Book: Helen

M >> Maria Edgeworth >> Helen




Lady Davenant joined with him in his regrets, and added, that she feared
society in England would soon be brought to the same condition.

"No," said the French gentleman, "English ladies will never be so vehement
as my countrywomen; they will never become, I hope, like some of our lady
politicians, '_qui heurlent comme des demons_.'"

Lady Cecilia said that, from what she had seen at Paris, she was persuaded
that if the ladies did bawl too loud it was because the gentlemen did
not listen to them; that above half the party-violence which appeared in
Parisian belles was merely dramatic, to produce a sensation, and draw the
gentlemen, from the black _pelotons_ in which they gathered, back to their
proper positions round the _fauteuils_ of the fair ladies.

The foreigner, speaking to what he saw passing in Lady Davenant's mind,
went on;--"Ladies can do much, however, in this as in all other dilemmas
where their power is, and ought to be, omnipotent."

"Female _influence_ is and ought to be _potent,_" said the general, with an
emphasis on influence, contradistinguishing it from power, and reducing
the exaggeration of omnipotent by the short process of lopping off two
syllables.

"So long as ladies keep in their own proper character," said Lady Davenant,
"all is well; but, if once they cease to act as women, that instant they
lose their privilege--their charm: they forfeit their exorcising power;
they can no longer command the demon of party nor themselves, and he
transforms them directly, as you say," said she to the French gentleman,
"into actual furies."

"And, when so transformed, sometimes unconscious of their state," said the
general, drily, his eye glancing towards the other end of the room, and
lighting upon Lady Bearcroft, who was at the instant very red and very
loud; and Lady Cecilia was standing, as if watchful for a moment's pause,
in which to interpose her word of peace. She waited for some time in vain,
for when she hastened from the other end of the room to this--the scene
of action, things had come to such a pass between the ladies Masham and
Bearcroft, that mischief, serious mischief, must have ensued, had not
Lady Cecilia, at utmost need, summoned to her aid the happy genius of
Nonsense--the genius of Nonsense, in whose elfin power even Love delights;
on whom Reason herself condescends often to smile, even when Logic frowns,
and chops him on his block: but cut in twain, the ethereal spirit soon
unites again, and lives, and laughs. But mark him well--this little happy
genius of Nonsense; see that he be the true thing--the genuine spirit. You
will know him by his well-bred air and tone, which none can counterfeit;
and by his smile; for while most he makes others laugh, the arch little
rogue seldom goes beyond a smile himself! Graceful in the midst of all
his pranks, he never goes too far--though far enough he has been known to
go--he has crept into the armour of the great hero, convulsed the senate in
the wig of a chancellor, and becomingly, decorously, put on now and then
the mitre of an archbishop. "If good people," said Archbishop Usher, "would
but make goodness agreeable, and smile, instead of frowning in their
virtue, how many they would win to the good cause!" Lady Cecilia in this
was good at need, and at her utmost need, obedient to her call, came this
happy little genius, and brought with him song and dance, riddle and
charade, and comic prints; and on a half-opened parcel of books Cecilia
darted, and produced a Comic Annual, illustrated by him whom no risible
muscles can resist. All smiled who understood, and mirth admitted of her
crew all who smiled, and party-spirit fled. But there were foreigners
present. Foreigners cannot well understand our local allusions; our
Cruikshank is to them unintelligible, and Hood's "Sorrows of Number One"
quite lost upon them. Then Lady Bearcroft thought she would do as much as
Lady Cecilia, and more--that she would produce what these poor foreigners
could comprehend. But not at her call came the genius of lively nonsense,
he heard her not. In his stead came that counterfeit, who thinks it witty
to be rude:

"And placing raillery in railing,
Will tell aloud your greatest failing--"

that vulgar imp yclept Fun--known by his broad grin, by his loud tone, and
by his rude banter. Head foremost forcing himself in, came he, and brought
with him a heap of coarse caricatures, and they were party caricatures.

"Capital!" Lady Bearcroft, however, pronounced them, as she spread all upon
the table for applause--but no applause ensued.

Not such, these, as real good English humour produces and enjoys,
independently of party--these were all too broad, too coarse. Lady Davenant
despised, the general detested. Helen turned away, and Lady Cecilia threw
them under the table, that they might not be seen by the foreigners.
"For the honour of England, do not let them be spread abroad, pray, Lady
Bearcroft."

"The world is grown mighty nice!" said Lady Bearcroft; "for my part, give
me a good laugh when it is to be had."

