Book: Helen

M >> Maria Edgeworth >> Helen




"Cecilia, apparently unconcerned, heard and laughed at these high resolves,
after her gay fashion with her young companions, and marvelled how long
the resolution would be kept. General Clarendon of course could not but be
introduced to us, could not but attend our assemblies, nor could he avoid
meeting us in all the good English and foreign society at Florence; but
whenever he met us, he always kept at a safe distance: this caution marked
his sense of danger. To avoid its being so construed, perhaps, he made
approaches to me, politely cold; we talked very wisely on the state of the
Continent and the affairs of Europe; I did not, however, confine myself or
him to politics, I gave him many unconscious opportunities of showing in
conversation, not his abilities, for they are nothing extraordinary; but
his character, which is first-rate. Gleams came out, of a character born to
subjugate, to captivate, to attach for life. It worked first on Cecilia's
curiosity; she thought she was only curious, and she listened at first,
humming an opera air between times, with the least concerned look
conceivable. But, her imagination was caught, and it thenceforward through
every thing that every body else might be saying, and through all she said
herself, she heard every word that fell from our general, and even all that
was repeated of his saying at second or third hand. So she learned in due
season that he had seen women as handsome, handsomer than Lady Cecilia
Davenant; but that there was something in her manner peculiarly suited to
his taste--his fastidious taste! so free from coquetry, he said she was.
And true, perfectly true, from the time he became acquainted with her; no
hypocrisy on her part, no mistake on his; at the first touch of a real
love, there was an end of vanity and coquetry. Then her deference--her
affection for her mother, was so charming, he thought; such perfect
confidence--such quick intelligence between us. No deceit here either,
only a little self-deception on Cecilia's part. She had really grown
suddenly fonder of me; what had become of her fear, she did not know. But
I knew full well my new charm and my real merit; I was a good and safe
conductor of the electric shock.

"It chanced one day, when I was listening only as one listens to a man who
is talking at another through oneself, I did not immediately catch the
meaning, or I believe hear what the general said. Cecilia, unawares,
answered for me, and showed that she perfectly understood:--he bowed--she
blushed.

"Man is usually quicksighted to woman's blushes. But our general was not
vain, only proud; the blush he did not set down to his own account, but
very much to hers. It was a proof, he thought, of so much simplicity of
heart, so unspoiled by the world, so unlike--in short, so like the very
woman he had painted in his fancy, before he knew too much----. Lady
Cecilia was now a perfect angel. Not one word of all this did he say, but
it was understood quite as well as if it had been spoken: his lips were
firm compressed, and the whole outer man composed--frigidly cold;--yet
through all this Cecilia saw--such is woman's penetration in certain
cases--Cecilia saw what must sooner or later happen. He, still proud of his
prudence, refrained from word, look, or sigh, resolved to be impassive
till his judgment should be perfectly satisfied. At last this judgment was
perfectly satisfied; that is, he was passionately in love--fairly 'caught,'
my dear, 'in the strong toils of grace,' and he threw himself at Cecilia's
feet. She was not quite so much surprised as he expected, but more pleased
than he had ventured to hope. There was that, however, in his proud
humility, which told Cecilia there must be no trifling.

'He either fears his fate too much,
Or his deserts are small,
Who fears to put it to the touch,
To win or lose it all.'

"He put it to the test, and won it all. General Clarendon, indeed, is a
man likely to win and keep the love of woman, for this, among other good
reasons, that love and honour being with him inseparable, the idol he
adores must keep herself at the height to which he has raised her, or cease
to receive his adoration. She must be no common vulgar idol for every
passing worshipper." As Lady Davenant paused, Helen looked up, hesitated,
and said: "I hope that General Clarendon is not disposed to jealousy."

"No: he's too proud to be jealous," replied Lady Davenant.

Are proud men never jealous? thought Helen.

"I mean," continued Lady Davenant, "that General Clarendon is too proud to
be jealous of his wife. For aught I know, he might have felt jealousy of
Cecilia before she was his, for then she was but a woman, like another; but
once HIS--once having set his judgment on the cast, both the virtues and
the defects of his character join in security for his perfect confidence in
the wife 'his choice and passion both approve.' From temper and principle
he is unchangeable. I acknowledge that I think the general is a little
inclined perhaps to obstinacy; but, as Burke says, though obstinacy is
certainly a vice, it happens that the whole line of the great and masculine
virtues, constancy, fidelity, fortitude, magnanimity, are closely allied to
this disagreeable quality, of which we have so just an abhorrence.

