sent to order a chaise;
but was soon assured, that no horses could be procured. She was so
much inflamed by these disappointments, that she threatened to set
out for town on foot; and it was with difficulty that Lady Howard
dissuaded her from this mad scheme.
The whole morning was filled up with these inquiries. But when we
were all assembled to dinner, she endeavoured to appear perfectly
unconcerned, and repeatedly protested that she gave not any credit
to the report, as far as it regarded M. Du Bois, being very certain
that he was not the person in question.
The Captain used the most provoking efforts to convince her that she
deceived herself; while Sir Clement, with more art, though not less
malice, affected to be of her opinion; but, at the same time that he
pretended to relieve her uneasiness, by saying that he doubted not
having mistaken the name, he took care to enlarge upon the danger to
which the unknown gentleman was exposed, and expressed great concern
at his perilous situation.
Dinner was hardly removed, when a letter was delivered to Madam
Duval. The moment she had read it, she hastily demanded from whom
it came.
"A country boy brought it," answered the servant," but he would
not wait."
"Run after him this instant!" cried she, "and be sure you bring him
back. Mon Dieu! quelle aventure! que feraije?"
"What's the matter? what's the matter?" said the Captain.
"Why nothing-nothing's the matter. O mon Dieu!"
And she rose, and walked about the room.
"Why, what,-has Monseer sent to you?" continued the Captain: "is that
there letter from him?"
"No,-it i'n't;-besides, if it is, it's nothing to you."
"O then, I'm sure it is! Pray now, Madam, don't be so close;
come tell us all about it-what does he say? how did he relish the
horse-pond?-which did he find best, sousing single or double? 'Fore
George, 'twas plaguy unlucky you was not with him!"
"It's no such a thing, Sir," cried she, very angrily; "and if you're
so very fond of a horse-pond, I wish you'd put yourself into one,
and not be always a thinking about other people's being served so."
The man then came in to acquaint her they could not overtake the
boy. She scolded violently, and was in such perturbation, that Lady
Howard interfered, and begged to know the cause of her uneasiness,
and whether she could assist her.
Madame Duval cast her eyes upon the Captain and Sir Clement, and said
she should be glad to speak to her Ladyship without so many witnesses.
"Well, then, Miss Anville," said the Captain, turning to me, "do you
and Molly go into another room, and stay there till Mrs. Duval has
opened her mind to us."
"So you may think, Sir," cried she, "but who's fool then? no, no,
you needn't trouble yourself to make a ninny of me neither, for I'm
not so easily taken in, I'll assure you."
Lady Howard then invited her into the dressing-room, and I was desired
to attend her.
As soon as we had shut the door, "O my Lady," exclaimed Madam Duval,
"here's the most cruelest thing in the world has happened!-but that
Captain is such a beast, I can't say nothing before him,-but it's
all true! poor M. Du Bois is tooked up!"
Lady Howard begged her to be comforted, saying that, as M. Du Bois
was certainly innocent, there could be no doubt of his ability to
clear himself.
"To be sure, my Lady," answered she, "I know he is innocent; and to
be sure they'll never be so wicked as to hang him for nothing?"
"Certainly not," replied Lady Howard; "you have no reason to be
uneasy. This is not a country where punishment is inflicted without
proof."
"Very true, my Lady: but the worst thing is this; I cannot bear
that that fellow the Captain should know about it; for if he does,
I sha'n't never hear the last of it;-no more won't poor M. Du Bois."
"Well, well," said Lady Howard, "shew me the letter, and I will
endeavour to advise you."
The letter was then produced. It was signed by the clerk of a country
justice; who acquainted her, that a prisoner, then upon trial for
suspicion of treasonable practices against the government, was just
upon the point of being committed to jail; but having declared that
he was known to her, this clerk had been prevailed upon to write,
in order to enquire if she really could speak to the character and
family of a Frenchman who called himself Pierre Du Bois.
When I heard the letter, I was quite amazed at its success. So
improbable did it seem, that a foreigner should be taken before
a country justice of peace, for a crime of so dangerous a nature,
that I cannot imagine how Madame Duval could be alarmed, even for
a moment. But, with all her violence of temper, I see that she is
easily frightened, and in fact, more cowardly than many who have not
half her spirit; and so little does she reflect upon circumstances,
or probability, that she is continually the dupe of her own-I ought
not to say ignorance, but yet I can think of no other word.
I believe that Lady Howard, from the beginning of the transaction,
suspected some contrivance of the Captain; and this letter, I am
sure, must confirm her suspicion: however, though she is not at all
pleased with his frolic, yet she would not hazard the consequence of
discovering his designs: her looks, her manner, and her character,
made me draw this conclusion from her apparent perplexity; for not a
word did she say that implied any doubt of the authenticity of the
letter. Indeed there seems to be a sort of tacit agreement between
her and the Captain, that she should not appear to be acquainted with
his schemes; by which means she at once avoids quarrels, and supports
her dignity.
While she was considering what to propose, Madame Duval begged to
have the use of her Ladyship's chariot, that she might go immediately
to the assistance of her friend. Lady Howard politely assured her,
that it should be extremely at her service; and then Madame Duval
besought her not to own to the Captain what had happened, protesting
that she could not endure he should know poor M. Du Bois had met with
so unfortunate an accident. Lady Howard could not help smiling, though
she readily promised not to inform the Captain of the affair. As to
me, she desired my attendance; which I was by no means rejoiced at,
as I was certain that she was going upon a fruitless errand.
I was then commissioned to order the chariot.
At the foot of the stairs I met the Captain, who was most impatiently
waiting the result of the conference. In an instant we were joined
by Sir Clement. A thousand inquiries were then made concerning Madame
Duval's opinion of the letter, and her intentions upon it: and when I
would have left them, Sir Clement, pretending equal eagerness with
the Captain, caught my hand, and repeatedly detained me, to ask
some frivolous question, to the answer of which he must be totally
indifferent. At length, however, I broke from them; they retired into
the parlour, and I executed my commission.
The carriage was soon ready; and Madame Duval, having begged Lady
Howard to say she was not well, stole softly down stairs, desiring me
to follow her. The chariot was ordered at the garden-door; and, when
we were seated, she told the man, according to the clerk's directions,
to drive to Mr. Justice Tyrell's, asking at the same time, how many
miles off he lived?
I expected he would have answered, that he knew of no such person;
but, to my great surprise, he said, "Why, 'Squire Tyrell lives about
nine miles beyond the park."
"Drive fast, then," cried she, "and you sha'n't be no worse for it."
During our ride, which was extremely tedious, she tormented herself
with a thousand fears for M. Du Bois's safety; and piqued herself
very much upon having escaped unseen by the Captain, not only that
she avoided his triumph, but because she knew him to be so much M. Du
Bois's enemy, that she was sure he would prejudice the justice against
him, and endeavour to take away his life. For my part, I was quite
ashamed of being engaged in so ridiculous an affair, and could only
think of the absurd appearance we should make upon our arrival at
Mr. Tyrell's.
When we had been out near two hours, and expected every moment to
stop at the place of our destination, I observed that Lady Howard's
servant, who attended us on horseback, rode on forward till he was
out of sight: and soon after returning, came up to the chariot window,
and delivering a note to Madame Duval, said he had met a boy who was
just coming with it to Howard Grove from the clerk of Mr. Tyrell.
While she was reading it, he rode round to the other window, and making
a sign for secrecy, put into my hand a slip of paper, on which was
written, "Whatever happens, be not alarmed-for you are safe-though
you endanger all mankind!"
I readily imagined that Sir Clement must be the author of this note,
which prepared me to expect some disagreeable adventure: but I had
no time to ponder upon it; for Madame Duval had no sooner read her
own letter, than, in an angry tone of voice, she exclaimed, "Why,
now, what a thing is this! here we're come all this way for nothing!"
She gave me the note; which informed her, that she need not trouble
herself to go to Mr. Tyrell's, as the prisoner had had the address to
escape. I congratulated her upon this fortunate incident; but she was
so much concerned at having rode so far in vain, that she seemed to
be less pleased than provoked. However, she ordered the man to make
what haste he could home, as she hoped, at least, to return before
the Captain should suspect what had passed.
The carriage turned about; and we journeyed so quietly for near an
hour, that
I began to flatter myself we should be suffered to proceed to Howard
Grove without any molestation, when suddenly, the footman called out,
"John, are we going right?"
"Why, I a'n't sure," said the coachman, "But I'm afraid we turned
wrong."
"What do you mean by that, sirrah?" said Madame Duval; "why, if you
lose your
way, we shall all be in the dark."
"I think we should turn to the left," said the footman.
"To the left!" answered the other; "No, no, I'm partly sure we should
turn to
the right."
"You had better make some enquiry," said I.
"Ma foi!" cried Madame Duval, "we're in a fine hole here!-they
neither of
them know no more than the post. However, I'll tell my Lady as sure
as you're born, you'd better find the way."
"Let's try this lane," said the footman.
"No," said the coachman, "that's the road to Canterbury; we had best
go straight on."
"Why, that's the direct London road," returned the footman, "and
will lead us
twenty miles about."
"Pardi," cried Madame Duval, "why, they won't go one way nor
t'other! and now we're come all this jaunt for nothing, I suppose we
shan't get home to-night!"
"Let's go back to the public-house," said the footman, "and ask for a
guide."
"No, no," said the other, "if we stay here a few minutes, somebody
or other
will pass by; and the horses are almost knocked up already."
"Well, I protest," cried Madame Duval, "I'd give a guinea to see
them sots
both horse-whipped! As sure as I'm alive they're drunk! Ten to one
but they'll overturn us next."
After much debating, they at length agreed to go on till we came to
some inn,
or met with a passenger who could direct us. We soon arrived at a
farm-house, and the footman alighted, and went into it.
In a few minutes he returned, and told us we might proceed, for that
he had
procured a direction: "But," added he, "it seems there are some
thieves hereabouts; and so the best way will be for you to leave
your watches and your purses with the farmer, whom I know very well,
and who is an honest man, and a tenant of my Lady's."
"Thieves!" cried Madame Duval, looking aghast; "the Lord help
us!-I've no
doubt but we shall be all murdered!"
The farmer came up to us, and we gave him all we were worth, and
the servants
followed our example. We then proceeded; and Madame Duval's anger
so entirely subsided, that, in the mildest manner imaginable, she
intreated them to make haste, and promised to tell their Lady how
diligent and obliging they had been. She perpetually stopped them,
to ask if they apprehended any danger; and was at length so much
overpowered by her fears, that she made the footman fasten his horse
to the back of the carriage, and then come and seat himself within
it. My endeavours to encourage her were fruitless: she sat in the
middle, held the man by the arm, and protested that if he did but
save her life, she would make his fortune. Her uneasiness gave me much
concern, and it was with the utmost difficulty I forbore to acquaint
her that she was imposed upon; but the mutual fear of the Captain's
resentment to me, and of her own to him, neither of which would have
any moderation, deterred me. As to the footman, he was evidently in
torture from restraining his laughter; and I observed that he was
frequently obliged to make most horrid grimaces, from pretended fear,
in order to conceal his risibility.
Very soon after, "The robbers are coming!" cried the coachman.
The footman opened the door, and jumped out of the chariot.
Madame Duval gave a loud scream.
I could no longer preserve my silence. "For Heaven's sake, my dear
Madame," said I, "don't be alarmed,-you are in no danger,-you are
quite safe,-there is nothing but-"
Here the chariot was stopped by two men in masks; who at each side
put in
their hands as if for our purses. Madame Duval sunk to the bottom
of the chariot, and implored their mercy. I shrieked involuntarily,
although prepared for the attack: one of them held me fast, while
the other tore poor Madame Duval out of the carriage, in spite of
her cries, threats, and resistance.
I was really frightened, and trembled exceedingly. "My angel!" cried
the man who held me, "you cannot surely be alarmed,-do you not know
me?-I shall hold myself in eternal abhorrence, if I have really
terrified you."
"Indeed, Sir Clement, you have," cried I:-"but, for Heaven's sake,
where is Madame Duval?-why is she forced away?"
"She is perfectly safe; the Captain has her in charge: but suffer
me now, my
adored Miss Anville, to take the only opportunity that is allowed me,
to speak upon another, a much dearer, much sweeter subject."
And then he hastily came into the chariot, and seated himself next to
me. I would fain have disengaged myself from him, but he would not let
me: "Deny me not, most charming of women," cried he, "deny me not this
only moment that is lent me, to pour forth my soul into your gentle
ears,-to tell you how much I suffer from your absence,-how much I dread
your displeasure,-and how cruelly I am affected by your coldness!"
"O, Sir, this is no time for such language;-pray leave me, pray go
to the
relief of Madame Duval,-I cannot bear that she should be treated with
such indignity."
"And will you,-can you command my absence?-When may I speak to you,
if not
now?-Does the Captain suffer me to breathe a moment out of his
sight?-and are not a thousand impertinent people for ever at your
elbow?"
"Indeed, Sir Clement, you must change your style, or I will not hear
you. The
impertinent people you mean are among my best friends; and you would
not, if you really wished me well, speak of them so disrespectfully."
"Wish you well!-O, Miss Anville, point but out to me how, in what
manner, I
may convince you of the fervour of my passion;-tell me but what
services you will accept from me,-and you shall find my life, my
fortune, my whole soul at your devotion."
"I want nothing, Sir, that you can offer;-I beg you not to talk to
me so-so
strangely. Pray leave me; and pray assure yourself you cannot take
any method so successless to show any regard for me, as entering into
schemes so frightful to Madame Duval, and so disagreeable to myself."
"The scheme was the Captain's: I even opposed it: though, I own,
I could not
refuse myself the so-long-wished-for happiness of speaking to you
once more, without so many of-your friends to watch me. And I had
flattered myself, that the note I charged the footman to give you,
would have prevented the alarm you have received."
"Well Sir, you have now, I hope, said enough; and, if you will not go
yourself to see for Madame Duval, at least suffer me to inquire what
is become of her."
"And when may I speak to you again?"
"No matter when,-I don't know,-perhaps-"
"Perhaps what, my angel?"
"Perhaps never, Sir,-if you torment me thus."
"Never! O, Miss Anville, how cruel, how piercing to my soul is
that icy
word!-Indeed I cannot endure such displeasure."
"Then, Sir, you must not provoke it. Pray leave me directly."
"I will Madam: but let me, at least, make a merit of my
obedience,-allow me
to hope that you will, in future, be less averse to trusting yourself
for a few moments alone with me"
I was surprised at the freedom of this request: but, while I hesitated
how to
answer it, the other mask came up to the chariot-door, and, in a voice
almost stifled with laughter said, "I've done for her!-the old buck
is safe;-but we must sheer off directly, or we shall be all ground."
Sir Clement instantly left me, mounted his horse, and rode off. The
Captain
having given some directions to the servants, followed him.
I was both uneasy and impatient to know the fate of Madame Duval, and
immediately got out of the chariot to seek her. I desired the footman
to show me which way she was gone; he pointed with his finger by
way of answer, and I saw that he dared not trust his voice to make
any other. I walked on at a very quick pace, and soon, to my great
consternation, perceived the poor lady seated upright in a ditch. I
flew to her with unfeigned concern at her situation. She was sobbing,
nay, almost roaring, and in the utmost agony of rage and terror. As
soon as she saw me, she redoubled her cries; but her voice was so
broken, I could not understand a word she said. I was so much shocked,
that it was with difficulty I forebore exclaiming against the cruelty
of the Captain for thus wantonly ill-treating her; and I could not
forgive myself for having passively suffered the deception. I used my
utmost endeavours to comfort her, assuring her of our present safety,
and begging her to rise and return to the chariot.