"Perhaps we shall find one here," said Lady Cecilia, opening a portfolio
of caricatures in a different style, but they were old, and Lady Bearcroft
would have thrown them aside; but Lord Davenant observed that, if they have
lasted so long,--they must be good, because their humour only can ensure
their permanence; the personality dies with the person: for instance,
in the famous old print of the minister rat-catcher, in the Westminster
election, the likeness to each rat of the day is lost to us, but the
ridicule on placemen ratters remains. The whole, however, is perfectly
incomprehensible to foreigners. "Rats! rat!" repeated one of the
foreigners, as he looked at and studied the print. It was amusing to see
the gravity with which this foreign diplomatist, quite new to England,
listened to Lady Bearcroft's explanation of what is meant in English by a
_rat political_. She was at first rather good on this topic, professing
a supernatural acuteness of the senses, arising from an unconquerable
antipathy, born with her, to the whole race of _rats_. She declared that
she could see a rat a mile off in any man--could, from the moment a man
opened his mouth in parliament, or on the hustings, prophesy whether he
would turn into a rat at last, or not. She, moreover, understood the
language of rats of every degree, and knew even when they said "No," that
they meant "Yes,"--two monosyllables, the test of rats, which betray them
all sooner or later, and transform the biped into the quadruped, who then
turns tail, and runs always to the other side, from whatever side he may be
of.

The _charge-d'affaires_ stood in half bow, lending deferential ear and
serious attention the whole time of this lecture upon rats, without being
able from beginning to end to compass its meaning, and at the close, with a
disconsolate shrug, he exclaimed, "_Ah! Je renonce a ca_--"

Lady Bearcroft went on--"Since I cannot make your excellency understand
by description what I mean by an English rat-political, I must give you
an example or two, dead and living--living best, and I have more than one
noted and branded rat in my eye."

But Lady Cecilia, anxious to interrupt this perilous business, hastily rang
for wine and water; and as the gentlemen went to help themselves she gave
them a general toast, as sitting down to the piano-forte, to the tune of--
"Here's to the maiden of blushing fifteen"--

She sang--

"Here's to rats and ratcatchers of every degree,
The rat that is trapped, and the rat that is free,
The rat that is shy, sir, the rat that is bold, sir,
The rat upon sale, sir, the rat that is sold, sir.
Let the rats rat! Success to them all,
And well off to the old ones before the house fall!"




CHAPTER XII.


Sir Benjamin and Lady Bearcroft departed at six o'clock the next morning,
and all the rest of the political and diplomatic corps _left_ immediately
after breakfast.

Lady Davenant looked relieved, the general satisfied, and Lady Cecilia
consoled herself with the hope that, if she had done no good, she had not
done any harm. This was a bad slide, perhaps, in the magic lantern, but
would leave no trace behind. She began now to be very impatient for
Beauclerc's appearance; always sanguine, and as rapid in her conclusions as
she was precipitate in her actions, she felt no doubt, no anxiety, as to
the future; for, though she refrained from questioning Helen as to her
sentiments for Beauclerc, she was pretty well satisfied on that subject.
Helen was particularly grateful to Lady Cecilia for this forbearance, being
almost ashamed to own, even to herself, how exceedingly happy she felt; and
now that it was no longer wrong in her to love, or dishonourable in him
to wish to be loved, she was surprised to find how completely the idea
of Beauclerc was connected with and interwoven through all her thoughts,
pursuits, and sentiments. He had certainly been constantly in her company
for several months, a whole summer, but she could scarcely believe that
during this time he could have become so necessary to her happiness. While,
with still increasing agitation, she looked forward to his arrival, she
felt as if Lady Davenant's presence was a sort of protection, a something
to rely on, in the new circumstances in which she was to be placed. Lord
Davenant had returned to town, but Lady Davenant remained. The Russian
embassy seemed still in abeyance.

One morning as Helen was sitting in Lady Davenant's room alone with her,
she said suddenly: "At your age, Helen, I had as little taste for what are
called politics as you have, yet you see what I am come to, and by the same
road you may, you will, arrive at the same point."

"I! oh, I hope not!" cried Helen, almost before she felt the whole
inference that might he drawn from this exclamation.

"You hope not?" repeated her ladyship calmly. "Let us consider this matter
rationally, and put our hopes, and our fears, and our prejudices out of the
question, if possible. Let me observe to you, that the position of women in
society is somewhat different from what it was a hundred years ago, or as
it was sixty, or I will say thirty years since. Women are now so highly
cultivated, and political subjects are at present of so much importance, of
such high interest, to all human creatures who live together in society,
you can hardly expect, Helen, that you, as a rational being, can go through
the world as it now is, without forming any opinion on points of public
importance. You cannot, I conceive, satisfy yourself with the common
namby-pamby little missy phrase, 'ladies have nothing to do with
politics.'"