"It is most peculiarly happy for Cecilia that she has a husband of this
firm character, one on whom she can rely--one to whom she may, she must,
look up, if not always, yet upon all important occasions where decision is
necessary, or integrity required. It is between her and her general as it
should be in marriage, each has the compensating qualities to those which
the other possesses: General Clarendon is inferior to Cecilia in wit, but
superior in judgment; inferior in literature, superior in knowledge of the
world; inferior to my daughter altogether in abilities, in what is called
genius, but far superior in that ruling power, _strength of mind_. Strength
of mind is an attaching as well as a ruling power: all human creatures,
women especially, become attached to those who have power over their
minds. Yes, Helen, I am satisfied with their marriage, and with your
congratulations: yours are the sort I like. Vulgar people--by vulgar people
I mean all who think vulgarly--very great vulgar people have congratulated
me upon this establishment of my daughter's fortune and future rank (a
dukedom in view), all that could be wished in worldly estimation. But I
rejoice in it as the security for my daughter's character and happiness.
Thank you again, my dear young friend, for your sympathy; you can
understand me, you can feel with me."

Sympathy, intelligent, quick, warm, unwearied, unweariable, such as
Helen's, is really a charming accomplishment in a friend; the only
obligation a proud person, is never too proud to receive; and it was most
gratifying to Helen to be allowed to sympathise with Lady Davenant--one
who, in general, never spoke of herself, or unveiled her private feelings,
even to those who lived with her on terms of intimacy. Helen felt
responsible for the confidence granted to her thus upon credit, and a
strong ambition was excited in her mind to justify the high opinion her
superior friend had formed of her. She determined to become all that she
was believed to be; as the flame of a taper suddenly rises towards what is
held over it, her spirit mounted to the point to which her friend pointed.




CHAPTER V.

Helen's perfect happiness at Clarendon Park was not of long duration.
People who have not been by nature blessed or cursed with nice feelings, or
who have well rubbed off their delicacy in roughing through the world, can
be quite happy, or at least happy enough without ascertaining whether they
are really esteemed or liked by those with whom they live. Many, and some
of high degree, when well sheltered and fed, and provided with all
the necessaries, and surrounded by all the luxuries of life, and with
appearances tolerably well kept up by outward manner, care little or nought
about the inside sentiments.

But Helen was neither of the case-hardened philosophic, or the naturally
obtuse-feeling class; she belonged to the over-anxious. Surrounded at
Clarendon Park with all the splendour of life, and with the immediate
expectation of seeing and being seen by the first society in England; with
the certainty also of being tenderly loved and highly esteemed by two of
the persons she was living with, yet a doubt about the third began to make
her miserable. Whether General Clarendon really liked her or not, was a
question that hung upon her mind sometimes as a dead weight--then vibrating
backwards and forwards, she often called to mind, and endeavoured to
believe, what Cecilia the first day told her, that this reserved manner
was natural to him with strangers, and would wear off. But to her the icy
coldness did not thaw. So she felt, or so she fancied, and which it was
she could not decide. She had never before lived with any one about whose
liking for her she could doubt, therefore, as she said to herself, "I know
I am a bad judge." She feared to open her mind to Cecilia. Lady Davenant
would be the safest person to consult; yet Helen, with all her young
delicacy fresh about her, scrupled, and could not screw her courage to
the sticking-place. Every morning going to Lady Davenant's room, she half
resolved and yet came away without speaking. At last, one morning, she
began:--

You said something the other day, my dear Lady Davenant, about a visit
from Miss Clarendon. Perhaps--I am afraid--in short I think,--I fear,
the general does not like my being here; and I thought, perhaps, he was
displeased at his sister's not being here,--that he thought Cecilia's
having asked me prevented his sister's coming; but then you told me he was
not of a jealous temper, did not you?"