Almost bursting with passion, she pointed to her feet, and with
frightful
violence she actually tore the ground with her hands.
I then saw that her feet were tied together with a strong rope, which
was fastened to the upper branch of a tree, even with a hedge which
ran along the ditch where she sat. I endeavoured to untie the knot;
but soon found it was infinitely beyond my strength. I was, therefore,
obliged to apply to the footman; but, being very unwilling to add to
his mirth by the sight of Madame Duval's situation. I desired him to
lend me a knife: I returned with it, and cut the rope. Her feet were
soon disentangled; and then, though with great difficulty, I assisted
her to rise. But what was my astonishment, when, the moment she was
up, she hit me a violent slap on the face! I retreated from her with
precipitation and dread: and she then loaded me with reproaches, which,
though almost unintelligible, convinced me that she imagined I had
voluntarily deserted her; but she seemed not to have the slightest
suspicion that she had not been attacked by real robbers.
I was so much surprised and confounded at the blow, that, for some
time, I
suffered her to rave without making any answer; but her extreme
agitation, and real suffering, soon dispelled my anger, which all
turned into compassion. I then told her, that I had been forcibly
detained from following her, and assured her of my real sorrow of
her ill-usage.
She began to be somewhat appeased; and I again intreated her to
return to the
carriage, or give me leave to order that it should draw up to the
place where we stood. She made no answer, till I told her, that the
longer we remained still, the greater would be the danger of our
ride home. Struck with this hint, she suddenly, and with hasty steps,
moved forward.
Her dress was in such disorder, that I was quite sorry to have
her figure
exposed to the servants, who all of them, in imitation of her master,
hold her in derision: however the disgrace was unavoidable.
The ditch, happily, was almost quite dry, or she must have suffered
still
more seriously; yet so forlorn, so miserable a figure, I never before
saw her. Her head-dress had fallen off, her linen was torn, her
negligee had not a pin left in it, her petticoats she was obliged to
hold on, and her shoes were perpetually slipping off. She was covered
with dirt, weeds, and filth, and her face was really horrible; for
the pomatum and powder from her head, and the dust from the road,
were quite pasted on her skin by her tears, which, with her rouge,
made so frightful a mixture, that she hardly looked human.
The servants were ready to die with laughter the moment they saw her;
but not
all my remonstrances could prevail upon her to get into the carriage,
till she had most vehemently reproached them both for not rescuing
her. The footman, fixing his eyes on the ground, as if fearful of
again trusting himself to look at her, protested that the robbers had
vowed they would shoot him if he moved an inch, and that one of them
had stayed to watch the chariot, while the other carried her off,
adding, that the reason of their behaving so barbarously, was to
revenge our having secured our purses. Notwithstanding, her anger,
she gave immediate credit to what he said; and really imagined that her
want of money had irritated the pretended robbers to treat her with
such cruelty. I determined, therefore, to be carefully upon my guard
not to betray the imposition, which could now answer no other purpose,
then occasioning an irreparable breach between her and the Captain.
Just as we were seated in the chariot, she discovered the loss which
her head
had sustained, and called out, "My God! what is become of my hair?-why,
the villain has stole all my curls!"
She then ordered the man to run and see if he could find any of them
in the
ditch. He went, and presently returning, produced a great quantity of
hair, in such nasty condition, that I was amazed she would take it;
and the man, as he delivered it to her, found it impossible to keep
his countenance; which she no sooner observed, than all her stormy
passions were again raised. She flung the battered curls in his face,
saying, "Sirrah, what do you grin for? I wish you'd been served so
yourself, and you wouldn't have found it no such joke; you are the
impudentest fellow ever I see; and if I find you dare grin at me any
more, I shall make no ceremony of boxing your ears."
Satisfied with the threat, the man hastily retired, and we drove on.
Her anger now subsiding into grief, she began most sorrowfully to
lament her
case. "I believe," she cried, "never nobody was so unlucky as I
am! and so here, because I ha'n't had misfortunes enough already,
that puppy has made me lose my curls!-Why, I can't see nobody without
them:-only look at me,-I was never so bad off in my life before. Pardi,
if I'd know'd as much, I'd have brought two or three sets with me:
but I'd never a thought of such a thing as this."
Finding her now somewhat pacified, I ventured to ask an account of her
adventure, which I will endeavour to write in her own words.
"Why, child, all this misfortune comes of that puppy's making us
leave our
money behind us; for, as soon as the robber see I did put nothing
in his hands, he lugged me out of the chariot by main force, and I
verily thought he'd have murdered me. He was as strong as a lion;
I was no more in his hands than a child. But I believe never nobody
was so abused before; for he dragged me down the road, pulling and
hauling me all the way, as if'd no more feeling than a horse. I'm
sure I wish I could see that man cut up and quartered alive! however,
he'll come to the gallows, that's one good thing. So soon as we'd
got out of sight of the chariot, though he needn't have been afraid,
for if he'd beat me to a mummy, those cowardly fellows wouldn't have
said nothing to it-so, when I was got there, what does he do, but
all of a sudden he takes me by both the shoulders, and he gives me
such a shake!-Mon Dieu I shall never forget it, if I live to be an
hundred. I'm sure I dare say I'm out of joint all over. And though
I made as much noise as I ever could, he took no more notice of
it than nothing at all; there he stood, shaking me in that manner,
as if he was doing it for a wager. I'm determined, if it costs me
all my fortune, I'll see that villain hanged. He shall be found out,
if there's e'er a justice in England. So when he had shook me till he
was tired, and I felt all over like a jelly, without saying never a
word, he takes and pops me into the ditch! I'm sure, I thought he'd
have murdered me, as much as ever I thought any thing in my life;
for he kept bumping me about, as if he thought nothing too bad for
me. However, I'm resolved I'll never leave my purse behind me again,
the longest day I have to live. So when he couldn't stand over me
no longer, he holds out his hands again for my money; but he was as
cunning as could be, for he wouldn't speak a word, because I shouldn't
swear to his voice; however, that sha'n't save him, for I'll swear to
him any day in the year, if I can but catch him. So, when I told him I
had no money, he fell to jerking me again, just as if he had but that
moment begun! And, after that, he got me close by a tree, and out of
his pocket he pulls a great cord!-It's a wonder I did not swoon away:
for as sure as you're alive, he was going to hang to me that tree. I
screamed like any thing mad, and told him if he would but spare my
life, I'd never prosecute him, nor tell anybody what he'd done to me:
so he stood some time quite in a brown study, a-thinking what he should
do. And so, after that, he forced me to sit down in the ditch, and he
tied my feet together, just as you see them: and then, as if he had
not done enough, he twitched off my cap, and without saying nothing,
got on his horse and left me in that condition; thinking, I suppose,
that I might lie there and perish."
Though this narrative almost compelled me to laugh, yet I was really
irritated with the Captain, for carrying his love of tormenting,-sport,
he calls it,-to such barbarous and unjustifiable extremes. I consoled
and soothed her, as well as I was able: and told her, that since
M. Du Bois had escaped, I hoped, when she recovered from her fright,
all would end well.
"Fright, child!" repeated she,-"why that's not half:-I promise you,
I wish it
was: but here I'm bruised from top to toe and it's well if ever I have
the right use of my limbs again. However, I'm glad the villain got
nothing but his trouble for his pains. But here the worst is to come,
for I can't go out, because I've got no curls, and so he'll be escaped
before I can get to the justice to stop him. I'm resolved I'll tell
Lady Howard how her man served me; for if he hadn't made me fling
'em away, I dare say I would have pinned them up well enough for
the country."
"Perhaps Lady Howard may be able to lend you a cap that will wear
without
them."
"Lady Howard, indeed! why, do you think I'd wear one of her
dowdies? No, I'll
promise you, I sha'n't put on no such disguisement. It's the unluckiest
thing in the world that I did not make the man pick up the curls again;
but he put me in such a passion, I could not think of nothing. I
know I can't get none at Howard Grove for love nor money: for of
all the stupid places ever I see, that Howard Grove is the worst;
there's never no getting nothing one wants."
This sort of conversation lasted till we arrived at our journey's end;
and then a new distress occurred: Madame Duval was eager to speak
to Lady Lady Howard and Mrs. Mirvan, and to relate her misfortunes:
but she could not endure that Sir Clement or the Captain should
see her in such disorder; so she said they were so ill-natured,
that instead of pitying her, they would only make a jest of her
disasters. She therefore sent me first into the house, to wait for an
opportunity of their being out of the way, that she might steal up
stairs unobserved. In this I succeeded, as the gentlemen thought it
most prudent not to seem watching for her; though they both contrived
to divert themselves with peeping at her as she passed.
She went immediately to bed, where she had her supper. Lady Howard
and Mrs. Mirvan both of them very kindly sat with her, and listened
to her tale with compassionate attention: while Miss Mirvan and I
retired to our own room, where I was very glad to end the troubles
of the day in a comfortable conversation.
The Captain's raptures, during supper, at the success of his plan,
were boundless. I spoke afterwards to Mrs. Mirvan with the openness
which her kindness encourages, and begged her to remonstrate with
him upon the cruelty of tormenting Madame Duval so causelessly. She
promised to take the first opportunity of starting up the subject:
but said he was at present so much elated, that he would not listen
to her with any patience. However, should he make any new efforts to
molest her, I can by no means consent to be passive. Had I imagined
he would have been so violent, I would have risked his anger in her
defense much sooner.
She had kept her bed all day, and declares she is almost bruised
to death.
Adieu, my dear Sir. What a long letter have I written! I could almost
fancy I sent it to you from London!
LETTER XXXIV
EVELINA IN CONTINUATION
Howard Grove, May 15.
THIS insatiable Captain, if left to himself, would not, I believe,
rest, till he had tormented Madame Duval into a fever. He seems
to have no delight but in terrifying or provoking her; and all his
thoughts apparently turn upon inventing such methods as may do it
most effectually.
She had her breakfast again in bed yesterday morning: but during ours,
the Captain, with a very significant look at Sir Clement, gave us to
understand, that he thought she had now rested long enough to bear
the hardships of a fresh campaign.
His meaning was obvious: and, therefore, I resolved to endeavour
immediately to put a stop to his intended exploits. When breakfast
was over, I followed Mrs. Mirvan out of the parlour, and begged
her to lose no time in pleading the cause of Madame Duval with the
Captain. "My love," answered she, "I have already expostulated with
him; but all I can say is fruitless, while his favourite, Sir Clement,
contrives to urge him on."
"Then I will go and speak to Sir Clement," said I, "for I know he
will desist if I request him."
"Have I care, my dear!" said she, smiling: "it is sometimes dangerous
to make requests to men who are too desirous of receiving them."
"Well, then, my dear Madam, will you give me leave to speak myself
to the Captain?"
"Willingly: nay, I will accompany you to him."
I thanked her, and we went to seek him. He was walking in the garden
with Sir Clement. Mrs. Mirvan most obligingly made an opening for my
purpose, by saying, "Mr. Mirvan, I have brought a petitioner with me."
"Why, what's the matter now?" cried he.
I was fearful of making him angry, and stammered very much, when I
told him, I hoped he had no new plan for alarming Madame Duval.
"New plan!" cried he; "why, you don't suppose the old one would do
again, do you? Not but what it was a very good one, only I doubt she
wouldn't bite."
"Indeed, Sir," said I, "she had already suffered too much; and I
hope you will pardon me, if I take the liberty of telling you, that I
think it my my duty to do all in my power to prevent her being again
so much terrified."
A sullen gloominess instantly clouded his face, and, turning short
from me, he said, I might do as I pleased, but that I should much
sooner repent than repair my officiousness.
I was too much disconcerted at this rebuff to attempt making any
answer: and finding that Sir Clement warmly espoused my cause,
I walked away, and left them to discuss the point together.
Mrs. Mirvan, who never speaks to the Captain when he is out of humour,
was glad to follow me, and with her usual sweetness made a thousand
apologies for her husband's ill-manners.
When I left her, I went to Madame Duval, who was just risen, and
employed in examining the clothes she had on the day of her ill usage.
"Here's a sight!" she cried. "Come, here child,-only look-Pardi, so
long as I've lived, I never see so much before! Why, all my things
are spoilt; and what's worse, my sacque was as good as new. Here's
the second negligee I've used in this manner! - I'm sure I was a
fool to put it on in such a lonesome place as this; however if I
stay here these ten years, I'll never put on another good gown,
that I'm resolved."
"Will you let the maid try if she can iron it out, or clean it, Ma'am?"
"No, she'll only make bad worse.-But look here, now, here's
a cloak! Mon Dieu! why it looks like a dish-clout! Of all the
unluckiness that ever I met, this is the worst! for, do you know, I
bought it but the day before I left Paris!-Besides, into the bargain,
my cap's quite gone: where the villain twitched it, I don't know;
but I never see no more of it from that time to this. Now you must
know that this was the becomingest cap I had in the world, for I've
never another with pink ribbon in it; and, to tell you the truth,
if I hadn't thought to have seen M. Du Bois, I'd no more have put
it on than I'd have flown; for as to what one wears in such a stupid
place as this, it signifies no more than nothing at all."
She then told me, that she had been thinking all night of a contrivance
to hinder the Captain from finding out her loss of curls; which was
having a large gauge handkerchief pinned over her head as a hood,
and saying she had the tooth-ache.
"To tell you the truth," added she, "I believe that Captain is one
of the worst men in the world; he's always making a joke of me;
and as to his being a gentleman, he has no more manners than a bear,
for he's always upon the grin when one's in distress; and, I declare
I'd rather be done anything to than laughed at, for, to my mind,
it's one or other the disagreeablest thing in the world."
Mrs. Mirvan, I found, had been endeavouring to dissuade her from the
design she had formed of having recourse to the law, in order to find
out the supposed robbers; for she dreads a discovery of the Captain,
during Madam Duval's stay at Howard Grove, as it could not fail being
productive of infinite commotion. She has, therefore, taken great
pains to show the inutility of applying to justice, unless she were
more able to describe the offenders against whom she would appear;
and has assured her, that as she neither heard their voices, nor saw
their faces, she cannot possibly swear to their persons, or obtain
any redress.
Madame Duval, in telling me this, extremely lamented her hard fate,
that she was thus prevented from revenging her injuries; which,
however, she vowed she would not be persuaded to pocket tamely:
"because," added she, "if such villains as these are let to have
their own way, and nobody takes no notice of their impudence, they'll
make no more ado than nothing at all of tying people in ditches,
and such things as that: however, I shall consult with M. Du Bois,
as soon as I can ferret out where he's hid himself. I'm sure I've a
right to his advice, for it's all along of his gaping about at the
Tower that I've met with these misfortunes."
"M. Du Bois," said I, "will, I am sure, be very sorry when he hears
what has happened."
"And what good will that do now?-that won't unspoil all my clothes;
I can tell him, I a'n't much obliged to him, though it's no fault
of his;-yet it i'n't the less provokinger for that. I'm sure, if he
had been there, to have seen me served in that manner, and put neck
and heels into a ditch, he'd no more have thought it was me than
the Pope of Rome. I'll promise you, whatever you may think of it,
I sha'n't have no rest, night nor day, till I find out that rogue."
"I have no doubt, Madam, but you will soon discover him."
"Pardi, if I do, I'll hang him, as sure as fate!-but what's the oddest,
is, that he should take such a special spite against me above all the
rest! it was as much for nothing as could be; for I don't know what
I had done, so particular bad, to be used in that manner: I'm sure,
I hadn't given no offence, as I know of, for I never see his face all
the time: and as to screaming a little, I think it's very hard if one
mustn't do such a thing as that, when one's put in fear of one's life."