Helen blushed, for she was conscious that, wrong or right, namby-pamby,
little missy, or not, she had hitherto satisfied herself very comfortably
with some such thought.

"Depend upon it, Helen," resumed Lady Davenant, "that when you are married,
your love for a man of superior abilities, and of superior character, must
elevate your mind to sympathy with all his pursuits, with all the subjects
which claim his attention."

Helen felt that she must become strongly interested in every subject in
which the man she loved was interested; but still she observed that she had
not abilities or information, like Lady Davenant's, that could justify her
in attempting to follow her example. Besides, Helen was sure that, even if
she had, it would not suit her taste; and besides, in truth, she did not
think it well suited to a woman--she stopped when she came to that last
thought. But what kindness and respect suppressed was clearly understood by
her penetrating friend. Fixing her eyes upon Helen, she said with a
smile, the candour and nobleness of her character rising above all little
irritation of temper.

"I agree with you, my dear Helen, in all you do _not_ say, and were I to
begin life over again, my conduct should in some respects be different. Of
the public dangers and private personal inconveniences that may result
from women becoming politicians, or, as you better express our meaning
interfering, with public affairs, no one can be more aware than I am.
_Interfering_, observe I say, for I would mark and keep the line between
influence and interference. Female influence must, will, and ought to exist
on political subjects as on all others; but this influence should always
be domestic, not public--the customs of society have so ruled it. Of the
thorns in the path of ambitious men all moralists talk, but there are
little, scarcely visible, thorns of a peculiar sort that beset the path
of an ambitious woman, the venomous prickles of the _domestic bramble_, a
plant not perhaps mentioned in Withering's Botany, or the Hortus Kewensis,
but it is too well known to many, and to me it has been sorely known."

At this instant General Clarendon came in with some letters, which had been
forwarded to him express. One, for Lady Davenant, he had been desired
to put into her hands himself: he retired, and Lady Davenant opened the
letter. By the first glance at her countenance, Helen saw that there was
something in it which had surprised and given her great concern. Helen
withdrew her eyes, and waited till she should speak. But Lady Davenant was
quite silent, and Helen, looking at her again, saw her put her hand to her
heart, as if from some sudden sense of violent bodily pain, and she sank
on the sofa, fell back, and became as pale as death and motionless.
Excessively frightened, Helen threw open the window, rang the bell for Lady
Davenant's own woman, and sent the page for Lady Cecilia. In a few moments
Lady Cecilia and Elliott came. Neither was as much alarmed as Helen
had expected they would be. They had seen Lady Davenant, under similar
attacks--they knew what remedies to apply. Elliott was a remarkably
composed, steady person. She now went on doing all that was necessary
without speaking a word. The paroxysm lasted longer than usual, as Lady
Cecilia observed; and, though she continued her assurances to Helen that
"It was all nervous--only nerves," she began evidently to be herself
alarmed. At length symptoms of returning animation appeared, and then
Cecilia retired, beckoning to Helen to follow her into the next room. "We
had better leave mamma to Elliott, she will be happier if she thinks we
know nothing of the matter." Then, recollecting that Helen had been in the
room when this attack came on, she added--"But no, you must go back, for
mamma will remember that you were present--take as little notice, however,
as possible of what has happened."

Cecilia said that her mother, when they were abroad, had been subject to
such seizures at intervals, "and in former times, before I was born, I
believe," said Lady Cecilia, "she had some kind of extraordinary disease
in the heart; but she has a particular aversion to being thought nervous.
Every physician who has ever pronounced her nervous has always displeased
her, and has been dismissed. She was once quite vexed with me for barely
suggesting the idea. There," cried Cecilia, "I hear her voice, go to her."

Helen followed Lady Cecilia's suggestion, and took as little notice as
possible of what had happened. Elliott disappeared as she entered--the page
was waiting at the door, but to Helen's satisfaction Lady Davenant did not
admit him. "Not yet; tell him I will ring when I want him," said she. The
door closed: and Lady Davenant, turning to Helen, said, "Whether I live or
die is a point of some consequence to the friends who love me; but there
is another question, Helen, of far more importance to me, and, I trust,
to them. That question is, whether I continue to live as I have lived,
honoured and respected, or live and die dishonoured and despised,"--her eye
glanced towards the letter she had been reading. "My poor child," continued
Lady Davenant, looking at Helen's agitated countenance,--"My poor child, I
will not keep you in suspense." She then told Helen that she was suspected
of having revealed a secret of state that had been confided to her husband,
and which it was supposed, and truly supposed, that Lord Davenant had told
to her. Beyond its political importance, the disclosure involved a charge
of baseness, in her having betrayed confidence, having suffered a copy of a
letter from an illustrious personage to be handed about and read by several
people. "Lord Davenant as yet knows nothing of this, the effect upon him is
what I most dread. I cannot show you this," continued she, opening again
the letter she had just received, "because it concerns others as well as
myself. I am, at all events, under obligations that can never be forgotten
to the person who gave me this timely notice, which could no otherwise have
reached me, and the person to whom I am thus obliged is one, Helen, whom
neither you nor I like, and whom Cecilia particularly dislikes--Miss
Clarendon! Her manner of doing me this service is characteristic: she
begins,