"_Distinguez_," said Lady Davenant; "_distinguons_, as the old French
metaphysicians used to say, _distinguons_, there be various kinds of
jealousy, as of love. The old romancers make a distinction between
_amour_ and _amour par amours_. Whatever that mean, I beg leave to take a
distinction full as intelligible, I trust, between _jalousie par amour_ and
_jalousie par amitie_. Now, to apply; when I told you that our general was
not subject to jealousy, I should have distinguished, and said, _jalousie
par amour_--jealousy in love, but I will not ensure him against _jalousie
par amitie_--jealousy in friendship--of friends and relations, I mean.
Me-thinks I have seen symptoms of this in the general, he does not like my
influence over Cecilia, nor yours, my dear."

"I understand it all," exclaimed Helen, "and I was right from the very
first; I saw he disliked me, and he ever will and must dislike and detest
me--I see it in every look, hear it in every word, in every tone." "Now,
my dear Helen, if you are riding off on your imagination, I wish you a
pleasant ride, and till you come back again I will write my letter," said
Lady Davenant, taking up a pen.

Helen begged pardon, and protested she was not going to ride off upon any
imagination,--she had no imagination now--she entreated Lady Davenant to
go on, for she was very anxious to know the whole truth, whatever it might
be. Lady Davenant laid down her pen, and told her all she knew. In the
first place, that Cecilia did not like Miss Clarendon, who, though a very
estimable person, had a sort of uncompromising sincerity, joined with a
_brusquerie_ of manner which Cecilia could not endure. How her daughter had
managed matters to refuse the sister without offending the brother, Lady
Davenant said she did not know; that was Cecilia's secret, and probably it
lay in her own charming manner of doing things, aided by the whole affair
having occurred a few days before marriage, when nothing could be taken
ill of the bride elect. "The general, as Cecilia told me, desired that she
would write to invite you, Helen; she did so, and I am very glad of it.
This is all I know of this mighty matter."

But Helen could not endure the idea of being there, contrary to the
general's wishes, in the place of the sister he loved. Oh, how very,
very unfortunate she was to have all her hopes blighted, destroyed--and
Cecilia's kindness all in vain. Dear, dear Cecilia!--but for the whole
world Helen would not be so selfish--she would not run the hazard of making
mischief. She would never use her influence over Cecilia in opposition to
the general. Oh, how little he knew of her character, if he thought it
possible.

Helen had now come to tears. Then the keen sense of injustice turned to
indignation; and the tears wiped away, and pride prevailing, colouring she
exclaimed, "That she knew what she ought to do, she knew what she would
do--she would not stay where the master of the house did not wish for her.
Orphan though she was, she could not accept of protection or obligation
from any human being who neither liked or esteemed her. She would
shorten her visit at Clarendon Park--make it as short as his heart could
desire,--she would never be the cause of any disagreement--poor, dear, kind
Cecilia! She would write directly to Mrs. Collingwood." At the close of
these last incoherent sentences, Helen was awe-struck by the absolute
composed immovability and silence of Lady Davenant. Helen stood rebuked
before her.

"Instead of writing to Mrs. Collingwood, had not you better go at once?"
said her ladyship, speaking in a voice so calm, and in a tone so slightly
ironical, that it might have passed for earnest on any but an acutely
feeling ear--"Shall I ring, and order your carriage?" putting her hand on
the bell as she spoke, and resting it there, she continued--"It would be so
spirited to be off instantly; so wise, so polite, so considerate towards
_dear_ Cecilia--so dignified towards the general, and so kind towards me,
who am going to a far country, Helen, and may perhaps not see you ever
again."

"Forgive me!" cried Helen; "I never could go while you were here."

"I did not know what you might think proper when you seemed to have lost
your senses."

"I have recovered them," said Helen; "I will do whatever you
please--whatever you think best."

"It must not be what I please, my dear child, nor what I think best, but
what you judge for yourself to be best; else what will become of you when
I am in Russia? It must be some higher and more stable principle of action
that must govern you. It must not be the mere wish to please this or that
friend;--the defect of your character, Helen, remember I tell you,
is this--inordinate desire to be loved, this impatience of not being
loved--that which but a moment ago made you ready to abandon two of the
best friends you have upon earth, because you imagine, or you suspect, or
you fear, that a third person, almost a stranger, does not like before he
has had time to know you."

"I was very foolish," said Helen; "but now I will be wise, I will do
whatever is--right. Surely you would not have me live here if I were
convinced that the master of the house did not wish it?"