During this conversation, she endeavoured to adjust her headdress,
but could not at all please herself. Indeed, had I not been present,
I should have thought it impossible for a woman, at her time of life,
to be so very difficult in regard to dress. What she may have in
view, I cannot imagine, but the labour of the toilette seems the
chief business of her life.
When I left her, in my way down stairs, I met Sir Clement; who with
great earnestness, said he must not be denied the honour of a moment's
conversation with me; and then, without waiting for an answer, he
led me to the garden; at the door of which, however, I absolutely
insisted upon stopping.
He seemed very serious, and said, in a grave tone of voice, "At length,
Miss Anville, I flatter myself I have hit upon an expedient that will
oblige you; and therefore, though it is death to myself, I will put
in practice."
I begged him to explain himself.
"I saw your desire of saving Madame Duval, and scarce could I refrain
giving the brutal Captain my real opinion of his savage conduct;
but I am unwilling to quarrel with him, lest I should be denied
entrance into a house which you inhabit; I have been endeavouring
to prevail with him to give up his absurd new scheme, but I find
him impenetrable:-I have therefore determined to make a pretense for
suddenly leaving this place, dear as it is to me, and containing all
I most admire and adore;-and I will stay in town till the violence
of this boobyish humour is abated."
He stopped; but I was silent, for I knew not what I ought to
say. He took my hand, which he pressed to his lips, saying, "And
must I then, Miss Anville, must I quit you-sacrifice voluntarily my
greatest felicity:-and yet not be honoured with one word, one look
of approbation?"
I withdrew my hand, and said with half a laugh, "You know so well,
Sir Clement, the value of the favours you confer, that it would be
superfluous for me to point it out."
"Charming, charming girl! how does your wit, your understanding, rise
upon me daily: and must I, can I part with you?-will no other method-"
"O, Sir, do you so soon repent the good office you had planned for
Madame Duval?"
"For Madame Duval!-cruel creature, and will you not even suffer me
to place to your account the sacrifice I am about to make?"
"You must place it, Sir, to what account you please; but I am too
much in haste now to stay here any longer."
And then I would have left him; but he held me, and rather impatiently
said, "If, then, I cannot be so happy as to oblige you, Miss Anville,
you must not be surprised should I seek to oblige myself. If my scheme
is not honoured with your approbation, for which alone it was formed,
why should I, to my own infinite dissatisfaction, pursue it?"
We were then, for a few minutes, both silent; I was really unwilling
he should give up a plan which would so effectually break into
the Captain's designs, and, at the same time, save me the pain
of disobliging him; and I should instantly and thankfully have
accepted his offered civility, had not Mrs. Mirvan's caution made
me fearful. However, when he pressed me to speak, I said, in an
ironical voice, "I had thought, Sir, that the very strong sense you
have yourself of the favour you propose to me, would sufficiently have
repaid you; but, as I was mistaken, I must thank you myself. And now,"
making a low courtesy, "I hope, Sir, you are satisfied."
"Loveliest of thy sex-" he began; but I forced myself from him and
ran upstairs.
Soon after Miss Mirvan told me that Sir Clement had just received a
letter, which obliged him instantly to leave the Grove, and that he
had actually ordered a chaise. I then acquainted her with the real
state of the affair. Indeed, I conceal nothing from her; she is so
gentle and sweet-tempered, that it gives me great pleasure to place
an entire confidence in her.
At dinner, I must own, we all missed him; for though the flightiness
of his behaviour to me, when we are by ourselves is very distressing;
yet, in large companies, and general conversation, he is extremely
entertaining and agreeable. As to the Captain, he has been so much
chagrined at his departure, that he has scarce spoken a word since
he went: but Madame Duval, who made her first public appearance since
her accident, was quite in raptures that she escaped seeing him.
The money which we left at the farm-house has been returned to
us. What pains the Captain must have taken to arrange and manage the
adventures which he chose we should meet with! Yet he must certainly be
discovered; for Madame Duval is already very much perplexed, at having
received a letter this morning from M. Du Bois, in which he makes no
mention of his imprisonment. However, she has so little suspicion,
that she imputes his silence upon the subject to his fears that the
letter might be intercepted.
Not one opportunity could I meet with, while Sir Clement was here,
to enquire
after his friend Lord Orville: but I think it was strange he should
never mention him unasked. Indeed, I rather wonder that Mrs. Mirvan
herself did not introduce the subject, for she always seemed
particularly attentive to him.
And now, once more, all my thoughts involuntarily turn upon the
letter I so
soon expect from Paris. This visit of Sir Clement has, however,
somewhat diverted my fears; and, therefore, I am very glad he made
it at this time. Adieu, my dear Sir.
LETTER XXXV
SIR JOHN BELMONT TO LADY HOWARD Paris, May 11.
Madam,
I HAVE this moment the honour of your Ladyship's Letter, and I will
not wait another, before I return an answer.
It seldom happens that a man, though extolled as a saint, is really
without
blemish; or that another, though reviled as a devil, is really
without humanity. Perhaps the time is not very distant, when I may
have the honour to convince your Ladyship of this truth, in regard
to Mr. Villars and myself.
As to the young lady, whom Mr. Villars so obligingly proposes
presenting to
me, I wish her all the happiness to which, by your ladyship's account,
she seems entitled; and, if she has a third part of the merit of her
to whom you compare her, I doubt not but Mr. Villars will be more
successful in every other application he may make for her advantage,
that he can ever be in any with which he may be pleased to favour me.
I have the honour to be Madam, Your Ladyship's most humble, and most
obedient servant, JOHN BELMONT.
LETTER XXXVI
EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS Howard Grove, May 18.
WELL, my dear Sir, all is now over! the letter so anxiously expected
is at length arrived, and my doom is fixed. The various feelings
which oppress me, I have not language to describe; nor need I-you
know my heart, you have yourself formed it-and its sensations upon
this occasion you may but too readily imagine.
Outcast as I am, and rejected for ever by him to whom I of right
belong-shall
I now implore your continued protection?-No, no;-I will not offend
your generous heart, which, open to distress, has no wish but to
relieve it, with an application that would seem to imply a doubt. I
am more secure than ever of your kindness, since you now know upon
that is my sole dependence.
I endeavour to bear this stroke with composure, and in such a manner
as if I
had already received your counsel and consolation. Yet, at times,
my emotions are almost too much for me. O, Sir, what a letter for a
parent to write! Must I not myself be deaf to the voice of nature,
if I could endure to be thus absolutely abandoned without regret? I
dare not even to you, nor would I, could I help it, to myself,
acknowledge all that I might think; for, indeed, I have sometimes
sentiments upon this rejection, which my strongest sense of duty can
scarcely correct. Yet, suffer me to ask-might not this answer have
been softened?-was it not enough to disclaim me for ever, without
treating me with contempt, and wounding me with derision?
But while I am thus thinking of myself, I forget how much more he is
the object of sorrow than I am! Alas! what amends can he make himself
for the anguish he is hoarding up for time to come! My heart bleeds
for him, whenever this reflection occurs to me.
What is said of you, my protector, my friend, my benefactor! I dare
not trust
myself to comment upon. Gracious Heaven! what a return for goodness
so unparalleled!
I would fain endeavour to divert my thoughts from this subject;
but even that
is not in my power; for, afflicting as this letter is to me, I find
that it will not be allowed to conclude the affair, though it does
all my expectations; for Madame Duval has determined not to let it
rest here. She heard the letter in great wrath, and protested she
would not be so easily answered; she regretted her facility in having
been prevailed upon to yield the direction of this affair to those
who knew not how to manage it, and vowed she would herself undertake
and conduct it in future.
It is in vain that I have pleaded against her resolution, and
besought her to forbear an attack where she has nothing to expect but
resentment: especially as there seems to be a hint, that Lady Howard
will one day be more openly dealt with. She will not hear me: she is
furiously bent upon a project which is terrible to think of;-for she
means to go herself to Paris, take me with her, and there, face to
face, demand justice!
How to appease or to persuade her, I know not; but for the universe
would I not be dragged, in such a manner, to an interview so awful,
with a parent I have never yet beheld!
Lady Howard and Mrs. Mirvan are both of them infinitely shocked at
the present state of affairs, and they seem to be even more kind to
me than ever; and my dear Maria, who is the friend of my heart, uses
her utmost efforts to console me; and, when she fails in her design,
with still greater kindness she sympathises in my sorrow.
I very much rejoice, however, that Sir Clement Willoughby had left
us before this letter arrived. I am sure the general confusion of
the house would otherwise have betrayed to him the whole of a tale
which I now, more than ever, wish to have buried in oblivion.
Lady Howard thinks I ought not to disoblige Madame Duval, yet she
acknowledges the impropriety of my accompanying her abroad on such
an enterprise. Indeed, I would rather die than force myself into his
presence. But so vehement is Madame Duval, that she would instantly
have compelled me to attend her to town, in her way to Paris, had
not Lady Howard so far exerted herself, as to declare she could by no
means consent to my quitting her house, till she gave me up to you,
by whose permission I had entered it.
She was extremely angry at this denial; and the Captain, by his sneers
and raillery, so much increased her rage, that she has positively
declared, should your next letter dispute her authority to guide me
by her own pleasure, she will, without hesitation, make a journey to
Berry Hill, and teach you to know who she is.
Should she put this threat in execution, nothing could give me greater
uneasiness: for her violence and volubility would almost distract you.
Unable as I am to act for myself, or to judge what conduct I ought
to pursue, how grateful do I feel myself, that I have such a guide
and director to counsel and instruct me as yourself!
Adieu, my dearest Sir! Heaven, I trust, will never let me live to be
repulsed, and derided by you, to whom I may now sign myself, wholly
your EVELINA.
LETTER XXXVII
MR. VILLARS TO EVELINA Berry Hill, May 21.
LET not my Evelina be depressed by a stroke of fortune for which
she is not responsible. No breach of duty on your part has incurred
the unkindness which has been shown you; nor have you, by any act of
imprudence, provoked either censure or reproach. Let me intreat you,
therefore, my dearest child, to support yourself with that courage
which your innocency ought to inspire: and let all the affliction
you allow yourself be for him only who, not having that support,
must one day be but too severely sensible how much he wants it.
The hint thrown out concerning myself is wholly unintelligible to me:
my heart, I dare own, fully acquits me of vice; but without blemish,
I have never ventured to pronounce myself. However, it seems his
intention to be hereafter more explicit; and then,-should anything
appear, that has on my part contributed to those misfortunes we lament,
let me at least say, that the most partial of my friends cannot be
so much astonished as I shall myself be at such a discovery.
The mention, also, of any future applications I may make, is equally
beyond my comprehension. But I will not dwell upon a subject, which
almost compels from me reflections that cannot but be wounding to a
heart so formed for filial tenderness as my Evelina's. There is an
air of mystery throughout the letter, the explanation of which I will
await in silence.
The scheme of Madame Duval is such as might be reasonably expected from
a woman so little inured to disappointment, and so totally incapable
of considering the delicacy of your situation. Your averseness
to her plan gives me pleasure, for it exactly corresponds with my
own. Why will she not make the journey she projects by herself? She
would not have even the wish of an opposition to encounter. And then,
once more, might my child and myself be left to the quiet enjoyment
of that peaceful happiness, which she alone has interrupted. As to
her coming hither, I could, indeed, dispense with such a visit; but,
if she will not be satisfied with my refusal by letter, I must submit
to the task of giving it her in person.
My impatience for your return is increased by your account of Sir
Clement Willoughby's visit to Howard Grove. I am but little surprised
at the perseverance of his assiduities to interest you in his favour;
but I am very much hurt that you should be exposed to addresses, which,
by their privacy, have an air that shocks me. You cannot, my love,
be too circumspect; the slightest carelessness on your part will be
taken advantage of by a man of his disposition. It is not sufficient
for you to be reserved: his conduct even calls for your resentment;
and should he again, as will doubtless be his endeavour, contrive
to solicit your favour in private, let your disdain and displeasure
be so marked, as to constrain a change in his behaviour. Though,
indeed, should his visit be repeated while you remain at the Grove,
Lady Howard must pardon me if I shorten yours.
Adieu, my child. You will always make my respects to the hospitable
family to which we are so much obliged.
LETTER XXXVIII
MR. VILLARS TO LADY HOWARD Berry Hill, May 27.
Dear Madam,
I BELIEVE your Ladyship will not be surprised at hearing I have had
a visit from Madame Duval, as I doubt not her having made known her
intention before she left Howard Grove. I would gladly have excused
myself this meeting, could I have avoided it decently; but, after so
long a journey, it was not possible to refuse her admittance.
She told me, that she came to Berry Hill, in consequence of a letter
I had sent to her grand-daughter, in which I forbid her going to
Paris. Very roughly she then called me to account for the authority
which I had assumed; and, had I been disposed to have argued with
her, she would very angrily have disputed the right by which I used
it. But I declined all debating. I therefore listened very quietly,
till she had so much fatigued herself with talking, that she was glad,
in her turn, to be silent. And then, I begged to know the purport of
her visit.
She answered, that she came to make me relinquish the power I had
usurped over her grand-daughter; and assured me she would not quit
the place till she succeeded.
But I will not trouble your Ladyship with the particulars of this
disagreeable conversation; nor should I, but on account of the result,
have chosen so unpleasant a subject for your perusal. However, I will
be as concise as I possibly can, that the better occupations of your
Ladyship's time may be less impeded.
When she found me inexorable in refusing Evelina's attending her to
Paris, she peremptorily insisted that she should at least live with
her in London till Sir John Belmont's return. I remonstrated against
this scheme with all the energy in my power; but the contest was vain;
she lost her patience, and I my time. She declared, that if I was
resolute in opposing her, she would instantly make a will, in which
she would leave all her fortune to strangers, though, otherwise,
she intended her grand-daughter for her sole heiress.
To me, I own, this threat seemed of little consequence; I have long
accustomed myself to think, that, with a competency, of which she is
sure, my child might be as happy as in the possession of millions;
but the incertitude of her future fate deters me from following
implicitly the dictates of my present judgement. The connections she
may hereafter form, the style of life for which she may be destined,
and the future family to which she may belong, are considerations
which give but too much weight to the menaces of Madame Duval. In
short, Madam, after a discourse infinitely tedious, I was obliged,
though very reluctantly, to compromise with this ungovernable woman,
by consenting that Evelina should pass one month with her.
I never made a concession with so bad a grace, or so much regret. The
violence and vulgarity of this woman, her total ignorance of propriety,
the family to which she is related, and the company she is likely to
keep, are objections so forcible to her having the charge of this dear
child, that nothing less than my diffidence of the right I have of
depriving her of so large a fortune, would have induced me to listen
to her proposal. Indeed we parted, at last, equally discontented;
she at what I had refused, I at what I had granted.
It now only remains for me to return your Ladyship my humble
acknowledgments for the kindness which you have so liberally shown
to my ward; and to beg you would have the goodness to part with her
when Madame Duval thinks proper to claim the promise which she has
extorted from me. I am, Dear Madam, &c. ARTHUR VILLARS.
LETTER XXXIX
MR. VILLARS TO EVELINA Berry Hill, May 28.
WITH a reluctance which occasions me inexpressible uneasiness, I
have been almost compelled to consent that my Evelina should quit the
protection of the hospitable and respectable Lady Howard, and accompany
Madame Duval to a city which I had hoped she would never again have
entered. But alas, my dear child, we are the slaves of custom, the
dupes of prejudice, and dare not stem the torrent of an opposing
world, even though our judgements condemn our compliance! However,
since the die is cast, we must endeavor to make the best of it.