"'Miss Clarendon is aware that Lady Davenant has no liking for her, but
that shall not prevent Miss Clarendon from doing what she thinks an act of
justice towards a noble character falsely attacked.'"--Lady Davenant read
no more.

"Had not you better wait till you are stronger, my dear Lady Davenant!"
said Helen, seeing her prepare to write.

"It was once said, gloriously well," replied Lady Davenant, "that the
duties of life are more than life itself--so I think."

While she wrote, Helen thought of what she had just heard, and she ventured
to interrupt Lady Davenant to ask if she had formed any idea of the means
by which the secret could have been betrayed--or the copy of the letter
obtained.

Yes, she had a suspicion of one person, the diplomatist to whom Mr. Harley
had shown such a mortal antipathy. She recollected that the last morning
the _Congress_ had sat in Lord Davenant's cabinet, she had left her
writing-desk there, and this letter was in it; she thought that she had
locked the desk when she had left the room, it certainly was fast when she
returned, but it had a spring Bramah lock, and its being shut down would
have fastened it. She had no proof one way or other, her suspicion rested
where was her instinctive dislike. It was remarkable, however, that she at
once did justice to another person whom she did not like, Mr. Mapletofft,
Lord Davenant's secretary. "His manners do not please me," she said, "but I
have perfect confidence in his integrity."

Helen felt and admired this generous candour, but her suspicions were not
of the diplomatist alone: she thought of one who might perhaps have been
employed by him--Carlos the page. And many circumstances, which she
recollected and put together, now strengthened this suspicion. She wondered
it had not occurred to Lady Davenant; she thought it must, but that she did
not choose to mention it. Helen had often heard Lady Davenant's particular
friends complain that it was extremely disagreeable to them to have this
boy constantly in the room, whatever might be the conversation. There was
the page, either before or behind a screen, always within hearing.

Lady Davenant said that, as Carlos was a Portuguese, and had never been in
England till she had brought him over, a few months before, he could not
understand English well enough to comprehend what was going on. This was
doubted, especially by Helen, who had watched his countenance, and had
represented her doubts and her reasons for them to Lady Davenant, but she
was not convinced. It was one of the few points on which she could justly
be reproached with adhering to her fancy instead of listening to reason.
The more Carlos was attacked, the more she adhered to him. In fact, it was
not so much because he was a favourite, as because he was a _protege_;
he was completely dependent upon her protection: she had brought him to
England, had saved him from his mother, a profligate camp-follower, had
freed him from the most miserable condition possible, and had raised him
to easy, happy, confidential life. To the generous the having conferred
an obligation is in itself a tie hard to sever. All noble-minded people
believe in fidelity, and never doubt of gratitude; they throw their own
souls into those they oblige, and think and feel for them, as they, in
their situation, would think and feel. Lady Davenant considered it an
injustice to doubt the attachment of this boy, and a cruelty she deemed it
to suspect him causelessly of being the most base of human creatures--he, a
young defenceless orphan. Helen had more than once offended, by attempting
to stop Lady Davenant from speaking imprudently before Carlos; she was
afraid, even at this moment, to irritate her by giving utterance to her
doubts; she determined, therefore, to keep them to herself till she had
some positive grounds for her suspicions. She resolved to watch the boy
very carefully. Presently, having finished her letters, Lady Davenant rang
for him. Helen's eyes were upon Carlos the moment he entered, and her
thoughts did not escape observation.

"You are wrong, Helen," said Lady Davenant, as she lighted the taper to
seal her letters.

"If I am not right," said Helen, keeping her eyes upon the boy's changing
countenance, "I am too suspicious--but observe, am I not right, at this
instant, in thinking that his countenance is _bad?_"

Lady Davenant could not but see that countenance change in an extraordinary
manner, in spite of his efforts to keep it steady.