"Certainly not--certainly not," repeated Lady Davenant; "but let us see our
way before us; never gallop, my dear, much less leap; never move, till you
see your way;--once it is ascertained that General Clarendon does not wish
you to be here, nor approve of you for the chosen companion of his wife, I,
as your best friend, would say, begone, and speed you on your way; then
as much pride, as much spirit as you will; but those who are conscious of
possessing real spirit, should never be--seldom are--in a hurry to show it;
that kind of ostentatious haste is undignified in man, and ungraceful in
woman."

Helen promised that she would be patience itself: "But tell me exactly,"
said she, "what you would have me do."

"Nothing," said Lady Davenant.

"Nothing! that is easy at least," said Helen, smiling.

"No, not so easy as you imagine; it requires sometimes no small share of
strength of mind."

"Strength of mind!" said Helen, "I am afraid I have not any."

"Acquire it then, my dear," said her friend.

"But can I?"

"Certainly; strength of mind, like strength of body, is improved by
exercise."

"If I had any to begin with--" said Helen.

"You have some, Helen, a great deal in one particular, else why should
I have any more regard for you, or more hope of you, than of any other
well-dressed, well-taught beauty, any of the tribe of young ladies who pass
before me without ever fixing my mind's eye for one moment?"

"But in what particular, my dear Lady Davenant, do you mean?" said Helen,
anxiously; "I am afraid you are mistaken; in what do you think I ever
showed strength of mind? Tell me, and I will tell you the truth."

"That you will, and there is the point that I mean. Ever since I have known
you, you have always, as at this moment, coward as you are, been brave
enough to speak the truth; and truth I believe to be the only real lasting
foundation for friendship; in all but truth there is a principle of decay
and dissolution. Now good bye, my dear;--stay, one word more--there is a
line in some classic poet, which says 'the suspicion of ill-will never
fails to produce it'--Remember this in your intercourse with General
Clarendon; show no suspicion of his bearing you ill-will, and to show none,
you must feel none. Put absolutely out of your head all that you may have
heard or imagined about Miss Clarendon, or her brother's prejudices on her
account."

"I will--I will indeed," said Helen, and so they parted. A few words have
sometimes a material influence on events in human life. Perhaps even
among those who hold in general that advice never does good, there is no
individual who cannot recollect some few words--some conversation which has
altered the future colour of their lives.

Helen's over-anxiety concerning General Clarendon's opinion of her, being
now balanced by the higher interest Lady Davenant had excited, she met him
with new-born courage; and Lady Cecilia, not that she suspected it was
necessary, but merely by way of prevention, threw in little douceurs of
flattery, on the general's part, repeated sundry pretty compliments, and
really kind things which he had said to her of Helen. These always pleased
Helen at the moment, but she could never make what she was told he said of
her quite agree with what he said to her: indeed, he said so very little,
that no absolute discrepancy could be detected between the words spoken and
the words reported to have been said; but still the looks did not agree
with the opinions, or the cordiality implied.

One morning Lady Cecilia told her that the general wished that she would
ride out with them, "and you must come, indeed you must, and try his pretty
Zelica; he wishes it of all things, he told me so last night."

The general chancing to come in as she spoke, Lady Cecilia appealed to him
with a look that almost called upon him to enforce her request; but he only
said that if Miss Stanley would do him the honour, he should certainly be
happy, if Zelica would not be too much for her; but he could not take it
upon him to advise. Then looking for some paper of which he came in search,
and passing her with the most polite and deferential manner possible, he
left the room.

Half vexed, half smiling, Helen looked at Cecilia, and asked whether all
she had told her was not a little--"_plus belle que la verite._"

Lady Cecilia, blushing slightly, poured out rapid protestations that
all she had ever repeated to Helen of the general's sayings was perfect
truth--"I will not swear to the words--because in the first place it is
not pretty to swear, and next, because I can never recollect anybody's
words, or my own, five minutes after they have been said."

Partly by playfulness, and partly by protestations, Lady Cecilia half
convinced Helen; but from this time she refrained from repeating
compliments which, true or false, did no good, and things went on better;
observing this, she left them to their natural course, upon all such
occasions the best way.