You will have the occasion, in the course of the month you are to
pass with Madame Duval, for all the circumspection and prudence you
can call to your aid. She will not, I know, propose any thing to you
which she thinks wrong herself; but you must learn not only to judge
but to act for yourself; if any schemes are started, any engagements
made, which your understanding represents to you as improper, exert
yourself resolutely in avoiding them; and do not, by a too passive
facility, risk the censure of the world, or your own future regret.
You cannot too assiduously attend to Madame Duval herself; but I
would wish you to mix as little as possible with her associates, who
are not likely to be among those whose acquaintance would reflect
credit upon you. Remember, my dear Evelina, nothing is so delicate
as the reputation of a woman; it is at once the most beautiful and
most brittle of all human things.
Adieu, my beloved child; I shall be but ill at ease till this month
is elapsed. A.V.
LETTER XL
EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS London, June 6.
ONCE more, my dearest Sir, I write to you from this great
city. Yesterday morning, with the truest concern, I quitted the dear
inhabitants of Howard Grove, and most impatiently shall I count the
days till I see them again. Lady Howard and Mrs. Mirvan took leave
of me with the most flattering kindness; but indeed I knew not how to
part with Maria, whose own apparent sorrow redoubled mine. She made
me promise to send her a letter every post: and I shall write to her
with the same freedom, and almost the same confidence, you allow me
to make use of to yourself.
The Captain was very civil to me: but he wrangled with poor Madame
Duval to the last moment; and, taking me aside, just before we got
into the chaise, he said, "Hark'ee, Miss Anville, I've a favour for
to ask of you, which is this; that you will write us word how the
old gentlewoman finds herself, when she sees it was all a trick;
and what the French lubber says to it, and all about it."
I answered that I would obey him, though I was very little pleased
with the commission, which, to me, was highly improper; but he will
either treat me as an informer, or make me a party in his frolic.
As soon as we drove away, Madame Duval, with much satisfaction,
exclaimed, "Dieu merci, we've got off at last! I'm sure I never desire
to see that place again. It's a wonder I've got away alive; for I
believe I've had the worst luck ever was known, from the time I set
my foot upon the threshold. I know I wish I'd never a gone. Besides,
into the bargain, it's the most dullest place in all Christendom:
there's never no diversions, nor nothing at all."
Then she bewailed M. Du Bois; concerning whose adventures she continued
to make various conjectures during the rest of our journey.
When I asked her what part of London she should reside in, she told me
that Mr. Branghton was to meet us at an inn, and would conduct us to
a lodging. Accordingly, we proceeded to a house in Bishopsgate Street,
and were led by a waiter into a room where we found Mr. Branghton.
He received us very civilly; but seemed rather surprised at seeing
me, saying, "Why, I didn't think of your bringing Miss; however,
she's very welcome."
"I'll tell you how it was," said Madame Duval: "you must know I've
a mind to take the girl to Paris, that she may see something of the
world, and improve herself a little; besides, I've another reason,
that you and I will talk more about. But, do you know, that meddling
old parson, as I told you of, would not let her go: however, I'm
resolved I'll be even with him; for I shall take her on with me,
without saying never a word more to nobody."
I started at this intimation, which very much surprised me. But, I am
very glad she has discovered her intention, as I shall be carefully
upon my guard not to venture from town with her.
Mr. Branghton then hoped we had passed our time agreeably in the
country.
"O Lord, cousin," cried she, "I've been the miserablest creature in
the world! I'm sure all the horses in London sha'n't drag me into
the country again of one while: why, how do you think I've been
served?-only guess."
"Indeed, cousin, I can't pretend to do that."
"Why then I'll tell you. Do you know I've been robbed!-that is,
the villain would have robbed me if he could, only I'd secured all
my money."
"Why, then cousin, I think your loss can't have been very great."
"O Lord, you don't know what you're a saying; you're talking in the
unthinkingest manner in the world: why, it was all along of not having
no money that I met with that misfortune."
"How's that, cousin? I don't see what great misfortune you can have
met with, if you'd secured all your money."
"That's because you don't know nothing of the matter: for there the
villain came to the chaise; and, because we hadn't got nothing to give
him, though he'd no more right to our money than the man in the moon,
yet, do you know, he fell into the greatest passion ever you see,
and abused me in such a manner, and put me in a ditch, and got a rope
o'purpose to hang me;-and I'm sure, if that wasn't misfortune enough,
why I don't know what is."
"This is a hard case, indeed, cousin. But why don't you go to Justice
Fielding?"
"O as to that, I'm a going to him directly; but only I want first to
see M. Du Bois; for the oddest thing of all is, that he has wrote to
me, and never said nothing of where he is, nor what's become of him,
nor nothing else."
"M. Du Bois! why, he's at my house at this very time."
"M. Du Bois at your house! well, I declare this is the surprisingest
part of all: However, I assure you, I think he might have comed for me,
as well as you, considering what I have gone through on his account;
for, to tell you the truth, it was all along of him that I met with
that accident; so I don't take it very kind of him, I promise you."
"Well, but cousin, tell me some of the particulars of this affair."
"As to the particulars, I'm sure they'd make your hair stand on end
to hear them; however, the beginning of it all was through the fault
of M. Du Bois: but, I'll assure you, he may take care of himself
in future, since he don't so much as come to see if I'm dead or
alive.-But, there, I went for him to a justice of peace, and rode
all out of the way, and did every thing in the world, and was used
worser than a dog, and all for the sake of serving of him; and now,
you see, he don't so much-well, I was a fool for my pains.-However,
he may get somebody else to be treated so another time; for, if he's
taken up every day in the week, I'll never go after him no more."
This occasioned an explanation; in the course of which Madame Duval,
to her utter amazement, heard that M. Du Bois had never left London
during her absence! nor did Mr. Branghton believe that he had ever
been to the Tower, or met with any kind of accident.
Almost instantly the whole truth of the transaction seemed to rush
upon her mind, and her wrath was inconceivably violent. She asked me
a thousand questions in a breath; but, fortunately, was too vehement
to attend to my embarrassment, which must otherwise have betrayed my
knowledge of the deceit. Revenge was her first wish; and she vowed
she would go the next morning to Justice Fielding, and inquire what
punishment she might lawfully inflict upon the Captain for his assault.
I believe we were an hour at Bishopsgate Street before poor Madame
Duval could allow any thing to be mentioned but her own story; at any
length, however, Mr. Branghton told her, that M. Du Bois, and all
his own family, were waiting for her at his house. A hackney-coach
was then called, and we proceeded to Snow Hill.
Mr. Branghton's house is small and inconvenient; though his shop,
which takes in all the ground floor, is large and commodious. I
believe I told you before, that he is a silver-smith.
We were conducted up two pairs of stairs: for the dining-room,
Mr. Branghton told us, was let. His two daughters, their brother,
M. Du Bois, and a young man, were at tea. They had waited some time
for Madame Duval, but I found they had not any expectation that I
should accompany her; and the young ladies, I believe, were rather
more surprised than pleased when I made my appearance; for they seemed
hurt that I should see their apartment. Indeed, I would willingly
have saved them that pain, had it been in my power.
The first person who saw me was M. Du Bois, "Ah, mon Dieu!" exclaimed
he, "voila Mademoiselle!"
"Goodness," cried young Branghton, "if there isn't Miss!"
"Lord, so there is!" said Miss Polly; "well, I'm sure I should never
have dreamed of Miss's coming."
"Nor I neither, I'm sure," cried Miss Branghton, "or else I would not
have been in this room to see her: I'm quite ashamed about it;-only
not thinking of seeing any body but my aunt-however, Tom, it's all
your fault; for, you know very well I wanted to borrow Mr. Smith's
room, only you were so grumpy you would not let me."
"Lord, what signifies?" said her brother; "I dare be sworn Miss has
been up two pair of stairs before now;-ha'n't you, Miss?"
I begged that I might not give them the least disturbance; and assured
them that I had not any choice in regard to what room we sat in.
"Well," said Miss Polly, "when you come next, Miss, we'll have
Mr. Smith's room: and it's a very pretty one, and only up one pair
of stairs, and nicely furnished, and every thing."
"To say the truth," said Miss Branghton, "I thought that my cousin
would not, upon any account, have come to town in the summer-time;
for it's not at all the fashion ;-so, to be sure, thinks I, she'll
stay till September, when the play-houses open."
This was my reception, which I believe you will not call a very
cordial one. Madame Duval, who, after having severely reprimanded
M. Du Bois for his negligence, was just entering upon the story of
her misfortunes, now wholly engaged the company.
M. Du Bois listened to her with a look of the utmost horror, repeatedly
lifting up his eyes and hands, and exclaiming, "O ciel! quel barbare!"
The young ladies gave her the most earnest attention; but their
brother, and the young man, kept a broad grin upon their faces during
the whole recital. She was, however, too much engaged to observe them;
but, when she mentioned having been tied in a ditch, young Branghton,
no longer able to contain himself, burst into a loud laugh, declaring
that he had never heard any thing so funny in his life! His laugh
was heartily re-echoed by his friend; the Miss Branghtons could not
resist the example; and poor Madame Duval, to her extreme amazement,
was absolutely overpowered and stopped by the violence of their mirth.
For some minutes the room seemed quite in an uproar; the rage of Madame
Duval, the astonishment of M. Du Bois, and the angry interrogatories
of Mr. Branghton, on one side; the convulsive tittering of the
sisters, and the loud laughs of the young men, on the other,
occasioned such noise, passion and confusion, that had any one
stopped an instant on the stairs, he must have concluded himself in
Bedlam. At length, however, the father brought them to order; and,
half-laughing, half-frightened, they made Madame Duval some very
awkward apologies. But she would not be prevailed upon to continue
her narrative, till they had protested they were laughing at the
Captain, and not at her. Appeased by this, she resumed her story;
which by the help of stuffing handkerchiefs into their mouths, the
young people heard with tolerable decency.
Every body agreed, that the ill-usage the Captain had given her was
actionable; and Mr. Branghton said, he was sure she might recover
what damages she pleased, since she had been put in fear of her life.
She then, with great delight, declared, that she would lose no time
in satisfying her revenge, and vowed she would not be contented with
less than half his fortune: "For though," she said, "I don't put no
value upon the money, because, Dieu merci, I ha'n't no want of it,
yet I don't wish for nothing so much as to punish that fellow; for
I'm sure, whatever's the cause of it, he owes me a great grudge,
and I know no more what it's for than you do; but he's always been
doing me one spite or another ever since I knew him."
Soon after tea, Miss Branghton took an opportunity to tell me, in a
whisper, that the young man I saw was a lover of her sister's, that
his name was Brown, and that he was a haberdasher: with many other
particulars of his circumstances and family; and then she declared
her utter aversion to the thoughts of such a match; but added, that
her sister had no manner of spirit or ambition, though, for her part,
she would ten times rather die an old maid, than marry any person
but a gentleman. "And, for that matter," added she, "I believe Polly
herself don't care much for him, only she's in such a hurry, because,
I suppose, she's a mind to be married before me; however, she's very
welcome; for, I'm sure, I don't care a pin's point whether I ever
marry at all;-it's all one to me."
Some time after this, Miss Polly contrived to tell her story. She
assured me, with much tittering, that her sister was in a great fright
lest she should be married first. "So I make her believe that I will,"
continued she; "for I dearly love to plague her a little; though,
I declare, I don't intend to have Mr. Brown in reality;-I'm sure I
don't like him half well enough,-do you, Miss?"
"It is not possible for me to judge of his merits," said I, "as I am
entirely a stranger to him."
"But what do you think of him, Miss?"
"Why, really, I-I don't know."
"But do you think him handsome? Some people reckon him to have a
good pretty person;-but I'm sure, for my part, I think he's monstrous
ugly:-don't you, Miss?"
"I am no judge,-but I think his person is very-very well."
"Very well! -Why, pray Miss," in a tone of vexation, "what fault can
you find with it?"
"O, none at all!"
"I'm sure you must be very ill-natured if you could. Now there's Biddy
says she thinks nothing of him,-but I know it's all out of spite. You
must know, Miss, it makes her as mad as can be that I should have
a lover before her; but she's so proud that nobody will court her,
and I often tell her she'll die an old maid. But the thing is, she
has taken it into her head to have a liking for Mr. Smith, as lodges
on the first floor; but, Lord, he'll never have her, for he's quite a
fine gentleman; and besides, Mr. Brown heard him say one day, that he'd
never marry as long as he lived, for he'd no opinion of matrimony."
"And did you tell your sister this?"
"O, to be sure, I told her directly; but she did not mind me; however,
if she will be a fool she must."
This extreme want of affection and good-nature increased the distaste I
already felt for these unamiable sisters; and a confidence so entirely
unsolicited and unnecessary, manifested equally their folly and their
want of decency.
I was very glad when the time for our departing arrived. Mr. Branghton
said our lodgings were in Holborn, that we might be near his house,
and neighbourly. He accompanied us to them himself.
Our rooms are large, and not inconvenient; our landlord is an hosier. I
am sure I have a thousand reasons to rejoice that I am so little known:
for my present situation is, in every respect, very unenviable; and
I would not, for the world, be seen by any acquaintance of Mrs. Mirvan.
This morning, Madame Duval, attended by all the Branghtons, actually
went to a Justice in the neighborhood, to report the Captain's ill
usage of her. I had great difficulty in excusing myself from being of
the party, which would have given me very serious concern. Indeed,
I was extremely anxious, though at home, till I heard the result of
the application, for I dread to think of the uneasiness which such
an affair would occasion the amiable Mrs. Mirvan. But, fortunately,
Madame Duval has received very little encouragement to proceed in
her design; for she has been informed, that, as she neither heard
the voice, nor saw the face of the person suspected, she will find
difficulty to cast him upon conjecture, and will have but little
probability of gaining her cause, unless she can procure witnesses
of the transaction. Mr. Branghton, therefore, who has considered all
the circumstances of the affair, is of the opinion; the lawsuit will
not only be expensive, but tedious and hazardous, and has advised
against it. Madame Duval, though very unwillingly, has acquiesced
in his decision; but vows, that if she ever is so affronted again,
she will be revenged, even if she ruins herself. I am extremely glad
that this ridiculous adventure seems now likely to end without more
serious consequences.
Adieu, my dearest Sir. My direction is at Mr. Dawkin's, a hosier in
High Holborn.
LETTER XLI
EVELINA TO MISS MIRVAN June 7th
I HAVE no words, my sweet friend, to express the thankfulness I
feel for the unbounded kindness which you, your dear mother, and the
much-honoured Lady Howard, have shown me; and still less can I find
language to tell you with what reluctance I parted from such dear and
generous friends, whose goodness reflects, at once, so much honour
on their own hearts, and on her to whom it has been so liberally
bestowed. But I will not repeat what I have already written to the
kind Mrs. Mirvan; I will remember your admonitions, and confine to my
own breast that gratitude with which you have filled it, and teach my
pen to dwell upon subjects less painful to my generous correspondent.
O, Maria! London now seems no longer the same place where I lately
enjoyed so much happiness; every thing is new and strange to me; even
the town itself has not the same aspect.-My situation so altered!-my
home so different!-my companions so changed!-But you well know my
averseness to this journey.
Indeed, to me, London now seems a desert: that gay and busy appearance
it so lately wore, is now succeeded by a look of gloom, fatigue,
and lassitude; the air seems stagnant, the heat is intense, the
dust intolerable, and the inhabitants illiterate and under-bred;
At least, such is the face of things in the part of town where I at
present reside.