"You cause that of which you complain," said she, going on sealing her
letters deliberately. "In courts of public justice, and in private equity,"
the word _equity_ she pronounced with an austere emphasis, "how often is
the change of countenance misinterpreted. The sensibility of innocence,
that cannot bear to be suspected, is often mistaken for the confusion worse
confounded of guilt."

Helen observed, that, as Lady Davenant spoke, and spoke in his favour, the
boy's countenance cleared up; that vacillating expression of fear, and
consciousness of having something within him unwhipt of justice, completely
disappeared, and his whole air was now bold and open--towards Helen, almost
an air of defiance.

"What do you think is the cause of this change in his countenance--you
observe it, do you not?" asked Helen.

"Yes, and the cause is as plain as the change. He sees I do not suspect
him, though you do; and seeing, Helen, that he has at least one friend in
the world, who will do him justice, the orphan boy takes courage."

"I wish I could be as good as you are, my dearest Lady Davenant," said
Helen; "but I cannot help still feeling, and saying,--I doubt. Now observe
him, while I speak; I will turn my eyes away, that my terrible looks may
not confound him. You say he knows that you do not suspect him, and that I
do. How does he know it?"

"How!" said Lady Davenant. "By the universal language of the eyes."

"Not only by that universal language, I think," said Helen; "but I suspect
he understands every word we say."

Helen, without ever looking up from a bunch of seals which she was rubbing
bright, slowly and very distinctly added,

"I think that he can speak, read, and write English."

A change in the countenance of Carlos appeared, notwithstanding all his
efforts to hold his features in the same position; instead of placid
composure there was now grim rigidity.

"Give me the great seal with the coat of arms on it," said Lady Davenant,
dropping the wax on her letter, and watching the boy's eye as she spoke,
without herself looking towards the seal she had described. He never
stirred, and Helen began to fear she was unjust and suspicious. But again
her doubts, at least of his disposition, occurred: as she was passing
through Lady Davenant's dressing-room with her, when they were going down
to dinner, the page following them, Helen caught his figure in a mirror,
and saw that he was making a horrible grimace at her behind her back, his
dark countenance expressing extreme hatred and revenge. Helen touched Lady
Davenant's arm, but, before her eye could be directed to the glass, Carlos,
perceiving that he was observed, pretended to be suddenly seized with the
cramp in his foot, which obliged him to make these frightful contortions.
Helen was shocked by his artfulness, but it succeeded with Lady Davenant:
it was in vain to say more about it to her, so Helen let it pass. When she
mentioned it afterwards to Lady Cecilia, she said--"I am sorry, for your
sake, Helen, that this happened; depend upon it, that revengeful little
Portuguese gnome will work you mischief some time or other." Helen did not
think of herself--indeed she could not imagine any means by which he could
possibly work her woe; but the face was so horrible, that it came again and
again before her eyes, and she was more and more determined to watch Carlos
constantly.

This was one of the public days at Clarendon Park, on which there was a
good deal of company; many of the neighbouring gentry were to be at
dinner. When Lady Davenant appeared, no inquiries concerning her health
were made by her daughter or by the general--no allusion to her having
been unwell. She seemed quite recovered, and Helen observed that she
particularly exerted herself, and that her manner was more gracious than
usual to commonplace people--more present to everything that was passing.
She retired however early, and took Helen with her. The depression of her
spirits, or rather the weight upon her mind, appeared again as soon as
they were alone together. She took her writing-desk, and looked over some
letters which she said ought to be burned. She could not sleep in peace,
she said--she ought not to sleep, till this was done. Several of these, as
she looked over them, seemed to give her pain, and excited her indignation
or contempt as she from time to time exclaimed--"Meanness!--corruption!--
ingratitude too!--all favours forgotten! To see--to feel this--is the
common fate of all who have lived the life I have lived; of this I am not
so inconsistent as to complain. But it is hard that my own character--the
integrity of a whole life--should avail me nothing! And yet," added she,
after a moment's pause of reflection, "to how few can my character be
really known! Women cannot, like men, make their characters known by
public actions. I have no right to complain; but if Lord Davenant's honour
is to be--" She paused; her thoughts seeming too painful for utterance.
She completed the arrangement of the papers, and, as she pressed down the
lid of her writing-box, and heard the closing sound of the lock, she
said,--"Now I may sleep in peace." She put out the lamp, and went to her
bed-room, carrying with her two or three books which she intended to read
after she should be in bed; for, though she talked of sleeping, it was
plain she thought she should not. Helen prevailed upon her to let her
remain with her, and read to her.

Copyright (c) 2007. knowncrafts.net. All rights reserved.