And now visitors began to appear, and some officers of the general's staff
arrived. Clarendon Park happened to be in the district which General
Clarendon commanded, so that he was able usually to reside there. It was in
what is called a good neighbourhood, and there was much visiting, and many
entertainments.

One day at dinner, Helen was seated between the general and a fine young
guardsman, who, as far as his deep sense of his own merit, and his
fashionable indifference to young ladies would permit, had made some
demonstrations of a desire to attract her notice. He was piqued when,
in the midst of something he had wonderfully exerted himself to say, he
observed that her attention was distracted by a gentleman opposite, who
had just returned from the Continent, and who, among other pieces of news,
marriages and deaths of English abroad, mentioned that "poor D'Aubigny" was
at last dead.

Helen looked first at Cecilia, who, as she saw, heard what was said with
perfect composure; and then at Lady Davenant, who had meantime glanced
imperceptibly at her daughter, and then upon Helen, whose eyes she
met--and Helen coloured merely from association, because she had coloured
before-provoking! yet impossible to help it. All passed in less time than
it can be told, and Helen had left the guardsman in the midst of his
sentence, discomfited, and his eyes were now upon her; and in confusion she
turned from him, and there were the general's eyes but he was only inviting
her to taste some particular wine, which he thought she would like, and
which she willingly accepted, and praised, though she assuredly did not
know in the least what manner of taste it had. The general now exerted
himself to occupy the guardsman in a conversation about promotion, and drew
all observation from Helen. Yet not the slightest indication of having
seen, heard, or understood, appeared in his countenance, not the least
curiosity or interest about Colonel D'Aubigny. Of one point Helen was
however intuitively certain, that he had noticed that confusion which he
had so ably, so coolly covered. One ingenuous look from her thanked him,
and his look in return was most gratifying; she could not tell how it was,
but it appeared more as if he understood and liked her than any look she
had ever seen from him before. They were both more at their ease. Next day,
he certainly justified all Cecilia's former assurances, by the urgency with
which he desired to have her of the riding party. He put her on horseback
himself, bade the aide-de-camp ride on with Lady Cecilia--three several
times set the bridle right in Miss Stanley's hand, assuring her that she
need not be afraid, that Zelica was the gentlest creature possible, and he
kept his fiery horse, Fleetfoot, to a pace that suited her during the whole
time they were out. Helen took courage, and her ride did her a vast deal of
good.

The rides were repeated, the general evidently became more and more
interested about Miss Stanley; he appealed continually to her taste, and
marked that he considered her as part of his family; but, as Helen told
Lady Davenant, it was difficult, with a person of his high-bred manners
and reserved temper, to ascertain what was to be attributed to general
deference to her sex, what to particular regard for the individual, how
much to hospitality to his guest, or attention to his wife's friend,
and what might be considered as proof of his own desire to share that
friendship, and of a real wish that she should continue to live with them.

While she was in this uncertainty, Lord Davenant arrived from London; he
had always been fond of Helen, and now the first sight of her youthful
figure in deep mourning, the recollection of the great changes that had
taken place since they had last met, touched him to the heart--he folded
her in his arms, and was unable to speak. He! a great bulky man, with a
face of constitutional joy--but so it was; he had a tender heart, deep
feelings of all kinds under an appearance of _insouciance_ which deceived
the world. He was distinguished as a political leader--but, as he said of
himself, he had been three times inoculated with ambition--once by his
mother, once by his brother, and once by his wife; but it had never taken
well; the last the best, however,--it had shown at least sufficiently to
satisfy his friends, and he was happy to be no more tormented. With talents
of the first order, and integrity unblenching, his character was not of
that stern stuff--no, not of that corrupt stuff--of which modern ambition
should be made.

He had now something to tell Helen, which he would say even before he
opened his London budget of news. He told her, with a congratulatory smile,
that he had had an opportunity of showing his sense of Mr. Collingwood's
merits; and as he spoke he put a letter into her hand.

The letter was from her good friend Mr. Collingwood, accepting a bishopric
in the West Indies, which had been offered to him by Lord Davenant. It
enclosed a letter for Helen, desiring in the most kind manner that she
would let him know immediately and decidedly where and with whom she
intended to live; and there was a postscript from Mrs. Collingwood full of
affection, and doubts, and hopes, and fears.

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