Tell me, my dear Maria, do you never retrace in your memory the time
we passed here when together? to mine it recurs for ever! And yet
I think I rather recollect a dream, or some visionary fancy, than
a reality.-That I should ever have been known to Lord Orville,-that
I should have spoken to-have danced with him,-seems now a romantic
illusion: and that elegant politeness, that flattering attention, that
high-bred delicacy, which so much distinguished him above all other
men, and which struck us with so much admiration, I now retrace the
remembrance of rather as belonging to an object of ideal perfection,
formed by my own imagination, than to a being of the same race and
nature as those with whom I at present converse.
I have no news for you, my dear Miss Mirvan; for all that I could
venture to say of Madame Duval I have already written to your sweet
mother; and as to adventures, I have none to record. Situated as
I now am, I heartily hope I shall not meet with any; my wish is to
remain quiet and unnoticed.
Adieu! excuse the gravity of this letter; and believe me, your most
sincerely Affectionate and obliged EVELINA ANVILLE.
LETTER XLII
EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS Holborn, June 9.
YESTERDAY morning we received an invitation to dine and spend the day
at Mr. Branghton's; and M. Du Bois, who was also invited, called to
conduct us to Snow Hill.
Young Branghton received us at the door; and the first words he spoke
were, "Do you know, sisters a'n't dressed yet."
Then, hurrying us into the house, he said to me, "Come, Miss, you
shall go upstairs and catch 'em,-I dare say they're at the glass."
He would have taken my hand; but I declined this civility, and begged
to follow Madame Duval.
Mr. Branghton then appeared, and led the way himself. We went, as
before, up two pairs of stairs; but the moment the father opened
the door, the daughters both gave a loud scream. We all stopped;
and then Miss Branghton called out, "Lord, Papa, what do you bring
the company up here for? why, Polly and I a'n't half dressed."
"More shame for you," answered he; "here's your aunt, and cousin,
and M. Du Bois, all waiting, and ne'er a room to take them to."
"Who'd have thought of their coming so soon?" cried she: "I am sure
for my part I thought Miss was used to nothing but quality hours."
"Why, I sha'n't be ready this half-hour yet," said Miss Polly;
"can't they stay in the shop till we're dressed?"
Mr. Branghton was very angry, and scolded them violently: however,
we were obliged to descend, and stools were procured for us in the
shop, where we found the brother, who was highly delighted, he said,
that his sisters had been catched; and he thought proper to entertain
me with a long account of their tediousness, and the many quarrels
they all had together.
When, at length, these ladies were equipped to their satisfaction,
they made their appearance; but before any conversation was suffered
to pass between them and us, they had a long and most disagreeable
dialogue with their father, to whose reprimands, though so justly
incurred, they replied with the utmost pertness while their brother
all the time laughed aloud.
The moment they perceived this, they were so much provoked, that,
instead of making any apologies to Madame Duval, they next began to
quarrel with him. "Tom, what do you laugh for? I wonder what business
you have to be always a laughing when Papa scolds us?"
"Then what business have you to be such a while getting on your
clothes? You're never ready, you know well enough."
"Lord, Sir, I wonder what's that to you! I wish you'd mind your own
affairs, and not trouble yourself about ours. How should a boy like
you know any thing?"
"A boy, indeed! not such a boy, neither: I'll warrant you'll be glad
to be as young when you come to be old maids."
This sort of dialogue we were amused with till dinner was ready,
when we again mounted up two pairs of stairs.
In our way, Miss Polly told me that her sister had asked Mr. Smith
for his room to dine in, but he had refused to lend it; "because,"
she said, "one day it happened to be a little greased: however, we
shall have it to drink tea in, and then, perhaps, you may see him;
and I assure you he's quite like one of the quality, and dresses as
fine, and goes to balls and dances, and every thing, quite in taste;
and besides, Miss, he keeps a foot-boy of his own too."
The dinner was ill-served, ill-cooked, and ill-managed. The maid
who waited had so often to go down stairs for something that was
forgotten, that the Branghtons were perpetually obliged to rise
from table themselves, to get plates, knives, and forks, bread or
beer. Had they been without pretensions, all this would have seemed
of no consequence; but they aimed at appearing to advantage, and even
fancied they succeeded. However, the most disagreeable part of our
fare was that the whole family continually disputed whose turn it
was to rise, and whose to be allowed to sit still.
When this meal was over, Madame Duval, ever eager to discourse upon
her travels, entered into an argument with Mr. Branghton, and, in
broken English, M. Du Bois, concerning the French nation: and Miss
Polly, then addressing herself to me, said "Don't you think, Miss,
it's very dull sitting up stairs here? we'd better go down to shop,
and then we shall see the people go by."
"Lord, Poll," said the brother, "you're always wanting to be staring
and gaping; and I'm sure you needn't be so fond of showing yourself,
for you're ugly enough to frighten a horse."
"Ugly, indeed! I wonder which is best, you or me. But, I tell you
what, Tom, you've no need to give yourself such airs; for, if you do,
I'll tell Miss of-you know what-"
"Who cares if you do? you may tell what you will; I don't mind-"
"Indeed," cried I, "I do not desire to hear any secrets."
"O, but I'm resolved I'll tell you, because Tom's so very spiteful. You
must know, Miss, t'other night-"
"Poll," cried the brother, "if you tell of that, Miss shall know all
about your meeting young Brown,-you know when!-So I'll be quits with
you one way or other."
Miss Polly coloured, and again proposed our going down stairs till
Mr. Smith's room was ready for our reception.
"Aye, so we will," said Miss Branghton; "I'll assure you, cousin,
we have some very genteel people pass by our shop sometimes. Polly
and I always go and sit there when we've cleaned ourselves."
"Yes, Miss," cried the brother, "they do nothing else all day long,
when father don't scold them. But the best fun is, when they've
got all their dirty things on, and all their hair about their ears,
sometimes I send young Brown up stairs to them: and then there's such a
fuss!-There, they hide themselves, and run away, and squeal and squall,
like any thing mad: and so then I puts the two cats into the room, and
I gives them a good whipping, and so that sets them a squalling too;
so there's such a noise and such an uproar!-Lord, you can't think,
Miss, what fun it is!"
This occasioned a fresh quarrel with the sisters; at the end of which,
it was at length decided that we should go to the shop.
In our way down stairs, Miss Branghton said aloud, "I wonder when
Mr. Smith's room will be ready."
"So do I," answered Polly; "I'm sure we should not do any harm to
it now."
This hint had not the desired effect; for we were suffered to proceed
very quietly.
As we entered the shop, I observed a young man in deep mourning
leaning against the wall, with his arms folded, and his eyes fixed on
the ground, apparently in profound and melancholy meditation; but the
moment he perceived us, he started, and, making a passing bow, very
abruptly retired. As I found he was permitted to go quite unnoticed,
I could not forbear enquiring who he was.
"Lord!" answered Miss Branghton, "he's nothing but a poor Scotch poet."
"For my part," said Miss Polly, "I believe he's just starved, for I
don't find he has anything to live upon."
"Live upon!" cried the brother; "why, he's a poet, you know, so he
may live upon learning."
"Aye, and good enough for him, too," said Miss Branghton; "for he's
as proud as he's poor."
"Like enough," replied the brother; "but, for all that, you won't
find he will live without meat and drink: no, no, catch a Scotchman
at that if you can! why, they only come here for what they can get."
"I'm sure," said Miss Branghton, "I wonder Papa'll be such a fool
as to let him stay in the house, for I dare say he'll never pay for
his lodging."
"Why, no more he would, if he could get another lodger. You know
the bill has been put up this fortnight. Miss, if you should hear
of a person that wants a room, I assure you it is a very good one,
for all it's up three pair of stairs."
I answered, that as I had no acquaintance in London, I had not any
chance of assisting them: but both my compassion and my curiosity
were excited for this poor young man; and I asked them some further
particulars concerning him.
They then acquainted me, that they had only known him three
months. When he first lodged with them, he agreed to board also;
but had lately told them he would eat by himself, though they all
believed he had hardly ever tasted a morsel of meat since he left
their table. They said, that he had always appeared very low-spirited;
but for the last month he had been duller than ever; and, all of a
sudden, he had put himself into mourning, though they knew not for
whom, nor for what; but they supposed it was only for convenience,
as no person had ever been to see or enquire for him since his
residence amongst them: and they were sure he was very poor, as he
had not paid for his lodgings the last three weeks: and, finally,
they concluded he was a poet, or else half-crazy, because they had,
at different times, found scraps of poetry in his room.
They then produced some unfinished verses, written on small pieces of
paper, unconnected, and of a most melancholy cast. Among them was the
fragment of an ode, which, at my request, they lent to me to copy;
and as you may perhaps like to see it, I will write it now.
O LIFE! thou lingering dream of grief, of pain, And every
ill that Nature can sustain,
Strange, mutable, and wild!
Now flattering with Hope most fair, Depressing now with
fell Despair,
The nurse of Guilt, the slave of Pride,
That, like a wayward child,
Who, to himself a foe,
Sees joy alone in what's denied,
In what is granted, woe!
O thou poor, feeble, fleeting, pow'r, By Vice seduc'd, by
Folly woo'd, By Mis'ry, Shame, Remorse, pursu'd; And as thy
toilsome steps proceed, Seeming to Youth the fairest flow'r,
Proving to Age the rankest weed,
A gilded but a bitter pill,
Of varied, great, and complicated ill!
These lines are harsh, but they indicate an internal wretchedness,
which I own, affects me. Surely this young man must be involved
in misfortunes of no common nature but I cannot imagine what can
induce him to remain with this unfeeling family, where he is, most
unworthily, despised for being poor, and most illiberally detested
for being a Scotchman. He may, indeed, have motives, which he cannot
surmount, for submitting to such a situation. Whatever they are,
I most heartily pity him, and cannot but wish it were in my power to
afford him some relief.
During this conversation, Mr. Smith's foot-boy came to Miss Branghton,
and informed her, that his master said she might have the room now
when she liked it, for that he was presently going out.
This very genteel message, though it perfectly satisfied the Miss
Branghtons, by no means added to my desire of being introduced to this
gentleman; and upon their rising, with intention to accept his offer,
I begged they would excuse my attending them, and said I would sit
with Madame Duval till the tea was ready.
I therefore once more went up two pair of stairs with young
Branghton, who insisted upon accompanying me; and there we remained
till Mr. Smith's foot-boy summoned us to tea, when I followed Madame
Duval into the dining-room.
The Miss Branghtons were seated at one window, and Mr. Smith was
lolling indolently out of the other. They all approached us at our
entrance; and Mr. Smith, probably to show he was master of the
department, most officiously handed me to a great chair at the upper
end of the room, without taking any notice of Madame Duval, till I
rose and offered her my own seat.
Leaving the rest of the company to entertain themselves, he very
abruptly began to address himself to me, in a style of gallantry
equally new and disagreeable to me. It is true, no man can possibly pay
me greater compliments, or make more fine speeches, than Sir Clement
Willoughby: yet his language, though too flowery, is always that of a
gentleman; and his address and manners are so very superior to those
of the inhabitants of this house, that, to make any comparison between
him and Mr. Smith, would be extremely unjust. This latter seems very
desirous of appearing a man of gaiety and spirit; but his vivacity
is so low-bred, and his whole behaviour so forward and disagreeable,
that I should prefer the company of dullness itself, even as that
goddess is described by Pope, to that of this sprightly young man.
He made many apologies that he had not lent his room for our dinner,
which he said, he should certainly have done, had he seen me first:
and he assured me, that when I came again, he should be very glad to
oblige me.
I told him, and with sincerity, that every part of the house was
equally indifferent to me.
"Why, Ma'am, the truth is, Miss Biddy and Polly take no care of any
thing; else, I'm sure, they should be always welcome to my room; for
I'm never so happy as in obliging the ladies,-that's my character,
Ma'am:-but, really, the last time they had it, every thing was made
so greasy and so nasty, that, upon my word, to a man who wishes to
have things a little genteel, it was quite cruel. Now, as to you,
Ma'am, it's quite another thing, for I should not mind if every thing
I had was spoilt, for the sake of having the pleasure to oblige you;
and I assure you, Ma'am, it makes me quite happy that I have a room
good enough to receive you."
This elegant speech was followed by many others so much in the
same style, that to write them would be superfluous; and as he did
not allow me a moment to speak to any other person, the rest of the
evening was consumed in a painful attention to this irksome young man,
who seemed to intend appearing before me to the utmost advantage.
Adieu, my dear Sir. I fear you will be sick of reading about this
family; yet I must write of them, or not of any, since I mix with
no other. Happy I shall be when I quit them all, and again return to
Berry Hill.
LETTER XLIII
EVELINA IN CONTINUATION
June 10th
THIS morning Mr. Smith called,
on purpose, he said, to offer me a ticket for the next Hampstead
assembly. I thanked him, but desired to be excused accepting it: he
would not, however, be denied, nor answered; and, in a manner both
vehement and free, pressed and urged his offer, till I was wearied to
death: but, when he found me resolute, he seemed thunderstruck with
amazement, and thought proper to desire I would tell him my reasons.
Obvious as they must surely have been to any other person, they
were such as I knew not how to repeat to him; and, when he found I
hesitated, he said, "Indeed, Ma'am, you are too modest; I assure you
the ticket is quite at your service, and I shall be very happy to
dance with you; so pray don't be so coy."
"Indeed, Sir," returned I, "you are mistaken; I never supposed you
would offer a ticket without wishing it should be accepted; but it
would answer no purpose to mention the reasons which make me decline
it, since they cannot possibly be removed."
This speech seemed very much to mortify him; which I could not be
concerned at, as I did not choose to be treated by him with so much
freedom. When he was, at last, convinced that his application to me
was ineffectual, he addressed himself to Madame Duval, and begged she
would interfere in his favour; offering at the same time to procure
another ticket for herself.
"Ma foi, Sir," answered she, angrily, "you might as well have had
the complaisance to ask me before; for, I assure you, I don't approve
of no such rudeness: however, you may keep your tickets to yourself,
for we don't want none of 'em."
This rebuke almost overset him; he made many apologies, and said that
he should certainly have first applied to her, but that he had no
notion the young lady would have refused him, and, on the contrary,
had concluded that she would have assisted him to persuade Madame
Duval herself.
This excuse appeased her; and he pleaded his cause so successfully,
that, to my great chagrin, he gained it, and Madame Duval promised
that she would go herself, and take me to the Hampstead assembly
whenever he pleased.
Mr. Smith then, approaching me with an air of triumph, said, "Well,
Ma'am, now I think you can't possibly keep to your denial."
I made no answer; and he soon took leave, tho' not till he had so
wonderfully gained the favour of Madame Duval, that she declared,
when he was gone, he was the prettiest young man she had seen since
she came to England.
As soon as I could find an opportunity, I ventured, in the most humble
manner, to intreat Madame Duval would not insist upon my attending
her to this ball; and represented to her, as well as I was able,
the impropriety of my accepting any present from a man so entirely
unknown to me: but she laughed at my scruples; called me a foolish,
ignorant country-girl; and said she should make it her business to
teach me something of the world.
This ball is to be next week. I am sure it is not more improper for,
than unpleasant to me, and I will use every possible endeavour to
avoid it. Perhaps I may apply to Miss Branghton for advice, as I
believe she will be willing to assist me, from disliking, equally
with myself, that I should dance with Mr. Smith.
June 11th
O, my dear Sir! I have been shocked to death; and yet at the same
time delighted beyond expression, in the hope that I have happily
been the instrument of saving a human creature from destruction.
This morning Madame Duval said she would invite the Branghton family
to return our visit to-morrow; and, not choosing to rise herself,-for
she generally spends the morning in bed,-she desired me to wait upon
them with her message. M. Du Bois, who just then called, insisted
upon attending me.
Mr. Branghton was in the shop, and told us that his son and daughter
were out; but desired me to step up stairs, as he very soon expected
them home. This I did, leaving M. Du Bois below. I went into the
room where we had dined the day before; and, by a wonderful chance,
I happened to seat myself, that I had a view of the stairs, and yet
could not be seen from them.
In about ten minutes time, I saw, passing by the door, with a look
perturbed and affrighted, the same young man I mentioned in my last
letter. Not heeding, as I suppose, how he went, in turning the corner
of the stairs, which are narrow and winding, his foot slipped and he
fell; but almost instantly rising, I plainly perceived the end of a
pistol, which started from his pocket by hitting against the stairs.
I was inexpressibly shocked. All that I had heard of his misery
occurring to my memory, made me conclude that he was, at that very
moment, meditating suicide! Struck with the dreadful idea, all my
strength seemed to fail me. He moved on slowly, yet I soon lost sight
of him; I sat motionless with terror; all power of action forsook me;
and I grew almost stiff with horror; till recollecting that it was
yet possible to prevent the fatal deed, all my faculties seemed to
return, with the hope of saving him.
My first thought was to fly to Mr. Branghton; but I feared, that an
instant of time lost might for ever be rued; and, therefore, guided
by the impulse of my apprehensions, as well as I was able I followed
him up stairs, stepping very softly, and obliged to support myself
by the banisters.
When I came within a few stairs of the landing-place I stopped;
for I could then see into his room, as he had not yet shut the door.
He had put the pistol upon a table, and had his hand in his pocket,
whence, in a few moments, he took out another: he then emptied
something on the table from a small leather bag; after which, taking
up both the pistols, one in each hand, he dropt hastily upon his knees,
and called out, "O, God!-forgive me!"
In a moment strength and courage seemed lent to me as by inspiration:
I started, and rushing precipitately into the room, just caught
his arm, and then, overcome by my own fears, I fell down at his side
breathless and senseless. My recovery, however, was, I believe, almost
instantaneous; and then the sight of this unhappy man, regarding me
with a look of unutterable astonishment, mixed with concern, presently
restored to me my recollection. I arose, though with difficulty;
he did the same; the pistols, as I soon saw, were both on the floor.
Unwilling to leave them, and, indeed, too weak to move, I leant one
hand on the table, and then stood perfectly still; while he, his eyes
cast wildly towards me, seemed too infinitely amazed to be capable
of either speech or action.
I believe we were some minutes in this extraordinary situation; but,
as my strength returned, I felt myself both ashamed and awkward, and
moved towards the door. Pale and motionless, he suffered me to pass,
without changing his posture, or uttering a syllable; and, indeed,
He look'd a bloodless image of despair.-POPE.
When I reached the door, I turned round; I looked fearfully at
the pistols, and, impelled by an emotion I could not repress,
I hastily stepped back, with an intention of carrying them away:
but their wretched owner, perceiving my design, and recovering from
his astonishment, darting suddenly down, seized them both himself.
Wild with fright, and scarce knowing what I did, I caught, almost
involuntarily, hold of both his arms, and exclaimed, "O, Sir! have
mercy on yourself!"
The guilty pistols fell from his hands, which, disengaging from me,
he fervently clasped, and cried, "Sweet Heaven! is this thy angel?"
Encouraged by such gentleness, I again attempted to take the pistols;
but, with a look half frantic, he again prevented me, saying "What
would you do?"
"Awaken you," I cried, with a courage I now wonder at, "to worthier
thoughts, and rescue you from perdition."
I then seized the pistols; he said not a word,-he made no effort to
stop me;-I glided quick by him, and tottered down stairs ere he had
recovered from the extremest amazement.
The moment I reached again the room I had so fearfully left, I threw
away the pistols, and flinging myself on the first chair, gave free
vent to the feelings I had most painfully stifled, in a violent burst
of tears, which, indeed, proved a happy relief to me.
In this situation I remained some time; but when, at length, I lifted
up my head, the first object I saw was the poor man who had occasioned
my terror, standing, as if petrified, at the door, and gazing at me
with eyes of wild wonder.
I started from the chair; but trembled so excessively, that I almost
instantly sunk again into it. He then, though without advancing, and,
in a faultering voice, said, "Whoever, or whatever you are, relieve
me, I pray you, from the suspense under which my soul labours-and
tell me if indeed I do not dream?"
To this address, so singular, and so solemn, I had not then the
presence of mind to frame any answer; but as I presently perceived
that his eyes turned from me to the pistols, and that he seemed to
intend regaining them, I exerted all my strength, and saying, "O,
for Heaven's sake forbear!" I rose and took them myself.
"Do my sense deceive me!" cried he, "do I live-? And do you?"
As he spoke he advanced towards me; and I, still guarding the pistols,
retreated, saying, "No, no-you must not-must not have them!"
"Why-for what purpose, tell me!-do you withhold them?"-
"To give you time to think,-to save you from eternal misery; -and,
I hope, to reserve you for mercy and forgiveness."
"Wonderful!" cried he, with uplifted hands and eyes, "most wonderful!"
For some time he seemed wrapped in deep thought, till a sudden noise
of tongues below announcing the approach of the Branghtons, made
him start from his reverie: he sprung hastily forward, -dropt on one
knee,-caught hold of my gown, which he pressed to his lips; and then,
quick as lightning, he rose, and flew up stairs to his own room.
There was something in the whole of this extraordinary and shocking
adventure, really too affecting to be borne; and so entirely had I
spent my spirits, and exhausted my courage, that before the Branghtons
reached me, I had sunk on the ground without sense or motion.
I believe I must have been a very horrid sight to them on their
entrance into the room; for to all appearance, I seemed to have
suffered a violent death, either by my own rashness, or the cruelty
of some murderer, as the pistols had fallen close by my side.
How soon I recovered I know not; but, probably I was more indebted
to the loudness of their cries than to their assistance; for they
all concluded that I was dead, and, for some time, did not make any
effort to revive me.
Scarcely could I recollect where, or indeed what, I was, ere they
poured upon me such a torrent of questions and enquiries, that I
was almost stunned by their vociferation. However, as soon, and
as well as I was able, I endeavoured to satisfy their curiosity,
by recounting what had happened as clearly as was in my power. They
all looked aghast at the recital; but, not being well enough to enter
into any discussions, I begged to have a chair called, and to return
instantly home.
Before I left them, I recommended, with great earnestness, a vigilant
observance of their unhappy lodger; and that they would take care to
keep from him, if possible, all means of self-destruction.
M. Du Bois, who seemed extremely concerned at my indisposition, walked
by the side of the chair, and saw me safe to my own apartment.
The rashness and the misery of this ill-fated young man engross
all my thoughts. If indeed, he is bent upon destroying himself, all
efforts to save him will be fruitless. How much do I wish it were in
my power to discover the nature of the malady which thus maddens him
and to offer or to procure alleviation to his sufferings! I am sure,
my dearest Sir, you will be much concerned for this poor man; and,
were you here, I doubt not but you would find some method of awakening
him from the error which blinds him, and of pouring the balm of peace
and comfort into his afflicted soul.
LETTER XLIV
EVELINA IN CONTINUATION Holborn, June 13th.
YESTERDAY all the Branghtons dined here. Our conversation was almost
wholly concerning the adventure of the day before. Mr. Branghton said,
that his first thought was instantly to turn his lodger out of doors,
"Lest," continued he, "his killing himself in my house should bring
me into any trouble: but then I was afraid I should never get the
money that he owes me; whereas, if he dies in my house, I have a
right to all he leaves behind him, if he goes off in my debt. Indeed,
I would put him in prison,-but what should I get by that? he could not
earn anything there to pay me: so I considered about it some time,
and then I determined to ask him, point-blank, for my money out of
hand. And so I did; but he told me he'd pay me next week: however,
I gave him to understand, that though I was no Scotchman, yet, I did
not like to be over-reached any more than he: so he then gave me a
ring, which, to my certain knowledge, must be worth ten guineas, and
told me he would not part with it for his life, and a good deal more
such sort of stuff, but that I might keep it until he could pay me."
"It is ten to one, father," said young Branghton, "if he came fairly
by it."
"Very likely not," answered he; "but that will make no great
difference, for I shall be able to prove my right to it all one."
What principles! I could hardly stay in the room.
"I'm determined," said the son, "I'll take some opportunity to
affront him soon, now I know how poor he is, because of the airs he
gave himself when he first came."
"And pray how was that, child?" said Madame Duval.
"Why, you never knew such a fuss in your life as he made, because one
day at dinner I only happened to say, that I supposed he had never
got such a good meal in his life before he came to England: there, he
fell in such a passion as you can't think: but for my part, I took no
notice of it: for to be sure, thinks I, he must needs be a gentleman,
or he'd never go to be so angry about it. However, he won't put his
tricks upon me again in a hurry."
"Well," said Miss Polly, "he's grown quite another creature to what
he was, and he doesn't run away from us, nor hide himself, nor any
thing; and he's as civil as can be, and he's always in the shop, and
he saunters about the stairs, and he looks at every body as comes in."
"Why, you may see what he's after plain enough," said Mr. Branghton;
"he wants to see Miss again."
"Ha, ha, ha! Lord, how I should laugh," said the son, "if he should
have fell in love with Miss!"
"I'm sure," said Miss Branghton, "Miss is welcome; but, for my part,
I should be quite ashamed of such a beggarly conquest."
Such was the conversation till tea-time, when the appearance of
Mr. Smith gave a new turn to the discourse.
Miss Branghton desired me to remark with what a smart air he entered
the room, and asked me if he had not very much a quality look?
"Come," cried he, advancing to us, "you ladies must not sit together;
wherever I go I always make it a rule to part the ladies."
And then, handing Miss Branghton to the next chair, he seated himself
between us.
"Well, now, ladies, I think we sit very well. What say you? for my
part I think it was a very good motion."
"If my cousin likes it," said Miss Branghton, "I'm sure I've no
objection."
"O," cried he, "I always study what the ladies like,-that's my first
thought. And, indeed, it is but natural that you should like best
to sit by the gentlemen, for what can you find to say to one another?"
"Say!" cried young Branghton; "O, never you think of that, they'll
find enough to say, I'll be sworn. You know the women are never tired
of talking."
"Come, come, Tom," said Mr. Smith, "don't be severe upon the ladies;
when I'm by, you know I always take their part."
Soon after, when Miss Branghton offered me some cake, this man of
gallantry said, "Well, if I was that lady, I'd never take any thing
from a woman."
"Why not, Sir?"
"Because I should be afraid of being poisoned for being so handsome."
"Who is severe upon the ladies now?" said I.
"Why, really, Ma'am, it was a slip of the tongue; I did not intend
to say such a thing; but one can't always be on one's guard."
Soon after, the conversation turning upon public places, young
Branghton asked if I had ever been to George's at Hampstead?
"Indeed, I never heard the place mentioned."
"Didn't you, Miss," cried he eagerly; "why, then you've a deal of
fun to come, I'll promise you; and, I tell you what, I'll treat you
there some Sunday, soon. So now, Bid and Poll, be sure you don't tell
Miss about the chairs, and all that, for I've a mind to surprise her;
and if I pay, I think I've a right to have it my own way."
"George's at Hampstead!" repeated Mr. Smith contemptuously; "how
came you to think the young lady would like to go to such a low
place as that! But, pray, Ma'am, have you ever been to Don Saltero's
at Chelsea?"
"No, Sir."
"No!-nay, then I must insist on having the pleasure of conducting
you there before long. I assure you, Ma'am, many genteel people go,
or else, I give you my word, I should not recommend it."
"Pray, cousin," said Mr. Branghton, "have you been at Sadler's
Wells yet?"
"No, Sir."
"No! why, then you've seen nothing!"
"Pray, Miss," said the son, "how do you like the Tower of London?"
"I have never been to it, Sir."
"Goodness!" exclaimed he, "not seen the Tower!-why, may be, you ha'n't
been o' top of the Monument, neither?"
"No, indeed, I have not."
"Why, then, you might as well not have come to London for aught I see,
for you've been no where."
"Pray, Miss," said Polly, "have you been all over Paul's Church yet?"
"No, Ma'am."
"Well, but, Ma'am," said Mr. Smith, "how do you like Vauxhall and
Marybone?"
"I never saw either, Sir."
"No-God bless me!-you really surprise me,-why Vauxhall is the first
pleasure in life!-I know nothing like it.-Well, Ma'am, you must
have been with strange people, indeed, not to have taken you to
Vauxhall. Why you have seen nothing of London yet. However, we must
try if we can't make you amends."
In the course of this catechism, many other places were mentioned,
of which I have forgotten the names; but the looks of surprise and
contempt that my repeated negatives incurred were very diverting.
"Come," said Mr. Smith, after tea, "as this lady has been with such
a queer set of people, let's show her the difference; suppose we go
somewhere to-night!-I love to do things with spirit!-Come, ladies,
where shall we go? For my part I should like Foote's-but the ladies
must choose; I never speak myself."
"Well, Mr. Smith is always in such spirits!" said Miss Branghton.
"Why, yes, Ma'am, yes, thank God, pretty good spirits;-I have not yet
the cares of the world upon me;-I am not married,-ha, ha, ha!-you'll
excuse me, ladies,-but I can't help laughing!"
No objection being made, to my great relief we all proceeded to the
little theatre in the Haymarket, where I was extremely entertained
by the performance of the Minor and the Commissary.
They all returned hither to supper.
LETTER XLV
EVELINA IN CONTINUATION June 15th.
YESTERDAY morning Madame Duval again sent me to Mr. Branghton's,
attended by M. Du Bois, to make some party for the evening, because
she had had the vapours the preceding day from staying at home.
As I entered the shop, I perceived the unfortunate North Briton
seated in a corner, with a book in his hand. He cast his melancholy
eyes up as we came in; and, I believe, immediately recollected my
face-for he started, and changed colour. I delivered Madame Duval's
message to Mr. Branghton, who told me I should find Polly up stairs,
but that the others were gone out.
Up stairs, therefore, I went; and, seated on a window, with Mr. Brown
at her side, sat Miss Polly. I felt a little awkward at disturbing
them, and much more so at their behaviour afterwards; for, as soon
as the common enquiries were over, Mr. Brown grew so fond and so
foolish, that I was extremely disgusted. Polly, all the time, only
rebuked him with, "La, now, Mr. Brown, do be quiet, can't you?-you
should not behave so before company.-Why, now, what will Miss think
of me?"-While her looks plainly showed not merely the pleasure,
but the pride which she took in his caresses.
I did not by any means think it necessary to punish myself by
witnessing their tenderness; and therefore telling them I would see
if Miss Branghton were returned home, I soon left them, and against
descended into the shop.
"So, Miss, you've come again," said Mr. Branghton; "what, I suppose
you've a mind to sit a little in the shop, and see how the world goes,
hey, Miss?"
I made no answer; and M. Du Bois instantly brought me a chair.
The unhappy stranger, who had risen at my entrance, again seated
himself; and though his head leant towards his book, I could not help
observing, his eyes were most intently and earnestly turned towards me.
M. Du Bois, as well as his broken English would allow him, endeavoured
to entertain us till the return of Miss Branghton and her brother.
"Lord, how tired I am!" cried the former; "I have not a foot to stand
upon." And, then, without any ceremony, she flung herself into the
chair from which I had risen to receive her.
"You tired!" said the brother; "why, then, what must I be, that have
walked twice as far?" And, with equal politeness, he paid the same
compliment to M. Du Bois which his sister had done to me.
Two chairs and three stools completed the furniture of the shop;
and Mr. Branghton, who chose to keep his own seat himself, desired
M. Du Bois to take another; and then seeing that I was without any,
called out to the stranger, "Come, Mr. Macartney, lend us your stool."
Shocked at their rudeness, I declined the offer; and, approaching
Miss Branghton, said, "If you will be so good as to make room for me
on your chair, there will be no occasion to disturb that gentleman."
"Lord, what signifies that?" cried the brother; "he has had his share
of sitting, I'll be sworn."
"And, if he has not," said the sister, "he has a chair up stairs;
and the shop is our own, I hope."
This grossness so much disgusted me, that I took the stool, and
carrying it back to Mr. Macartney myself, I returned him thanks as
civilly as I could for his politeness, but said that I had rather
stand.
He looked at me as if unaccustomed to such attention, bowed very
respectfully, but neither spoke nor yet made use of it.
I soon found that I was an object of derision to all present, except
M. Du Bois; and therefore, I begged Mr. Branghton would give me an
answer for Madame Duval, as I was in haste to return.
"Well, then, Tom,-Biddy, where have you a mind to go tonight? your
aunt and Miss want to be abroad and amongst them."
"Why, then, Papa," said Miss Branghton, "we'll go to Don
Saltero's. Mr. Smith likes that place, so may be he'll go along
with us."
"No, no," said the son, "I'm for White-Conduit House; so let's
go there."
"White-Conduit House, indeed!" cried his sister; "no, Tom, that
I won't."
"Why, then, let it alone; nobody wants your company;-we shall do as
well without you, I'll be sworn, and better too."
"I'll tell you what, Tom, if you don't hold your tongue, I'll make
you repent it,-that I assure you."
Just then Mr. Smith came into the shop, which he seemed to intend
passing through; but when he saw me, he stopped, and began a most
courteous enquiry after my health, protesting, that, had he known I
was there, he should have come down sooner. "But, bless me, Ma'am,"
added he, "what is the reason you stand?" and then he flew to bring
me the seat from which I had just parted.
"Mr. Smith, you are come in very good time," said Mr. Branghton,
"to end a dispute between my son and daughter, about where they shall
all go to-night."
"O, fie, Tom,-dispute with a lady!" cried Mr. Smith. "Now, as for me,
I'm for where you will, provided this young lady is of the party;-one
place is the same as another to me, so that it be but agreeable to
the ladies.-I would go any where with you, Ma'am," (to me) "unless,
indeed, it were to church; -ha, ha, ha!-You'll excuse me, Ma'am; but,
really, I never could conquer my fear of a parson;-ha, ha, ha!-Really,
ladies, I beg your pardon for being so rude; but I can't help laughing
for my life!"
"I was just saying, Mr. Smith," said Miss Branghton, "that I should
like to go to Don Saltero's;-now, pray, where should you like to go?"
"Why, really, Miss Biddy, you know I always let the ladies decide; I
never fix any thing myself; but I should suppose it would be rather
hot at the coffee-house:-however, pray, ladies, settle it among
yourselves;-I'm agreeable to whatever you choose."
It was easy for me to discover, that this man, with all his parade of
conformity, objects to every thing that is not proposed by himself:
but he is so much admired by this family for his gentility, that he
thinks himself a complete fine gentleman!
"Come," said Mr. Branghton, "the best way will be to put it to the
vote, and then every body will speak their minds. Biddy, call Poll
down stairs. We'll start fair."
"Lord, Papa," said Miss Branghton, "why can't you as well send
Tom?-you're always sending me of the errands."
A dispute then ensued, but Miss Branghton was obliged to yield.
When Mr. Brown and Miss Polly made their appearance, the latter
uttered many complaints of having been called, saying, she did not
want to come, and was very well where she was.
"Now, ladies, your votes," cried Mr. Smith; "and so, Ma'am (to me),
we'll begin with you. What place shall you like best?" and then, in
a whisper, he added, "I assure you, I shall say the same as you do,
whether I like it or not."
I said, that as I was ignorant what choice was in my power, I must
beg to hear their decisions first. This was reluctantly assented to;
and then Miss Branghton voted for Saltero's Coffee-house; her sister,
for a party to Mother Red Cap's; the brother for White-Conduit House;
Mr. Brown, for Bagnigge Wells; Mr. Braughton, for Sadler's Wells;
and Mr. Smith, for Vauxhall.
"Well now, Ma'am," said Mr. Smith, "we have all spoken, and so you
must give the casting vote. Come, what will you fix upon?"
"Sir," answered I, "I was to speak last."
"Well, so you will," said Miss Branghton, "for we've all spoke first."
"Pardon me," returned I, "the voting has not yet been quite general."
And I turned towards Mr. Macartney, to whom I wished extremely to
show that I was not of the same brutal nature with those by whom he
was treated so grossly.
"Why, pray," said Mr. Branghton, "who have we left out? would you have
the cats and dogs vote?"
"No, Sir," cried I, with some spirit, "I would have that gentleman
vote,-if, indeed, he is not superior to joining our party."
They all looked at me, as if they doubted whether or not they had
heard me right: but, in a few moments, their surprise gave way to a
rude burst of laughter.
Very much displeased, I told M. Du Bois that if he was not ready to
go, I would have a coach called for myself.
O yes, he said, he was always ready to attend me.
Mr. Smith then, advancing, attempted to take my hand, and begged me
not to leave them till I had settled the evening's plans.
"I have nothing, Sir," said I, "to do with it, as it is my intention
to stay at home; and therefore Mr. Branghton will be so good as to
send Madame Duval word what place is fixed upon, when it is convenient
to him."
And then, making a slight courtesy, I left them.
How much does my disgust for these people increase my pity for poor Mr.
Macartney! I will not see them when I can avoid so doing; but I am
determined to take every opportunity in my power to show civility to
this unhappy man, whose misfortunes with this family, only render him
an object of scorn. I was, however, very well pleased with M. Du Bois,
who, far from joining in their mirth, expressed himself extremely
shocked at their ill-breeding.
We had not walked ten yards before we were followed by Mr. Smith,
who came to make excuses, and to assure me they were only joking, and
hoped I took nothing ill; for if I did, he would make a quarrel of it
himself with the Branghtons, rather than I should receive any offense.
I begged him not to take any trouble about so immaterial an affair,
and assured him I should not myself. He was so officious, that he
would not be prevailed upon to return home, till he had walked with
us to Mr. Dawkins's.
Madame Duval was very much displeased that I brought her so little
satisfaction. White-Conduit House was at last fixed upon; and,
notwithstanding my great dislike of such parties and such places,
I was obliged to accompany them.
Very disagreeable, and much according to my expectations, the
evening proved. There were many people all smart and gaudy, and so
pert and low-bred, that I could hardly endure being amongst them;
but the party to which, unfortunately, I belonged, seemed all at home.
LETTER XLVI
EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS Holborn, June 17th.
YESTERDAY Mr. Smith carried his point of making a party for Vauxhall,
consisting of Madame Duval, M. Du Bois, all the Branghtons, Mr. Brown,
himself,-and me!-for I find all endeavours vain to escape any thing
which these people desire I should not.
There were twenty disputes previous to our setting out; first, as to
the time of our going: Mr. Branghton, his son, and young Brown, were
for six o'clock; and all the ladies and Mr. Smith were for eight;-the
latter, however, conquered.
Then, as to the way we should go; some were for a boat, others for
a coach, and Mr. Branghton himself was for walking; but the boat
at length was decided upon. Indeed this was the only part of the
expedition that was agreeable to me; for the Thames was delightfully
pleasant.
The garden is very pretty, but too formal; I should have been better
pleased, had it consisted less of straight walks, where
Grove nods at grove, each alley has its brother.
The trees, the numerous lights, and the company in the circle round
the orchestra make a most brilliant and gay appearance; and had I been
with a party less disagreeable to me, I should have thought it a place
formed for animation and pleasure. There was a concert; in the course
of which a hautbois concerto was so charmingly played, that I could
have thought myself upon enchanted ground, had I had spirits more
gentle to associate with. The hautbois in the open air is heavenly.
Mr. Smith endeavoured to attach himself to me, with such officious
assiduity and impertinent freedom, that he quite sickened me. Indeed
M. Du Bois was the only man of the party to whom, voluntarily, I
ever addressed myself. He is civil and respectful, and I have found
nobody else so since I left Howard Grove. His English is very bad;
but I prefer it to speaking French myself, which I dare not venture
to do. I converse with him frequently, both to disengage myself from
others, and to oblige Madame Duval, who is always pleased when he is
attended to.
As we were walking about the orchestra, I heard a bell ring; and,
in a moment, Mr. Smith, flying up to me, caught my hand, and, with a
motion too quick to be resisted, ran away with me many yards before I
had breath to ask his meaning, though I struggled as well as I could,
to get from him. At last, however, I insisted upon stopping: "Stopping,
Ma'am!" cried he, "why we must run on or we shall lose the cascade!"
And then again he hurried me away, mixing with a crowd of people,
all running with so much velocity, that I could not imagine what had
raised such an alarm. We were soon followed by the rest of the party;
and my surprise and ignorance proved a source of diversion to them
all, which was not exhausted the whole evening. Young Branghton,
in particular, laughed till he could hardly stand.
The scene of the cascade I thought extremely pretty, and the general
effect striking and lively.
But this was not the only surprise which was to divert them at my
expense; for they led me about the garden purposely to enjoy my first
sight of various other deceptions.
About ten o'clock, Mr. Smith having chosen a box in a very conpicuous
place, we all went to supper. Much fault was found with every thing
that was ordered, though not a morsel of any thing was left; and the
dearness of the provisions, with conjectures upon what profit was
made by them, supplied discourse during the whole meal.
When wine and cyder were brought, Mr. Smith said, "Now let's enjoy
ourselves; now is the time, or never. Well, Ma'am, and how do you
like Vauxhall?"
"Like it!" cried young Branghton; "why, how can she help liking
it? she has never seen such a place before, that I'll answer for."
"For my part," said Miss Branghton, "I like it because it is not
vulgar."
"This must have been a fine treat for you, Miss," said Mr. Branghton;
"why, I suppose you was never so happy in all your life before?"
I endeavoured to express my satisfaction with some pleasure; yet,
I believe, they were much amazed at my coldness.
"Miss ought to stay in town till the last night," said young Branghton;
"and then, it's my belief, she'd say something to it! Why, Lord,
it's the best night of any; there's always a riot,-and there the folks
run about,-and then there's such squealing and squalling!-and, there,
all the lamps are broke,-and the women run skimper scamper.-I declare
I would not take five guineas to miss the last night!"
I was very glad when they all grew tired of sitting, and called for
the waiter to pay the bill. The Miss Branghtons said they would walk
on while the gentlemen settled the account, and asked me to accompany
them; which, however, I declined.
"You girls may do as you please," said Madame Duval; "but as to me,
I promise you, I sha'n't go nowhere without the gentlemen."
"No more, I suppose, will my cousin," said Miss Branghton, looking
reproachfully towards Mr. Smith.
This reflection, which I feared would flatter his vanity, made me most
unfortunately request Madame Duval's permission to attend them. She
granted it; and away we went, having promised to meet in the room.
To the room, therefore, I would immediately have gone: but the sisters
agreed that they would first have a little pleasure; and they tittered
and talked so loud, that they attracted universal notice.
"Lord, Polly," said the eldest, "suppose we were to take a turn in
the dark walks!"
"Aye, do," answered she; "and then we'll hide ourselves, and then
Mr. Brown will think we are lost."
I remonstrated very warmly against this plan, telling them it would
endanger our missing the rest of the party all the evening.
"O dear," cried Miss Branghton, "I thought how uneasy Miss would be
without a beau!"
This impertinence I did not think worth answering; and, quite by
compulsion, I followed them down a long alley, in which there was
hardly any light.
By the time we came near the end, a large party of gentlemen,
apparently very riotous, and who were hallooing, leaning on one
another, and laughing immoderately, seemed to rush suddenly from
behind some trees, and meeting us face to face, put their arms at
their sides, and formed a kind of circle, which first stopped our
proceeding, and then our retreating, for we were presently entirely
enclosed. The Miss Branghtons screamed aloud, and I was frightened
exceedingly; our screams were answered with bursts of laughter, and
for some minutes we were kept prisoners, till at last one of them,
rudely seizing hold of me, said I was a pretty little creature.
Terrified to death, I struggled with such vehemence to disengage
myself from him, that I succeeded, in spite of his efforts to detain
me; and immediately, and with a swiftness which fear only could have
given me, I flew rather than ran up the walk, hoping to secure my
safety by returning to the lights and company we had so foolishly
left: but before I could possibly accomplish my purpose, I was met
by another party of men, one of whom placed himself so directly in
my way, calling out, "Whither so fast, my love?"-that I could only
have proceeded by running into his arms.
In a moment both my hands, by different persons, were caught hold of,
and one of them, in a most familiar manner, desired, when I ran next,
to accompany me in a race; while the rest of the party stood still
and laughed.
I was almost distracted with terror, and so breathless with running,
that I could not speak; till another, advancing, said, I was as
handsome as an angel, and desired to be of the party. I then just
articulated, "For Heaven's sake, gentlemen, let me pass!"
Another then rushing suddenly forward, exclaimed, "Heaven and
earth! What voice is that?-"
"The voice of the prettiest little actress I have seen this age,"
answered one of my persecutors.
"No,-no,-no-" I panted out, "I am no actress-pray let me go,-pray
let me pass-"
"By all that's sacred," cried the same voice, which I then knew for
Sir Clement Willoughby's, "'tis herself!"
"Sir Clement Willoughby!" cried I. "O, Sir, assist-assist me-or I
shall die with terror!"
"Gentlemen," cried he, disengaging them all from me in an instant,
"pray leave this lady to me."
Loud laughs proceeded from every mouth, and two or three said
Willoughby has all the luck! But one of them, in a passionate manner,
vowed he would not give me up, for that he had the first right to me,
and would support it.
"You are mistaken," said Sir Clement, "this lady is-I will explain
myself to you another time; but, I assure you, you are all mistaken."
And then taking my willing hand, he led me off, amidst the loud
acclamations, laughter, and gross merriment of his impertinent
companions.
As soon as we had escaped from them, Sir Clement, with a voice of
surprise, exclaimed, "My dearest creature, what wonder, what strange
revolution, has brought you to such a place as this?"
Ashamed of my situation, and extremely mortified to be thus recognized
by him, I was for some time silent; and when he repeated his question,
only stammered out, "I have,-I hardly know how,-lost from my party-"
He caught my hand, and eagerly pressing it, in a passionate voice said,
"O that I had sooner met with thee!"
Surprised at a freedom so unexpected, I angrily broke from him, saying,
"Is this the protection you give me, Sir Clement?"
And then I saw, what the perturbation of my mind had prevented my
sooner noticing, that he had led me, though I know not how, into
another of the dark alleys, instead of the place whither I meant to go.
"Good God!" I cried, "where am I?-What way are you going?"
"Where," answered he, "we shall be least observed!"
Astonished at this speech, I stopped short, and declared I would go
no further.
"And why not, my angel?" again endeavouring to take my hand.
My heart beat with resentment; I pushed him away from me with all my
strength, and demanded how he dared treat me with such insolence?
"Insolence!" repeated he.
"Yes, Sir Clement, insolence; from you, who know me, I had a claim
for protection,-not to such treatment as this."
"By Heaven," cried he, with warmth, "you distract me;-why, tell
me,-why do I see you here?-Is this a place for Miss Anville?-these
dark walks!-no party! no companion!-by all that's good I can scarce
believe my senses!"
Extremely offended at this speech, I turned angrily from him: and,
not deigning to make any answer, walked on towards that part of the
garden whence I perceived the lights and company.
He followed me; but we were both some time silent.
"So you will not explain to me your situation?" said he, at length.
"No, Sir," answered I, disdainfully.
"Nor yet-suffer me to make my own interpretation?-"
I could not bear this strange manner of speaking; it made my very
soul shudder,-and I burst into tears.
He flew to me, and actually flung himself at my feet, as if
regardless who might see him, saying, "O, Miss Anville,-loveliest of
women,-forgive my,-my,-I beseech you forgive me;-if I have offended-if
I have hurt you-I could kill myself at the thought!-"
"No matter, Sir, no matter," cried I; "if I can but find my friends,-I
will never speak to-never see you again!"
"Good God!-good Heaven! My dearest life, what is it I have done?-what
is it I have said?-"
"You best know, Sir, what and why: but don't hold me here,-let me be
gone; and do you!"
"Not till you forgive me!-I cannot part with you in anger."
"For shame, for shame, Sir!" cried I, indignantly, "do you suppose I
am to be thus compelled?-do you take advantage of the absence of my
friends to affront me?"
"No, Madam," cried he, rising: "I would sooner forfeit my life than
act so mean a part. But you have flung me into amazement unspeakable,
and you will not condescend to listen to my request of giving me
some explanation."
"The manner, Sir," said I, "in which you spoke that request, made,
and will make, me scorn to answer it."
"Scorn!-I will own to you, I expected not such displeasure from
Miss Anville."
"Perhaps, Sir, if you had, you would less voluntarily have merited it."
"My dearest life, surely it must be known to you, that the man does
not breathe who adores you so passionately, so fervently, so tenderly
as I do!-Why, then, will you delight in perplexing me?-in keeping me
in suspense?-in torturing me with doubt?"
"I, Sir, delight in perplexing you!-you are much mistaken.-Your
suspense, your doubts, your perplexities,-are of your own creating;
and believe me, Sir, they may offend, but they can never delight
me:-but as you have yourself raised, you must yourself satisfy them."
"Good God!-that such haughtiness and such sweetness can inhabit the
same mansion!"
I made no answer; but quickening my pace I walked on silently and
sullenly, till this most impetuous of men, snatching my hand, which he
grasped with violence, besought me to forgive him with such earnestness
of supplication, that, merely to escape his importunities, I was forced
to speak, and in some measure to grant the pardon he requested; though
it was accorded with a very ill grace: but, indeed, I knew not how
to resist the humility of his intreaties: yet never shall I recollect
the occasion he gave me of displeasure, without feeling it renewed.
We now soon arrived in the midst of the general crowd; and, my own
safety being then insured, I grew extremely uneasy for the Miss
Branghtons, whose danger, however imprudently incurred by their own
folly, I too well knew how to tremble for. To this consideration all
my pride of heart yielded, and I determined to seek my party with the
utmost speed; though not without a sigh did I recollect the fruitless
attempt I had made after the opera, of concealing from this man my
unfortunate connections, which I was now obliged to make known.
I hastened, therefore, to the room, with a view of sending young
Branghton to the aid of his sisters. In a very short time I perceived
Madame Duval, and the rest, looking at one of the paintings.
I must own to you honestly, my dear Sir, that an involuntary repugnance
seized me at presenting such a set to Sir Clement,-he who had been used
to see me in parties so different!-My pace slackened as I approached
them,-but they presently perceived me.
"Ah, Mademoiselle!" cried M. Du Bois, "Que je suis charm-e; de vous
voir!"
"Pray, Miss," cried Mr. Brown, "where's Miss Polly?"
"Why, Miss, you've been a long while gone," said Mr. Branghton;
"we thought you'd been lost. But what have you done with your cousins?"
I hesitated,-for Sir Clement regarded me with a look of wonder.
"Pardi," cried Madame Duval, "I shan't let you leave me again in
a hurry. Why, here we've been in such a fright!-and all the while,
I suppose, you've been thinking nothing about the matter."
"Well," said young Branghton," as long as Miss is come back, I don't
mind; for as to Bid and Poll, they can take care of themselves. But
the best joke is, Mr. Smith is gone all about a looking for you."
These speeches were made almost in a breath: but when, at last,
they waited for an answer, I told them, that, in walking up one of
the long alleys, we had been frightened and separated.
"The long alleys!" repeated Mr. Branghton, "and pray, what had you
to do in the long alleys? why, to be sure, you must all of you have
had a mind to be affronted!"
This speech was not more impertinent to me, than surprising to Sir
Clement, who regarded all the party with evident astonishment. However,
I told young Branghton, no time ought to be lost, for that his sisters
might require his immediate protection.
"But how will they get it?" cried this brutal brother: "if they've
a mind to behave in such a manner as that, they ought to protect
themselves; and so they may for me."
"Well," said the simple Mr. Brown, "whether you go or not, I think
I may as well see after Miss Polly."
The father then interfering, insisted that his son should accompany
him; and away they went.
It was now that Madame Duval first perceived Sir Clement; to whom,
turning with a look of great displeasure, she angrily said, "Ma foi,
so you are comed here, of all the people in the world!-I wonder, child,
you would let such a-such a person as that keep company with you."
"I am very sorry, Madam," said Sir Clement, in a tone of surprise,
"if I had been so unfortunate as to offend you; but I believe you
will not regret the honour I now have of attending Miss Anville,
when you hear that I have been so happy as to do her some service."
Just as Madame Duval, with her usual Ma foi, was beginning to
reply, the attention of Sir Clement was wholly drawn from her, by
the appearance of Mr. Smith, who, coming suddenly behind me, and
freely putting his hands of my shoulders, cried, "O ho, my little
runaway, have I found you at last? I have been scampering all over
the gardens for you, for I was determined to find you, if you were
above ground.-But how could you be so cruel as to leave us?"
I turned round to him, and looked with a degree of contempt that I
hoped would have quieted him: but he had not the sense to understand
me; and, attempting to take my hand, he added, "Such a demure-looking
lady as you are, who'd have thought of your leading one such a
dance?-Come, now, don't be so coy; only think what a trouble I have
had in running after you!"
"The trouble, Sir," said I, "was of your own choice,-not mine." And
I walked round to the other side of Madame Duval.
Perhaps I was too proud;-but I could not endure that Sir Clement,
whose eyes followed him with looks of the most surprised curiosity,
should witness his unwelcome familiarity.
Upon my removal he came up to me, and, in a low voice, said, "You
are not, then, with the Mirvans?"
"No, Sir."
"And pray,-may I ask you,-have you left them long?"
"No, Sir."
"How unfortunate I am!-but yesterday I sent to acquaint the Captain
I should reach the Grove by to-morrow noon! However, I shall get away
as fast as possible. Shall you be long in town?"
"I believe not, Sir."
"And then, when you leave it-which way-will you allow me to ask,
which way you shall travel?"
"Indeed,-I don't know."
"Not know!-But do you return to the Mirvans any more?"
"I-I can't tell, Sir."
And then I addressed myself to Madame Duval, with such a pretended
earnestness, that he was obliged to be silent.
As he cannot but observe the great change in my situation, which
he knows not how to account for, there is something in all these
questions, and this unrestrained curiosity, that I did not expect
from a man who, when he pleases, can be so well-bred as Sir Clement
Willoughby. He seems disposed to think that the alteration in my
companions authorises an alteration in his manners. It is true, he
has always treated me with uncommon freedom, but never before with
so disrespectful an abruptness. This observation, which he has given
me cause to make, of his changing with the tide, has sunk him more
in my opinion than any other part of his conduct.
Yet I could almost have laughed when I looked at Mr. Smith, who no
sooner saw me addressed by Sir Clement, than, retreating aloof from
the company, he seemed to lose at once all his happy self-sufficiency
and conceit; looking now at the baronet, now at himself; surveying,
with sorrowful eyes, his dress; struck with his air, his gestures,
his easy gaiety, he gazed at him with envious admiration, and seemed
himself, with conscious inferiority, to shrink into nothing.
Soon after, Mr. Brown, running up to us, called out, "La, what,
i'n't Miss Polly come yet?"
"Come," said Mr. Branghton; "why, I thought you went to fetch her
yourself, didn't you?"
"Yes, but I couldn't find her;-yet I daresay I've been over half
the garden."
"Half? but why did not you go over it all?"
"Why, so I will: but only I thought I'd just come and see if she was
here first."
"But where's Tom?"
"Why, I don't know; for he would not stay with me, all as ever I
could say: for we met some young gentlemen of his acquaintance,
and so he bid me go and look by myself; for he said, says he, I can
divert myself better another way, says he."
This account being given, away again went this silly young man;
and Mr. Branghton, extremely incensed, said he would go and see
after them himself.
"So, now", cried Madame Duval, "he's gone too! why, at this rate,
we shall have to wait for one or other of them all night!"
Observing that Sir Clement seemed disposed to renew his enquiries,
I turned towards one of the paintings, and, pretending to be very much
occupied in looking at it, asked M. Du Bois some questions concerning
the figures.
"O! Mon Dieu!" cried Madame Duval, "don't ask him; your best way is
to ask Mr. Smith, for he's been here the oftenest. Come, Mr. Smith,
I dare say you can tell us all about them."
"Why, yes, Ma'am, yes," said Mr. Smith: who, brightening up at this
application, advanced towards us with an air of assumed importance,
which, however, sat very uneasily upon him, and begged to know what he
should explain first: "For I have attended," said he, "to all these
paintings, and know every thing in them perfectly well; for I am
rather fond of pictures, Ma'am; and, really, I must say, I think, a
pretty pictures is a-a very-is really a very-is something very pretty-"
"So do I too," said Madame Duval; "but pray now, Sir, tell us who
that is meant for," pointing to a figure of Neptune.
"That!-why, that, Ma'am, is,-Lord bless me, I can't think how I
come to be so stupid, but really I have forgot his name;-and yet,
I know it as well as my own too:-however, he's a General, Ma'am,
they are all Generals."
I saw Sir Clement bite his lips; and, indeed, so did I mine.
"Well," said Madame Duval, "it's the oddest dress for a general ever
I see!"
"He seems so capital a figure," said Sir Clement, to Mr. Smith,
"that I imagine he must be Generalissimo of the whole army."
"Yes, Sir, yes," answered Mr. Smith, respectfully bowing, and highly
delighted at being thus referred to, "you are perfectly right;-but I
cannot for my life think of his name;-perhaps, Sir, you may remember
it?"
"No, really," replied Sir Clement, "my acquaintance among the generals
is not so extensive."
The ironical tone of voice in which Sir Clement spoke entirely
disconcerted Mr. Smith; who again retiring to an humble distance,
seemed sensibly mortified at the failure of his attempt to recover
his consequence.
Soon after, Mr. Branghton returned with his youngest daughter, who
he had rescued from a party of insolent young men; but he had not
yet been able to find the eldest. Miss Polly was really frightened,
and declared she would never go into the dark walks again. Her father,
leaving her with us, went in quest of her sister.
While she was relating her adventures, to which nobody listened more
attentively than Sir Clement, we saw Mr. Brown enter the room. "O,
la!" cried Miss Polly, "let me hide myself, and don't tell him
I'm come."
She then placed herself behind Madame Duval, in such a manner that
she could not be seen.
"So Miss Polly is not come yet!" said the simple swain: "well,
I can't think where she can be! I've been looking, and looking,
and looking all about, and can't find her all I can do."
"Well, but, Mr. Brown," said Mr. Smith, "sha'n't you go and look for
the lady again?"
"Yes, Sir," said he, sitting down; "but I must rest me a little bit
first. You can't think how tired I am."
"O fie, Mr. Brown, fie," cried Mr. Smith, winking at us, "tired of
looking for a lady! Go, go, for shame!"
"So I will, Sir, presently; but you'd be tired too, if you had walked
so far: besides, I think she's gone out of the garden, or else I must
have seen something or other of her."
A he, he he! of the tittering Polly, now betrayed her, and so ended
this ingenious little artifice.
At last appeared Mr. Branghton and Miss Biddy, who, with a face of
mixed anger and confusion, addressing herself to me, said, "So, Miss,
so you ran away from me! Well, see if I don't do as much by you some
day or other! But I thought how it would be; you'd no mind to leave
the gentlemen, though you run away from me."
I was so much surprised at this attack, that I could not answer her
for very amazement; and she proceeded to tell us how ill she had
been used, and that two young men had been making her walk up and
down the dark walks by absolute force, and as fast as ever they could
tear her along; and many other particulars, which I will not tire you
with relating. In conclusion, looking at Mr. Smith, she said, "But to
be sure, thought I, at least all the company will be looking for me;
so I little expected to find you all here, talking as comfortably as
ever you can. However, I know I may thank my cousin for it!"
"If you mean me, Madam," said I, very much shocked, "I am quite
ignorant in what manner I can have been accessary to your distress."
"Why, by running away so. If you'd stayed with us, I'll answer for
it Mr. Smith and M. Du Bois would have come to look for us; but I
suppose they could not leave your ladyship."
The folly and unreasonableness of this speech would admit of no
answer. But what a scene was this for Sir Clement! his surprise was
evident; and I must acknowledge my confusion was equally great.
We had now to wait for young Branghton, who did not appear for some
time; and during this interval it was with difficulty that I avoided
Sir Clement, who was on the rack of curiosity, and dying to speak
to me.
When, at last, the hopeful youth returned, a long and frightful quarrel
ensued between him and his father, in which his sisters occasionally
joined, concerning his neglect; and he defended himself only by a
brutal mirth, which he indulged at their expense.
Every one now seemed inclined to depart,-when, as usual, a dispute
arose upon the way of our going, whether in a coach or a boat. After
much debating, it was determined that we should make two parties,
one by the water and the other by land; for Madame Duval declared
she would not, upon any account, go into a boat at night.
Sir Clement then said, that if she had no carriage in waiting, he
should be happy to see her and me safe home, as his was in readiness.
Fury started into her eyes, and passion inflamed every feature, as she
answered, "Pardi, no-you may take care of yourself, if you please; but
as to me, I promise you I sha'n't trust myself with no such person."
He pretended not to comprehend her meaning; yet, to waive a discussion,
acquiesced in her refusal. The coach-party fixed upon, consisted of
Madame Duval, M. Du Bois, Miss Branghton, and myself.
I now began to rejoice, in private, that at least our lodgings
would be neither seen nor known by Sir Clement. We soon met with a
hackney-coach, into which he handed me, and then took leave.
Madame Duval having already given the coachman her direction, he
mounted the box, and we were just driving off, when Sir Clement
exclaimed, "By Heaven, this is the very coach I had in waiting for
myself!"
"This coach, your honour!" said the man; "no, that it i'n't."
Sir Clement, however, swore that it was; and presently, the man,
begging his pardon, said he had really forgotten that he was engaged.
I have no doubt but that this scheme occurred to him at the moment,
and that he made some sign to the coachman, which induced him to
support it; for there is not the least probability that the accident
really happened, as it is most likely his own chariot was in waiting.
The man then opened the coach-door, and Sir Clement, advancing to
it, said "I don't believe there is another carriage to be had, or
I would not incommode you; but, as it may be disagreeable to you to
wait here any longer, I beg you will not get out, for you shall be
set down before I am carrie |
